Side note

I am so not an IT chick, though I sometimes wish I were. Kinda like now, where I wish I could figure out how to RSS feed out blog postings to Twitter. Man, this stuff is just not my bag.

I should probably stick to takin' over the Carter...

It's starting to hit me...

...like a ton o' bricks: I'm really, like, leaving - and soon. Crikey. Off to Eng-er-land.

It's been an interesting week. I've been searching for a flat, currently in negotiations with the landlord and letting agent for a great location in Wimbledon. That's been an interesting process, to say the least. "My manager doesn't want to accept a deposit until someone views the property on your behalf." Um. OK. As I'm here in the States, that's easy-breezy, right? Adding to the challenge was the fact that Julian was going to Norway, Alex was in Amsterdam, Phil Squirrel is on a boat who-knows-where, and anyone else...well, I just didn't know if I could ask for such a favor...sigh.

Julian saved the day and biked - yes, biked - over to meet with the letting agent the following day, having canceled his Norway trip. While not exactly the most gorgeous of villages, he advised (and I'm saying that euphemistically), it would be a great first place for me in London. Then the letting manager advised that the landlord wanted me to pay for two months of unoccupied flat. "I'll meet her halfway and pay for one, but two seems a bit ridiculous." I'm still awaiting an answer.

StarDog is nearly ready, too. Her visa should be ready in the next couple of weeks. We've got to finish off the vet paperwork, send it off to the USDA for certification, figure the timing for her "more than 24 hours but less than 48 hours" final shots. I think I've done more reading up on her visa than I had to for my own. She has the benefit of traveling in a SkyKennel to London, though, where I'm quite certain she'll have more legroom than I. Heck, her airline ticket is double mine. Figures.

Next up? Work folk all seem to know the plans. One VP stopped me in the hall and asked if the "rumor" was true. "Well," I replied, "it's not exactly a rumour. I've been wanting to do this for years. My visa just came through." (That's right - check out the superfluous "u" in there...I'm so ready for this jump.) Another former VP texted, having heard the news. I've got two people already interested in my [fabulous] job, which is truly no wonder. And I got to speak with a Premier-ite over in the UK who really eased my concerns over finding a job.

My boss, Stacey (one of the reasons I'm uber-sad to leave this job), said that my departure was mentioned during review time, much to everyone's incredulity. "Does she have family there?" "Does she have a job?" "Does she have a place to live?" Um...no, I'm just flaky enough to go without shelter, income, or familial ties.

I now have to put together my (gulp) resignation letter this weekend. I can't believe it's really right around the corner...and I can't believe I'm leaving this place, nearly two decades after arriving. Buh-bye, QC and family, friends, job. Am I nuts or just nuts enough to try something super-cool?

As I write this, I'm enjoying a glass of vino with New Jack City in the background. Yeah, I think I'm not only ready for this move, but ready to take over the Carter, too.

Three's Company

So here it is a month later...With so much going on, I've barely had a chance to breathe, much less post. My visa was approved (yay!) and next I need to get the condo in shape for sale. With whatever profit I can pull, I'll be moving away to Eng-er-land.

For the past three days, I've had Ramon and his father-in-law working on the place while I've been at work. Each day I come home and am amazed at how much has been accomplished. Kitchen: new countertop, sink, faucet, garbage disposal. Bathroom: rip out the tiled countertop and replace with a new vanity, framed mirror, cool light fixture. Bedroom: new ceiling fan, patch of the HVAC location (previously hidden by my golden mean "art"). Thoughout the entire place: fresh toffee paint, white trim, new air filters, white-white ceilings. It looks fab. Now I know how those HGTV folks feel when they return home to find their home has been turned into something uber-cool.

Tonight, I find myself crouched into the corner of my bed, as it's loaded up with window treatments and stuff that wouldn't fit in the down-down but needed to be moved in order for them to paint. I went downstairs to my freshly-done living space and sat for a moment.

Breathe. Look around. Realize. I have been here for nearly 9 years (evident in the amount of stuff I've had to Goodwill and Freecycle over the past month). But wait -- there's something else. This condo has been my home and has seen me grow up. From a flaky 26 year old who partied every night to a responsible, bill-paying flaky chick who wants to move to England during a recession. It really hit me that it's going to be hard to leave this place. And it hit me hard.

Somehow, I was reminded of all of those long-running sitcoms and their last episodes. Like, when the three on Three's Company all move out and the closing scene is the three of them at the door, looking around the bare place and remembering the fun times they'd had. No more running to the Regal Beagle (or, in my case, Al Mike's). No more wild dating scenes with Larry (or, in my case, Red Aimee) and those of the opposite sex. No more chef dinners in the condo (or, in my case, a Girls' Night In with too much wine drinking).

I won't be here anymore. Like, I'm really leaving. It hit me so incredibly hard tonight, that I audibly caught my breathe a bit and welled up in tears. This place is really going to be hard to leave. I've never been anywhere in this town for so long, nor have I ever owned (individually) my own place until this sweet little condo.

I guess my sitcom has ended and the spinoff begins. Sometimes spinoffs work out well. I have a feeling this spinoff will be even better than the original show...and I'm looking forward to the network sweeps (or, in my case, when I post to this blog for others to see how wonderful a time I'm having across the pond).

I'm really doing this. I'm really nutsy enough to move to another country, giving up everything I have here to do so. It's funny that I've been preparing for this since last July, but only now believe that I'm actually doing it, as it's truly upon me.

Patience is a virtue -- hmmph!

Well, my friends, it's outa my hands.

The FedEx priority package was delivered to the British Consulate General of New York this morning at 9:47 a.m., shipping from Charlotte by way of Indianapolis. (I know I'm no geography whiz, but...um...is that really the shortest route between two points?)

All day I've been checking e-mail, half not-expecting to see anything, half hoping-like-heck to see something. At about 4:30 this afternoon, I get the super-fab form letter:

Dear Applicant
Your application has arrived safely at the New York office and is currently being processed. The estimated processing time for your application is 5/10 working days plus mail time, however no guarantee is given. Sometimes it is necessary to make additional enquiries on an application, which will extend the processing time.
You will receive another e-mail advising you of the outcome of your application in due course.

Ok, so now I wait. And I can't stand waiting. I suck at waiting. In fact, my own personal hell is likely a long, never-moving line at the post office (which is one of the worst wait places, in my opinion).

Go on, though -- My Facebook folks have been really encouaraging and fabulous with me, God love 'em. Likely, it just that they're tired of hearing me whinge, "I wanna go back to Enggggland!"

Standard visa processing times look to be 2-3 weeks. I'll gnaw my arm off via fingernail biting by then. Waiting is really sucky.

Holy shnikeys...

Now, I must admit how embarrassed I am that it's been this long since I've spouted out anything herein. Sigh. Maybe I just needed a good reason...and man, do I have one today!

I schlepped off my visa documents today. Yup -- there they go, an entire stack that's about two inches thick (not including copies!) and has painstakingly taken much time to gather. What a long, strange trip this has been...and yet it's far from over.

This afternoon, I went to get passport pics made, as I needed to submit two of 'em with my application. Man, that was a sad sight. The UK Border Agency quite clearly advises that you are not to smile in the pic. Not wanting mine to be refused, I obeyed...and realized I'm not cute without a smile. That was at CVS. I then went to FedEx Office (formerly FedEx Kinkos) and Walgreens to try a different look. Nope, they all sucked. Damn.

So off I went for my biometrics appointment. Being the only American citizen in the place (sans the employees, of course), I waited in the short line until the guy called me over to take my fingerprints and digital images. As he Windexed my fingers and smooshed them onto the glass, he asked me the purpose of my visit. I told him, and then added, "I've been here nearly 20 years. I just really, really need a change."

"There are other cities that don't require a visa application, you know," he quipped.

But...but...they're not England!

Whilst in Walgreens (getting the passport pic that I eventually submitted, deeming it the least evil of the three shots), my eyes wandered to the walls of the photo center. A huge poster hung on the back wall, with "Get your passport pictures here to go there." The "there"? Yup -- some dopey guy grinning in front of Big Ben.

I did get my passport picture there. I will go there. I will not, however, be like the dopey grinner...well, maybe...but just for the first few weeks.

(The pics above are the fab pics that Tracy took during our May 2006 trip, which she gave me, framed, for my birthday last month. The Tower of London one is my absolute favorite. Way cool image, uber-awesome color.)

Dogs drink, too..?

Last month, Red's dog, Roxy, celebrated her 10th birthday. Being the good mom that she is, Red sent out evites for a party in Roxy's honor at The Dog Bar. This is a super-cool establishment in Noda, just outside of downtown, in which you can bring your pup to the bar.
Now, it must be noted that on the Web site it clearly welcomes "all dogs of shapes and sizes...as long as they are 'well-behaved.'" Mmm-hmm...Thus, for the past two weeks, I've been debating as to whether or not my dear sweet StarBar would be able to join in the festivities. Star has never been referred to as "well-behaved," that's for sure. Rather, she tries to bite both people and other dogs. This could've been scary.
Red suggested that she really ought to be given the chance. She was right and the four of us (Red, Rox, Star, and I) drove on down prior to the party's start time to The Dog Bar.
Star did better than I ever could've imagined. There were only a couple of people she tried to bite, which, with as many as were in the small place, was phenomenal. There were two dogs that annoyed her, but it seemed they annoyed the other doggies, too...kinda like the bullies in elementary school. (Oh, wait -- I was one of those.)
Red brought out Roxy's cake about halfway through the party, and I'm still amazed that she has all ten fingers after doling it out to the doggies.
It really felt like Vegas with all of the overstimulation--a crowd stuffed into the small establishment, people talking loudly, dogs barking eve more loudly, cocktails, birthday parties, Great Danes...whew. I think I slept as well as Star did once we finally arrived home.
Great place, though. Since Star handled herself like a true lady, we'll be able to go back. Hooray!

How time flies...

Last week started with a fun Tuesday at Red's house for "book club." Yes, do note the quotes. There was an abbreviated group for club, so we instead wound up drinking way too much vino and giggling around the table.
I brought a yummy-yum chilled-well white wine that we'd tried in cooking class the Saturday past, Four Rivers...Wait, no...Five Vines...no...um...It was Four Vines naked chardonnay (naked, as it's aged in stainless steel rather than oak casks). Now, I'm surely not a chardonnay drinker, but it is a tasty one, and it paired well with the Mediterranean diet foods that we were making that afternoon.

Anywho...after a garbage-y Thursday and Friday at work (I think there's a definition for it), I was very much looking forward to the weekend, even if it were Valentine's Day.

My Saturday started off by talking with Phil Squirrel, who surprised me with a noon phone call. He was painting (and quite tired of it, as it sounds), and was sweet enough to call. Of course, maybe I'll take back the "sweet" and replace it with "upsetting." Yeah, we were talking about potential plans for my next trip, which is looking like it'll be March. Edinburgh? Mmm-hmm, sounds good. Not that I can pronounce it correctly, but another week hanging with Phil Squirrel in London and thereabouts is just what the doctor ordered.

Following our conversation, I went to watch my England team play Wales in the 6 Nations tourney at the Charlotte Rugby Club. Yeah, we won't discuss the final score of the Eng-er-land game. Sigh. Next up? Ireland v. England on the 28th. That day, too, the club was playing at 3 p.m. Red met me up there for that, and we watched the game, along with a bunch of others out in the beautiful sun, with the smell of grilling burgers in the background. Good times.

After the game (and me oversleeping from a slightly-beer-induced coma), Red and I went down to a bar for an Anti-Valentine's Day shindig. She cracks me up, she does. Guys would try to approach her and flirt with her, and Red would exclaim under her breath, "Make him go away!" The icing on the cake? A not-too-bright boy (aw, bless!) who passed Red his phone number on a cocktail napkin. While that doesn't raise an eyebrow, exactly, it's what was written on it that made me howl with laughter: He actually had to cross out a number on the napkin. That's right, he wrote his phone number incorrectly. Yeah, not-too-bright might be a slight understatement, but we'll leave it at that.

So after our fill of this place, Red, Philipp German (that's his nationality, not his last name), and I went to Jack's to meet up with one of the rugby players we'd met earlier that afternoon. With Rocky Horror's "Time Warp" playing in the karaoke room, us giggling in the barroom, and our new friends quizzing us with questions, it was just fun...Home by 2:45 a.m., I think that was the type of Val Day that I exactly needed--silly, light-hearted, and sans roses...