The Price is Right..!

Done deal. Car's sold.

Now all I need to do is arrange for a rental car for a couple of weeks until I leave. Meh, I'll worry about that in the next day or so. This should be interesting: "Um, can I get a rental car for every other day, but I need it for the Labor Day weekend, and then back to every other day, but not for that last Wednesday, and then I need a one-way rental up to NY." Yeah, that's a three-hour phone call to which I'm not looking forward.

The gentleman who purchased the STR Benzo is the kindest, most honorable man I've met in a long time. He's buying the car for his first-year college student son...um...who's currently driving a BMW 540. Nice. My first car was a turbo-charged Mitsubishi Cordia. Nope. No one ever knows what that is. Meh, I did love that car...until Trish crashed it into the back of a Mercedes and totaled it.

Anywho, this kind sir moved from the EU to the States, so we had quite a conversation about my upcoming life-change. In fact, we're going to lunch this week to further talk moving, other countries and the social dimension of globalization. This new friendship has really restored a bit of my faith in humanity. Typically selling a car is such a hassle (which, if you saw some of the creepy responses I received, you'd agreed), but this turned into a really nice experience. Hopefully a harbinger of things yet to come...

And I could use a bit of good harbingers right now. Of late, I've been wondering if the gods are trying to tell me something...Julian was to view two flats on my behalf on Monday morning. Just before the meeting, one of the agents e-mailed to advise that the flat had structural damage and wouldn't be ready for a month or so. Good times. I can picture Star and I, hanging in a flat, watching tv, as pieces of the ceiling crumble and fall upon our heads.

The other agent said he'd show Julian two flats in the nearby area. Great. Cool. Sounded good.

So poor, dear Julian - suffering from G0M0 (the one right before H1N1) - drove his lil' Mini down to meet the agent for the appointment. Not to be, however, as his car made a horrific noise (the clutch?) and he had to retreat back toward his mechanic. Argh!

I've now expanded my flat search to surrounding areas. Please, please! Won't someone give me and Star a home...if even just for six months? Crikey. Why is it so hard to find one tiny flat in a really big, expansive city like London?

Selling a car? Try social media...and stuff...

Instead of waiting until the last minute to sell (as I did with my condo), I spent today getting my car ready for sale. After the "manager's special - plus" at Auto Bell, a Dirt Devil vacuuming of the floor mats, an Armor All wipe down of every non-fuzzy surface, I realized a few things...One, that I had a massive headache from the work and the southern heat, and two, that Star-Dog hair is really difficult to remove from my car.

I talked to Joe (aka Merry Joe) after my excruciating efforts whilst slumped on the couch.

"Whew," I said, "that was a bit of work. Now I just have to take pics of it and upload adverts onto some car sale-y Web sites."
"When are you going to do that?" he asked, knowing my procrastinating self all too well.
"Um...I figured I'd do it tomorrow. It's been a busy day already. Some lady accused me of dog abuse when I ran into the U-Haul place for ten minutes to get boxes at 10 a.m. this morning, and more people viewed the house this morning and..."
"Oh, that's a good idea. Why don't you wait until after you move to list it? Then you can get stressed about it like the condo."

Um...yeah...

I dragged myself off of the couch, armed with some more...um...Armor All wipes and my camera. After cleaning to a point where I felt it okay to take pics to send to potential buyers, I checked Kelly Blue Book, Carmax, Auto Trader, and some other car-y sites. Then I tweaked.

"They all look so...pristine compared to my car," I wailed to Joe on the phone.
"Leave it to you to find the black lining of every cloud. So be honest about it in the description."

I did. I wrote up an honest account of my car and posted it on Craigslist, eBay, and the Charlotte Observer sites. Done.

Within just two hours of a Saturday night (don't these folks have an offline life?), I had four people wanting to come and view the car - all of them from Craigslist, in fact, and all of them fully informed of the (a-hem!) cosmetic imperfections of my lil' Benzo. Veddddddy interesting. It was all so quick (and relatively painless) that I wonder what people did before the advent of the Internet. I mean, I know people would check the Sunday classifieds for cars, but um...what did they do before that? Tell a neighbor and hope? Twenty-four of the 25 largest newspapers are experiencing record declines in circulation. There's a shift in the way we communicate.

And I love it. As a side note, as I write this, the movie Serendipity is on in the background. I still think of this move as serendipitous. The person who buys my car (and my condo!) will be part of that serendipitous piece of my memory that helped me in my move to England. Rock on.

Who's the flaky chick with a wandering soul? I am!

A nice conversation with my sistah last night made me think that perhaps I'm doing this whole move backwards. (Umm...y'think?) Most people typically have secured jobs and places to live and have tied up loose ends at home prior to such a life changing experience. Here's a tidbit of the long conversation we had...

"Well, whatever you do," Alli said, "don't move back to Charlotte."
"I wouldn't," I replied. "But that's interesting...Why would you say that? I mean, I agree, but..."
"Well, you're always saying that you're over that place."

Now, my dear, sweet sister is exactly right. I am done with my beloved Queen City, and if my time in England proves to be something of an unsuccessful life move and I decide to return States-side, I'd not move back here. Rather, I'd likely go closer to the ol' homestead of NY.

"Well," I began, "it's not that I hate it here or anything. It's just that my life didn't turn out like everyone else's here. I mean, were I married with kids, this would be a great place to settle down. I'm not. This just isn't where my life is - nor, I believe, where it's supposed to be."

"So where is your life 'supposed to be'?" asked my pragmatic sis.

"I dunno quite yet. I'll figure that out sometime," I said.

And then I giggled. Sometimes my flaky side just feels so comfortable. Meh, it all works out, doesn't it?

What are four walls, anyway?

I have officially become a cliche.

I stayed in last night (Friday) to Skype with Julian for a bit (poor thing got an earful of my moving woes, as is par for the course these days!), and then decided to order in Thai Taste and relax with some red wine and a movie. What do I watch? Ah, the epitome of chick flicks (at least, as they relate to moving to another country), Under the Tuscan Sun.

"...any arbitrary turning along the way and I would be elsewhere; I would be different...Unthinkably good things can happen, even late in the game..."

As much as I felt as though I've been so beat down by myriad challenges and ready to pack it in and forego this whole move entirely, I now find myself in an old, familiar place. I have this strength; I've always had it...it was just a bit dormant for a while.

The conversation with my fabulous Mom and Dad quelled such stress, I could kick myself for not speaking candidly with them earlier. Julian even noticed a change in my mindset, too. I'm back to my normally optimistic, flaky self, I think. Borough Market! Rugby games! Beautiful architecture! Nighttime over the Thames!

Issues? What issues? Everything is moving in the right direction, albeit slowly...

• Dog documents sent to the Caribbean? Picked 'em up this morning.


• Flat on which I'm still awaiting word? Meh, if it doesn't work out, I'll find another place.


• Sale of my condo? Sent HOA docs to one realtor, still have two other backups/potential buyers.


• Sale of car? List it on Auto Trader. Worst case? Sell it to Carmax. I'm still out ahead.

...and on it goes. Things are clearing up after my hysterical Wednesday (as it will be called in my personal history book). Clothes have been donated. Glassware is being boxed up. Rental car to NY is in quote process.

They say a tiger in a cage can never see the sun. I think I view this move as an escape from my cage. There's too much in this life to try, to experience, to see, and I'm one who wants to do it all. I've done most all that can be done here. Had I made different decisions, I'd not be doing this move. And I truly believe that it is time for me to move on - and move on I shall...in (gulp) just 43 days.

Counting down till we say " 'Allo!" to the neighbors

There are 43 days left until I leave my beloved Queen City, 49 days until I leave the country. The countdown is on. While many times we all are "working for the weekend," counting the moments till day's end on Friday, I'm now wishing that the seconds on my martini clock would move a bit slower. The move is cropping up on me - and quickly.

I put down a holding deposit on a yet-unseen flat in Colliers Wood today. It's on the third floor, above some business on the High Street, and will accept my dog. Done deal. The other one (Merton High Street) was swiped out from under my feet, the other that Julian looked at for me today was "a great flat, but the area is a dump." (giggle) Meh, being the flake I am, I'm taking a gamble and grabbed this one. Access to the tube is uber-convenient; let's just hope there are is a good pub nearby to chill my nerves after all of this.

The dog's official documents were mistakenly sent to the British Virgin Isles, after someone put my destination as "British Isles" on the paperwork. (Really - who uses that term? C'mon, people, UK. Two letters. Not that difficult.)

Star's fancy SkyKennel came via FedEx last week. It's huge. It's like she's flying to London in her own condo. Sigh. She'll surely have more room than I on the flight, and likely won't be sitting next to someone who's a bit stinky, or snoring, or coughing up smurfs, as I'm sure to be.

Star says " 'Allo" to the neighbors.

I keep calling her "my well-behaved dog." Oh, sure. My will-be-downstairs neighbors are sure not to hear her. Shhhhh, Star. Shhhh...Calm down.