Archive | October, 2009

Many months ago, I lost our camera.

It absolutely sucked. We were coming back from Germany, and in my usual frenzy of documenting every damn thing I see, I had my camera out. I thought it was in my pocket when we deplaned, but it must have fallen out onto my seat, and the second we were past security, I realized it.

We immediately went to the NWA counter and told them what happened. I figured that unless someone had grabbed it off the seat, they’d find it. Hell, the camera was even a bit unique – it was blue, so it could be easily identified. The clean-up crew was currently going through the plane right now, but the guy at the counter told us they hadn’t found anything.

We filled out a lost item form and left. I felt awful, and not terribly optimistic. The camera was brand-new (I had only had it a few months), and if they didn’t find it in the minutes after it was lost, they weren’t going to find it later, it seemed. (more…)

For the most part, I get the English. I really do. I know that we’re “two countries separated by a common langauge” (or something equally obnoixous and clever), but for the most part, I understand and am pretty familiar with English culture. My mom spent her childhood split between the U.K and Italy, and my aunt is married to an Englishman, and I’ve got English cousins and the like. They make tea roughly 5 times a day, they consume a disproportional amount of potatoes, and they influenced my vocabulary as a young child to the point of me saying weird things, like callings bangs a “fringe”, sweaters “jumpers”, and referring to a car’s blinker as an “indicator”. That last one is something that, for whatever reason, I’ve been unable to kick.

Oh, and growing up my brother forced me to watch hours upon hours of old Doctor Who episodes with him every rainy weekend we had. I cannot even begin to articulate how boring that sort of thing is for anyone, much less a nine-year-old girl. Seriously, he owes me. Big time. 

Because of my bro, I not only know what this is, but was able to make a crack about how I could escape from it by running up a flight of stairs.

Because of my bro, I not only know what this is, but was able to make a crack about how I could escape from it by running up a flight of stairs.

(more…)

Dear Rand,

This post is basically for you (most of them are) so I figured I’d just address it to you outright. It’s a post about our trip to New York. Not the one we took a few weeks back. No. I mean the one we went on years ago. The one we still talk about. Because for some reason, even though we were broke, and every single expense had me nearly clutching my chest in fear my heart would explode, it was one of the best trips of my life.

I suspect you are somewhat to blame for that. (more…)

The Wednesday before leaving for London, I had dinner with a group of friends and colleagues. Afterwards, Rand and I were walking with our friend Natala to our respective cars. She and I were trying to figure out when we could meet up again, and we had this exchange:

Natala: I’m going to California, but I’ll be back on Sunday.

Me: We’re leaving for London on Sunday for a week.

Natala: In that case, I’ll be back on Wednesday.

Me: Rand, are we here on Wednesday following the London trip?

Rand: I think you are.

Sigh. I’m glad to know that it’s not just us. It seems like everyone is running around as of late, and I’m not sure if that’s just something people do, or the people in my life happen to do. At any rate, waiting two weeks to hang out with Natala isn’t the longest we’ve had to delay our plans, and it’s far better than all those times I’m tried meeting people for coffee … in the airport.

I really wanted to write a Dick Move! post about the crazy gal we encountered in NYC’s Meat-Packing District, but in the end I just wanted to toss a sweater over her shoulders, tell her that she was better than this, and threaten to call her mother.

Rand and I were wandering around the west side, trying to stay dry in the torrential rain. Fortunately, even while hiding under the shelter of awnings, there’s stuff to see. That’s the nature of New York.

I dont know what this means, but I like it.

I don't know what this means, but I like it.

- (more…)

I am dying to tell you folks of all the magic that London has to offer (Sticky toffee pudding! Men who call you “Love”! Sticky toffee pudding! The best subway system EVER! Sticky toffee pudding! Bubble skirts that hide the huge thighs you’ve developed from eating too much … Sticky toffee pudding!) but I’d be doing you a disservice if I didn’t write one last post about our trip to New York, and our visit to the High Line in Chelsea. Just consider my posts about London to be the sticky toffee pudding after a hearty meal of New York crazy.

And, just to get it out of my system …

STICKY TOFFEE PUDDING!!!!!

Phew, okay. On to New York. (more…)

Rand and I just got back from London last night, after the sort of trip that has you mentally packing up your apartment and shipping it off to the U.K., because YOU ARE NEVER GOING BACK HOME. But here we are, back in rainy cold Seattle, and I won’t lie, I’m a bit happy about it. I haven’t been home in a long while, and when I stepped into the elevator, I actually forgot what floor we lived on. Which I figure is understandable, since I spent more consecutive nights in our London hotel than I have at our apartment in the last month and a half.

I figure my behavior is a bit more excuseable than Rand’s, who stared at our bureau for a full minute before asking, “Where the hell did that come from?” When I explained we had picked it up on my birthday, he replied, “I have never seen that piece of furniture in my life.” (more…)

I can appreciate modern art. I won’t stand in front of a painting and discuss, seemingly to no end, the different elements of a painting, its composition, or what I thought the artist intended. But I will, on occassion, turn to my husband and say, “I like that.” And, often, he will reply with, “Me too.”

Of course, there are a lot of people who like to spend way, way too much time analyzing brush strokes and trying to determine whether or not the artist was constipated. I find these individuals equal parts annoying and entertaining. Sometimes, I want to join in with fake facts and nonsensical observations. (more…)