It's SHITE being Scottish!!

I've simonized the seat of the Schwinn, and had my nails done in a new color, "Kinky in Helsinski", and made the foray to Home Depot, where, no shit I saw a guy in a kilt. It was beyond serendipitous.  This guy was sporting the punk kilt look, which had just been acquired at the Renaissance Fair. He looked ghetto fabulous.

With all that work accomplished I'm about to enjoy a well-deserved flagon of cheap white boxed wine and opine about the land o' Scotland.

You may say to yourself, "bitch where do you get off laying down the smack on Scotland?"  Peeps, my cred derives from two primary sources:  1)  I am Scottish and 2) I've spent a lot of time there. Here's a picture of my Grandmother and her brothers with her old man, prior to her forever immigration with my Grandfather and baby Uncle out of that hell hole.   

There are certain inalienable bitching rights.  Let us agree that:
1) certain ethnic groups have the right to use the "N" word-- they belong to that ethnic group.
2) We Catholics can bitch about the Pope not letting us get abortions, but hey you Lutherans-- back off that shit.
3)  I can bitch about my sisters and what "See You Next Tuesdays" they are-- but you are fucked if you say a words agin those bitches in front of me.So legitimately it follows that I may kvetch about the land that sprung me Pa. 

I won't get into the details of how I ended up spending three "summers" in Scotland, suffice it to say, I wasn't there for a lark, or for a brief sojurn in a delightful bed and breakfast.  I did hard time there---from Edinburgh, to Glasgow, to the Orkneys, and all points in between.  But mostly I was confined to a wee little town by the name of "Dustbin" where I was taken by my husband Fang. 

It was downright like a bad acid trip when Fang drove with abandon on the wrong side of the road, flying about those crazy roundabouts.  But I straight up felt an impending sense of doom as we approached Dustbin and the road  fell off into a one lane goat path.

Things went from bad to worse, I won't bore you with the gory details, just let me state my opinion for the record, Scotland has a paucity of product, no nail salons, the food sucks, it is ALWAYS really cold, the sun NEVER shines, the language is unintelligble, the game of golf (wtf?), and the people have AWFUL teeth. 

I am not alone in my opinion-- several of my siblings who have trekked back to the Old Country have experienced the same sense of despair, and were thrilled to get wheels up the hell out of there.  We have an hypothesis that our genetic memory of the place is just too fresh.  We are in complete understanding and thankfulness to our grandparents who got the heck out of Dodge, and never went back. 

I'll close by sharing a video clip  from the always sanguine, hands down best sountrack movie of all time, in which the blokes muse on thier "pride?" in the fact they are Scots.  The movie, is of course, the classic "Trainspotting."  BTW, I had to turn on the subtitles to watch said master piece. 
 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1tJJO_pVvQ

P.S. Just remember "ALL the fresh air in the world won't make any fucking difference!"

P.P.S.  Surprisingly, Fang and I are no longer married.