Ways to Say I like you

I was having dinner tonight with long time friends Chicken Lady and Blueberry (names have been changed to protect the "innocent".) and we all decided it was time for me to bite the bullet and tell the crush I like him. I know. I know. Many of you, and by many I mean EVERYONE, has told me I need to make the first move. But you see, I'm a girl, if you haven't noticed, trust me I am. And I kinda like the idea of the guy making the first move. That being said, I think if I don't make any move, nothing will happen. I mean, my god it's been 1.5 years since the crush started...then it stopped...then it started again.

So here are a few suggestions I've received:

1. Have a friend email him or post a comment to his blog. What would the comment or email say? "JENN LIKES YOU."
Pro: It gets the point across real quick, no minced words.
Con: It's high school all over. "Hey Vicky, will you pass this note to Mike in gym class? I really like him and can't get up any nerve to be anywhere near him. Thanks."

2. Chicken lady suggested a visit to her parlor ( she provides a service to people and it's not what you're thinking you dirty minded lot) by a free gift certificate for "friends" of mine. While there, she could casually say, "JENN REALLY REALLY LIKES YOU."
Pros: He'd be relaxed and the point would get across to him.
Cons: See #1

3. Send a carrier pigeon with a note that reads, "JENN REALLY REALLY LIKES YOU."
Pros: Carrier pigeons are probably cheap.
Cons: Said carrier pigeon could poop on him, and that would be bad.

4. Send an email that says, "JENN REALLY REALLY LIKES YOU."
Pros: It would definitely get the point across in a simple, efficient manner. I'd be much more confident in the written word, than in person.
Cons: If I misspelled a word it could change the entire meaning and he'd be even more confused...let's just say I misspelled "like" to "licks". I'm just saying.... AND... its the coward way out.

5. Singing telegram: How would that jingle sound exactly?
Pros: He's likely never received a singing telegram before
Cons: A singing telegram...I need to get a grip.

6. Find a song that says what I'm feeling and send it to him on a CD.
Pros: He likes music
Cons: There are so many I can't even begin, the least of which I'm jolted back to college in which Evil X boyfriend sent me a "song" after I broke up with him. What song? Well, the first line goes something like this, "Shot through the heart and you're to blame...you give love...a bad name." So while I do know of a song that would fit this situation perfection there are two issues with it. 1) its country and he hates country and 2) it's country.

7. Send a e-card. I do have one in mind and it would be cute and it would say, "JENN REALLY REALLY LIKES YOU."
Pro: It's cute and funny. To view it click here. Second Row. First card titled "Go Out with Me."
Con: It's not any different than sending an email.

8. Or I can send him a link to a this.
Pros: Again, there'd be no questions
Cons: The guy is a wee bit creepy.

While all these are fantastic ideas, I think the end result is I'm going to have to put on my brave mask and just do it. I mean, what's the worst thing that could happen. He could just say he wants to be friends. Well, actually the worst thing that could happen is he could go running from the room screaming, but I doubt he'd do that.

Any other suggestions?

A weekend with a crush...

All Photos Posted on Flickr

Oliver Wendell Holms said, "Without wearing any mask we are conscious of, we have a special face for each friend."

I discovered this weekend that I too have several masks that I wear. My favorite is smart, chic, charismatic girl. That mask, didn't make the trip. Instead, dopey, sassy, nervous talking girl mask made the trip. And maybe it wasn't as bad as I think it was, but there were times I remember saying to myself (actually there were MANY times) "Stop talking. Just stop talking."

The Crush has now found himself, even though he is unaware of his position, fully planted in my house of Crushness. If I wasn't sure why I had a crush on him before I was reminded this weekend. It's not his looks. Its not really anything physical about him. It's really his kind and giving heart and his extreme intelligence that has solidified his position in my not so secure heart. He has a smile that can charm a snake - not that I'm saying I'm a snake, but I was charmed by it. Oh, never mind. Bad example.

I digress.

We departed on Friday much later than planned and hit the ferry dock at 4pm. We waited for about an hour for the ferry, and we were off. Sitting in the ferry line the talk was simple, pleasant, and unassuming. Inside I was freaking out like a mad woman wondering how on earth I was going to make it through the weekend and not show my "human" side. Then suddenly like a weeping willow branch smacking me aside my face it dawned on me, "Perhaps your "human" side isn't so bad. Let him see you." Then suddenly my anxiety was gone. I felt better about just being me. I mean, people generally like me, a few who will remain nameless don't, but overall, I think I'm a good, down to earth, somewhat entertaining and enjoyable person. And clearly he's seen part of that or else he wouldn't have agreed to go on a weekend trip with me. He had ample opportunities to back down and/or change his mind. A weekend is a lifetime if you're with someone you don't like.

Now, where was I...oh yes. The Crush....

The Crush had two jobs for this trip: music and navigation. He told me earlier in the week to not concern myself with how we'd get there, he'd take care of it. And he told me I didn't need to worry about music as he'd bring a lot of his - which is really his way of saying, "No really, let me bring the GOOD music." His "taking care of navigation" meant all major freeways were to be avoided if at all possible. His "taking care of music" meant I got an opportunity to hear a ton of music I normally wouldn't ever listened to. I don't remember any of it, but I do remember that I liked what he brought. He seemed to have put significant thought into what I might or might not like since several times he mentioned out of his 1000 CDs he had to think about what might stretch my music taste and what would already fit into it.

Once on the other side, we stopped and had dinner at a nice little Crepe shop. The Crush had been there before and recommended it. The crepes were delicious and a perfect amount of food to not make me fall asleep on the drive.

As we crept closer to our destination, I got a bit more anxious about the possibility of having to share a VERY small bed with the Crush. Not that I thought anything would happen (a girl can hope though) but just the logistics and weird-ness of sharing a fairly intimate location with someone you don't know all that well. As it turned out, the hotel room had a futon and a bed. Which is good, because the double bed was pushed up against a wall, which meant one of us would have been stuck inside. Whew. Got out of that one.

Westport Washington is a quaint little, and by little I mean wittle town. Tiny actually. We had seen all of Westport by Saturday noon, and we started about 10. We ate breakfast at a fun little cafe called Barbara's in the Marina district of Westport. Good food, and decent price. The waitress amused me greatly because we were "hun" and "dear" to her. "Finished with that plate dear?" "More coffee huh?" Loved it. The charm of a small coastal town.

After Barbara's breakfast we wondered through the rest of "main" street and down to the beach. Long, sandy beaches, but not in the tropical sense, just beautiful. And the sound...I had forgotten at how loud wave crashing on the shore could be.

Back through town I made the Crush stop in a little shop so I could pick up some salt water taffy. You can't go into a coastal town and not buy taffy...I mean really. He didn't seem all that excited about the taffy until I pointed out cinnamon ones. All of which he ate.

We wondered our way to try to find the Westport Lighthouse. According to the map it was at the state park. We drove to the park. Walked to the beach. Nothing. Looked south...nothing. Looked north...nothing. Bewildered as to why the lighthouse wasn't on the beach, we turned to leave. As we left, the Crush noticed the lighthouse inland. Odd. But then again, this was Westport and things were seeming more odd than they should here.

The lighthouse is supposedly the tallest in Washington. It stands at 107 feet tall. I like lighthouses, but wasn't overly impressed with this one. Seemed out of place in the middle of the wooded area instead of on the beach.

We drove into Aberdeen to see a movie later that afternoon. We went to the "mall" in Aberdeen. And I use the word "mall" loosely. It had a JC Penny's, a Sears and a cinema from what I could tell. Inside by the cinema was a "food court" that consisted of a Dairy Queen and a Blimpie subs...that's it. And the food court was closed by the time we got out of the movie around 6:30. Weird. From there we drove to Ocean Shores to check out this little town.

Ocean Shores is on the other side of Gray's Harbor from Westport. Once there we noticed several hundred Harley riders. Great. A Harley festival in town. Scary lot they are. Though most of them were likely mid 40's and wore a suit and tie during the week. We drove through to the beach - I should mention here that at this point the Crush is driving the Mustang. Not just anyone gets to drive the 'stang, so you know this is serious right? - There were roads in Ocean Shores that literally allow you to drive onto the beach. We took one of these roads, and I cautioned the Crush about getting the car stuck. His response was, "Well I can always take a bus back, but the captain goes down with the ship." Traitor!

Sunday we headed back. Instead of heading straight back we decided to drive up the coast a bit to Moclips and Pacific Beach. From there we drove up Hood Canal which had Hwy 101 directly on the shore. It was beautiful country.

Our drive home took longer than planned and we ended up taking the Bainbridge Ferry back instead of the one we took to the coast. Once we crossed the water, and were back in Seattle, I mentioned that I was getting hungry (it was, after all 8:30PM) and asked if he wanted to have dinner. I figured he'd say, "Nah, I'm kinda tired, let's just head home." But instead, he said very enthusiastically,"Yah let's!" He rambled off a few options, but we couldn't decide. Finally I said, "Pick the first restaurant that comes to mind." His response was Serafina. Delish. I hadn't been to Serafina in forever. A bit more pricey than I think we had planned, but it was well worth it.

So, I know you're all wondering, what now? And frankly I don't know. I do know that I felt on several occasions during the week that he wanted to talk to me about something but didn't know where to start, or how to start. I'd catch him watching me every now and then and the look he had wasn't one of disgust...but more like he was trying to decide what to do. I do know that we had a fantastic time. The conversations we had were natural and (for me) educational in many ways.

So, with that my weekend ended. I'm exhausted, but am so glad to have gone. It'll be a memory I'll put in the "must be remembered" box. In the end, I think I have found, at the minimum, a good friend for a lifetime.

I must be predisposed to stupidity

I'm sure it's not just me, but there are days I feel like I am the only idiot out there. (No comments from the peanut gallery please).

Some of my long time readers know of the Crush, who then became the XCrush. Well the XCrush is possibly back to being a Crush (insert my predisposition to stupidity here). If I could figure out why I'm so attracted to this guy I could possibly counter any and all feelings by logic, which as you all are aware, logic has nothing to do with feelings and relationships.

But I digress...let me tell you a story. Sit back. Get a beer. It might be a long one. And anyone who thinks they don't need to know such details about me (sister, daughter, co-worker, friend) stop reading. Spoilers ahead!

If one were to search on the word "crush" in my blog, one would be surprised how much I use that word. Mind you not all related to the actual crush, many related to DMQ - coincidence?

So I've liked this guy for WAY too long and have always been a pansy about saying anything. It was far better, in my mind, to not say anything and live in this fantasy world of "what if". I know logically it's a silly place to be, but fun none the less. Anyhow, I met the Crush in a PM class and never got up enough nerve to actually talk to him. So I suppose I didn't really "meet" him, I was attracted to him from afar - which happens frequently in my life. The class ended and I assumed so did any chance of me getting to know him. Then he showed up again in my life in a capacity that allowed for me to "get to know" him. Then through the past year and a half I've been "getting to know" him.

Yes, read that sentence again YEAR AND A HALF. I've flirted - apparently now well enough and have made it somewhat know of my interest by merely inviting him to do things - which he's done on several occasions. So he must enjoy my company at the very least, right?

Fast forward to the beginning of this summer. I had mentioned last year the possibility of going to Westport for a "get out of dodge" adventure to take the Mustang on. Last summer didn't work out for various reasons I'm not compelled to bore you with. This summer, we made a plan. We talked and we decided on a weekend, in which I thought meant a day. This is where the Men are From Mars theory proves itself once again. I (Venus) was thinking day trip, he (Mars) was thinking weekend trip.

So weekend trip is it.

I started calling places to stay and in short order determined that the "beach" during the summer is a very difficult place to get any reservations. My main concern was sleeping arrangements. I didn't want to assume one bed. While I'd be fine with that - I didn't want to presume that he would be fine with that. And my desire for two beds guaranteed, at least a little, that I'd get more sleep than if I were in one bed. NOT for the reason you filthy minded people are thinking (my mother reads this for heaven's sake - although she'd be likely to root me on...) but more for my anxiety of spending time, in a bed, with a boy whom I like...I mean he'd see my human" side not my "girly - well prepared - well put together" side of which he is accustomed to seeing now. The cook, the hostess, the girl who can project manage.

And so, I searched for a two bed scenario. After calling about 20 hotels I was left with a small option. And by small, I mean small.

And so we reach my situation. Mildly amusing for many, not so amusing for me. I have reserved a room at a hotel in which the only room available has a long double bed. What does that mean? It means a bed the width of a double, length of a queen. Do any of you see my dilemma? I WILL BE STAYING in a very small bed with a guy I like! A double bed? My cat's bed is bigger than a double bed. Oh the horror!

For those "friends" out there who have provided me with your advice, I thank you...I think. I won't bore you with the details, just suffice it to say I'm only considering a small portion of said advice since the rest of the advice is, well, race-y. For those who have not participated in the advice giving, please do feel free to leave any if you feel so inclined.

And in case you're wondering, I'm only on chapter 10 of HP. I did, however, read the last chapter. What? I can't help it! I told you, I'm predisposed to stupidity.

Do Not Disturb! I have a date!

Please don't think I'm ignoring you. It's just that I'm busy. Be back in a few days. I am currently on a date with Harry Potter. It'll be our last date, but one in which I intend to take full advantage of. I'm sure I won't be as innocent after this date as I was before. I'm just saying.

"Surely you can't be serious.I am serious and don't call me Shirley."

12:01AM - July 20
We have luggage. The significance of the time stamp above is the time they delivered the luggage. Let me walk you through the experience.

Me: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Them: BANG BANG Knock Knock

Me: "Pookie, someone's at the door."

Pookie: "So get up and get it, I am the King and I don't have opposable thumbs. And while you're up...feed me" ( Pookie didn't really say that, but I imagined that's what he would have said if he could talk.)

Me: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ - stumble trip ... unlock door

Them: Luggage?

(At this point its important to point out two things to you. 1) My sarcastic button was apparently switched off because this morning I can think of a hundred ways to answer this kid and 2) The Kid delivering the luggage couldn't have been more than 12 and certainly didn't know any English words other than "luggage" since he repeated it three times.

Me: (waking a bit and realize this kid has my LUGGAGE) Like a giddy teenager in a high pitch squeal I say, "YAY!"

Everything is accounted for. Though it looked like someone ransacked the bag. I'm a very neat packer (its a talent I possess). What appeared to me wasn't neat.

Lost Luggage

No, the luggage hasn't arrived yet. But I have hope. In the meantime, friend Margo sent this to me to cheer me up.

If you ever felt there was nothing you could do, this post is for you.

Okay, I’ll stop whining about my lost luggage just long enough to tell you about something great happening right now. Now. I mean now.

My younger bro (well he’s older, but the youngest of the three older brothers and apparently my twin – long story) is someone I’m very proud of at this moment. I don’t get an opportunity to say that too often anymore, but today I am very proud. He has been training for the past several months to walk in the Susan G. Komen 3-day Cancer walk. It’s 60 miles in three days. As I’ve mentioned he’s been training for months and is (or has by now) surpassed the 1000 training miles walking. More than I’ll do in a life time.

I suspect we all know someone who has gone through breast cancer. And if not I’m sure you will at some point. It was just four years ago that Blueberry went through her battle with breast cancer. I still marvel at the fact of how young she was and how scary the entire ordeal was. I remember feeling helpless and useless on many occasions. That year I organized a team for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I was humbled by all the survivors and even more in aw at all the people who came out of the woodwork to support our team and Blueberry. We raised $10,000 that year and had 38 people on our team.

I’m posting this for my brother to reach out to everyone who reads my blog. While I can’t walk with him (well I could, but I can’t) I’m supporting him 100%. If any of you feel so inclined to support him, here’s his information.

***********************************************************************

My name is Ric Wraspir, and in recent years many persons in my family and inner circle of friends have been affected by breast cancer. Most recently, my mother and my cousin have battled and are currently celebrating survivorship. With this inspiration I have decided to participate in the 2007 Breast Cancer 3-Day walk. I'll walk 60 miles over the course of three days with thousands of other women and men with a common goal to “end breast cancer forever.”

Without a cure, 1 in 8 women in the U.S. will continue to be diagnosed with breast cancer – a devastating disease with physical, emotional, psychological and financial pain that can last a lifetime. These numbers have created a scary awareness to me with a wife, two daughters, aunts, sister, nieces and contact with scores of young ladies in youth sports. The realization that one of these women may become one of these statistics is disheartening. Everyone deserves a lifetime.

Now you understand why this is so important to me and understand why I'm asking for your financial support. I've committed to raise at least $2,200 in donations. My personal stretch goal is set at $6,000. So, I need your help. It's hard asking my friends and neighbors for money, but this cause and this event are very important to me. I hope that you can make a tax deductible donation of $50, $100, or more. I trust you will designate the amount that's right for you. The net proceeds benefit Susan G. Komen for the Cure and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund.

There are several easy ways to donate.

By Mail: Mail your contribution to me and I will submit proper paperwork to get your donation acknowledged and a receipt sent to you.
Checks payable to “Breast Cancer 3-Day”

Ric Wraspir
3810 NE 113th St
Seattle, Wa. 98125

By Phone: Call 800-996-3DAY. Mention that I am participating in Seattle and my Supporter Number (160764370) and your donation will make it to my total and a receipt will get sent to you.

By Web: Donate through my personal webpage Receipts will be sent to you.

So, yes, this is a plea for your emotional and financial support. I thank you in advance for your support and for taking this journey with me. I look forward to seeing your name on my honor roll of donators.

Ric Wraspir
savingsecondbase@cs.com
2007 – Breast Cancer 3-Day

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Have you seen my luggage?

Yes, boys and girls, my luggage is still in London. Actually, I’m not 100% sure if that is true or not. Truth is, I do know where it is. I’m merely assuming it’s still in London. I do know, without a doubt, it’s not with me. It didn’t jump off the plane at the airport on Sunday and hasn’t been seen since I sent it on its baggage belt journey to the back caverns of British Airways in Heathrow.

Upon my arrival in Seattle, I marched through passport control with no issues. Right down to baggage claim. I was amusing myself watching Molly the Fruit/drug sniffing Beagle lay claim to many bags of fruit that were later confiscated. I was tired, and admittedly a bit cranky from the long trip. I mean 4 movies, three sitcoms and two not so good meals will do that to even the most charming of girls. I waited with all the other tired souls from my flight, when suddenly God was speaking to me. Okay, it wasn’t God, but the British Airways official. She called out 20 or so names to meet her ghkd;fisur;e;sldjf;hgadjf (that would be what I heard over the speaker.) I flagged down a BA looking rep who directed me to this poor woman whose job it is to inform people their luggage neglected to make the journey.

Is that like the worst possible job ever?

She was pleasant and assured me my luggage would be delivered to me on Monday by 4pm. At 7pm when no luggage had yet arrived, I started thinking about her ridiculous statement the day before. There’s one flight from Heathrow to Seattle nonstop that I could find. It doesn’t actually land until 4:35. So even under the best scenario IF (and apparently that was a big IF) my luggage managed to get on that flight and IF it had landed on time and IF the baggage handlers knew what they were doing then the earliest my luggage would arrive would be 8pm ish. Regardless, it’s Tuesday, almost noon and no luggage.

They did, however, give me an ubber special URL to go to with my secret baggage code to “track it’s progress”. So like any obsessive person I’ve been watching that site hourly. It hasn’t changed. Not one word on it has changed. In the “status” field is says, “ No information has been received.”

I’m starting to get paranoid now and have done an inventory of all that would be lost if the luggage doesn’t show up. I’ll do my very best to not cry, but man…all my favorite clothes and shoes are in that bag. As is one of my makeup/hair stuff, my macro lenses for my new camera (Yes I know. I should have carried it on. I’m an idiot. Thankfully it was my old macro lens that if I do lose just gives me a reason to buy a new one), my little HP camera, all the goodies I purchased in London, all my notes from my week’s worth of work, two journals I faithfully brought back for PMDude, and of course, my power chord to my laptop.

It’s nice to be home though. While it’s so much fun to go, there’s something about coming home that is refreshing. I do have to say, I never once had jetlag. On the way there I was fine, and one the way back I was fine too. Wonder if there’s something magical and special about me. (No comments from the Peanut Gallery please.)

And I'll leave you with this. In recent posts I talked about their signs and their crazy round-abouts for driving. I mentioned to a colleague in Tortworth about the craziness of roundabouts and she directed me to look up the Magic Roundabout of Swindon. It has FIVE roundabouts in one BIG ASS roundabout. So I pulled these beauties off the web.

The Official Drawing

The Official Signage and Chaos

Bloody Foreigners

All UK Photos have been uploaded to Flickr.

Saturday July 14th
I decided this morning that the Big Bus tour should be what I do this time. I headed toward Buckingham Palace since that was where I hopped on the bus the day before. I rounded the corner onto Buckingham Court and saw the office for the Big Bus. Went in, paid my 22 GBP ($44) and off I went. Hopped on the bus – just me. Off we went. It was early, only about 9AM. It was pleasant to not have the bus full of those bloody tourists. This tour took me through other fantastic sections of London. We went past many of the things I had seen the day before. Only this time I stayed on the bus. We drop past the Tower Bridge, The Tower of London, closer to the London Eye, and I hopped off at Buckingham Palace just in time for the changing of the guards. Buckingham Palace was swarming with tourists. Millions. The changing of the guards was all the pomp and circumstance I expected it to be, yet not that thrilling. It might have had something to do with the BAZILLION tourists. I heard around me 5 different languages other than English.

The London Eye. Just look how big that is compared to the office building to the left.

The Tower of London. I thought the Tower of London was, well, a tower. Apparently not. Anne Boleyn and some King lost their heads there.

The Parliament Building and Big Ben.

I battled my way through the crowd (You all know how I love crowds) and found myself in a nice little pub for lunch. I gasped when I got the bill and saw that I spent $8 on two diet cokes. God I miss the free refill. I decided to come back to the hotel for a breather and ended up taking a nap for about 3 hours. Woke up in time for dinner. Had the worse meal of my trip in the hotel restaurant. And by worst I mean HORRIBLE.

Changing of the Guards

The Tower Bridge. Many folks confuse this with the London Bridge - which is actually in Lake Havasu California.

Sunday July 15, 2007
My God. My trip through Heathrow Airport can be summarized in one word: Chaos! Not only did British Airways have a malfunctioning baggage belt, which backed up the masses, but the masses were MASSIVE. I haven’t experienced this onslaught of people in, well since the Changing of the Guard. People of all nationalities trying to get to their destination. None of BA’s customer service people actually appeared to have taken any customer service training. You couldn’t pay me enough to deal with the public who is trying to travel in a foreign country. There was little to no compassion to any of the passengers and in fact were seen as more angry then helpful. I asked a question to one young woman wearing a BA uniform who barked back,”Do I look like Customer service?” Um, yah I thought. But whatever. I gave her my best charming smile and simply asked if she could direct me to customer service. She shrugged and simply nodded her head to the left. I assumed that meant go that way. Another young woman from Thornbury was also trying to find where we needed to go so we bonded in the queue and laughed at the chaos all around us. Once through the mayhem, I made it to the customer counter. “Bad News”, says Sammy the counter clerk, “but all we have is a center seat.” I asked what the charge would be to upgrade and he informed me there were no seats. Ugh. A center seat for 10 hours. I figured I had fought the war of just getting that far, surely sitting in the middle for 10 hours couldn’t be much worse.

Through security, something went off and I got “searched” – by hand. I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of what was happening to me, but I had flashbacks to my days of leaving Saudi when being frisked really meant going into a room full of smelly Arab women who apparently got off filling you up. I made the mistake one time of wearing a skirt. Since then I never travel in skirts. The flash back past me, a nice looking young lady directed me to a small area. She wand frisked me not hand frisked me. Stupid underwire set off the alarms. Reminder: Toss that bra when you get home.

And then, freedom. Getting to the other side I could only imagine was like crossing over the border to a land full of promise. In front of me Duty Free shops that puts the Mall of America to shame. For some dumb reason I thought of my St. Louis Sister-in-Law who would have been in heaven with all these shops…and tax free. Remembering I had – “had” is a lose term here – to buy myself and friends some Cadbury, I hopped into World Duty Free. 40 GBD later (that’s $80 to you and I) I have about 14 lbs of chocolate, Johnny Walker Fudge (Yes Johnny Walker fudge – have yet to decide if I’ll give that away), and Tobleron’s. My plan is to share the wealth, but if I know myself well enough, the “wealth” may just be me.

And so here I sit in a bar, Stella in hand (incidentally I tried to recount how many stella’s I’ve had on this trip and since I only have 10 fingers I stopped counting), delicious mozzarella, tomato and basil pannini, and a computer. What more could a girl want? And so my UK adventure ends. I consider myself quite fortunate to have made it through with little to no issues other than I’m literally down to my last pound – well besides the ones I’m saving. I need to travel more. But I need to rest first. Home sweet home! Its so nice to travel, but why is it so nice to come back to all the comforts of home?

I made it home but my luggage opted to spend another night in London. Oh well. I'd rather lose my bags on the way home than on the way to vacation.

Friday the 13th in the United Kingdom

Friday July 13th

Cirencester in Bloom!

We decided to work from home today since we’d be taking me to the coach by 1pm. We also decided we’d better discuss the project which brought me to the UK - finally. We went off to have our working meeting at a local breakfast place called Relish. Al had mentioned to me that I “must” try a buttery bacon or bacon buttery sandwich. Let’s just say that it has bread. It has butter. And it has the UK version for bacon. I know I’ve said this a few times but..Oh.My.God. It was heaven in the form of a sandwich. I almost asked for two. But I thought that might be a wee bit obsessive.

Buckingham Palace

Hoped on a coach heading for London. Such beautiful country side. Rolling hills, green, farms, sheep. Lots and lots of sheep. But I arrived safely. I had quite a difficult time hailing a taxi from the coach station to the hotel. As it turned out I almost walked the entire way. Once in a cab, I swear we just drove around the corner. But I made it.

Deposited my suitcase, went to the WC (water closet for you non British type), grabbed my camera and I was out the door. First stop Buckingham Palace. Did you know the Royal family had their own website? Weird huh! I had my map and I was sure I’d find it with no problem. I would be wrong. I walked in circles for about 45 minutes before seeing a friendly looking bloke and asked him directions. Come to find out I was basically walking around it. I had a flashback of a trip to Hawaii when mom, Blueberry and I drove in circles trying to find the Punch Bowl, only to find out we were, in fact, driving around it.

Westminster Abbey

Buckingham Palace was everything I knew it would be. It’s the official London home of the Queen and was built in 1702. Queen Victoria was the first queen to actually live in the palace and it’s been home to all the royalty since. I opted to walk through St. James park and head to where I didn’t know. St. James Park was palatial and beautiful.

The Parliament Building

At the end of the park I found a tour bus. I thought it was still early so I hopped on. I figured they’d ask for my $$ eventually. They never did. So I road through a good part of London on the Big Bus. It drove me through Trafalgar Square, Picadilly, and toward Westminster Abbey. I opted to hop off and see Big Ben. Glad I did. It was perfect weather. And Big Ben is fascinating. Large and ornate. It is the icon of London. I think I took 40 photos of Big Ben itself. Across the Thames is The London eye. For a millisecond I thought I’d walk over and take a trip. Then saw how high it went and I quickly decided not to. I wondered around Big Ben and the Parliament building snapping photo after photo. Across the street is Westminster Abbey. Stunning really. It was closed and so I couldn’t go in, which was fine, I preferred the outside architecture.

Big Ben

I pulled out my trusty map and tried to find my way home. Surprisingly enough I found the Grange Rochester fairly easily – after I walked around it three times. The funny thing about this hotel is they upgraded me to a "suite". When asked the difference they said the beds. I figured twin versus Queen. No it means two twins versus three. So I have three twin beds in my room. Hilarious! Now Me, Myself and I will be comfortable. My “view” is one that only will get one small sentence about it. It consists of a brick wall and a roof.

Dogging & Bangers & Mash

Last night didn’t turn out quite as we had planned, which is fine because I got educated on a few other UK –isms.
Before I get too far into last night I wanted to educate you all on where I am exactly. CM is just outside Bristol in Tortworth. Al's place is in Cirencester, which isn't listed here, but I believe is North.

We had to work a bit later than scheduled to get a few last minute things done and so we (and by “we” I mean Al) opted to take the motorway home. The scenery to me was still fantastic and kept me mostly entertained. We couldn’t put the top down unfortunately because 1) it was later and a bit cooler and 2) we were going to be driving fast on the motorway. Off we went, at a speed I dare not mention in a blog for fear of law enforcement officers reading it and consequently sending a speeding ticket to Al. Suffice it to say, it was three digits in MPH.

Along the way, Al mentioned a view point to swing into and see the lay of the land. Excellent idea. I had my camera in hand and ready to see the sites. As we pulled into this view point she says, “Now I must warn you this is a local hont for dogging.” Um, what? Was it a dog park? Did people bring their dogs here to play? No. In fact dogging is having sex in a car whilst people watch. Suddenly my interest was piqued – which probably isn’t a good thing. But I’ve not seen British porn yet, so why not add that to the odd things I’ve seen/done/heard in the UK. But alas we were all safe, no dogging to be found. It was still light out after all. Though according to Al’s husband that really wouldn’t have mattered. And yes I did look about to see if there was any dogging go around. You would too, admit it.

Upon arriving at home, we were scheduled to go to the Working Mans Club and watch Skittles. Al’s husband had already prepared our dinner for us but had left to … to… is it “go skittling”? Anyhow, he wasn’t there. Dinner last night was the infamous Bangers & Mash. Oh. My. God. Was it good. Bangers = sausage. Mash = Mashed potatoes. As Al was serving me dinner (which by the way I’m getting very used to) a thought occurred to me, “I have heard mention of this illusive “blood sausage”….oh dear God no. “ I know I never would be able to stomach blood sausage. So I nonchalantly asked Al what types of sausage we were having. She thankfully said Pork. Whew! Safe! Stomachs stuffed with Bangers & Mash, Gravy, Mange tout (or snow peas to you and I) and left over lemon tart with clotted cream, Al started working on her wireless network at home. The idea was to get it running so we could “work from home” on Friday. At one point she asked if I wanted to go out, we still could. Though I realized it was half past nine and there was no way I would be going anywhere. So a lovely evening at home. British soap operas, a smutty novel, Bailey’s Irish cream, and Cadbury chocolate…that sounds like an excellent evening to me.

I’ve enjoyed myself immensely while here in the United Kingdom. I’m excited to head to London tomorrow, but sad to be leaving all these lovely people I’ve met. So far every person I’ve met has been nicer than the last. It must be their accents that make them nice. Or its in the tea they drink. (it can’t be in the water because it’s vile and anyone who drank it wouldn’t be chipper). I've especially enjoyed the hospitality of everyone here. The fact that when anyone is going into the kitchen everyone in the room is asked if they'd like tea. I've been waited on hand and foot and it just baffles me...and it's something I'm getting kinda used too. Makes me wonder if PMDude will be up for the challenge of getting me my tea when I return? And here is a photo of the house.

This will likely be my last post until I return on Sunday, unless I can find a wireless café in London which frankly I would rather be off taking photos.

So until then, Cheery O! Cheers! Ta! And all that …

Instant coffee, calf liver and Becks

First thing that has struck a memory chord with me is the instant coffee. The coffee reminds me of my days in high school where we had instant coffee in our room before breakfast. There’s something very familiar about the flavor or lack thereof. Ohh how I miss my Starbucks!

I went on a tour of Cirencester last night. We got a later start than we planned so many of my photos aren’t so great. I didn’t have time to put on the “photographer” hat so I apologize that these aren’t of great quality. Don’t fear though, I’m heading out on my own tonight to wonder through the town and do some real shooting. It’s such a beautiful little town, I could spend days wondering and finding new things to shoot. Every cobblestone, every door, every hedge it seems has history to it. Each of the houses/buildings that are historical have a date on them – many of them are from the 1700’s or 1600’s. Al is a fantastic tour guide. She’s quite knowledgeable about her little town.

After our round about tour, we stopped to have a drink and “nibbles” – which is a separate category from appetizers I found out. Though they looked the same as the appetizers. We sat and just got a menu when her husband, Chris, joined us. He’s a good old bloke. Funny and quite amusing. He’s been teaching me about the Tour de France and a few other sport types.

The waitress approached us and before we could say anything she blurted out in a very heavy Northern English accent “We ‘ave no calf liver.” Now, imagine if you will the stunned look I must have had. Never EVER in my life has anyone ever uttered those words to me in a restaurant. Calf liver? Surely she must have been joking. But no, she was quite serious. I wanted a beer but had no idea which one was good. Chris ordered me a Becks. Hooked! It’s a refreshing beer for me and not heavy at all. So I had a few.

As I perused the menu I had to ask for translation of things like picalilli, mash, belini, etc. I was at a loss with what to order. Thankfully Al took charge and we ordered several appetizers and nibbles. We sat, ate, chatted, laughed, ate some more and of course drank. Her husband Chris must have put down 4 pints of beer the entire time we were there. And he appeared to be non worse the wiser. They were joking with me that some of their beers aren’t filtered too much so occasionally you find a piece of straw in the beer. I almost believed him. Almost.

Tonight I’m off to wonder Cirencester on my own, and then to a Working Man’s club (which reminds me of prostitutes for some reason) for beer and skittles (it’s a game – not the candy).

Norman Church in the center of town.

Just an old door. It had a significance of which I can't remember right now. Something about the oldest door in the country of something ridiculous about that.

Notice the buildings are leaning. Its hard to see, but they are. Trust me.

Their street name signs are generally on the walls of the buildings. I found this one exceptionally pretty.

Another pretty door. There are tons of old doors here. As we were wondering around, Al would say something like, "oh that building is owned by someone". When I'd ask how she knew that, she'd say, "Well the color of the door." Dah. There is a family who owned a vast majority of Cirencester and property that is still under the family have tan doors. Red doors mean the building is owned by another, etc.

The barracks. Yes,barracks. I don't know the history behind why they are the barracks, but I guarantee you I will. Interestingly enough, the company CM was built off of used to work in this building.

One Language divided by two countries.

I speak English. At least I thought I did.

They speak English here, at least I thought they did.

And yet, I can’t understand a bloody thing. I know they’re speaking English. And I can hear the words, but the combination of what they say coupled with a heavy accent makes comprehension right near impossible. I have, however, started thinking with an accent. Even as I type this, in my head, it comes out with an accent. So I would highly recommend from here on to read this post with a heavy british accent.

Case in point: A woman at the grocery store asked me if I wanted a small bag for my purchase. I thought she said do I have a small pound. I looked at Al and asked what a small pound was. She just rolled her eyes and answered the woman.

Another case in point: We were driving along – very fast – on this narrow, winding country road and we come across a Lorry. Yah, exactly what I did. What the hell is a lorry? Well, if you must know it’s a delivery truck. We call them semi trucks in the US – though they aren’t as big here.

I watched a soap opera last night and understood about 1/5th of it. I mean after all it was a soap opera…how hard are they to understand.

The other funny thing to me are the road signs. Of the signs we past yesterday my favorite was a traingular sign, with bold read around the trim. In the middle a LARGE red exclamation point. Under it said 400 meters. So, what? I'm going to run into a very large exclamatiion point in 400 meters. Then what? They also have the standard Deer Xing signs. Though yesterday one of the signs I saw said, "Elderly". Um? Is that Elderly crossing, or Elderly at play. Or just beware that old people are in the area and may not know what the hell they are doing.

Let’s get back to the narrow, winding country road for a moment. I cannot BELIEVE how narrow some of their roads are here. And by narrow I mean N-A-R-R-O-W! Nor can I believe how fast they drive through these narrow roads (or on the motorway for that matter. We were doing 90 on the way back from Windsor Castle. I asked Al if they clock their speed in MPH or Kilometers. She said MPH - GULP!). The odd part is it seems like they are in complete control. As if they know what they’re doing. I’d take a photo of these roads, but I’m too busy grasping the door handle. And yet I don’t actually feel afraid for my life. It’s a very odd situation to be in.

You think this sign is a joke, but I'm not kidding when I say that I've seen more than my fair share of signs like this...and frankly, how they get around their round'abouts is beyond me. I swear nothing makes sense. And yet, they all seem to know what's going on.

I didn’t take a single picture yesterday. They actually had me working. The nerve. Then by the time we got home it was dinner and a 3 course meal at that – which according to Al’s husband isn’t the norm. We had Caprese Salad ( tomatoes, fresh mozzarella and olive oil), chicken broccoli lasagna, and the “after” was a lemon tart with clotted cream. Oh and before dinner, of course, we took part in having a Pimms.

Tonight I get the tour of Cirencester. I can hardly wait. As we drive through it Al points out things like "That's the oldest hedge in the country" or "that's the oldest hospital in all creation". (joking of course, but I swear every discriptive word is "oldest").

UK or Bust!

I can't help but sit in the airport and think of that movie "Planes, Trains and Automobiles." One of the best movies ever made, IMHO. And sadly somewhat true in how complicated and tiring traveling can be. Along with tiring, one does have an opportunity to witness human nature in action. watch people, but the airport is a close second.

Sitting in the bar (dah) I watched people around me. At one table a group of young lads drink up the tequila in the bar. All laughing and carrying on as if they just got laid and can’t believe how lucky they were. Another table is host to a group of exactly the opposite – old men. All four of them have just returned from a trip of male bonding. The oldest must be 80 and the youngest must be 60. Clearly the best of friends. The group sit and recount their trip and continue to joke with inside jokes. One has a hearty laugh that makes me smile every time I hear them. It makes me miss my grandpa.

Another table there appears to be a group of Asian folk that don’t quite understand that their young daughter is not allowed in the bar. The waitress tries, unsuccessfully to tell them she has to leave. She points to the girl and point out of the bar. To the girl, out of the bar. The Asian couple…clueless.

I got her early, go figure. And by early I mean E-A-R-L-Y! 4 hours early. A lot by Jenn Wraspir standards even. So I found myself a bar, have myself a Stella (or two or three – what? I was directed by my lead PM to drink before I get on the plane.), my photography book and my camera. I’m set. Now, all I have to do is try to stagger to the gate in time.

So I actually made it. The flight was slightly delayed, of course. And we sat on the Tarmac for about 30 minutes once we got here. That truly is psychological torture. I mean, you get so close to getting off the plane and then – psyche – no can do. You must sit and wait. The only other downside to the trip was Mr. Stinky who I was fortunate to sit next to. I think I finally got used to his stench because it wasn’t until we got off the plane and he was in front of me that I remembered he stunk. PEE UUU!

I did a fair share of profiling while waiting in Seattle too. I have to admit I’m a terrible person. Every single person who didn’t look “quite right” to me was a terrorist. I had short little conversations with myself that included a bit of scolding. Lucky for all of us, my profiling stinks.

While in the UK, I’ll be staying with our Lead PM (Al - short for PM Goddess, or Alison) who has been gracious enough to play tour guide. She picked me up at the Starbucks right outside baggage claim and customs, and don’t freak out, but I didn’t actually want or get a Starbucks. I know! Odd, no?

Off we went in her convertible, it was actually sunny and beautiful. We sped off towards Windsor Castle. And don't mind me saying, but it's a real castle. The Queen apparently was in residence as a “special” flag was flying overhead. I took a photo of it, but as luck would have it the wind died down. So really, this photo is of that flag.

This is Queen Victoria.

Windsor was a beautiful little town. Full of tourists – go figure! We didn’t actually have time to tour the castle, which was fine by me, my brain wasn’t exactly functioning anyhow. I did manage to get significant sleep on the plane so I was more raring to go then originally thought I might be. Anyhow, Al and I wondered through Windsor – up and down cobblestone streets – which, BTW is great on the feet when wearing sandals with a slight heal on them. Good times.

This is this funky Crooked House of Windsor. It wasn't the photographer and any amounts of drink, no this house is truly crooked.

We decided we needed refreshments and so stopped in a little Italian café (Yes I know I’m in England and not Italy) had some bruschetta, olives and a nice Peroni Beer. Al decided we “needed” to visit the little store attached to this café. Upon entering downstairs, there on the counter were the biggest meringues I’ve ever seen. We snatched up three and off we went. Now, notice that meringue is in a normal bowl. It was HUGE...


Cirencester is a nice cute little town. I realized as we drove in that the size was much larger than I was originally led to believe. (You know who you are). We drove through the streets and I felt the same giddy feeling I used to feel when seeing such historic wonders. I just love the quaint-ness of these small towns.

We didn’t have time to wonder much through the town. I figured I’m there all week I can easily get into trouble then. When we got to Al's place we did have a scone with jam and clotted cream. Certainly different from the clotted cream we just tested in the US office. Creamy and full of goodness. Al did manage an excellent meal of Scrouse or something like that. It was a sort of lamb stew then we had marinated red cabbage on the side with it. I also partook in an English drink called Pimms. Can't really explain the taste, other than yummy. Now, anyone who knows me know I’m not normally a lamb person, but man it was good. Then for dessert – or “Afters” as they call it, we had the meringues with cream and raspberries. Oh. My. God.

I managed to stay awake until 9:30pm or so. Then slept through the night with no disturbances to speak of. I am somewhat surprised at how good I feel. I was dreading the jet lag but really feel quite awake. And me without Starbucks…truly shocking.

Today it was off to work. The drive in from Ciren was absolutely breath taking. Rolling country side, small tight roads (made me a wee bit nervous and so very thankful I wasn't driving). I’m at Tortworth meeting all the folks from CM Group. People I’ve met virtually now for six months. Everyone is, of course, extremely friendly and ever so welcoming.

So until later, know that I made it. I’m being well taken care of. And I’m doing just fine.

Cheers.

Off to the Land of Eng

Passport - Check!
Airline ticket - Check!
Sleeping aids - Check!
Vitamins - Check!
Cat sitter who can tolerate a loud mouth cat - Check!
Emergency contact numbers handed over to overly concerned mom - Check!
Walking shoes for experience England on foot - Check!
Camera: tested and all batteries fully charged - Check!
Converts for weird UK electric outlets - Check!
Suitable clothing for VERY wet weather - Check!
Bumpershoot - Check!
Suitable shoes - um er um - half a Check!
All terrorists out of the UK - In progress!
Convert real money to monopoly money (aka GBP) - Check!
Post blog letting everyone know to "watch this space" for UK adventures - Check!

Cheeri - O everyone. I'm off tomorrow to the land of Eng. I will be posting updates and photos so be sure to check in every now and then. I'm under a strict confidentiality agreement with the Queen to not 1) let people know when we're lunching and 2) to not take photos of me having lunch with her. I told her you all would understand. She did mention William might join us as he's an avid reader and feels obliged to meet the one and only St. Jenn of the Blessed Sarcasm. I'll do what I can to keep my grubby little paws off him, but it'll be hard. I promise nothing. Though I do doubt I'd be able to blog from prison, so perchance I'll behave.

And so I bid you farewell in the language of the home land: Cheers! But before I do, I leave you with these photos. Just in case you need to see what I'll hopefully be seeing before I actually see it.

Big Ben

Buckingham Palace

Windsor Castle

Tower of London

Happy 5th of July

Since I didn't post yesterday, I can't exactly say Happy 4th of July - or Happy Independence Day (I find it amusing that our UK counterparts call it "Good Riddance Day").

I did get the camera out to take photos. I didn't take the tripod out, and half way through I wish I had. Camera shake did provide some interesting shots though.


The one below, in particular, I like. It reminds me of my favorite flower, the daisy.

Last year Mike, Nancy and I took ourselves to Bellevue to witness their display. On our way home we couldn't get to my apartment because the main street was blocked off. Come to find out they did massive fireworks in my backyard. So, this year, I stayed home with the fam. Mom and I walked out to my front lawn (okay, it doesn't really belong to me, it belongs to the apt complex) and watched The Hood ( Lynnwood ) Spectacular Fireworks Display. By all accounts it was quite good.

The parental units are leaving today for Alaska to get me fresh Salmon and fresh Halibut. I've told them that they can ship the fish to me and I'll "save" it for them. Scouts Honor!

And I leave you with this...a VERY annoyed Pookie. I've had the camera down to his level for days now, nad I think he's about done being a model.

Alter Egos Take Charge!

I'm not generally one to be fearful of "possibilities", but I gotta tell ya, the fact that the EXACT flight that I'm scheduled to be on on Saturday was cancelled in Seattle today because of a bomb scare in Heathrow, has me a bit *concerned*.

Frightful Francis (one of my alter egos) has reared her ugly head (and I mean ugly) and has me a bit anxious about my up and coming adventure to the UK.

Reality Girl is also present. She and Frightful Francis are battling it out between them. Reality Girl knows that there is absolutely nothing I can do, but be aware of my surrounds and cautious of everything. Though Frightful Francis can turn that "aware" and "caution" into full out fear in the matter of a second.

Reality Girl will win out in the end I'm sure. She's gone to the store and has purchased herself some sleeping assistance tablets. I'm trying to talk a friend into letting me "borrow" some of her sleeping pills. If I sleep through it, I won't be anxious. Of course, there's always the drinking aspect. If, by chance I can get some liquor in my system before Drunk Diva will be in charge.

Note to all UK folks who read this: Please take care of all those terrorist types before I get there. You have 4 days to take care of it. Get on IT!

I'm almost ready to go. Got my dollars exchanged for the funny money (aka pounds). The suitcase is out and organized. List is made. Pookie in the suitcase making sure I don't forget him. Cat sitter arranged. All is ready! Now, just gotta get rid of those terrorists!