New Look Blogger Event

Current status: unexplainably exhausted & sore thanks to my latest trek to wee ol' Scotland.

After agonizingly trudging down the unforgivably long tunnels of King's Cross/ St. Pancras once more, I'd like to think my trip to Scotland was equally grueling yet breathtaking--literally. Let's start at the beginning (with the main focus of this post, after all).

The New Look Spring/Summer 2015 Blogger Event at 7:45am in the morning = the perfect pick-me-up heaven for any blogger. Levels of retail shopping nirvana greeting me first with a profusion of pastel? Yes, please. I instantaneously plucked a lush, crisp white top with arm cutouts and a demure, black lace bralette as victims of my shopping rampage. Next on my list were some Triangl-Swimwear-inspired bikinis with tropical vibes perfect for my beachside trip to Santorini, Greece and Rome, Italy for Spring Break. I can just imagine all the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants + Lizzie McGuire references dreaming up in my jumbled mind.

As for this last photo of scrumptious morning pastries and salmon-cream cheese bagel bites? There's no way I could resist snapping a shot and devouring the greek yogurt topped with granola on the train ride to Scotland. (To-go please!). Let me just say that when I was referring to "breathtaking" I meant it. After rushing through King's Cross to snatch my duffel bags like a maniac running for the hills, I had to dash through jumbles of backpackers and tourists to St. Pancras only to realize we went to the wrong way. I'd like to think I was "fashionably late" but the beads of sweat generously rolling down my plump, scarlet face made me look anything but fashionable. Thanks Tony Skitt, for not leaving me stranded in London for the weekend. 

Back to Scotland:

Unfortunately, I left without achieving the quintessential Scottish must. What is that exactly? Well for me, it's gracefully channeling my inner Fabio on a galloping sheep across the greenery of Glen Coe while caressing a baby sheep while I don a kilt, serenading natives with my bagpipe skills (my professors would probably slander me for this run-on sentence). Oh, also the reason why I'm sore is because of my climb yesterday to King Arthur's Seat. Disclaimer: It's not an actual seat. If there was one, god knows I'd be sassily signing "Royals" by Lorde as everyone else gets blown away by the wind. Kidding. But honestly, I think I would've tumbled and rolled off the marshy green hills.

I don't even feel bad that I inhaled the Nevis butter shortbread cookies after all the exercise--especially the ceilidh (pronounced "Kelly" in a Southern accent, according to my narcissism). We went to this event where I awkwardly yet playfully did some Scottish, classical dancing. Thanks to  Anna for counting 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 to me aloud while we partner-danced! I couldn't help but cutely gawk in awe over the high-school Swedish students do-si-doeing with grandpas flaunting their traditional kilts. I'd gladly brush up on my nonexistent dancing skills for a first date if I lived in Edinburgh (pronounced Edin-BRUH--I had way too much fun saying that)

We also visited a Ben Nivers whiskey distillery and let me just add that whiskey = not my drink of choice---ever. Fun fact: whiskey is just distilled beer. Some of the handful of tips that the Ron-Swanson-esque tour guide told us was that you never describe whiskey as being "smooth"--it's actually an insult. Also, when whiskey tasting, you have to swish that "jew dew of life" all around your mouth (cue the involuntary gagging for us novices that prefer generic store beer).

Anyways, time to unwind and prepare myself for hours of uni classes & hopefully meet Victoria Beckham at the Bond Street location for class!