We’re feeling water logged.
Okay smart aleck- I know it rains a lot in England but there is flooding up north.
We aren’t flooding but it is driving me up the wall slightly.
My mobile was ringing. I have the day off, so everyone knows better than to call me at this hour. Calling someone at 8:30 on your day off is a sin. It was Stuart.
“Why? Sleeping. Lay-In. Sleeping. Why????” When half awake I revert to caveman language.
“They found a bomb near Haymarket.”
This woke me up.
“A car bomb. Piccadilly is closed. Just keep your eyes open today.”
My mini mac died. I don’t know what happened. One day it was fine, the next not so good. Is not that big of a deal I still have my four (or is it five) year old powerbook and Stuart put a new hard drive back in the mini so it is working. I just don’t have lot what I had on there. The only thing I care about is my itunes. I had playlists I really liked on it and some mix cds I had done.
I am in a blog group that sends mix cds to each other and you are supposed to review them. I’m behind on my reviews at the moment. One recent CD was all love songs. The one I just finished on Saturday was all fuck songs. I was really proud of it. . .found some great really raunchy blues tunes. I was also halfway through a drinking song mix.
We’re talking about hours of work. Plus I had just bought some music- Only 20 quid or so. . . but still.
Stuart is seeing what he can salvage from it, but I am not really optimistic.
It’s not the end of the world. I have most of the music on the powerbook, but anyone who has spent an hour here or there for a number of evenings playing with their iTunes can appreciate that it kinda bites.
Ages ago I created a Linked In profile because someone invited me to be part of their network. I haven’t done anything with it at all. Ophelia, an old work colleague and friend that I haven’t spoken to for a million years invited me to be part of her network and wrote the following on my profile:
“Nicole was amazing- she crafted simple-to-follow emails explaining solutions to the thorniest of technical problems, was patient and solution-focused with difficult clients, and was a fantastic mentor to new employees. Nicole was simply wonderful to work with.”
I’m gobsmacked. What a nice thing to say.
My friend Aaron and his sister Gina are arriving tomorrow for a week visit. Well not quite a week as they are going to Amsterdam Tuesday to Thursday. They came to see me two years ago when I was here for what I thought was a three-month tour.
Sylvie (lovely girl. Someone who is in my acquaintance pile that I would like to move into the friend pile. Family is Portuguese but she was raised in France) was organising a party for this Sunday at her flat and I said no because with Aaron and Gina arriving tomorrow afternoon I have no idea how lagged they will be or what they will be up for so I declined.
I thought for their last Sunday here in a week that it would be fun to do a roast dinner and have a group of friends over so I sent out an e-mail invitation for the 1st.
I messed up.
Sylvie’s party was for the 1st, not tomorrow. I had included her on the e-mail invite to my house, so I guess she thinks I am trying to hijack her party. I haven’t spoken to her yet but apparently colourful words in French were bandied about to Matt who told Stuart who told me.
I’ve been a big chicken and I haven’t called her to apologise. I’m thinking an e-mail on Monday.
In the morning Al told me his plan for the evening was to cuddle up on his sofa in his comforter and watch a DVD.
“That sounds so nice!†I said.
I meant it. How nice on a Friday night to be cuddled up on the sofa watching –whatever. . .
Stuart already told me his plans were to be out with Matt and Boots, so I imagined what I would do if home alone.
1. Catch up on all my Daily Shows. (I have nearly three weeks DVR’ed)
2. Watch the rest of my Truffaut box set
3. Watch bad British reality TV
Toward the end of the day, however the call of the pub hit me. I pitched to Al, “Wanna go to the pub for one?†As it happens, the group of two became three. Then four. Then finally Nine. The just one beer turned into five.
Was a lot of fun, but we are all an assy, rude, grumpy group.
Main topic of conversation? Slagging off other people who weren’t there to defend themselves because we are all evil twats.
2nd topic- which is entirely my fault. . . what is the worst thing you have done to someone. (I said lover, but it turned into a general free for all)
E won I think. (The job I’m up for, E is also interviewing and I am thinking that I may drop out and just give it to him because I am very, very afraid.) This is a man who while a lovely, intelligent, clever, sweet cuddle bear, has in his life. . .
To a landlord:
a. Pulled an oven away from the wall.
b. Lifted up the floor boards.
c. Stuck a frozen chicken into the hole and replaced the board.
d. Replaced the oven
e. Let nature happen after he has moved out.
He detailed another disturbing story, but at this hour of the evening I managed to block it. Note to self. Don’t fuck with E. He did say that his behaviour was of a younger, angrier E with more hair.
3rd topic. Sex. I’ve mentioned before that this is the crossroad to which we all return. I have to say. . . I like being a girl that can hang with the guys. It’s always been that way. I love the fact I can hang out with the boys and they will mention certain things that they would perhaps avoid in front of other females. . . like who in the office they wanna shag. Too many women are just out for A number 1 and don’t know how to be cool boy, real cool and hang.
I do wonder sometimes that there is something wrong with me that most of my close friendships are with men, then I remember the XXs I have on my speed dial, and I get over it.
Anyhoo.
I learned a new phrase tonight. ‘Snapping The Banjo’. I had no clue what this meant. . .Given that 98% of the penises I have seen have been circumcised, I suppose I can be forgiven.
Snapping the banjo is when, err. . . during (what I assume to be rather vigorous lovemaking) umm. . . the thin bit of connective tissue on the foreskin at the >cough< head is —ah-hem. . . Broken.
Terribly unpleasant I imagine. All the boys had heard of this and had a mate that had experienced it. Apparently there is a lot of blood.
(A bit of TMI. . . but I have to say. . . I’d rather deal with an uncircumcised penis. Certain things are just. . . easier. I might elucidate, but my mother reads this.)
Since we have lived in our flat, our freezer has looked like something out of a horror film. Stuart had left some cans of coke that exploded caramel colour crap everywhere. Because the three of us kept buying food, it was difficult to find a time to defrost it so we all sort of ignored the horror. When Jen moved out, I suggested to Stuart that he defrost and clean it. He didn’t take too kindly to the idea.
Weeks went by. I went to Seattle. Came back. Open the freezer and I could hear angels singing in the heavens. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!â€
Not only did he defrost the freezer, he cleaned the refrigerator as well.
I gave him a big kiss. After nearly two years of the black lagoon living with our ice cubes, this wasn’t a small thing.
Today Andrew was at my desk when a wedding card was being passed around for a colleague. “Nicole, what’s the difference between being single and being married?â€
I thought about it. “Well. When you’re single, you can do what you want to do when you want to do it. When you’re married, when you come home, sometimes the freezer has been defrosted and the fridge cleaned.â€
We both laughed.
I really love Seattle. When I’m here, I do mourn a bit that I moved away. . . but things always work out for the best.
So what did I do this week?
MONDAY
J’arrive. I didn’t sleep on the plane. I’m not sure why, but it was the easiest time I have had on these long haul flights. I didn’t have a moment where I was ready to fling myself at a door shrieking, “I don’t care that I will die! Let me outta here!†I did request the diabetic meal and I wonder if the lack of sugary stuff helped. I’m not diabetic, but when I filled in my traveller profile at work I had a flash of trying to be good. I read a good bit of my book, What is the What which is about The Lost Boys of Sudan and watched the films Letters of Iwo Jima (amazing.) Music and Lyrics (surprisingly cute with some great lines like, “I’ll show you the roof. It’s upstairs.â€) and The Holiday. (sigh. Nancy Meyers really needs to be beaten for continuing to pour schmaltz all over anyone unfortunate enough to watch any of her films. One of the worst lines, “You know Graham, I just broke up with someone and considering you just showed up and you’re insanely good-looking and probably won’t remember me anyway… I’m thinking we should have sex… If you want.†Why did I watch it? Because watching one important movie (The Eastwood flick if you were wondering) on a 10 hour flight is quite enough. I guess instead of wanting to fry Ms. Meyers in a vat of chicken fat for her over sentimental, over wrought, overly verbose, over the top characters I should instead overly thank her for providing me useless, mindless and entirely forgetful flight entertainment.)
After I check in, I go to Mama’s Mexican Kitchen and eat an enormous plate of carbs covered in cheese and drink three margaritas. In bed at 10 PM PST (6AM GMT) I’ve been up for 23 hours. The beds at The Westin are amazing, comfortable things, but I would pass out even if I was sleeping on the floor.
TUESDSAY
I get up at 5 and do some work so people in London can get my e-mail when I send it. Take a cab to Redmond and meet someone that I used to know from Y! for lunch and have a quick meeting with a manager. Take the bus back to Seattle, meet Meredith and Stephanie for drinks and we have dinner at Wild Ginger.
WEDNESDAY
Get up at 6. Do some work. Walk down to the market and have breakfast at The Athenian while reading the hiring training stuff so I can get my head where it needs to be for the next day.
The words bleed into each other.
I decide to go to the café in Elliot Bay Books and study there. On the way to Pioneer Square I pass an Aveda salon and on a whim, I pop in to see if I can get a massage.
If you are ever in Seattle, go to the Etherea Spa and ask for Keoni. I know some women feel odd when a man massages them, and I must admit there is part of me that thinks, “Okay, there is a total stranger with his hands on my ass†but then I get over it. I walked out feeling like a million bucks and a bit spacey.
Tea at the Elliot Bay. I was good and did not let myself browse because if I let even a toe wander into the bookstore, I know I would buy something. Wander back to the hotel and I take a nap. Dinner, more interview preparation, bed.
THURSDAY
Interview day. Wake up at 6. Work. Leave the hotel at 8. Cab driver is very friendly and is concerned that I will be upset about the traffic on the 520. I reassure him that I knew it would be like this so I left ridiculously early to be safe. He asks me where I’m from. Give him my cliff notes. I can tell he is from somewhere and I guess Africa in my head. I ask where he is from.
“Ethiopia.â€
Something the way he said it and also maybe because of the book I’m reading, I can tell this is not quite true but I don’t say anything.
“I was a refuge from Sudan.â€
He gets me to the office in a half hour. Those of you that know what the 520 looks like in the morning know that this is somewhat amazing. I give him a good tip, which I probably would anyway but you meet someone who has survived genocide, it kinda puts things in perspective for you.
Interviews. I nearly choke to death during the lunch interview on a bit of lettuce which was embarrassing.
Bus back. A lot of people that work for my company use this bus. I can spot them a mile away. Sort of how you can tell the difference between an American, German and French tourist even before they speak. The bus also has WIFI, which cracks me up.
I’m in bed by 8.
FRIDAY
Up early for work.
Lovely lunch.
Meet Meredith and Scott.
Drink enough to make Dylan Thomas, Richard Burton and Mickey Mantle very proud of me indeed.
SATURDAY
I wake up feeling not quite right. Not a hang over- just not- quite- right. Like I can tell that I am probably going to need to go to the doctor for cystitis. Always pleasant. This is my punishment for not getting enough sleep, having a massage and drinking too much two days later.
Breakfast with Monica, we collect Stephanie and her boyfriend and Meredith and go to Fremont Fair  for the solstice thingy. Something I didn’t know about this particular event is that some people get naked. I didn’t see a lot of naked but there was some. Two young guys at least wore cod pieces. Stephanie dubbed him red sparkle crotch because his body was painted completely in red, was wearing a big red feather wig and. . . . his crotch was all red and sparkly. She got a great picture of him and a friend that I will get from her and post later.
There were also two older men that did not go the cod piece route. They instead painted their penis with the body paint. God bless em- but when we were sitting down on the curb eating our lunch, and they came bobbing along, you weren’t quite sure where to look. As one woman we overheard said, “I’m SORRY! But how can I not stare? Where am I supposed to look?â€
Indeed.
When a 60+ year old man with droopy bits and bobs and grey hair everywhere walks by painted in body paint with special attention being given to their neither regions, where are you supposed to look?
Lots of girls where asking to have their picture taken with them. I did think about it, but I didn’t have the guts.
I buy some herbal stuff that I hope will make life easier until I get home and can get to the doc. I’m in bed by 5 PM.
SUNDAY
Awake by 6. Here I am, drinking a vat of coffee. I feel great so I think the herbal stuff may have helped me dodge a bullet.
The plan. Check-out. Meet Meredith for lunch, walk over to the Olympic Structure Park, Shuttle to Sea-Tac, and sit around for hours and hours, flight home.
I love Seattle but I am so ready to get home. I miss Stuart yelling at me for snoring.
Two pints of Moose Drool with lunch at Etta’s.
One pint of ale four hours later with Meredith at Lola.
Two small glasses of wine with tasty, yummy pizza at Via Tribunali.
At the bar at 611 Supreme: One long island iced tea, one dirty Grey Goose martini, one lemon drop, one drink that we asked them to just make something up and it was really amazing and was mostly different types of vodka, one other drink that we asked them to make something up which was sort of like a lemon drop only not as sweet.
I think I have exceeded my alcohol units for the year.
–UPDATE–
I was reminded that in addition to the above cocktails, I also consumed a Side Car.
