Changing Tides...Moon... Party on, Garth!

Last night around 1am I had very strong urges to text, "Party on, Garth!" to a variety of people.

So I did.

Anyway. I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I hate going to bed. It's so... not fun.

Stranger: You know what's fun?
Jen Mac: WHAT?!?! *giddy*
Stranger: Going to bed!
Jen Mac: *blink*
Jen Mac: YOU SLEEP ON A BED OF LIES!
Stranger: But at least I go to bed and can function before 9:30 in the morning and don't accidentally poke myself in the eye with a spoon when eating breakfast.
Jen Mac: You didn't see that.
Stranger: But I bet that has happened.
Jen Mac: You can't prove anything!

Anyway, something extremely significant happened earlier this week. As many of you already know due to the communication advances of "email" and social networking of "Facebook", I have found a new Scottish Love.

It has left me torn and confused. Does my heart no longer pine for Ewan McGregor? He has one of my favourite first names, is brave enough to wear make-up, and belts out "Your Song" in Moulin Rouge with such gentle fierceness (such a delicate balance) that the soul becomes stronger with each subsequent listening experience. I watched him eat cow testicles ("nuts", if you will) in Long Way Round, read his achievements in Long Way Down, admired his lightsaber in Star Wars. I have belted out "Elephant Love Medley" at inappropriate, off-key levels for YEARS.

YEARS!!! That is more commitment than buying a DVD PLAYER.



But now...



I have watched this video much too many times already. I crack up at concerning decibels. I sent it to people who won't get it (i.e., have spent little to no time in Scottie-land). I made my parents watch it when I was at their house eating their food (a parent-child tradition once the youngling has left the home), and while they seemed amused (more so the Father), they seemed more concerned that my lung was going to splatter out of my mouth and smack them in the face from my loud, gasping for breath, convulsion-inducing, seal-lion-like laughter.

It's just.. he makes fun of so much! With such GENTLE SKILL.

"... Scots speak the Queen's English. That is, if the Queen developed a serious case of turrets."

The chav outfit.

"They say that traditional cooking comes from the heart. But here in Scotland it comes from the liver, lungs, and eyelids as well, all wrapped up in a sheep's stomach and boiled to perfection to create our national dish of haggis."

"As you casually wander the winding cobbled streets, you may start to hear what sounds like someone f***ing a cat. Relax! This is none other than the sound of Scotland's famous bagpipes."

He's coming to Charlottetown in early May. I need to pretend to be a reporter to meet him. Then I will offer to house sit for him in his empty Scottish home.

... the plans are falling into place. See yee soon, Danny Bhoy!

To bed she says.