Went to the big city yesterday with the Tranny Society - which is not as cool as you think, 'Tranny' in this case is short for 'Transfer' - and it was a very, very good day. Better than spending it moping around pining for my lost love (not the laptop). Took some terrible pictures of my friends sleeping in the backseat. Went to the Split Crow, oldest pub in Halifax - it was given the first liquor license in New Scotland (before New Scotland was translated into Latin), 174something. It was totally packed with what looked like all the high school students in Halifax who could get their hands on a fake ID, but the food wasn't bad. Sat next to a rather stunned Tranny who needed some hints to figure out the riddle of me saying "no" when she asked if there was a man (she saw my claddagh) and then telling her that I'm engaged. And we hadn't even started drinking yet.
Wandering around the Maritime Museum with my friends was hilarious. Lots of silly pictures of them pretending to be in boats and hitting on statues of sailors and threatening figureheads of St Patrick and pretending to drown. Fabulous time. Adorable parrot.
And in the realm of om noms - brewery! We went on a tour of the Alexander Keith's Brewery. Om. nom. It was one of those slightly comical tours where you "travel back in time" to learn about the history of the place. A very wide-eyed woman with a terrible accent that was supposed to be old-timey Nova Scotia led us into the "dining room" where we watched a video about Alexander Keith before we were supposed to meet him. Of course, Mr. Keith was late. So we learned about the brewing process from a very excited "apprentice" and then we headed into the Stag's Head pub to try some beer and sing some songs. And of course, it was pub songs so I knew them. Oy. But free beer! Which I shouldn't have drunk because I'm on antibiotics. But it was free beer. I had a glass of the red and a glass of stout. The red was yummy. We had to slam them back, though, because we really got rushed out. We had fun with the three reenactors, though, because they kept saying "Slainte mhath!" and butchered the pronunciation on "Ciad mile failte", and we kept answering in Gaidhlig. They just stared at us.
Apparently "proper thing" is some kind of slogan? They said it every six or seven minutes.
I bought a thundermug as a present to myself.
Then . . . there was Watchmen. Which will be another post when I get my thoughts together, and this one is already eleven miles long.