Denver

This is my first time in Denver, at least beyond the airport. It's a city that never interested me, and now, having been here... still doesn't.

Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely town. The people here seem very friendly and polite, it's pretty to look at, and -- at least this weekend -- the weather is beautiful. But it's boring. Denver has never had any draw for me, no big tourist activities that piqued my interest. So what finally got me here? Hockey.

Wishful thinking or not, I may not have many NHL seasons left in North America, so I want to see my beloved Montreal Canadiens as much as possible while I'm still here. When I noticed their game against the Colorado Avalanche was on a Saturday night, only a two hour flight away, I checked tickets; they were available, and cheap by NHL standards. So I got myself a 2nd row seat in the Montreal end of the ice, used air miles for a free plane ticket, and grabbed a discounted hotel room downtown. Nothing to lose.

Except the game.

Colorado has been playing amazingly this season, and they were unsurprisingly solid last night as well. Montreal, on the other hand, wasn't good at all. They continuously handed over the puck, spent too much time in their own zone, and when they got the chance to shoot, they hung around waiting for the Avs to take the puck back instead of attempting to score. As great as it was to have Max Pacioretty back in the lineup after his injury, he looked rusty. I cheered my voice away encouraging the Habs, but they deserved the loss, 4-1.

So I wasn't particularly heartbroken when I left the game, just frustrated. To put it like everyone's parents: I wasn't angry, just disappointed. Because they should have been better.

Still, it's always great to see my boys close up. Denver may not be the most exciting place, but I got to cheer for my Habs and visit somewhere new. And instead of stormy Seattle, I got a sunburn on top of a mountain where it was sunny and summery warm. So overall, I'll put this weekend in the win column.

Limbo

I am currently miserable.

For some reason, despite Frightened Rabbit coming through my headphones right now, I heard that sentence spoken by Ron Howard in my head, like the first line of an Arrested Development episode. 

Sarah [not Bluth] is currently miserable. 

It’s not because I’m attempting to type this on a laptop I can only open halfway, in a cramped economy seat from Heathrow to SeaTac, although that’s a contributing factor. No, I’m miserable because this morning I left Edinburgh to head back to normal life, back to being stuck in Limbo.

I had planned to be moving to Scotland about now, stressing over how my cats would take to air travel, planning my wedding. But it turns out the UK visa process is going to be much more difficult than the Home Office originally made it sound, and I’m stuck in Seattle for the foreseeable future.

It’s extremely frustrating to finally know exactly where you should be spending your life, and with whom you should be spending it, only to have something out of your control delay it happening. I’ve done my best to be positive, to appreciate all the great things and weigh them above the shit ones, but in truth I’m fed up.

I’m fed up with the long flights back and forward. Fed up with only getting the life I should be living with Jody short term, in hotels, dreading the day I'm back at the airport. Fed up with Skype, and with countdowns to the next visit.

I’m fed up with feeling like my life is on pause most of the time.

And despite knowing that I’ll be back in 5 weeks, and that I have nearly enough British Airways miles to get a free round trip to the Moon, and even that one day I’ll manage to cut through all the red tape and get to real life, right now I hate it. I hate this journey, I hate the day to day back in Seattle, and I hate not being able to change it.

But you know what I love? Jody. Who is 100% worth all of this hassle.

And I also love breakfast. Which we always say is the most important thing.

Edinburgh, Munich, Vienna, and Edinburgh

I'm woefully behind in blogging about my latest trip, but I was having way too much fun while I was there to sit and write about it. And the week since I got back has been a blur of long work days and a sinus infection. So now that I'm healthy and have a short break before my evening call with China... Picture it: Scotland, Saturday, August 3rd...

Edinburgh

My trip to Munich had been in the works since November when I bought a ticket to the Robbie Williams show there, and when Jody entered my world, I knew I wanted to bring him along. Because the concert wasn't until Wednesday, I started the trip with a detour to my future hometown. Jody met me at the airport on Saturday, we got our favourite brunch at The City Cafe on Sunday, and just generally hung around avoiding the Fringe Festival crowds until it was time to catch our flight Monday afternoon.

Munich

Monday was a day filled with anxiety due to Jody's fear of flying, but we made it to German soil without incident -- I was really proud of how well he did on the plane. After catching a train into the city, getting lost following Google's incorrect walking directions, and settling for whatever food was available at the only non-fast-food place that was open, we collapsed in our hotel around midnight.

Munich was hot during our visit, so every time we'd wander out for a while, we'd spend at least as long back in the room's glorious air conditioning, getting ourselves back to a normal temperature. On Tuesday afternoon we took a walk to Marienplatz, doing some shopping along the way, then sat and relaxed at an outdoor cafe until we felt the desire to stroll back. On Wednesday we did a bit more wandering, and I saw the gig I'd been anticipating for months, but the highlight of Munich was definitely Tuesday night.

That night as we lounged in our hotel room, a thunderstorm flashed, rumbled, and pounded the window with rain. Looking at the weather, Jody told me that his Plan A to take me up on the roof for a romantic view of the city wasn't possible, so he was going ahead with Plan B... which was to kneel down and propose to me right then and there. Of course I said yes, and we spent the rest of the night celebrating and sharing the news of our engagement.

Vienna

We took the train to Vienna on Thursday, which was a city I had never really planned to visit, because I'd always heard "Austria is a beautiful country; shame it's full of Austrians." I wasn't terribly interested in the place itself, and a land of unfriendly people didn't appeal to me. However, I was pleasantly surprised by both the people we met and how pretty the city itself was. We spent most of our time there being generally touristy and enjoying the food (try Almdudler if you get the chance), but it was even hotter than Munich, and we weren't sad to leave the possibility of melting behind on Saturday.

Edinburgh

The last night of our trip was back in Edinburgh, away from the crowds in a more isolated hotel than the one we started in. Jody's glowing reviews of the bus system got me on one, only to find out the driver gave us bad information and we were going totally the wrong place. Beyond that brief adventure, though, we spent a quiet night dreading going back to the airport in the morning.

Now that I'm back in Seattle, all my energy is devoted to getting myself back to the UK, permanently this time. 

A Very Long Distance Relationship

Yes, it's true. The commitment-phobe who has spent nearly a decade avoiding calling anyone her boyfriend is now completely happily in a relationship. With a Scotsman. Who lives in Scotland.

Not only have I avoided relationships since my divorce, I've made it very clear that I don't do long distance. All talking and no sex? What's the point of that? I remember a few years back when a friend was going on and on about his long distance girlfriend, who he'd met over the internet machine. "It's true love," he said, "She's moving here so we can be together." I laughed. I told him that was utter insanity, an adolescent fantasy, nothing that could ever possibly work out.

But here I am, ready to move halfway around the world after only a few months. Because, as Harry says in When Harry Met Sally, "When you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

How did it happen? Twitter, Aberdeen football, a mutual friend called Calum... just a lot of tiny decisions in both our lives that brought Jody and I together. He believes in The One, all things happening for a reason, and that we just had to find each other. I think everyone gets one great love of their life -- be that a person, an activity, a thing -- and I'm incredibly lucky to have found mine by coincidence and social media.

So how does it work? Lots of Skype, mostly. And British Airways. A week ago yesterday, I was on a plane back from spending a few days in Edinburgh with Jody -- a visit that only confirmed that I need to be living there, getting on with our life together.

That's why I've had a complete lack of bitterness lately, why I've been smiling all the time, and listening to sappy songs, and why my friends keep threatening to shoot down all the cartoon bluebirds that currently surround me. In spite of the huge distance, this is the best relationship I've ever had, the happiest I've ever been.

So I have nothing snarky to end this with. Just a big goofy grin and a hope that this happens for everyone I know, because it's awesome.

Heaven aka Centre Bell

After many years of being a fan of the Montreal Canadiens, I finally got to see them at home last night. And it was one of the greatest nights of my life.

It's hard for non-sports fans to understand the love one can have for a team, how their wins and losses, their hot streaks and injuries, can affect us as deeply as if we're members of the squad ourselves. And there's something about Les Canadiens that makes that run even deeper. Habs fans don't just love our team, we bleed the bleu-blanc-rouge. As the Habs go, Montreal goes.

So you can imagine my sheer ecstasy at getting to be in their building, surrounded by fellow obsessives of le tricolore. I figured if I was going to make the trip to Montreal for a game, I'd get the best seat possible (5th row, Habs end of the ice, right in front of the faceoff circle), against our most hated rivals, the Boston Bruins.

The atmosphere was incredible. The team played beautifully, fast and intelligent, not falling into the thuggish bang-and-crash style of the Bruins. I shouted Go Habs Go and sang the Ole song until my voice was close to leaving me. I booed Zdeno Chara* every time he touched the puck.

And we beat those classless Boston excuse-monkeys 2-1.

A few Bruins fans were also in attendance, including 2 young boys seated next to me for the third period. They were part of a family split into two sections, so for the 3rd, the boys (aged probably 8 and 10) were left alone beside me. As soon as the period was underway, one of the kids started in with smack talk -- the Habs are garbage, Josh Gorges sucks -- so I glanced over at him, and our eyes met. Silence. I didn't give him a look by any stretch of the imagination, just briefly met eyes.

He didn't utter a single negative word for the rest of the game. Neither did I, for that matter.

In the end, I was in too good a mood to say anything rude to anyone. I fell asleep happy last night, hoping to be back for more games, but satisfied with the experience if it never happens again.


*It has been 2 years since a mega-check from Chara left my hockey crush and perennial Montreal favourite Max Pacioretty with a broken vertebra and a severe concussion. The hit was deemed clean by the league, but was so hard and damaging that legal charges were considered. Even though Max made an amazing recovery and had a career year in 2011-2012, Habs fans still boo the Boston captain every time he touches the puck. I think we will forever, and I think that's completely fair.

Some Frightened Rabbit Shows

If you've been paying attention on here, or any other social media, you know that Frightened Rabbit is my favourite band. My current musical taste is pretty much Robbie Williams, Frightened Rabbit, then a bunch of other bands spread across all genres. Shrug, I can't explain myself.

I'm currently in Chicago, where I was lucky enough to see Frightened Rabbit for the fourth time, and the show was amazing as always. I went to a concert of theirs for the first time last year, and have hit 3 gigs in the past 4 weeks. I practically have the set list memorised, and -- much as I love the big finale of the show -- as soon as I hear the first notes of The Loneliness and the Scream, I get a little sad that the night is ending. I always thoroughly enjoy myself, no matter whether the rest of the crowd is going mad (Glasgow), too cool to participate (Seattle, both times), or somewhere in between (Chicago).

I've always compared music to love affairs and friendships (maybe because I care more about music than people a lot of the time), and seeing a band live is like the physical aspect. In that analogy, it's as if I'm in a long distance relationship with Frightened Rabbit. I listen to them all the time (that's the all talk and no sex part), but long to see them live as much as possible. And whenever I do, I fall in love all over again. That's why I took the chance to fly to Chicago for them, and detoured to Glasgow when I was in Scotland. It's like a flight across the country... or halfway around the world... to sex up someone who you love but don't get to be in the same room with on a daily basis.

Maybe I should find a local Seattle band to obsess over, or go back to casually liking bands and not caring if I see them live very often, might be easier. Nah... these guys are worth it.

Author's note: This post is not drawing any parallels to other aspects of my life. Fine, not intentionally. All right, it is, but just don't mention it, OK? Thanks.

Pittodrie Stadium - Aberdeen v Ross County

I always seem to fall for losing teams. Sports are never consistent, so of course they occasionally have glorious winning streaks, but they never last long enough, or happen often enough. So it seems it may be with the Dons.

I had always found soccer less than interesting, but several months ago I arbitrarily started watching some. There was a tournament going on that everybody on Twitter was, well, a-twitter about, so I gave it a try. And enjoyed it. So when the NHL lockout left me sport-less, I asked Twitter what football team I should follow, just as a diversion. My tweep Calum told me the Scottish Premier League was the place to be, and I should become an Aberdeen fan. Since I've always found it easy to love most things Scottish, I gave the Dons a try, and immediately got hooked.

Now, months later, I've used part of my Scotland trip to see them live. And it was awesome. Well, the game wasn't that spectacular, but I'll get to that.

I arrived at the stadium to discover my seat was only a few rows up, but it was next to a column that blocked about 1/4 of the pitch. The old gentleman sitting next to me noticed how bad my view was, so when nobody sat on the other side of him, we both scooted down so that I was only missing one corner. The guy, incidentally, turned out to be quite amusing. He started out muttering rubbish, rubbish whenever the Dons' play was less than ideal, but as the game went on, his volume increased. His helpful commentary was mostly in the form of pointing his program at a player and shouting there's another clown! or you're useless! and telling pretty much everyone on the team to give it to McGinn.

Tonight wasn't Aberdeen's best outing, by a long shot. They gave up the ball too often and didn't put it toward the goal often enough. At the same time, the officiating was... what's the phrase I'm looking for... somewhat questionable? No, wildly one-sided. That's the phrase: wildly one-sided. And it's not my Aberdeen bias making me say that. At least I don't think so.

After a nil-nil first half, Ross County managed to score in the second. Despite a Dons push in the final few minutes, it ended at 1-0. Another chance to see one of my teams in person, another loss.

All in all, though, it was a fantastic time. Pittodrie is a small stadium, and my closeness to the pitch made it feel even more exciting. And by the way, those footballers are hot. I mean, HOT. I would totally do a Don.

Erm. Anyway.

It was my first live game of real football, and I think I love the sport ten times more now. So poor team showing and loss aside, I had an absolutely spectacular time.

Edinburgh. Again.

I'm a bit late writing this, seeing as I left Edinburgh nearly 24 hours ago, but it could still use a brief recap.

When I first visited Edinburgh -- maybe 3 or 4 years ago, don't remember -- I liked it, but figured I wouldn't be back. I enjoy Scotland's capital city, I just don't tend to return to places a lot unless I have a good reason.

Turns out rugby is the reason.

I've been following rugby union, particularly the Six Nations tournament, and backing Team Scotland, since I discovered the sport in the 90s. (Which is incidentally the last time Scotland won 6 Nations... 5 Nations at the time.) I never dreamed that I'd be sitting in the pouring rain of Wellington at the World Cup cheering them on in 2011, but I was there. And when I came to Edinburgh last year to see them play a Six Nations match at home... even better.

So I returned to Murrayfield this year, for the Scotland v Ireland match... which our boys in blue won, 12-8! I felt especially good about the win because I've never gotten to see Scotland win a rugby match in person. Well, they dominated an exhibition against Team USA that I attended long ago, but not a real, counts in a tourney match.

It also occurred to me that I've now been to Edinburgh three times, over at least that many years, and I've never seen it not under construction. I'm already calling this an annual rugby trip, although I won't necessarily go to a home game every Six Nations... so maybe by the next time I visit Edinburgh, the tram will be finished and I'll see the city in a new light.

No matter what, I'll keep backing blue, and flying wherever their games take me... Murrayfield and beyond.

Old Age

I've had a strange realisation lately... that I'm old.

It's not because I've officially entered middle age*, although I have. And it's not because I've stopped slowly covering my entire body with tattoos or chasing commitment-phobic twenty-something men, because I definitely haven't.

It's because I don't find it fun to binge drink for the sake of binge drinking anymore.

I do enjoy drinking a whole lot in one sitting.
And bar hopping.
And getting to such a ridiculous state with my friends that I laugh half the next day away looking at all the tweets and photos about it.

But that's not enough. I want a good craft cocktail in my hand while I'm doing it. Or a bloody mary, or a beer, if that's what fits the situation. I want quality over quantity. Even at home, I make a nice martini after work. Sitting at a bar with a way-too-stiff vodka soda just doesn't do it for me anymore.

The experience is what I want, not only the crazy drunken result.

And when I look around, I can see that this makes me old.

Or really bourgie. But I'm pretty sure it's old.


*Seriously, if I live to be 74 or less, my life is half over already. 74 isn't an unreasonable life span, people.