I am Scottish. Well, one-quarter Scottish. It would be one-eighth, but due to genetics and math, it's one-quarter.
And not just ANY Scottish. I, of course, have more information than the average person needs/cares about so I'll keep this short.
My maternal great-grandmother was a Gregory. A particular Gregory who came from the Clan Gregor. Complete with Castle:
And a tartan:
which I own (completely coincidentally)
I plan on doing some DNA research, but not until after we're moved and settled and there's no chance that my spit will be packed up and lost.
I've been giggling every time I think about it since I discovered it yesterday. Because in order for that to be my castle, roughly 4 bajillion people (some of whom I love dearly) would have to die. But Avril's words still ring a little true. And justify my haggy/superior behavior a little more. Well...in my able-to-rationalize-anything mind it does. wink. And no WONDER I have such expensive tastes. For realz. It also explains my affinity for her:
I don't know if it's ironic or not...I think this actually does fall under that definition, but finding out when and where my ancestors came from when they immigrated to America (in some cases before it was America) makes me feel more patriotic than almost anything else I've done.
And now...for the last word on Being Scottish...Ewan McGregor, speaking the words of Irvine Welsh/John Hodge as directed by Danny Boyle (Who REALLY blows my skirt up)
This is NOT safe for work.