(Hi, by the way. How are things? And your family? Good good.)

This wedding was well timed, since it taught me a few things ahead of my own wedding (feed people early and often, especially if you plan to give them free wine, take off your heels before the traditional dancing, everybody loves meat) but it also taught me one additional, invaluable lesson. A lesson which I feel I must pass on to you all.

Don't go to Scotland in the summer.

To be fair, don't go to the parts of Scotland that are slightly inland from the coast, but not too far North, where there is standing water. But just to be safe? I'd avoid Scotland all together.

You see, in Scotland they have these things called midges. Everyone from Scotland complains about the midges. Avon Skin So Soft sells like mad as a possible miracle repellent, which works some of the time but not always. Oddly enough, this was the same thing Skin So Soft was used for in Wisconsin when I was a kid. What is that stuff actually meant to do?

But when you ask a Scot to describe midges they'll often say "they're kind of like gnats." And...honestly? You need a bug repellent to get rid of...something that's kind of like gnats? I mean, they're annoying, yes. They swarm all around you and fly in your drink and make you feel itchy and generally suck. But gnats? Really?

The thing most Scots won't mention, because it doesn't even occur to them that you won't know, is that midges bite. "Come on now" you're thinking. "They're the size of gnats. How bad could the bites really be?"

So, yeah. Pretty bad. And this is 5 days on. I must also say, that this? Not the worst part of my body for bites. But the others are not for public consumption. Either that or they're too hard for me to photograph by myself. Have you ever tried to take a picture of your own right arm when you're right handed and ridiculously pale? Not so easy.

Honest to goodness, bug bites made me take a day off work on Tuesday. Ok, it was the fact that I took too many anti-histimines and couldn't stay concious (really should read those directions). But still! Missed day of work! Bugs the size of gnats! What the hell is wrong with you Scotland!

And don't even make me go into the fact that our B&B didn't include the second B because the owner was a jackass who didn't like the fact that we were, you know, young and having fun. Which meant insanely hung over in the middle of nowhere where nothing else is open on a Sunday, with 40 miles of winding hilly roads until food could be found. Which led to me throwing up all over the UK. On the 4th of July. Fitting really.

Why? Well, to avoid 27 hour flight durations from Manchester to Vegas. To avoid connections that fly into London Heathrow and out of London Gatwick without actually telling you that. To avoid connections in the US with just under an hour to make the flight, when you have to collect luggage, clear customs, and re-clear security in that time. Or to avoid spending 8 hours in the airport in Chicago. I've done that once this year...I will not do it again.

So we didn't book the cheapest flight. Nor did we book the flight that connected in the UK as we SWORE we always would after our experience with the flights from hell in July, because of the previously mentioned Heathrow and Gatwick are like 50 miles apart, how can we make that connection in 2 hours? problem. We booked on an airline I won't mention connecting in a city I won't mention because I don't want the horror stories pouring in after spending 2 hours booking the damn thing.

But it isn't Chicago. Sorry Chicago, I love you, but I'm afraid of your airport. Don't feel bad, I'm afraid of Newark too.

Still, it's done, and I get to go to one of my best friend's weddings, and that makes it all worth it.

Mostly.

Sure, you get some perspective, but you also feel a strange desire to just get married in the register's office and donate the thousands of pounds to something a bit more worthwhile, you know?

I will admit, when Michael Jackson died, I watched all the hoopla, and saw how invested people were in it, and understood it was a big deal and a big story. It just wasn't really a big deal to me. I was never a massive fan. When I was a kid, when he was massively popular, I pretty much just listened to the oldies station my parents listened to. Basically, I was too big of a dork to be a real Michael Jackson fan.

No one is too big a dork to be a John Hughes fan. In fact, many would argue that dorks were his target market. And I am a fan, and I do own quite a few of his movies, and I may in fact have one of them loaded on my iPod for when I get bored on airplanes. Ok two of them.

Fine, THREE! Three John Hughes movies taking up valuable hard drive space because what would I do with a two hour delay other than watch Sixteen Candles. Again.

And while I'm fairly certain he won't be having a funeral that costs L.A. $3 million, it still feels like a big deal to me.

iTunes.

I have a US account on iTunes, because often my lovely friends and family give me iTunes giftcards. Yay lovely friends and family! Plus, at 99 cents, US iTunes is cheaper than the British version, even with the recent reduction in price from 99 to 79 pence.

So, US iTunes. Yay all around. Until today.

I decided I wanted to buy an album, so I went on iTunes and it isn't there. A few tunes from the artist exist, but obviously the album hasn't been released in the US. (Little Boots, if you're interested.)

This got me looking at US iTunes a little more closely and realizing just how massively different American music tastes are to British tastes. I mean, let's look at a few examples from the top 10 songs lists today, shall we?

American:

~ Has the Kings of Leon song Use Somebody just come out over there, or do you guys just really like it? Because it's been out forever here, so number 3 seems a bit generous.

~ Who in the hell is Cobra Starship?

~ Does anyone else find Taylor Swift a little too wholesome for her own good? Or find it amusing that no one here in Britain seems to realize that she's a country act?

~ Who exactly is to blame for Pitbull? Because he's in our top 10 too and he's rubbish.

British:

~ Ok, I've never heard of Cobra Starship. Have any of you heard of Tinchy Stryder?

~ Or Mr. Hudson?

~ Or La Roux?

~ How about JLS?

~ Any songs in your top 10 contain the line "I'm infected by the sound?"

~ I know you've heard of Lady GaGa, but is Paparazzi as big a hit there as it is here? Because I don't think it's her best work.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still sticking with US iTunes, but I think I may need to set up a British account as well, just for some random purchases not available in the US.

I just find I have an easier time working through a thought process if I actually verbalize it. It's the same with trying to memorize things...I stand a better chance if I say them out loud. So before my driving test I spent a lot of time in coffee shops around town quietly reciting the 5 kinds of pedestrian crossings or the speed limit for various types of vehicles on a non-divided road. So, possibly annoying, but not crazy.

I'll also talk to myself in situations where I'm nervous, and this has come up most often lately when I'm driving. The roads here are narrow. Either they are roads in town which aren't that wide to begin with and become far too narrow when they are lined with parked cars on either side and buses trying to get down them, or they are country roads that are just wide enough to begin with and get too narrow in the summer when the surrounding foliage is overgrown. The roads are just narrow.

This has been the hardest thing about learning to drive here. Not the roundabouts or driving on the wrong side of the road, but figuring out where the edge of my car really is and believing that yes, there is room for me and that truck to go past each other and no, he isn't going to hit me. It's a hard process, and I'll admit, I'm still not nearly there.

So, when I go out driving by myself, I spend a decent amount of time saying things like "it's ok" or "you have plenty of room" or "that car ahead of you fit, so you'll fit too." I also find myself telling myself to "slow down" or "calm down" or "take it easy." And, when pulling into parking lots (which I was bad with even in the States), I'll often tell myself not to hit the surrounding cars.

Which is how last week, over the course of a day, I had to tell myself not once but twice, "don't hit that Bentley." And it's not just that I really thought I was going to hit the Bentley so I said it twice, I came across two different Bentleys in two different parking lots. One of them at the dump. I'll admit, I've never lived in a town where this would have been a viable concern before, but at least it makes sure I maintain concentration while trying to park.

Then again, sometimes you don't need reassurance or a sympathetic ear. Sometimes what you need is a metaphorical kick in the ass to get you moving in the direction that, let's face it, you probably know you should be moving in anyway. And when that's what I need, I call my mom.

It's not that my dad isn't a practical person, or that he isn't helpful, or that he doesn't have piles of life experience (he is old enough to be my dad after all). It's more that...I'm his little girl. And he wants me to be happy, and he wants to give me reassurance, and he wants everything to be ok. And I love that about him. So if I call him with a general "I'm feeling down" call, he'll chat with me and do his best to make me feel better. Now if I call him with a specific problem, he will definitely jump right into solving it just like any good dad should. But otherwise, he can be what my mom would call a "tender heart."

And when my mom calls someone a tender heart, she's not exactly being complementary. It's not that she's a bad person or a mean person, she's just...not a terribly sentimental person. It's not that she doesn't understand having emotions, but she doesn't understand letting them get the better of you. She's too practical for that, and figures if something is wrong you should just get out and do something about it. More of a stereotypically male response actually, but there you have it.

So when I was on the phone with my mom the other day and said I was feeling a bit lonely and a bit down, there was no "aw honey, it'll get better." Instead the response was "is there a library in your town?" Um...yes, there is. "They always need volunteers. Go volunteer. It'll get you out of the house. Or maybe a thrift store?" Well, yes, there are several of those in town. "Good. Go check them out and pick one and let me know next week where you're working."

Straight forward, to the point, no coddling, kick in the ass. To be fair, this is a woman whose husband died less than a year ago, so perhaps she's a little less than pleased to here about how lonely I feel. But still, it's something I've known I should do for a long time, and which I've thought about doing, but have been putting off because I'm lazy and scared. And my mom knows that I can be skittish of people and lazy when it suits me, so she didn't give me a chance to be.

She made clear that there was a solution to my problem within my control, so I needed to quit my bitching and go out and do something about it. Which is something Ian, my dad, and my friends are all less likely to say because they're worried about my feelings. And I appreciate that so much, but sometimes...just sometimes...I also appreciate the kick in the ass.

And what we found was...confusing. I mean, each room had a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. In most cases, the cover that goes over the wires where the thing attaches to the ceiling (yep, us engineers and our technical terms) weren't even attached, meaning it was a bare bulb and exposed wires. Which wouldn't have been so bad except the ceilings are like 10 feet high, so we had to get a ladder in to screw on those covers, plus spend a fortune on lampshades.

But ok, it's a rental. You're going minimalist and don't want to spend your money on lampshades. Not even the £2 paper sphere ones that I've had in every rental place I've lived in here. You wanna be cheap? Fine. I hate those paper things anyway, and not having them gave me an excuse to buy lampshades I actually kind of like.

But the minimalist attitude presented by the lack of lampshades was contradicted by the fact that there was art on the walls. You won't buy a few £2 lampshades but you put up what looks like a very heavy, and very expensive mirror above the fireplace? I mean, it's lovely, and I love it, but...huh?

And then there are the rugs. Oh the rugs. See, the house has wall to wall carpet. Cheap stuff that it still fucking shedding even though we've lived here for 10 months and I've vacuumed a gazillion times. And yet in the living room and the hallways our landlord, who left exposed wiring hanging from the ceiling, put down a few area rugs.

So, yay! Extra floor coverage right? Except not so much. Because the rug he put in the front hallway? The hallway that you have to walk through to get in and out of the house and between the first and second floor? One of the most high traffic areas of the house? It's one of those fluffy, puff-ball hand made things which can't be vacuumed.

I will say again for emphasis: Can't be vacuumed.

Which means, it has to be beaten. And it's not even like it's just something you could ignore, because it's in the entry hall, and it's puffy so it collects everything, and after a couple of weeks it just looks like absolute crap. Honestly? It looks like crap before that, but it's a pain in the ass so you ignore it as long as I can. But you can't vacuum it, so eventually it makes you crazy and you take it out back and beat it clean.

You know who I want to beat? My landlord for putting a rug that you can't vacuum in the entryway in a rental property. And also Ian a little, for insisting the hallway looks too empty without it so we should keep it.

But I can't, so instead I'll just go beat the damn rug. Again.

I've also started applying for jobs a bit further from home than I would actually like to commute meaning if I were to get one of these jobs I'd have to consider 1) if I should take it or not, 2) if I could really handle the commute or 3) if Ian would kill me if I told him we needed to move, again, away from the perfect little town he loves so much. But, we'll jump off that bridge when we come to it.

All in all, I'm feeling better. I'm not feeling guilty that I'm not trying, because good god I'm trying. (Seriously, 3 days and I've applied for 20 jobs. That's a lot of cover letters people.) And yes, I did get a twinge when I received a rejection email at 8:30 in the morning when I had only applied for the job at 7:00 the night before and the description was basically exactly what I did at my last job, but then I talked to Ian about the location and the job description and he told me who he thinks the company is and what they do, and I'm pretty sure that I was rejected for being an American and thus unable to get the security clearance needed for the work. So...not much I can do there.

I will say that I wish job adverts here would just tell you who the company was so you could avoid situations like that. But so much is done by agencies, at least with engineering jobs, and the fear is that if they tell you who the job is with you might go and apply with the company directly and then they'd miss out on their commission. Of course, the up side of that is that the agencies actively search for your CV and contact you about jobs they think might work for you in an effort to get that commission.

The downside of that is that the agencies can't read, and I keep getting contacted about jobs that would be perfect for me as long as I'm willing to relocate. Even though my CV says I'm looking for a job because I just relocated. And I'm pretty sure one of the agencies was trying to get me to take a job at the company I worked for before I moved here. Another agency asked me if I knew anyone at that old company who might be willing to relocate for this great job they had. I'd ask, but I'm pretty sure my old boss would come up here and kill me if I convinced another of his employees to leave!

And also I got a lovely email from Karen telling me I'm not a failure, and reminding me that when she was unemployed I used to ask her how the job search was going all the time. I figure, she didn't kill me, so I suppose I should show the same forbearance to my friends and family today. It also made me want to move right back to Texas so I could see her all the time again, but that would just add a whole new list of problems.

So, better. Not perfect yet, but definitely better. And I'll take better any day.

I've only had to look for jobs twice in my life. Once, I was in grad school and basically signed up to interview with anyone that came through the on campus recruitment office and ended up with 4 job offers. The other was when I moved to the UK, and I had a job 6 weeks after I started looking thanks to a recruiter coming to me with the perfect opportunity.

What can I say, I'm an engineer. We work in a large variety of industries, doing a large variety of things, and at least in the UK, there's a shortage of us. So I'll admit, I expected to find a job quickly and easily this time, just like last time.

And I haven't. And that's depressing. It makes me feel like a failure, like I'm not a productive member of society, like I'm mooching off Ian. And it makes me crazy to constantly have to respond to people's well meaning questions about my job search that no, there's nothing. No nibbles, no interviews, no interest whatsoever.

(Actually, that's not entirely true. I've been called about jobs in Oxford and Farmborough. Which are both...very very far away from here. Joy.)

The other thing I've been feeling is guilty. Because as I continue to not find jobs, I can't help but think that part of the reason is because I'm not trying hard enough. I mean, I'm looking and applying, but I'm not looking as often as I could or in as many ways as I could. And again, I'll be honest with you. Part of that is because if I know I'm not trying my hardest, then I don't have to feel so bad about not finding a job. Because then it's not that I'm not worthy of a job, it's just that I haven't tried hard enough to get one.

Now whether that's really an issue here or not, I've come to realise that the guilt I'm feeling over my belief that I'm half-assing this job search is a hell of a lot worse than the feelings of failure would probably be. Because let's face it, to everyone other than me (including prospective employers who are going to wonder why I was unemployed for over 9 months) I am a failure. At least, I'm as much of a failure as being unemployed makes them see me, no matter how I'm conducting my job search.

Of course, revelations are only so useful in real life situations. What you need to do is turn that revelation into a mantra, and turn that mantra into a call to action, and turn that call to action into a driver to get your ass off the couch, or at least to sit on the couch looking for jobs rather than watching "How Clean is Your House?" reruns. So I need a mantra, and here it is...

I'd rather be a failure than a quitter.

Short, simple, to the point. And also true, which any good mantra should be if at all possible. And hopefully will provide the motivation I need to make some extra attempts to find meaningful employment. And if I still don't find anything, well at least I'll be able to live with myself knowing that I've really tried.

Or maybe failure actually will feel just as bad as guilt. I'll keep you informed.

You may have noticed that Wimbledon has been going on the last 2 weeks. I couldn't avoid noticing it as it's on the TV constantly and it's all anyone's been talking about aside from the amazingly hot weather. (Secret: it hasn't really been that hot.) (Another secret: Wimbledon has a d in it, not a t. Please pronounce accordingly.)

Anyway, Wimbledon has drawn a lot of media coverage. And the coverage of the men's singles has been pretty much wall to wall Andy. Now, 90% of you reading this live in the US, so the Andy for you is Andy Roddick. Former world number 1, plagued by injury, currently making a comeback.

For those of us on this side of the pond, Andy is Andy Murray. Current world number 3, climbing his way through the rankings, put on crazy amounts of muscle in the last 2 years and seriously improved his game. And the media will regularly point out that this kid is British. Unless he's losing, then they make clear that he's Scottish. But still...

Murray is Britain's chance of getting their first men's Wimbledon title in a bazillion years. And Roddick is America's first chance of getting the men's title in...not really that many years at all, but still it's the principle of the thing.

So normally in this situation, where there are two teams or players playing each other and I can't figure out who to cheer for, I cheer for the clock. Which...isn't an option in tennis. Hence the teensy conflict. I'm stuck. I don't know what to do.

At this point, I've decided just to cheer for Andy, and let the chips fall where they may.

But it's totally worth it. The trip home was wonderful. It was great to get to see Karen, Baxter, Dan, Katie, Drew, Christina, BJ, and all my folks. I made sure I didn't waste a minute, meaning by the time we got to Chicago I was actually fairly touristed out, and then proceeded to spend 3 days walking all over the city.

And eating. Oh my god. If you love food, go to Chicago. You won't be sorry.

All in all, it was an amazing vacation. What it wasn't, was an amazing travel experience. We were delayed by 4 and a half hours on our way to DC, and almost didn't make it. And then we were delayed by 2 hours on our way out of Chicago and almost didn't make our connection. Luckily the travel gods smiled on us, and we didn't end up having to spend a night in Newark. Hooray!

Now all I have to do is pack to go to Aberdeen. This weekend. Man, I just want a weekend at home.

But, that will be fixed tomorrow afternoon when I will land in...Newark. Hopefully we'll make our connecting flight, because I'd really rather go to DC where everyone is waiting for me!

So, you know, we know I'm not psychic.

When these kind of traumatic events happen, you'll often find people later describe things as a blur. "I don't remember exactly what happened...everything was a blur."

I remember.

I remember the sound Ian made when our guide and a doctor who happened to be on the hike with us pulled his leg out of the hole. His foot rotating in a way that was completely unnatural. Wrapping him up in all of our jackets to keep him warm. How polite and chatty he was with the young doctor while she asked him inane questions just to keep him conscious.

I remember how long it took for the rescue team to get there. How glad I was to see them...all 14 of them...walking across to us. The shoes the policeman was wearing as he pulled my head under his arm so I didn't watch the rescue team taking off Ian's boot and moving him to the stretcher. How angry I was when I saw someone in the parking lot taking pictures of us.

I remember the Icelandic doctor in the ambulance given Ian morphine. Him telling the paramedics that they needed to keep checking the pulse in his foot during the trip to Reykjavik to make sure it still had blood supply. How the driver of our van brought over Ian's other shoes and appologized. How our guide sat on the bumper of the van looking like he was going to be sick.

I remember even bump and jolt of the ride back to Reykjavik. One particularly bad jolt where one of the paramedics fell over and landed on Ian's broken leg. A noise that was worse than the noise when they pulled him out of the hole. Ian wanting morphine, but knowing that getting the injection meant stopping the ambulance which meant longer before getting to the hospital.

I remember getting to the hospital. Begging someone, anyone, to get Ian pain medication. Walking back into his room and finding another young doctor taking care of him, getting him medication, getting him ready to go for an X-ray. I remember the woman from the tour company showing up, offering to take care of everything, chattering to the nurses in Icelandic to figure out what was going on.

I remember being so scared. More scared than I have ever been in my entire life. Getting on the phone to Ian's parents and doing my damnedest not to break down. Looking at Ian's X-ray on a computer in a hallway, with him on a gurney, and seeming oddly upbeat as he looked at his shattered leg. Being sent back to the hotel by a nurse as Ian was taken away for surgery which was likely to last all night.

I remember crying in the shower for an hour. Trying to go to sleep, finally managing. Waking up at 4 am and getting ready and going to the hospital because I didn't know what else to do. The hotel staff getting me a cab and offering to go and fetch me food to take with me. The cabbie knowing about Ian's accident from the newspaper. The nurses on Ian's hall showing me where their break room was so I could get some decent food and coffee if I wanted. The complete lack of visiting hours enforcement.

I remember seeing Ian in bed asleep. Him sleeping most of that day because of the pain medication. One of his surgeons coming in and telling us the surgery went well, the joints weren't affected, and given enough time it would heal very well. Telling us that he would be ok.

Then...and only then...it's all a blur.

First off, I'll be going home to see my parents for my birthday. Which means my mom, who normally would have sent me at least one or two cards by now, hasn't mailed any. Because she can actually give them to me! On my birthday! Imagine!

While home I'll also be seeing a lot of the other people who often send me birthday cards, so obviously they won't be mailing any either. Because international post? Bit pricey.

Still, I do already have a few cards. I even have a gift already from Ian's mom. It came in a package, which had a wrapped present and two envelopes. One of the envelopes has written on the outside "You may open this now, if you wish."

I knew Ian found my whole method of opening birthday cards when I got them rather than saving them until my birthday a bit silly. And I find his method of saving them all until the actual day arrives a bit ridiculous. But, seeing as his family also appears to find my way of doing things...unusual...I figured I'd give their way a chance. I'll still probably open everything the day before my birthday so I don't have to drag them with me on the plane, but until then there's a pile of birthday cards sitting on the dining room table. Mocking me.

I'm not sure I'm going to last.