Orange Squeaky

Moving Location

2010-02-14T17:07:00.002Z

Okay, so after a lot of twiddling around I've decided to buy orangesqueaky.com and build myself a proper blog.

I'll be backlogging posts that I've enjoyed the most and will be re-directing, as appropriate.

Kisses.

Happy Valenine's Day

2010-02-14T08:22:00.002Z

I've never actually been a fan of Valentine's Day. Not in the romantic lovey-dovey, kissy-kissy sense, anyways.

For me, when you love someone, whether it is family or friend or girlfriend or boyfriend or husband or wife or legalized same-sex partner, you shouldn't wait for one day to show it. You should try to show a little every day and do special things for no other reason than you want to. Not because you are forced to.

So I guess, for me Valentine's Day is just this little reminder that I should be nicer to those I love and do a bit more to show it. If I were in the US, perhaps I would kick of this resolve and purchase Valentine's candy on February 15th at anywhere from 50 - 75% off. Nothing says "I love you" than a 3 pound chocolate bar from the Chocolate Bar that says "I love you." But, nothing says "I love you a whole lot more than I would've on Valentine's Day" than three 3 pound chocolate bars from the Chocolate Bar plus a side of those chocolate rock things that are really good.

I love you all in bulk. Happy Valentine's Day.

Manic-Depressive England

2010-02-10T13:33:00.004Z

I've run two half marathons in England.

My first, the OFFICIAL London Marathon half-marathon at Silverstone, consisted of me freezing to death, being pelted by ice (twice) and climbing... beaten... back onto a bus with the smallest medal I've ever owned and a t-shirt three times larger than I am.

My second, the Sony Run to the Beat, got temperatures close to my homeland of Texas and got me a men's shaving set as a thank you gift.

Apparently, I need to be taller and male.

I actually have nothing against running in England. I have nothing against the odd swag (the Silverstone Half Marathon was the only time I saw men lining up in queues to go to the bathroom and women zooming in and out of the loos.) I can go a lot further when the temperature isn't close to boiling eggs. But for some odd, odd reason when it comes to the actual race day I've experienced the most extremes in climate.

Yes, yes, I know - I'm on an island. But this is an island that can't decide. It was cold but mild this morning, then suddenly, a snow blizzard, then suddenly ... sun. It's like riding some wild weather roller coaster that I never chose to be a part of.

Times like these I miss home with it's consistent HOT setting. But then again, I'd have nothing to blog about, now would I?

Properly Planning a Perfectly Proportionate... Fundraiser

2010-02-10T13:08:00.004Z

So I've babbled on and on about hosting all sorts of events. But what I've never done is tell you the best way to go about planning. Here's the skinny:

Your event should never cost more than 10% of what you think you can fundraise.
Read this twice: YOUR EVENT SHOULD NEVER COST MORE THAN 10% OF WHAT YOU THINK YOU CAN FUNDRAISE. If you plan to spend £100, then you should shoot to raise £1,000. Even if your not concerned about what you spend, you'll find yourself rather disappointed if that £500 you spent on salmon cakes only equaled £100 in donations.

Have a list of guests. Invite them. Invite them again. Call and remind them to come.
Send invites. Email them. Call them. To have a good event you just need a bit of persistence. Don't harass, plan. Let people know a month or two out, then send an invite, then call or email to see if they are coming (if they haven't said yes or no.) Sometimes contacting them will bring a donation or two more even if they can't attend but want to support you.

Stay away from the drippy or messy foods.
Really, you need to be focusing on your guests not scrubbing the carpet. Ideas are:

Cheese + Crackers + Fruit
Pre-Packaged, Pre-Cooked items you can pop on a nice plate or in a stove
Self-Contained themes like: Pasta Party, Pizza, Taco Bowls, or and evening of Desserts

This may not apply in dinner party situations but to reduce your clean-up, it may do best as a course. Speaking of which:

Get paper, plastic, or rent your dishes (there are places that will take them back dirty - really).
Again, focus on your guests not the mess. You can find high-end things that can hit the recycle bin without you crying over them. Alternatively, there are party stores that will provide all sorts of pretty things at a reasonable rental cost. Or you can ditch the plates altogether and get yourself some nice serving items.

Have a donation bowl, tin, or something right where they walk in.
This is for your charity, and you should be proud of it. Wandering around after people have had a few glasses of wine for money may work against you, so just have people "check-in" and drop their donation right at the door. (PS - See if your charity will send along balloons, stickers, or little give-aways like badges or pens. It makes it look a bit more professional.)

Be sure that you gather everyone to thank them and give a donation pitch.
They've come for you and your cause. Make sure you take a moment to stand up and tell them how much it means for them to be supporting you and your charity.

Have fun.
This isn't supposed to be stressful. So pick and plan an event that you can handle and enjoy!

Target. Diversify. Cultivate.

2010-02-10T07:00:00.006Z

If there is one thing I hate, it's asking the ether to donate.

"But," you say, "I have 542,371 followers on Twitter! If everyone donated £1.00 to my cause I would have £542,371.00!"

And it would work, if you were an uber-celebrity or you had a major amount of media behind you.

Chances are you don't have close personal relationships with 542,371 people. Chances are even further that if you got a hold of 542,371 email addresses and sent them an impassioned plea for them you would be seen as... wait for it... wait for it... a SPAMMER.

So chunk the idea that volume = instant goal. What you need is a targeted plan that covers a variety of ideas and cultivates your donors.

And by cultivation I mean "builds a relationship." You're not selling wrenches, you're promoting a cause that you have an emotional attachment to and are actively doing something for.

Let's play pretend!

You've sat down like a good girl/boy and made out your list of potential donors. It looks like this:
1. The affluent group (affluent in my world can give £50 or more).
2. Your work colleagues who you see almost every day.
3. Your friends who you gather with on Fridays.
4. Your friends from overseas.
5. Your Facebook/Twitter friends.

To throw marketing/sales speak - These are your target audiences. You need to sit down and think of ways in which to reach them. Ideas can be as such:

1. Affluent: Wine tasting at your home/Asking in person/Taking a group to dinner.
2. Work colleagues: Bake sale/Raffle/Asking in person
3. Friends: Spare change/Pasta party/Give up a beer for your cause
4. Overseas Friends: Email/Blog/Video/Call everyone over a set period
5. Facebook/Twitter: Donation Posts/Videos/Blogs/Fan Group

Once you pick your ideas and set them into motion there is a futher, final step: CULTIVATION. Reality is not everyone is going to pick up on your cause and throw money at you. You need to build relationships and seek engagement. Sometimes people can only provide moral support, and that is just fine, so long as you treat every single person you approach with respect and kindness. They are doing something for you, so always show appreciation - if it's £1.00 up to £1,000.00. Trust me, it makes good personal and good business sense.

So remember: Target. Diversify. Cultivate. Sticking to one thing (or hoping for one big one) won't get you to your goal. Sticking to your cause will.

Illness caught me.

2010-02-08T13:24:00.003Z

So on Sunday I got up.
I went to the computer and planned out a 6.5 mile running route.
This running route was designed to take me back by my house "just in case."
I climbed upstairs.
Set out my running gear.
I look at the bed.
"Geez, I'm tired."
I climbed back into bed.
I woke up at 4PM.

Sometimes you can outrun the illness, sometimes it catches you. I got quite a bit of sleep yesterday and the bike into work didn't feel so awful.

We'll try running in tomorrow.
If that doesn't work, we'll try walking.

Set backs are set backs but they still suck.

4 miles.

2010-02-06T13:09:00.003Z

Today I ran this many: http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=3458286

The whole time I was much more thirsty than normal. But it was good to be out, I didn't have to wear all my winter gear, and I didn't feel like dying the moment I got home.

I hope this is my only set back as I move forward. Really do.

How you representing?

2010-02-05T07:43:00.005Z

So if you want to think of fundraising from a purely business perspective you should think in two terms:

1. Donations.
2. Exposure.

For those England fundraising types, you've probably gotten packets that give you several very good ways to do #1. Many of them will also give you #2, except you may stand there and think, "Why on EARTH do I need to do something to expose this charity?"

Simple. Because exposure brings awareness and awareness brings more awareness and ... more donations.

"But..." you reply, "this is a well known charity. This shouldn't be hard to raise money for."

That's where you are wrong.

When you commit to fundraising it is always good to commit to some level of exposure as well. A business wouldn't open a shop without a sign. A dentist wouldn't set up practice and then not tell anyone where they are. That is why you'll see charities with commercials, posters, and cheerleaders at the race.

People need to know the charity exists in order to support (or seek support) from it. You probably wouldn't have known about your charity without a personal experience, a friend who got help from it, a campaign on television or in the news that touched you, or even an advertisement seeking runners. Exposure is important and as vital as any donations you get.

So...

Wear your t-shirt or running jersey whenever you can. I wear my t-shirt for the N ational Autistic Society on Friday, and my jersey on my long runs.
Carry a few informational pamphlets and your collection tin wherever you go. It will remind you to talk about your charity and maybe get you some support.
Let local media outlets know what you are doing. Many radio stations and charities have Twitter accounts and don't mind retweeting people looking for donations. News groups will sometimes do profile pieces on people doing charity work of all kinds.
Blog. (Um, duh.) Tweet. (Double duh.) and Fan your group on Facebook. (TRIPLE duh.) Heck, add a support ribbon to your avatar.

There a many great ways to show support for your charity and help elevate awareness. My best feeling has come not from the donations (though it feels spectacular) but from a woman who saw me running in my jersey during a practice run. As I jogged by she caught my eye and said, "Thank you."

It's just a reminder that despite my own goal, there is a bigger cause out there.

Withdrawal.

2010-02-04T20:23:00.004Z

I haven't run since Sunday.

SUNDAY.

I haven't run.

It's turning me crazy.

Well, there's a lot of things that contribute to my crazy, but I would like to highlight one of those: My current lack of running.

I'm sick. Straight up. Had a fever yesterday and everything. Today, I'm on cold meds but feeling antsy. Nothing today made me very happy. I am not myself without my running shoes. Just not. It's part of me and who I am and I hate, hate, hate being sick.

As if to taunt me there are about 20x more runners around. Yes, I know, we've got half marathons and marathons coming. Lots of people in England run. As this is an island, this means we can't spread out - so I see them everywhere. I half expected them to run through my office, chatting about wick-away and if they were wearing enough spandex.

My bright side is that I did get to do a mental dump today on work tasks with a colleague. This, at least, relieved me somewhat. But I feel it. That itch, that ache. That odd need to just go out and sprint for no reason other than I can.

But it won't do me any good if it means I get worse. So I will sit and simmer, and hope I can direct the negative feelings I have about not running into something - anything - positive.

Head full of cotton.

2010-02-03T17:14:00.002Z

My head is full of cotton.
My throat is full of it too.
Because of this cotton existence,
I can't put on my running shoes.

Can't put on my left one.
Nor can I lace my right.
Can't go running in England's gloom.
Or the cold of night.

I guess I could be let down.
I'm wearing a sweatshirt that is blue.
My head is full of cotton.
Can't put on my running shoes.

Big monies asking.

2010-02-02T20:28:00.003Z

So now that VMGiving is passing me around to super great people who are working for their charities, I thought now and again I'll post some of my old fundraising tips up for people to use.

I'll jump into it: It is HARD to ask for big money.

It is easy to break it down, and so that is what people do. But to hit (and exceed - nothing like good excess for fundraising) you have to go out, be humble, and ask for some dough.

A few blogs back I talked about making up a Fundraising Pool. This is where you look through everyone you know, list them, and think about what area of donation they fall into. If you are lucky and you have a few successful friends they would fall into your category called Major Donors. These are people you ask with utmost care, ones that you should take the time to tailor your ask to.

Time to think.

Are they a person who will give so long as you ask?
Many good friends and business colleagues are like this. If you approach, be passionate and honest, they will often back you up. All you have to do is approach, open your mouth, and try. If you are nervous find someone willing to play act with you so you don't feel as if you are jumping straight into cold water.

Are they someone you'd like to do something for?
If you find yourself stuck on straight asking, why not think of an event to center around your friend or friends? Hold an exclusive dinner where you cook a big feast, or uncork some special wine for a night and ask a suggested donation amount. Sometimes it loosens you up a bit and makes it easier to ask for bigger bucks.

Are they someone who can help promote your cause?
Sometimes it is more than money, these people can be the bringers of smaller donations that really add up. Business owners may put a collection tin out front and make a big deal out of your efforts. Others might join in to sponsor your running shirt, giving advertising dollars to a worthy cause. Still more may help you with smaller events like raffles and bake sales.

Remember: Don't be afraid. Be creative, flexible, and confident.

A little ahead, a little behind.

2010-02-02T20:03:00.002Z

There is a sore throat thing going around work. So I'm sitting here mildly medicated and a bit irritated as - of course - this interferes with my marathon training.

I was lamenting at elevensies the passing of the half marathon as my hard race. I was wistful, almost teary-eyed, at the thought of running ONLY 13.1 miles. Oh the joy of getting my first Duck from Disney all those years ago....

But then...it hit me. I'm ahead a bit on my training! So with this knee needing a bit of RNR and my throat, I've decided that this weekend I celebrate the halvsies once again. Yes, the joyful, relaxing halvsie. Best to put my mental mindset on something that is now a light and frothy, a refreshing little multi-mile joggy.

Sometimes it is good to be a little ahead so you can be a little behind. It helps at the times like this that happen in every persons race journey where marshmellow clouds float through your head because it is mildly stuffy. Yep, I think I'll hold slightly on that 17-miler.

Please sponsor. Thank you. Fluffels.

Brief Devation.

2010-02-01T21:42:00.002Z

I'm not using Conn's for appliance service anymore.

I do not expect people in the US in normal US jobs doing normal US things to have a US citizen call them and say, "Hey, I'm renting out my place and the dryer is broken. I need someone to fix it, but they need to call/email/smoke signal me back so I can pay for it. I AM NOT LOCATED IN THE US. DO NOT BE FOOLED BY MY US ACCENT. I SAY BIN NOW INSTEAD OF TRASH CAN."

9 times out of 10 they don't get it. Here, I get the confusion when US people call UK phone numbers and get US people answering them. It's weird. It takes a bit of explaining. But when you try and try and try and try to tell US people you are NOT in the US, they somehow, some way, don't believe you.

So Conn's put me on hold forever and a day (HELLO? I AM PAYING FOR THIS CALL!), and not only that, they don't even know what is wrong with the dryer. They just complained that no one was there to pay the bill. And when I call them, trying, PLEADING to pay a bill they seem confused.

"You have a US accent, why are you calling from England?"

"Because I am US born and raised. I've lived here a little over a year. Sometimes I say shed-ual instead of schedule but not always, though Lord knows I won't call a toilet a ur-i-null. Can I please pay a bill for a dryer which is located on 100% God Bless American soil?"

"Why are you paying for a dryer in the US?"

"Because, oddly enough, I own a place there which I rent and thereby must fix things on occasion."

"Oh. This is with an American card, right?"

grumble...cuss under breath....

I try to think that my fellow Americans have an international mindset. But sometimes I don't think they see outside of their cubical.

Sigh.

Recognition and Lots More Running.

2010-02-01T12:40:00.004Z

So, yay, VMGiving is Retweeting me! I may even get a bit of recognition in their fundraising blog! How cool is that?

It's nice to get a little bit of recognition now and again. People can scoff all they want at people tweeting and facebooking away about the miles they run, but we do it for a reason. Running, unlike many sports, isn't team enabled. Your competitor is always you. Yes, I know, people run in groups and for charities, but in the end it's your time. Not your team's time, not your charities time.

Your time.

So that's why loads of people don't run. It's hard, it's monotonous, and it's you against you. Someone is always BOUND to be faster, put in a better PR, and finish looking glorious instead of like they've been run over.

Thus, we runner's go for our little solo happy achievements and use tools to find encouragement to continue to race ourselves. I ran 14.65 miles yesterday through surprisingly good winter weather for England. I tweeted it. Sometimes when I tweet people tweet back "Good going!" or the ever-present English, "Well done!" And I smile and feel good about myself. I'm not out to make people feel bad because they aren't running (I am, matter of fact, a surprisingly terrible runner) but so that people know:

Yes, I'm actually training for a marathon. I'm taking it seriously. I'm raising funds. And my knee feels stiff.

Okay, so the last one might count as TMI *but* I'd rather people know I'm human and not super-human. Though, I think if I became super-human I'd really want to tweet about that.

Moving on.

I did make it through my run yesterday, but with a lovely and surprising stiffness showing up at about the point where my brain said, "Um. So hey and stuff. Did you know you've never actually ran this far?" It's in the knee that got injured in my only car accident - in which my own car hit me. (I was outside of it, swear.) Did I cry? No. I'm still actively working on researching ways to cope with this. It doesn't hurt that much, but I don't want to make it worse. So a rethinking is happening.

In related news I can say that Oxford has AMAZING canal and river walks. Now that the water has gone down I spent quite a lot of my jogging near the river. Peaceful and people happy to move out of your way (unlike running near the shops). I'm trying to see if I can create a run in which 90% of it is out on these paths. Definitely gets me distracted from the fact that I'm running this insane amount of distance.

So this week is going to be a lot of reflection on my current status so I can work on improving. I'm also going to hit the Virgin Money Giving forum and try to motivate people to raise for what they believe in. I encourage anyone who has any ideas to get on as well.

Peace out.

Goal raising and my FARTHEST DISTANCE EVER!

2010-01-31T08:46:00.003Z

Okay, so I raised my goal.

After being asked to share with VMGiving I realized I needed to. You don't just spend a good chunk of the morning breaking down achieving doable fundraising goals and think, "Yep, and here I am, so super proud of my over-achievement!" Virgin was founded by a guy who doesn't believe in limits, so I had to raise mine.

P.S. - I really like the Virgin Money Giving site. If you are charity raising your life is much, much easier. Back in the days of dinosaurs and green screen mobiles a person spent a huge chunk of time tending to their donors and swearing they wouldn't pass out credit card information.

Anyways.

14.65 miles. That is what is on the register for today. I believe I ran 14.10, in a (now defunct?) Nike+ Half Marathon. The goal of this half, so I was told, was to take your Nike+ out and in 24 hours (which is lovely) run 13.1 miles or more. Seeing as when this happened I was in my final months of living in Houston I decided to run a huge area near my home. I found out that it was hot, carrying enough water/gel without people at rest stops is hard, people build directly into public sidewalks (Hooray for running through shrubs!) , and much of the damage from Hurricane Ike was still around. But I finished and I turned in my time and I never got my tshirt or keychain as I was promised.

Ever.

So I have that run on memory, but nothing further, and sadly, nothing better.

Until now, that is. Glorious Oxford with its glorious sidewalks and trails and bike paths! (And, of course, stupid Oxford with its far to easy to access outdoor running!)

In short, there isn't an excuse.

I did well on my last long run, and even though it wasn't tasty, the ROCTANE will be with me again. I really didn't hurt very much after wards with that in play, so out it will trot again. (Along with nummy chocolate and mint chocolate GU!)

So if you see me in these next few hours (I'll be wearing my jersey!) give me a shout or jump on and donate to my cause.

See you on the other side o' the bloggy.

The Pyramid

2010-01-30T10:52:00.006Z

So I was asked by VMGiving (follow them) that if I had any fundraising tips I should pass them on.

Get the opportunity for an extra bit of promotion for the National Autistic Society and help others? No problem.

I actually spent three years in grassroots fundraising for local candidates in Houston, Texas. (If you think charity fundraising is hard try politics!) Every year we would go through a training day of understanding how to break apart a fundraising goal and achieve it.

All fundraising starts with a goal. The goal for me is to run a marathon, and in doing so raise £1,250.00 for the National Autistic Society. £1,250.00 is a lot of money to me, almost an entire months salary. I've also got a time limit - my marathon is March 21st. So I've got seven weeks. Plus I've got to train.

Does this sound familiar?

Wanting to do two things very badly - run a marathon AND bring attention and funds to a personal cause - can cause a mental breakdown on one or both sides of your goal. This is why you should, right now, get a sheet of paper out and a pencil. Draw this:

This is your fundraising pyramid. It is designed for you to see your goal not as a large and daunting challenge, but as a means to an end.

Time to think.

Who are the kind of people you can ask for support? Friends? Family? Colleagues? Wealthy socialite pals? Who are they? List them out on the paper. If you run out of room go to another sheet, but list them out. These people are what we call a Fundraising Pool. They are the people who will determine the most and least amount of donations you can feasibly achieve.

Find the person you think can afford the most to donate, and the persons (plural!) you think can afford the least to donate. Be realistic and put yourselves in their shoes. During our training we would often role play to try to understand what it would be like to be them. That way you can set your range.

For example:
I have a business friend who has known about my running for years. He's really supportive and has run a marathon himself. I feel confident I can ask him to donate £100.00 to my cause. On the flip side I have a ton of friends getting their college degrees. They don't have lots of money but I bet if I ask, they'll give up a pint or two for my cause. I could collect £5.00 from them, no problem.

So draw in your pyramid:
The top is now the highest goal you wish to get in donations, the bottom is what you hope to collect as your smallest donations. Because the £5.00 is on the bottom, and makes up the majority of what you hope to get, this is called your Fundraising Base.

Now think about your middle. Can you:

Collect £5 a week from some friends leading up to your marathon?
Get larger sponsorships like £1.00/mile = £26.20 or even higher?
Hold a bake sale, a raffle, or sell off old furniture or equipment?
Ask your company if they will match your fundraising goals, contribute, or help promote you?
Have a house party - where you make spaghetti and garlic bread (a la carbo loading) for all your friends for a suggested donation?
Bag groceries or help out in local businesses for tips to your cause?

A mixture of these can mean in my world anywhere from £10 - 50 in extra donations (plus some change to boot). So draw:

Now that you've gotten your amounts down you can start to break the weeks leading up to your marathon with achievable goals. Here are mine:

Hold a weekly baking raffle at £1/ticket. But ... I let people know that if they sponsor me for £20.00 online, I will give them a coupon to have cookies baked for them whenever they ask plus 20 chances to win more baked goods! (This has worked well for me.)
My company lets me keep my collection tin out whenever I'm at work, plus they are letting me sell old chairs and desks we no longer use to directly fund the National Autistic Society. (See my largest donor - My awesome friends & colleagues)
I had a few business associates and friends that have no problem in giving large donations of £50 - 100. Thankfully many of them have done endurance races, so they know what I'm going through!
A week before my marathon I'm having a pasta party for £5/each. My desert is a much-loved brownie recipe and I'll have more baked goods to give away. Overall a cheap night out for most of my friends.

Through a weekly no-fuss event (raffle), asking and keeping my collection tin at hand, and a pre-marathon spaghetti party I feel I can reach my goal and not feel overwhelmed by everything else. I'm not focused on the £1,250.00 - but the £1 that are often £5 in raffle tickets, the occasional desk or chair sale, and those individuals who step up and give £20 because they love my brownies and cookies.

They often say that when you train you should break up your mileage and build to your goal. The same is true for fundraising. Be flexible, creative, and play to your strengths. Don't let a big number or big mileage get you down. Break it down and make it doable.

I totally was not expecting this.

2010-01-28T07:00:00.002Z

I reached my goal.

I started less than a month ago and *poof*

I reached my goal.

Now, of course, the good fundraiser in me would say: "Well, then, Cristin, doesn't that mean you should RAISE your goal?"

And I think, "Well, yeah, but...."

But. (It's the greatest and most terrible word ever.)

There are others I know running equal challenges. People who, just like me, drag their sorry butts into stretchy material and hoof it to and from work and on odysseys around their towns. All for their chosen cause.

Not that I'm saying I could do with any more donations. Or argue that getting those donations help diagnose, support, and champion people who live with autism. Nor that those donations have already helped at LEAST 62 people. I could happily support another 62 more.

I'm just saying.

Regardless, and to make good on my little bit of jealousy over a kid who did something amazing I'm going to see if I can't interview a few people who are also running and raising. Maybe you'll like them and support them. Maybe you will support us both. Maybe, just maybe, it will only be about me.

I reached my goal.

Well, one of them.

Now I've got to make good on the other - finish the marathon.

Gotta run.

Holy cow! I'm going to run 100 miles ... this month!

2010-01-27T13:24:00.004Z

So I thought to total up my mileage this morning and it came up at 85+ miles. It's stunning, really, to think of running THAT FAR in a very short period of time. When I started training for my very first half marathon I was thrilled for a 5 mile week. It's a bit different now.

When you make the choice to start running every mile is hard. My first ever training consisted of buying enough different types of running shoes to recycle the rubber into a play park's jogging track. I thought I broke my leg, twisted my calf, or cut off my foot a dozen times (and probably had every bit of my legs scanned at the doctors). I purchased and lost a half dozen of those Nike+ things, and I would stand at the copy machine doing leg balancing exercises because I was so terrified of not having core strength to even go through a 10K.

Now, if it isn't a 10K I have to think about wanting to run it. I cope with 5Ks. My hero, Jill, won't even think about it unless it starts at 6 miles. My 3 mile run-commute to work? Whatever! My only brief annoyance is if I venture out during bus pick-up/drop-off time I have to walk a lot in the city centre. (My life is more important than my marathon training.)

That's not to say that my legs still don't hurt (especially in cold weather - ugh!), that I sometimes don't have the mental will to do it, or that I've poorly planned for how long I'll be gone. I often tell people it's my first 3 miles that I have to spend convincing myself to run the extra 10 or 20 or whatever. Because after you've gone ahead and gone that far, you might as well keep going.

Not to mention that people keep giving me money. That guilts me into running for sure.

And so this month I'll manage 100 of those miles. Quite the accomplishment for me.

Yay me.

Support Charlie, Support Locally.

2010-01-25T19:50:00.004Z

I'm having one of those days.

A day where you see something like this and you feel a bit, I dunno, jealous. I mean, really, this is something cool. Another positive outcome in social media.

But the little whiny kid inside me screams, "I wanna raise close to a quarter million pounds for autism! I'm gonna go so way like big farther than that boy! A whole 21.2 miles more! With my feet!"

When 9/11 hit I was in fundraising. After the towers fell and all those tragedies unfolded, people gave and gave in droves. It was beautiful to watch, unless you were part of charities that did not directly impact 9/11 and their survivors. I remember phone banking to countless people telling me, "No. Sorry. I gave to the victims of 9/11." I was crushed. Felt like a girl dumped for a cooler and more trendy charity. Seriously.

There is a saying, "Think locally, act globally." Globally, this is a no-brainer. This is horrible, they need help, and not a single person should feel bad because of their donation to a kid on a bike or a collection group on the street.

The other is to realize that proactive giving can help avoid other tragedies that can be right in your backyard. Giving to organizations who mobilize for causes you believe in, where you can see results, makes you feel more connected with the people around you.

When I chose my charity I realized I wanted to raise for something that impacted me immediately. I know what every dollar does, and what every cent means. I know what the reactions will be to better support, care, and diagnosis of this diverse condition people struggle daily to understand.

So I challenge you this: Support Charlie. Seriously, do it. Then do something locally. Something that gets you up and going like my charity does.

Think globally, act locally.

12.71 baby!

2010-01-24T14:55:00.002Z

This is one of those videos you keep around as a damn good reason never to give up.

Today I ran my 12.71 miles. I wasn't fast, as once I hit Port Meadow (which is amazing to run through btw) I found myself pretty much plodding up and down short rolling hills in muck. Granted, one must expect that surprises are all part of the running experience, though I didn't think wading shoe deep through a bit of stream to get to a running trail would be one of them.

This run I tried Roctane - this new GU gel that is supposed to be somewhat similar to Powerthirs t by they way they label it. It is, according to the box, "[An] advanced formula [which] amplifies GU's original Energy Gel recipe and adds new ingredients to boost your chances of success."

It comes in a flavor called Blueberry Pomegranate and tastes like a blueberry thing with coffee grounds mixed in. Very gritty. However, when I hit my major hill (always scheduled for the end because that is where sadistic running planners place them anyways) my calves didn't scream in agony. So even though I wasn't thrilled with the gritty part, I couldn't complain about my legs.

I also decided to wear my jersey, which was also the decision of various other people out training today. I saw MacMillan Cancer Support and one for the British Heart Foundation. Most people looked at me and nodded, and one lady said thank you. Being that Oxford is a young town with people running all over the place, I will take this as a positive step forward in support from the local townspeople.

So after this the really hard part starts - the 14, 17, and 20. Mileage I've never done before. Am I worried? Yes. But hey, I better be dying of something really good now in order to even consider quitting.

Lookie! Jersey!

2010-01-23T22:03:00.005Z

It came! It came! My running jersey showed up a few days ago with its letters and I just ironed them on tonight. I briefly considered wearing it everywhere like a kid with the coolest new shoes, but then I was reminded that it is cold, this is a thin overlay, and it would look really strange over a pea coat.

Tomorrow is 12 miles. The last "easy" run for me, though I can say I've done 14. After this we venture into unknown territory. Miles I've never run before, and a continued straining of how to run them all in a town which, now that I've had to plan runs of this magnitude, seems a heck of a lot smaller.

Thankfully it's not entirely like Houston, where you are forced to a park or a roadway (though props to the city for hosting warm-up runs for their marathon). But because this town is so pedestrian friendly it's hard to plan a route that won't, at some point, intersect a major shopping/tourist area.

Nonetheless, no race I've ever been to has been clear sailing with no crowds, back-ups, or odd bottlenecks. So, really, I'm just training for the inevitable.

In my wicked awesome purple NAS jersey. Represent!

Plan A, Plan B

2010-01-22T18:57:00.002Z

I have to thank Matthew for this. He was the first one to suggest I contact the US Embassy and see if I can apply for an emergency passport because of the length of time the UK could potentially take to process my visa.

Today the official word came back: I can get a short term passport so I do not lose my application for visa renewal. It is a legitimate reason.

This means: I CAN RUN ROME!

Granted, it could all go straight down the toilet, but the one thing it taught me is I have an amazing support structure. Colleagues and friends told me that, if needed, they would go stand on a corner and give me water and gel. You never know, I might very well still need that.

So I have 2 miles tomorrow and 12 on Sunday. And when I go out I go out knowing:

1. I can run anywhere and still make a difference.
2. It's good to have friends who take a moment to give you a Plan A, and a Plan B.

The only downside to this is I have a massive tin of cookies and not a soul was seen at the pub this evening. So, no formal celebration as of yet. So while I'm bursting to be all giddy this will be a happy little night of telly and sleep.

Oh well. Gotta remain positive.

Eh, forget it. I'm positive.

2010-01-21T21:47:00.003Z

There is a friend of mine from college who decided in his youth to be an optimist. I think I read that in a Facebook survey and it's stuck with me. Because, knowing him, he 100% lived up to his decision. I've never really come across someone who has just remained so upbeat.

Today, I couldn't help but think about choice.

This visa thing could be a bad thing. I could throw my hands up and blame the world. But, that's not productive.

So I will work to get around it. I will ask every person every question under the sun. I will not give up the chance of going. I will do everything to conform and jump through every hoop placed in front of me.

And if I still can't go, then I will run here. I will run the First Annual Cristin Oxford Marathon. It will be called the Cristin Oxford as I am the only entry, and therefore I win and get to name the marathon whatever I want. And because there is ZERO overhead, I can just promote the National Autistic Society.

No weenie wagons or balloon bitches or corrals. I could probably talk people into standing outside with cups of water every few miles and I do know a paramedic.

So it's Rome or it's home grown. I'm still running. Thanks, Chris, for letting me know I have a choice.

My world collapsing.

2010-01-20T19:37:00.003Z

As of right now, in this very moment, I will not be running the Rome Marathon.

This is not due to injury. This is not due to money. It is due to my visa.

The UK Border Agency has decided to implement biometrics. What that is is even more information that you submit, in person, to prove you are who you are. Because of this, my visa application time has gone from 4-6 weeks to 12 weeks or more.

If I start the process but ask for my passport back, my application is canceled. I can't travel anywhere outside of the UK until it comes back. Period.

I'm hoping for a miracle. I've raised over £800.00 for the National Autistic Society and have been training endlessly for March 21st.

I've already promised myself that no matter where I am I will run a marathon on March 21st regardless. I could find London's map and just run on the sidewalks. I could go to Edinburgh and map out something with my best friend.

But I really, really had my heart set on Rome. Really did.

This hurts a lot.

Lead legs.

2010-01-19T19:16:00.003Z

Today I had lead legs.

It didn't help the bike path was flooded and I had to run extra in order to get to and from work.

I try to coach myself, "This is what mile 20 will be! And I'll be so happy because I've trained so hard that I only have lead legs!"

Nonetheless, my legs are lead. They feel detached from my body and are stubborn every time I try to move them.

I can't let the lead legs travel up and give me lead brain.

Can't, can't, can't.

A glorious 10 miles, a total lack of sleep.

2010-01-18T18:31:00.002Z

I think my running thing is totally working against me. Yesterday I ran (almost) 10 miles (stupid wrong turn) and I felt great.

- Great stride
- Great water/gel intake
- Great

I even went BACK into the center of town to drop of things for a consultant who is staying with us for the next bit. I walked around (meaning I did 10 miles... technically), read, stayed up to my normal bedtime.

I was thinking - I am totally rocking this endurance thing.

Until 4AM.

That's when I woke up. *bing* Just like that. I tried everything I could think of to go back to sleep, but nothing worked. The alarm went off. I got up.

Today I've had a record 3 teas with extra sugar, and through my amazing psychic mind control powers had two donuts delivered to my desk. (Seriously, this is why you should run - mind control powers. You will give the NAS sponsorship.) Granted, this completely negates all my calories burned yesterday but it meant that come 5:30 PM I wasn't asleep at my desk.

Now, if only I can translate lack of sleep to sleep for amazing running powers. And more donuts. And sponsorships.

Team Orange Squeaky: NOW OFFICIAL

2010-01-17T18:17:00.004Z

I love Adobe Illustrator. No joke. I would marry the program if I were another program. We'd have little Pantone color children. It would be a romance of 72 point font.

The first time I ever ran a half marathon I made shirts. We were Team Last Place (motto: We suck at this so you don't have to). Back then, when mobile phones had green screens, you had to search out tshirt shops willing to run very small batches. At the time I had contacts, and black and red shirts were printed out for all those who cheered the quartet of us on.

Things have changed since then. Now you can have a custom shirt in under a half hour if you so choose. So, for this run, I've created the following designs:

We'll have Finley leaping for his most favorite toy on front and the team on the back. If I get my act together, we'll even print out the sponsors.

You like?

32 Reasons, 62 Impacts

2010-01-16T10:32:00.005Z

Right now:

1. I have made a training plan. A real one.
I am using the "Oh ma GAWD I so totally like don't have time to train for a marathon" guide and the aptly named "Beginner's Marathon Training Plan" from the NAS. Special thanks to hero Jill for helping me to think this all the way through.

2. Found out my bestie and his wife will be, at worst, at the finish line of said marathon.
And they've never, ever, ever been to the most awesomest city ever. Which means that I need to follow said training plan combo thingy above so that I can take them around to everything cool and super in Rome.

3. Nearly hit my fundraising goal two weeks after starting it.
Thanks to GMC (not the car company) for teaching me all about grassroots fundraising and finding passionate and creative ways to reach out to people.

Which means that as of right now...

I've funded 50 people in a gardening program for adults.
Helped professionals assess 2 children with autism
Given 10 people access to the Autism Helpline.

And that means the big #4:
I've gotten the support of over 32 individuals who believe in my cause and believe I can finish that marathon, whose training program is planned, who will have two people there for me who have never been to Rome, who have both supported the National Autistic Society

Which means that even though it will be me on that course getting a medal, we've impacted 62 lives no matter the outcome.

As they would say in England, "WELL DONE!"

Busy.

2010-01-14T22:07:00.002Z

Today I...

Ranthreemilessortedthroughmailtrainedawebeditorthoughtaboutwebprocessfoundoutmybestestfriendandwifecouldcome oRomechangedatablelegranthreemilesbakedmuffinsandbrowniesformybakesaleandchattedwithfriendtomakesurewecandothisonthecheapwhichmakessenseandthenItookabathandwrotethisblogandnowIamgoingtobed.

Motivation. Sometimes you make yourself so busy, it comes naturally.

I'm up to £573.20 now. Who's with me?

Little Changes.

2010-01-13T19:58:00.003Z

Obligatory push for sponsorship. You know you can donate a £1, right? It's the little things that matter.

My Mommy taught me that. Wrap a present with a nicer bow, remember how someone takes their coffee, randomly send a card to a friend.

It's the little things.

When people want to change they want to change, BIG. BIG RISK. BIG REWARD! Right? Sometimes, but really, I'd give it a lower percentage (10%). The only way to make the permanent change is to tweak bits.

Remove a sugar from your coffee, walk to the grocer once a week, always say thank you... Little things you can implement in your life that can make a big impact over time. Right now I'm out jogging through snow. I'm not setting land speed records, but I've committed to my slow increase in mileage come hell or frozen fluffy water. I've not signed up for an ultra or tried to race down icy slopes. Slow and steady. Be the tortoise. It took me 6 years to feel ready for a marathon, no need to rush and injure myself.

On the same note, I know I'm reaching the hard part of the fundraising. So I've got to remember, little things.

For the Twitterfolk.

2010-01-12T19:06:00.002Z

I am being sponsored by people I, by all accounts, don't even know.

I am receiving encouragement, praise, retweets, everything from a silly little social community where I only know them by their handles and the 140 character updates.

Somewhere it was written that 2010 is the Decade of Change and Hope. Times when we stop living in fear and start working as a community regardless of where were currently reside. And while I believe firmly that we need to work to balance the technological community with the actual community, I also believe that the technological community is more real and alive then some people I see walking down the street everyday.

Yes, people call it silly, a place of publishing TMI ... but it's also a place where thoughtful, talented people can actually make little waves and ripples towards some more positive love in this world.

So here's to the Twitterfolk, the Tweeps, the ones who give me peeps. This big old round thing called Earth is much better because of you.

Today my hero is Jill

2010-01-11T21:07:00.003Z

Jill was the person I blame for getting me into running.

She was the foxy chick who, while we wandered around picking up cones at my first 5K (we were late... really late) said in passing, "Oh, me and my brother are going to run the Disney Half Marathon."

After we stumbled across the finish line (and they immediately pulled up all traces of it) my calves were burning. I was dehydrated, hot, and thought... I want to run a half marathon. Yeah, sure, why not?

So a few days later I checked the Disney Half Marathon site. They had just decided, that day, to take on more registrants. I registered. Then I spent the rest of the day tormenting my co-workers with the occasional scream of, "Holy &^%$! I signed up to run 13.1 miles!"

That January, I finished (in tears) my first, my slowest, half marathon. Then I signed up again, and again. Jill and her brother were getting good and thought they'd go for the marathon. After pleading with security we stood out in Animal Kingdom waving signs as they ran - delirious and arm and arm, towards the last few miles and their first Mickey medal.

And while I stayed happily in half marathon land they have since gone on to run not one, not two, but THREE Goofy Challenges. That is, the half marathon on Saturday and the marathon on Sunday. 39.3 miles.

This past weekend was the third. They had to run extra to ensure they got to compete as the weather completely hindered Disney's normal plans and nearly kept them out of starting.

So I really can't complain about my training. Cannot moan about weather or how my legs hurt. Because there are people out there who have, since the moment I thought to sign up to run my first race, driven even harder to excellence.

So this running blog is for Jill. My hero.

Don't forget if you read, sponsor me. And you can blame Jill, who got me hooked and made me think big.

Either I'm hard core, or hard headed.

2010-01-10T16:32:00.002Z

If every one of the people who follow me on Facebook and Twitter were to sponsor me for £2/each I would make £600.00 for the National Autistic Society. Seriously. I love the crowd, man.

My specialty has never been high end fundraising. I remember, back when I had to do the major donor training, I shook and shook when having to call every number. (Yes, cold call major donor fundraising - woo!) It was the most nerve wracking, emotionally scary thing I've ever done.

They even had people sitting around to watch you as you made the calls. Seriously.

But give me the many for a few and I'm a happy bunny. I like the idea of groups getting together to carry a person through. When I was out today, freezing, realizing that the snow was slowing me down, I went through every name of every person who has encouraged me. Mentors, friends, family, all of them. Even though I posted my worst time for 10 miles, I ran the majority of it because I couldn't let a single one of them down.

So call me hard core, or hard headed. But there is a lot of people who are supporting this venture, so I have to give them the biggest return possible.

Now, if you don't mind, I'm off to pass out.

I've figured out all Dan Brown novels.

2010-01-08T22:08:00.003Z

1. There's this guy, right? Or this girl, it doesn't matter. What matters is they are super smart and well located in this really obscure field of something like pretzel physics. They are also emotional islands where no one ever, ever, ever loved them except one person. But they are dead, or they shafted them hardcore.

2. There is this government conspiracy, or there is this big organization that is being covered up by the government. And they've concocted a plan which is anywhere from 2 months to 3,000 years in the making.

3. For some reason, this plan would totally have kicked butt save for the fact that this solo individual existed.

4. Oh, and his/her trusty sidekick (if more than one kill off others).

5. Oh, and that member of the opposite sex that is so totally hot and stirring that love member that hasn't been used. This person just so happens to understand the light speed of salt as it refracts off the pretzels that the government has used in a conspiracy to dupe the people into believing cheese is a dairy product.

6. Somewhere along the line the main character decides they need to involve a:
a. Stupidly rich person who has dedicated their lives to pretzels.
b. Unbelievably well connected individual who hold the keys to the gates of heaven or a missile.
c. Someone who pretty much has a massive ego complex and unlimited credit.

7. That individual has some sort of axe to grind.

8. There is a secondary axe grinding figure who is set up to look as though their axe is bigger... and...

8. That individual may also have some sort of connection with an individual who is a straight-up trained killer. This trained killer may or may not have trained killer friends.

9. Now that you have main character, trusty sidekick, sexy person, eccentric person, secondary eccentric, a conspiracy, and a trained killer, you start your story.

10. Everything is true. Seriously, look it up in wikipedia.

11. The main character should be close to death multiple times. One of those times needs to involve tight, enclosed spaces and water. This is because this person fears tight, enclosed spaces and water and never in a MILLION YEARS get near them. Except for that one time, with the sexy person.

12. If it were not for the trusty sidekick and/or sexy person, they would've died. Mercifully, they recall obscure facts in intense pressure situations and on very little sleep.

13. The bad eccentric person (aka one with trained killer friends) likes to encrypt their voice when they talk to their trained killer friends. Or send notes. Or maybe kittens with actions to kill lovingly glued to their tails.

14. Somewhere along the line one of the eccentric people has to die, but ARE THEY DEAD?

15. When the bad person is revealed they sit down and tell them everything about themselves, their history, history of the plot, how the plot was way foolproof, what temp they like their steak at....

16. But just before the trained killer or the bad eccentric person kills them (usually the trained killer does something stupid like shoot daisies instead of bullets)...

17. The main character solves the puzzle/calls the military/wins Publisher Clearinghouse Sweepstakes.

18. The trusty sidekick is given a smack on the rear and sent packing.

19. Then they have naughty fun time with the sexy person.

The end.

Snow, snow, slow go...

2010-01-07T20:02:00.002Z

It snowed a foot in Oxford (or 15cm or something but that means nothing to this US Ex-Pat). This means my running has turned into trudging in snow boots through snow which has, most recently, taken on the color and consistency of my home town beach.

I know that even though I'm not running (and I feel this pang of sadness every time I see a runner in proper trail shoes jog by) I am working the calves and still doing the miles. I figure if, come Saturday, it's still like this I will sock up and trudge my 10 miles in my boots.

I have to. Can't let my sponsors (or me) down, after all.

I think this is what they call "doing things for a higher cause."

In humble appreciation, Happy Birthday to me.

2010-01-04T19:57:00.002Z

I have the best colleagues, friends, family, and Twitterpeople in the world.

Today I got chocolate, hugs, sponsorships, phone calls, texts, and IMs from all over the place.

I was reminded today of how rich I am to have so many talented, brilliant, beautiful, and bold people in my life.

I will keep running because of each and every one of you.

You know who you are.

x

The Matter Over Mind.

2010-01-03T18:38:00.003Z

So I did my 8 miles.

Yay.

My feet feel a bit rough and my knee was doing the same thing it did during the Sony Half Marathon - briefly tried to take my legs elsewhere. Oh, and I had a tummy cramp for the first two miles and I think I threw up a little in my mouth three or four times and I can still taste the Gu (Mint Chocolate) I used at mile four. Which is fine, but I keep thinking I should be making a proper dinner.

And yet, I'm still happy I went out and did this.

Distance running is mental. There are steps:

1. Convince yourself you are going to run "a really, really, really, long way." And that it will be "super awesome wicked fun." For instance, when I ask people to sponsor me I tell them "I'm going on a 26.2 mile scenic tour of Rome for the National Autistic Society in under 6 hours."

2. Delude the rest of your body into cooperating. This may take some work. You do this through this thing called "consistency." Consistency is when you nudge your body out the door in whatever horrible weather England throws at you regularly. Not whenever you feel like it, but a lot of times. Eventually, the body agrees... but it will most likely pitch a few fits.

3. Combine your brain and rest of body together in one big happy, rainbow-filled existence. And when one or the other gives out you continue motion (walking, hopping, crawling) and result to "Little Engine That Could" - you think you can you think you can you think you can...

What your end game is is the Runner's High. I read somewhere at some point (on Wikipedia or something) that this high is equal to a good dose of heroine. This is why you find running addicts. It's one of the few addictions that people support, to an end. I mean, yes, I own a Fuel Belt and dayglo running leggings... but I can't quote my finish times of the last few races and God help me on splits and farklets. Seriously.

Today it was the Runner's Zen - which I refer to it as, anyway. Not the sparkler shooting joy but the peace of knowing I've done my goal for the day. To me, it takes breaking something down and edging forward to get anywhere, and knowing I can cross 8 miles off the list makes 10 seem, well, doable.

I think I can I think I can I think I can... anyway...

Real Revolutions I Want to See this Decade.

2010-01-02T11:19:00.002Z

1. Self-cleaning dishes.
Seriously. I'm sick of doing them.

2. Laundry that teleports from dryer to drawer.
More often then not I will get a burst of cleaning activity where I explode into scrubbing. Without fail I will complete everything except getting that last load upstairs. Teleportation can fix this.

3. Wick-away EVERYTHING.
I dig my wick-away running gear. It breathes, it moves, and I look good in it. Why can't everything be wick-away? No more sweat marks! It will be fantastic.

4. Hover-trainers so we can have anti-gravity races.
You know how they griped about the new swimsuits that made water leap away from them? Why not attempt this with gravity and shoes? And then, so as to define the sports of running and hover-running, create multi-tiered races on land and in the sky. It would be beautiful...

5. A balance between electronic and actual communication.
Serious one here - I feel sometimes like I don't have real friends, I have electronic ones. Now, being where I am in relation to the mass proportion of my family it is to be understood. However, there are times I want to sit in a pub or around a kitchen and giggle at ideas like hover-races in person. I hope I, and the growing world, figures out how to balance it.

6. The return of break-dancing.
Electric boogaloo is such a great balance of words.

7. Anti-diet dieting.
I would also like to refer to this as activity. I would like to see the world take on activity, preferably positive kind. You will not sit on butt and lose weight. Sorry.

8. Jetpacks.
Have you seen the proposed flying restrictions? I think we need to switch to personal flight transportation.

9. People giving up on this war mess and just getting on with it.
Because living in fear isn't fun no matter who or where you are.

10. Hugs.
Hugs are the most wonderful thing in the world. They should be explored and given often. We are people, afterall. All of us with our jetpacks and teleportation dreams. And no matter who you are you need to let others know they are special. So try to give at least one out a day.

The Rest Day.

2010-01-01T13:53:00.002Z

It's 1:54 PM. I've been up since about 12:00 PM. After briefly reviewing my New Year's post I realize there isn't much I can do to get rid of it... as I posted it to everything thinking it was incredible.

Don't drink and blog.

Today is my rest day. I get Monday and Friday off from running. When you read the 6.2 billion training plans (all of which contradict each other) one thing they don't argue about is rest. You need it. You need your muscles to go, "Hooray! Thank you for letting me knit myself back together and get super strong!"

So, besides the healing of my shame from last post, today will be spent in various stages of slippers and socks, resting - reading - cleaning - and overall attempting not to leave the house.

And, other than those who have decided "Today is the day I (action verb)..." I would like to say:

ppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffffffffffffttttttttt (including hand gestures)

But, in a desperate bid to also be a bit inspirational I will also say this:

New Year's has this tendency for people to think "New Beginning." In fact, I'm certain that one of the reasons New Year's became such a big deal is because people have the chance - as a group - to start over fresh. What most don't realize is, you can start fresh on any day ... all you have to do is stick to it. So if you are making a change, or committing to a challenge, or promising to sponsor me (shameless yes) you have to realize:

Every day is New Year's.

Every day you get up and want to do something more, better, faster, you have to face it eyes open. If you are a marathoner in training like me, you have to put one foot in front of the other - and also remember to put the feet up. It's a balance, it's hard. It's super easy to fall back.

Don't.

If you have to pop a confetti cannon, cover yourself in glitter, or make a toast every night (with something nonalcoholic or that will be a really bad habit) - do it. Don't make any excuses.

Don't place something arbitrary in your way.

These people don't: Achilles International

So, while I'm slumming it in my jammies today, if you are starting something ... GO! DO! START! BE! DREAM! Anything is possible.

4 AM?

2010-01-01T03:57:00.002Z

I think the latest I've stayed up is 6 AM or so a few years back and that was pushing it. I vaguely remember red wine, a jacuzzi, and a colleague who never slurred when drunk but slurred and I knew we'd been up too late. I put him to bed in his swim trunks.

So you know, I need food to stay up this late. I've had a lot of food. Thank you Michelle.

Happy 2010 everyone. I've done 12 miles today, 6 running. I'm tired. But I'm getting it. I hope that in this next decade I don't let anything pass me by. Actually, I hope in 2010 and 11 and 12 and so on that I just embrace change. Change is hard.

I probably won't remember posting this as I have had one bottle of champagne.

Fing F it's COLD!

2009-12-29T20:45:00.002Z

Holy cow. (That's the nice introduction.) You know, how they say, when you are about to experience/are experiencing hypothermia? And how, when you are wet and you are cold you can accelerate the process?

I attempted that today.

So it's Tuesday, which means I run to work and from work. I do this Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and take Friday off. (A girl has got to pub - though it's one drink because I run on Saturday and Sunday.) I made the mistake of stuffing my clothes back into my backpack instead of sticking them in the drawer to sort of 'dry up.' So, when I got dressed to run back, they were damp.

It's raining today. Sometimes, it sleeted, but for the sake of my running it just rained. It did the wind thing too which made me feel (but not look) like I had Angelina Jolie lips. So by the time I got home to walk the Finley-dog I was warm but damp.

I quickly, on the puppy walk, became cold and damp.

Just for giggles, I became even colder when deciding that I wouldn't bother changing before running to the shop quickly for milk.

Which meant, by the time I was home and running the bath my fingers COULDN'T FEEL THE HOT WATER.

I would like to point out (other than my blatant sponsorship plug) that Rome will be toasty warm when I run. This whole freezing fingers bit will not exist. In fact, I'm training by most standards in a totally wrong climate. But, as of right now I'm currently not of the wealthy sort and thus I must train in this climate - and holy cow, f***! It's F***ING COLD!

And yet I run. My, I am weird.

Goal #1 = 6 miles in one go = DONE.

2009-12-27T17:55:00.003Z

This is the easy part.

Man, how incredibly wacky nuts is it for me to type that?

This is the easy part.

When I first started running, 6+ years ago, I couldn't make it around a block without wanting to die. The security guard at my complex used to watch me as I slapped the side of the gate to count my turns. Sometimes I would get a thumbs up.

I remember coming back from 3 miles and my shins feeling like they were going to explode. Mornings of getting up and not being able to walk to the bathroom without the feeling that I just may not make it.

There was a picture, one I should've purchased, from my first 20K. I was part of a knot of injured and run/walkers - there were ... maybe... 5 of us total. The toned and tough group had passed us and I was there in my red running gear (still my favorite) in the heat of Houston sick and tired and scared out of my wits. When I saw the finish I worked my legs up a little and tried to be positive. Around me they were taking down the timing signs and picking up the cones. Just then I saw a photographer and tried, in vain, to smile and give a double thumbs up. What came back was a pained expression, nearly beat red with exhaustion, and thumbs pointing halfway down, as if at any moment I would drop.

I didn't, though. Somehow, I have managed to get better at it.

So much so I can write that 6 miles for running is, in fact, the easy part. So much so I can write that all the way up the half marathon point is, in fact, easy-peas-y (as they would say here). But I know that there is the darkness up ahead. The 17 miles, the 20 miles - who knows?

I guess I won't know until I do it.

Oh yes, and while you're here - Sponsor me.

Two things:

2009-12-25T11:37:00.003Z

1. I got 15 miles completed this week. Yay.

2. I didn't know that Christmas Eve = Male Liberation to Pubs. As I was jogging up Queens Street at 5:00 PM a drunken man vomited right onto the bike racks while about 10 of his buddies cheered on. Turning to go to George Street I had to dodge incredibly happy groups of testosterone as they crammed the last bits of bitter down their throats.

Almost made me feel slightly jealous to be estrogen-based. Almost.

Happy Christmas, everyone. Traditions (some more interesting than others) abound but the one constant is love. If only for today, forgive your enemies and pardon those who have caused you grief. Life is short, live it fully.

The Training Plan

2009-12-23T19:13:00.002Z

So, I added three miles to my run today. This means, should the world not turn into ice tomorrow, I will have 15 miles for my regular week.

Plus I have 6-mile run to do on Sunday in order to follow THE ALMIGHTY TRAINING PLAN.

For those who have never decided that running long laborious distances is a fun thing to do, a training plan is a sheet of weekly activities which culminate in a series of milestones in order to reach an optimum race goal.

My race goal? Finish. (Preferably within the time limit to get a medal.)

Based on my reading of the 6.7 million race plans (amended) that exist on planet Earth, in order to run a 4:30 marathon (total time) I must put in 30 miles of running per week.

And, based on the Marathon for People Who Have No Time to Train for a Marathon Plan (this exists) I need to run 5 days a week plus hit 'race' goals - aka go 6, 13.1, and 20 miles in one fun fashion.

So, I will need to commute to work, by foot, all 5 days + hit race targets.

I also have less than 90 days to do this in.

It's a lot to take in, mentally. But, I figure, it's Rome. It's going to be like power touristing.

Did I mention I need sponsoring?

Reason #1 to Sponsor Me.

2009-12-21T19:12:00.002Z

Ahem.

I didn't sleep well last night. I dreamt of weights attached to my ankles as I stood under the Colosseum with people running past. I had visions of being late, overwhelmed. My mind was processing that - yes, Cristin - you have signed up to run 26.2 miles.

WHY ON EARTH DID YOU DECIDE TO REGISTER TO RUN 26.2 MILES?

The challenge.

Gawd, that's such an actor answer. "Why did you do the project, famous person?"

Oh, the challenge.

Wow, that's deep.

But then there is Mikey. There's a reason. National Autistic Society. When Mikey was diagnosed as autistic it seemed like the world was all strange. Here was my youngest brother who by all standards normal claimed abnormal. He didn't look it, and for a long time he just seemed a bit slow. But as time progressed so came the fixations and speech issues and desire to do as he felt regardless of society.

And from that grew the variations, or the "spectrum." The sudden understanding that autism isn't just one thing. After awhile, you sort of envy cancer. Cancer can kill you, and there is a series of treatments which almost everyone can comprehend. Sometimes you live, sometimes you die. It all depends on type and severity. But with autism, well, there is such a broad level. They don't know what causes it for sure. They don't know if there is a cure. But what they do know is that these people, and all their levels, need patience, understanding, and support.

So NAS exists for that reason. And not just for Mikey. It exists for family like me. So I can explain the condition to others and hope people not only understand but appreciate it.

*Cough*

Eating shortbread, signing up for marathons...

2009-12-20T22:41:00.004Z

So, I did it.

I'm running this: Rome Marathon 2010.

I'm doing it for this: NAS.

Which makes me this: crazy.

I have 90 days from today to get ready. I've never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever run a marathon before. Ever.

Ever, ever.

But, I've committed. I'm doing this.

Oh.

Ma.

Gawd.

Open letter to Mother Nature.

2009-12-19T11:39:00.003Z

Dear Ms. Nature, (I'm in England and I don't know if you are married so you are a Ms. here.)

Oxford is a city located in a valley.
Because of this, we generally don't get severe weather.
Sure, it can be cloudy.
It can drizzle a bit of rain.
But, for the most part, we are spared downpours.
This means that while lots of England is getting snow we get a bit of fluff.
I want snow.
If I'm this far north I should get it.
Even if it's just enough to roll a snow ball and go, "Yay, everything is white!"
So, if you're not busy or anything.
Or, at least, if you could please put off some horrible storm somewhere.
I would like snow.
Please.

Your friend who is freezing but getting no known benefit.

Cristin

One of those proud moments.

2009-12-13T17:15:00.003Z

I spent about three years in politics as a campaign manager. While I never got to hold a high ranking position in a glamorous campaign I did hold the reigns in several local ones.

If you ever in your life want a lesson in humanity, go work in politics. Not for senators or governors, no. Go work for a council seat, a local seat, something that seems unimportant - that is where you learn. Because once a candidate has reached the upper echelon, then the race is anywhere from 25% - 75% won. But when you go out with a first time, scared-to-pieces person, you learn first hand how to really fight for a cause.

I would tell people at times that I was in marketing. When they would ask what area I would smile and say I market a person and their ideas. Because if you said politics you very well could be staring down a gun barrel. It's a job that doesn't get the lawyer jokes but gets a lot of lawyer distain. But, every so often, one of your people gets through. And when they do, it's as if your world just went into a full on confetti parade of joy.

Because when you work in something so severe as politics, you find yourself a lot more sincere. And seeing someone you believe in take hold of their dreams and hopefully turn a reality - that's pretty incredible.

Several years ago I was a green house party manager being introduced to City Council Member Annise Parker. She was running for her second term as At-Large and I was to clean up her artwork and go out and call and work events for her, as well as process all the mail. I remember that day I knew she was one that would climb the ladder and do so the way it's supposed to be done. With intelligence, thoughtfulness, and drive that anyone of any age, sex, race, or belief would respect and admire. Not to mention my dog thought the world of her.

Today, she's the first openly gay mayor elected to the city of Houston.

I'm so proud... and I'm so grateful I have a small part in making a real difference in the world.

Overload.

2009-12-11T21:02:00.002Z

*Fuzz* POP!

That would describe the sound of my brain.

Coming back it's like being tossed into a world of ice and darkness. Though the fact that some people around the neighborhood go all Griswold on their homes makes me feel a bit better. Granted, I shouldn't complain. More often then not our Christmases were warm if not practically a beach affair.

When I had the flu at the age of 12ish it snowed in Panama City. I remember seeing it out the window and yanking myself from a drug-induced fog into a London Fog and out the door. I remember being fascinated over making snow balls and going so far as to put cups of snow in the freezer. (Sort of like we do those glow necklaces. Tell me, who amongst you has ever gone back to the freezer, pulled out the glow necklace, and worn it about?) On Christmas day there was a tiny patch of snow next to the fence that got shaded enough to keep the ground cold. I remember staring at it, burning into my brain the only white Christmas I had in memory.

*Fuzz* POP!

Flash to now, where we were at freezing and the weather alternates that we will be snow or slush come Monday. The twinkle lights and cold noses are only a prelude to my dire need of mulled everything. And even though I know that England will, in short, shut down and cry out "WHY GOD??" to the world if it snows again, I kinda... sorta... want it to. I don't want to commute in it, per se, but... well...

It's just that being brought back in or plopped as it were, I want things to slloooowww down. I want to enjoy and savor and float. I don't want to lose my excellent flatmates to their homes now that their fellowships have wrapped up. Don't want to lose my colleagues to their holidays just yet. I want to giggle and laugh and smile my way through mince pies and sparkling this and that and make sure that I enjoy it. Like the little patch of snow under the fence. I want to remember it.

So take a moment, if you read along, to go and give hugs to people. This is overload time but good time. Make sure everyone knows they are special.

American on the outside, looking in.

2009-12-06T17:47:00.002Z

So I'm safely back in England. Safely through customs, safely assured another year, safely here.

Boy, I'm different.

December 17th will mark my one year anniversary as an immigrant (I'm not quite yet the expat). In that time I believed I had changed, but not nearly to the extent of change that greeted me whilst roaming through my former home states. (I note my use of 'whilst' and my utter fascination with 'fortnight' as words denoting minor change.)

Firstly, I hate having to drive everywhere. Now that was fairly common knowledge before, but the seething passion that came out at thinking about 30 minutes here and 1 hour there was apparent. I recall once that I had a fantastic colleague over from the UK when I lived in Texas. Their shear shock at how far things were puzzled me. "We could've been in Scotland by now," were the words they used when we were on our 3 hour trip to Austin. In the time I spent on the road and in traffic I could have conceivably visited four to five European countries. Instead, I spent it driving hither and tither to see people...

Which leads me to another thing - I appreciate space WAY more. Sure, I had to drive, but man there are ceilings that are high in the homes I visited! Aisles that are wide in the stores I browsed! Selection which is long like the wall of salsa! When going to grab some cleaning solution for our tenant maintenance I nearly had a panic attack when denoting the 10 different varieties I had to choose from. Sure, I do like the two (if that) choices you get at the local Co-Op for the sake of simplicity, but what I cherished most was approaching an aisle of bread which looked stocked and fresh - not raided like post-hurricane clean-up.

Though the one thing that really, really got me was how much more active I am. Sure, I noticed when completing my first 10K here that 10 minutes evaporated off my time based on my lifestyle, but looking at the American population - wow. The number of people waddling along and looking poorly based on a lifestyle of sitting and eating horrible foods - I never really saw it until now. I keep a pedometer with me to get points towards a yearly award from supplemental insurance. On average I get my maximum points in 18 days. In my two weeks there, between driving and moving, I only have 1 day worth of points out of the 14 traveling. One day.

If there is anything that really, truly shocked me - it was that.

Standing on the outside and looking in on my old life I know there was good and bad to it. America is a wonderful place despite it's flaws and most likely one day I will return to roost. But for now I like my little Oxford existence, even though it's not perfect either. My goal is to one day be in Florida acting like a Brit/American hybrid - walking all over town but instead of beet red slathered in sunscreen. And as the people drive by, confused about my skin tone but my ability to transport via foot I will know I have indeed brought two different worlds together as one.

Hello, Goodbye, Texas.

2009-11-28T12:31:00.002Z

So I've been back in "The States" for five days. As I sit here now, in a house with more than 1,000 square feet, insulation, and stupid high ceilings, I am content. Content, but at the same time I know I must move on to the second half - La Florida.

But before we go there...

Thanks, Texas.

Seriously, though, thanks. I forgot to tell you that when I left how much I appreciated you. Specifically I wanted to mention Houston. Houston is this thriving, living, pulsing city. It can get on your nerves (it and the UK can compete for worst traffic), it can frustrate you, but rarely ever is it extremely bad to you. Houston gave me my degree in hard knocks, it propped me up on being self-reliant, but it also gave me the best mentors I've ever had. People who have and still truly believe in me. People how have a million different backgrounds and beliefs but who have cared for me and sometimes carried me through. It's a city where if you want to attempt it you can. It's a city who will soon have Annise Parker - who I consider a mentor - for mayor. That's the caliber of people I have met in Houston. That's the standard of excellence that I've renewed on my being here.

I also got to close some bad doors. Got to say things I wanted to say months ago and let demons out. I'm happy that some things can be put to rest so when I return on future visits I will do so not carrying around heavy weights. I can move on, move forward, and not sit around dwelling on things.

Thanks, Texas. Really. I promise I won't let you down.

I would like to thank my colleagues.

2009-11-21T21:01:00.002Z

I am officially on holiday.
Yay.

Prior to my departure several people, on more than on occasion, stated they were fairly sure that they would descend into madness within a few days of my absence.

Another kept repeating something to the effect of, "It will become Lord of the Flies without you." Which, of course, prompted visuals of people in rags beating each other with coffee pots.

What I want to know is why I can't put this on my CV. "Cristin's organizational strength is so strong that during her holiday all her colleagues went from working in software programs and consulting to trying to build fires out of server parts."

I hold sway over people in evolutionary proportions. How awesome is that?

Regardless, I want to thank all the people I work with for wishing me well, being all excited, and expressing that they will actually miss me for the two weeks I'm not present.

I will miss you too. Moon pies and pralines for everyone!

Enough with other people, here's what to buy me for Christmas

2009-11-15T14:00:00.003Z

Growing up in the warm territories and buying people things like slippers, socks, or anything fluffy or warm such as a robe or sweater (aka jumper) was asinine. For those two weeks that show up sometime in March, maybe, it's great. For even when you whip out your outerwear in triumph and recall what a deal you got at JC Penny's with joy in your heart, the other 50 weeks you bemoan the space that damn coat is taking up in your closet.

Not here, though. That peacoat and those boots I purchased on whim a few years ago have been nearly worn to the nub. Slipper socks have suddenly become a perfectly valid Christmas purchase.

But what really excites and thrills me is the sparkle items. Or, as they sometimes refer, the spangly items. And these shiny bits are also valid, because there are Christmas parties and concerts and various random get togethers that state that if you are covered in sequins, this is perfectly acceptable. (So long as you bring bubbly, of course. And that is a small price to pay.)

Right now the stores are covered in glitter. I can purchase a full glitter dress with glitter stocks and glitter shoes at the classiest store in the universe - Primark - for £20 total. If I wanted I could also deck my neck in neon rhinestones, that's how classy the place is. (Let's not talk pants... underpants. I could go on a blog revolution on Primark pants.)

But for all the silly I just wrote, if it showed up tomorrow in a box with a bow, I'd be all over it. It's something that cold countries take for granted, while they moon over our beaches and blazing sun. For try as we might, we cannot match the Christmas spirit nor need for massive spangly like the places in lack of daylight.

So I will revel in dazzle. I will twist and spin in sparkly. Because it's valid here. And thus, I will enjoy.

What to get people for Christmas from England.

2009-11-13T22:21:00.002Z

I'm less than a week and a half away from returning to The States.

The States. In my kingdom we'd call that Florida or Texas. Here, it is generically referred to as "The States."

Do you know, lots of British people go to "The States" to buy shoes? I bet you didn't. I can name three people who have. But I digress...

One of the key problems I am running up against currently is what to purchase for Christmas. Now seeing as I am going home I figure I should complete Christmas well before Christmas. No mad dash Christmas Eve run for me... if that were possible here... but that's another story. My goal is to be done with all shopping for people in, as I have so placed quotes around, "The States."

Sitting at the pub this evening I discussed at length what to purchase. I've been referred to Harrods (http://www.harrods.com/HarrodsStore/Default.aspx?CID=ppc). But, I will say this and so will countless others... no person in their right British mind shops at Harrods. You buy tourist gifts from Harrods and that is what you do. Unless you are wealthy and therefore can afford the other items at Harrods which include... no joke... £1,000 Christmas crackers. They are there... seriously. But they do have an excellent card shop, which I recommend. (and all the posh people shop at Harvey Nichols) I have also been directed to Fortnum and Mason ( http://www.fortnumandmason.com/). They have been in business longer than the United States has existed. And they have tea and various English things that no one ever purchases each other if you are in England. Except, again, for Christmas crackers. Which, based on my state of wine, is currently the most awesome thing in England ever. How paper crowns and bad jokes and cheap gifts qualify as awesome is beyond me, but alas I am American... therefore they are awesome.

What we decided, in our incredibly inebriated state, was that I should create an authentic English experience. Thereby consisting of dragging them out to the closest bar/restaurant, plowing them with beer, making them sing and or scream rants at various sporting events, and eat chips (which in my kingdom are referred to as French Fries) as a means to soak alcohol between pints. We will then go on a 3 mile march in the rain to a random outdoor food vendor and eat kabob - or sandwich made of who knows what. At about 2 AM we will stumble home and either drink whisky or collapse, based on alcohol tolerance. Sometime about 3PM the next day a person will yell, "Oi! Get up you lazy bastards" and thus the experience will end with a nice cuppa and a warm bath followed by nibbles.

And that will be my Christmas gift. Though I doubt my grandmother would be into it. But it would be real. I could do a hybrid and serve whisky in lovely china, but it's not quite the same.

Fall.

2009-10-29T07:47:00.003Z

If there is one thing I've had to get used to, quickly, it's Fall. Where I come from Fall is a nonevent. But so is Winter. And Spring. Here, Fall actually happens. The leaves turn, it gets windy and crisp, and you actually want hot drinks. The problem is, it comes with something that I'm not too fond of: DARKNESS.

Pitch black, can't see, 4PM - DARKNESS.

Now, if you talk to my dog (and he could talk back) he would tell you that this is the coolest most awesome thing ever. This is because we get to take our ball out to the pitch black park with a flashlight and play with it. After one attempt my dog now wears a bike light so I can find him, and I don't throw the ball very far at all. Not that it matters. Instead, if you ever happen to wander into our park you'll see this blinking red light bouncing all over the field and a flashlight frantically looking for wherever I may have tossed the ball.

I can't complain, though. Because for the first time in a really long time I actually feel the holidays coming. I actually get the whole candles and cider and twinkling lights deal. I also am looking forward to the English version of 4th of July - Guy Fawkes. By December I'll have marked my first entire year of living abroad, and I couldn't be happier.

Unless, of course, someone can tell me where to find a dog friendly light up squeaky ball.

Envy.

2009-10-18T13:03:00.002+01:00

I wish all joy in life were attached to a little rattling toy which I could slide all over the floor and chew on.

Seriously.

Contemplations and a Flat Fellow Named Stanley.

2009-10-10T17:18:00.003+01:00

I got the red jacket of rejection.

About a week ago my London Marathon ballot came in as bust. As a person just coming off a half part of me was gloriously relived, and the other part of me felt like poo.

But, I got a red jacket. It's really nice and not bright yellow (which is my normal biking jacket). All the pockets have zippers and there is a big, white, London Marathon hello-I-got-rejected logo on the front.

Now I have to consider charity. My dilemma is this: fundraising. Okay, yes, for three years I did fundraising for a living. I know how to fundraise. But:

1. I have to believe in the cause.
2. I have no real fundraising base here.

Trust me, when the red jacket of rejection arrived I immediately started looking up the charities I know I would support. Result? Almost every single one of them had already given out their places or their closing date was in a day or two. It was like being beaten charity bats while zipped up tight into the red jacket of rejection. Seriously.

So now I'm in a mental block about it. Knowing I HAVE to decide something, but worried to pieces I won't make the fundraising goal. This is on top of all the training I know I need to do to succeed.

Thank goodness I have Flat Stanley.

For anyone who ever gets the opportunity to be a Flat Stanley host, take it. Not because people will think you are strange carrying around a little paper person colored by you hometown third grader. . . or that you have to explain to the museum docents that sticking it next to the case of shrunken heads at the Pitts Rivers is educational for said third grader. . . or even because you spend up to thirty minutes positioning said paper person in such a way that he looks 'natural' in a shrub. . . do so because it's way cool.

My Flat Stanley is into wearing earth tones and has a pocket on his shirt. I've taken him all over town today and spent a lot of time adjusting him. The teacher, in her wisdom, laminated him for safe travel. Problem is that means glare if the sun catches him. Thankfully England is a cloudy place, but nonetheless there are some pictures I will need to redo on some of our more common gray days. And with it being zero week (yay Oxford speak - go look that up) we have people climbing the walls. There was a line to get into Christ Church! I've never seen that before, ever.

So mercifully all the walking and photos with Stan got some of the rejection off my mind. . . yet makes me think that if I put as much passion into the fundraising as I am into Stanley, then perhaps I should just choose a charity and make the leap.

On the eve of another running thingy.

2009-09-26T11:24:00.002+01:00

It's been awhile I realized, so I deeply apologize to the two of you who so avidly subscribe to my blog.

I'm running a half marathon tomorrow. I think this will be my tenth. It's my second overseas, and my very first in the city of London.

When I started running 6 years ago I really didn't think that I would complete one, let alone ten half marathons. People look at me like I'm a crazy person since I willingly run commute to work and willingly placed myself for consideration to run London's marathon.

I will tell you this now: I suck at running.

Seriously, I'm awful. My technique is crap. I keep a water belt fixed around my waist. I walk, most likely, 50% of it. I have yet to crack 2 hours 45 minutes.

But I will only give up on it if my legs are physically removed from my body. It's been the constant, and in this world you need constants. (Though I wish everyone's constants were as cool as Desmond and Penny constants.) I hope, before I turn in to fertilizer, to have run on every continent and gotten medals from a host of incredibly odd and far fetched races.

And I will do it poorly. I will do it knowing that I might have a chance to qualify to run the Boston Marathon when I'm 105 and they don't have time limits because no one that old has ever run it before.

I am the poster child for people doing things they aren't good at with joy and happiness.

So tomorrow, at 9:45 AM GMT I will trot off knowing that 80% of the people I started with will finish well before me, and I will be glad. Because even though those 80% went before me, there are lots of people who are going to be in their beds or sitting around thinking, "I could do that."... and don't.

But I do, even though I'm crap. And if you find something you're crap at and you love it, then I say to you go... go and be happy.

Because tomorrow is my day for happy.

Lessons from a Gatekeeper.

2009-09-05T10:26:00.003+01:00

Gatekeeper.

If you go through any sort of training in cold calls, the person who answers the phone is called the Gatekeeper. They are the ones who decide whether or not a person will pass through to whomever it is you are trying to reach. The best way is to charm them. It works better if you are the opposite sex or have an interesting accent. But really, a good Gatekeeper is just that. A Gatekeeper - we keep people out.

Recently I have experienced some horrible sales calls. They had all the spunk and happy in the world, but completely fell flat. Here's what they did wrong:

1. Stated they were the Ambassador to France and know Britney Spears personally. Well, not exactly but they dropped so many names and countries and whatever else I had no feelings for them. Long introductions can mean you are literally forcing a sale on me. I know you want to be legit and all, but really.

2. When I ask if this is a sales call, you tell me it's an opportunity knocking. The fastest way to screen calls from a Gatekeeper's perspective is to ask if this is a sales call. Don't get offended, we're doing our jobs. On average I get five calls a day (and I'm small business people) asking to speak to the owner of the business, or better, a mispronunciation of one of my executives names. I have a protocol to deal with it, and it's evil. I'm not sharing it but let me tell you now - Gatekeeper's have evil protocol. You spin on us, we will potentially result to evil protocol. You continue to spin, we hang up on you.

3. Call us back and tell us we're rude and horrible people who have single-handily destroyed your life. I worked in grassroots politics for three years. It was the toughest job I have ever had, but the rewards were what kept me in it until there was no longer a place for me. I did phone banks, I did side-along calling. I experienced hang-ups - yelling - rejections galore. I empathise with you, seriously. But to take the Gatekeeper rejection personally is the largest no-no in the world. When you phone back one of us and decide to attack us as being horrible, it will get you no where. You do it enough, you will get nowhere in your business. Don't take your frustrations out on a voice on a phone line - it's referred to as abuse. Do it to the wrong sort, you won't be working in your chosen field for a long time.

So what should you do? This is so stupid simple it will make your head spin:

1. When we pick up state your name and your company. There. You have nothing to hide. And you're being professional while not letting us know your average sales intake. Oh yes, practice so you don't sound like you're reading off a sheet. And for the love of God, go somewhere quiet! Those two things shoot you down faster than you would believe.

2. Ask us if we can help you. Write your pitch to the effect of a problem you need solving. Ask if they know who can address your problem. I state this now - a good Gatekeeper will still know your end game, but may throw you a tiny bone. We hear it all day, all the time, and will sometimes reward the creative. Here's where you have to brush up on your charm and your ability to converse with people. This is more an art than science but at least you may be able to open doors 25% of the time.

3. If you get shot down, don't go shooting. Cold calling is a business. You have good days and bad days. But the last thing you want to do is attack a person for doing their job on the other end. Continue to strategize and work on a pitch that will benefit a company or individual. Look at new ways to communicate. And try, try again.

But not with me... I know your game. :P

Flora and Fauna Report

2009-08-31T11:28:00.002+01:00

I have to give England massive props for their public gardens. I mean, yes, the United States has parks - big, huge, massive parks - but in England they wander around in fields and build gigantic glass houses for fun. (Okay, and medicine and science research, but they are fun.)

I finally visited Kew this weekend. It's merely 250 years old and sports two massive glass houses, a palace, a Japanese Garden, a tree walk, and an assortment of other items, all in one place. The fact that they've been at this sort of thing on this little island is astounding. Palms, cedars, various garden types - all replicated for the world to come visit.

I think you could feasibly spend a year wandering all the trails and parks and gardens that England has. For instance, yesterday as we bused into London I watched people - in misting rain and terrible wind - willingly walking along little hillsides, many stopping and looking out on the roadways and hills beyond and probably thinking, "Why couldn't we make indoor malls the source of all our wonder like Dubai does?"

Or something similar, I don't read minds.

But what got me is that I was wondering how you get up there, how long it takes to wander, and if I should pack a lunch and a snack. See how England is getting to me? Soon I will have a multipurpose windbreaker and waterproof hiking shoes. Kew alone calls practically for a camp site it's so big.

But that's just another wonderful part about England. Although I could use with a bit more sun.

Inspiration.

2009-08-22T10:24:00.002+01:00

I know why so many books have been set in Oxford, or parts of Oxford. It's a place where you really can let the imagination run free. There are so many odd and wonderful aspects about the city, the longer you spend here the more sense things like Tulgey Wood and Ents and Hobbits can be.

Or it may be something in the water. We do have a high population of eccentric geniuses here.

Anyways, I've decided to write a story. It may be short or long, don't know. But it's all Oxford's fault.

There is too much a thing as blackberry crumble.

2009-08-13T20:42:00.003+01:00

Dude, things produce fruit here.

It's like, whoa. You walk down a path and like, *bam* there's blackberries.

And plums, and passion fruit.

Just, you know, like, THERE.

Coming from a land of ever greens and fried dead formerly blooming plants, it is the experience to see things grow and flower - not struggle then wither. I have herbs in abundance. I go out with kitchen scissors and cut what I need for dinner.

Freaky.

Even though apparently England has had a water shortage since breaking off the mainland we don't have to worry about watering the plants. We don't have to worry about sprinklers. At worst, it mists. Just like the little fruit and veg misters in the super market (sans the "Singing in the Rain" interlude).

Right now I have a blackberry bush that is producing berries in waves. I take a small bowl out and can harvest what would be equal to about £2.50 in a store. It's mental. It's insane. And I can do it every day. A guy at work had such a zucchini bumper crop I made zucchini bread for two weeks solid and there is STILL zucchini.

Nearby the park cherry trees, plum trees, and apple trees just sort of drop fruit around. You can even buy a book that tells you what bushes, shrubs, trees, and tall grass produce stuff you can eat.

And the English practically boil and eat everything. There is this show where a cook constantly is brewing wine from flowers or eating various stinging plants. I'm waiting for him to start waxing eloquent on river pebbles as a soup you can make in three or four millenia.

Downside is I have to work through my baking. I feel a bit like Bubba in Forest Gump... we got your blackberry pie...blackberry crumble...blackberry yogurt...blackberry ice cream...

Ugh, so full of blackberries. Yet, so happy. So, so, happy.

Oh my gawd I went clubbing in England.

2009-08-09T02:06:00.003+01:00

I promised my colleague, who is here on training assignment from Australia, and I quote this, "a quiet night out."

I was wrong.

Had he been there earlier, it was quiet. It started out quiet. Laughing, a beer or two being consumed, a night garden evening in Jericho... and then it all went a bit off center. At first we frolicked at the Victoria, then the Jericho Tavern - home to Radiohead. I thought that this would be a lovely evening where he, our neophyte for new work, would relax and chat with people from all around the world.

However.

By the time my dear, beloved, adored colleague arrived they (the group) had decided we were done with quiet. We were done with Jericho and it's art scene and it's party groups dressed in sequins and Island Party wear, (this is subdued people) we were going to a cocktail bar. His arrival hailed with drunken waves and random hellos, we were off to Angels. Which, I believe, means you have to physically be a spirit of some holy nature in order to actually fit into this shoebox of a cocktail bar.

It's been awhile since I had to scream in order to maintain a conversation. I believe at one point he screamed at me he had gotten a phone call from his best friend saying that they had just had a healthy baby girl. I would like to send them my sincere apologies along with my congratulations. I think the last time I did anything like this was Goth Night at the Florida Theatre. I believe I was 20.

As soon as we managed to wedge ourselves into the place we were pushed out, headed to a ... dare I say this without a laugh or a cringe... dance club. One of the group knew a door person, and suddenly, seemingly in a blink of an eye I was plunged into the sickly sweet meat market smell of so many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many

many, many, many years ago.

For those who don't know me I grew up in a beach town full of these dance clubs. They were interesting to me when I was 13. By the time I hit college people wanted to go to my home town to party for Spring Break. Not my bag. If I had gone home it would have been, well, odd.

There we stood. Me, this 30-something holding a beer standing next to a 30-something quiet, nice person I had met a week ago and promised an equally quiet night out. I applaud the fact he took it all in stride. We screamed comments about the crowd. The barely dressed women. The overly self-conscious men. The people who you could tell wanted just to be loved. The ones you hoped that wouldn't regret tomorrow. All amongst the throbbing bass and popped collars and cheap cocktails and glowing puffer fish light fixtures.

I can say with absolute conviction that clubbing is officially universal. The same people with different accents working their mojo. I honestly marveled at being there the way I marveled at the first time I realized I was in Rome, Dubai, or working and living in England. A whole new scene, a whole new culture.

He decided to stay, my colleague. I left him in the glow of neon bracelets and people who were constantly feeling him up on their way to the loo (I stopped counting after 5). At that point they were spinning C-n-C Music Factory and I began feeling truly ancient. I hope he makes it out of there in one piece.

Oh please or I will never hear the end of it.

Pedometer Fixation

2009-08-08T09:28:00.002+01:00

I think I may have found something to help me with this whole purpose running deal. My company is nice enough to supplement me with private health insurance, which is good for when things need to go beyond the GP. They have this whole points program for if you go to a certain gym or get certain screenings done - and the rewards include the almighty British Pound.

So I've gotten their pedometer and have to reach the goal of 12,500 steps at least 4 days a week. It's been a bit of a curiosity for me to see just about how much energy I expend living in a town where a car is not horribly necessary... and here it's not all that hard to hit the goals. My running helps, but just walking to center of town and back gives great results. I've learned in a short span that I do take good care of myself, and that I do a lot more than most.

So hopefully I'll get the points and the cash and the discounts in time. Still I realize it's the long term benefits of healthy living that are much more important. That, and I have a massive chocolate addiction that has to be counterbalanced by something.

Hmmm... Social Media...

2009-08-01T09:18:00.003+01:00

I was so into it when all the social media stuff started. Honestly, I don't regret being into it, not in the slightest, but as the stream has diversified (as such interesting technologies do) I have found myself becoming more centralized.

Why?

I used to maintain enough social media accounts to completely take up all my free time. But as things became more complex or as they were slowly overtaken by spam and recruiters, I found myself backing away. I only maintain two social site accounts now and this blog, anything more and I find myself in a certain state of annoyance. On top of this, there is the new problem emerging - the professional vs. the personal social media site. I've rigorously maintained that whatever I put up on my site has to be something I wouldn't be ashamed to show my grandmother. Now I have to ask if what I put up is professional enough.

Seriously.

I don't really edit these blogs. I don't sit around for days upon days and work out grammar and spelling issues. If something comes along that I wouldn't be ashamed to tell my grandmother about, I put it up. There are things about England which fascinate me, annoy me, and despite all are something I would like to look back at and remember. So I have photos and videos and all sorts of things - much of which I share with people who are very far away. Still, does that mean big brother is watching me?

On the flip side there are people who completely stay away from social media altogether. That raises two questions - #1 Are they technologically with it? and #2 What have they got to hide? It's like you can't really win - you're sort of in this place where you need to maintain something, even if it's nothing. But how much is enough?

We're all part of the TMI Generation now, it seems. The next part of all this is the control of information. It used to be just Googling someone was the way of it, now there seems to be so much more. It's something to think about, even though I firmly believe this personal in the world of digital is still going to grow and thrive. It's only my hope that as it does, it doesn't eat us alive.

Purpose to Feet

2009-07-26T20:48:00.003+01:00

So, I supposed to be training for a half marathon. Thing is, I'm pretty sure I'm training for a half marathon, and yet I feel lazy.

Even though yesterday I walked an estimated 6.73 miles to get all the shopping done. This means not only did I tromp around (and poorly dressed - it was freakishly warm yesterday) I also tromped around carrying 5-15 pounds of things.

I was supposed to go out again today, but England was all, like, "yeah... we don't do sunny days two in a row..." and I was all, like, "yeah...cool... I'm totally worn out from yesterday." So instead I stayed in and understood Alan Moore's argument to not have any graphic novels of his turned into movies.

I bike to work three days a week and run to work twice a week. All said it's 18 miles of biking and 12 miles of running. When I lived in Houston I was happy to get through 9, usually because the overwhelming heat made it a walk during the summer. And everyone knows that in the US if you see someone walking it means their car must've broken down. So vast improvement on my lifestyle? Yes. Heck, the last 10K I ran I ran so far under time that people missed my finish. Sure, here in the UK running is a SPORT. I mean, people FLY. It's actually encouragement to me to see others, little packs strapped on their backs, chugging to work the way I do.

But still, lazy. I feel lazy.

I wonder if I've gotten used to my good fortune. I run through cow and horse fields, then past some of the most respected college architecture in the world. Down past cafes, pubs, and through people who look in the morning shocked to bits to see someone willing to haul themselves - rain or shine - through the streets of Oxford.

Seriously, someone smack me!

Maybe it's a goal I seek, but it's not defined. It's good to have goals. One of mine is to run 50 half marathons by 50, yet I think in approaching this particular one I'm not looking to it like I looked to all my others. I look with indifference, even though I searched hard for a good one in London. Something I hadn't run before. Granted, about the time I run I will know - really know - if I'm running the London Marathon. A whole different beast, a whole different goal.

Have my eyes shifted off the 50 by 50 prize? Am I taking my home for granted?

It's something I need to sort, that's for sure. I find great solace in my slow by steady runs and bikes, but now I ache for purpose. Time to do some inner exploring...

On staying.

2009-07-18T10:21:00.003+01:00

I have now spoken, independently, to two non-English about how they got over to England.

"Oh, I was supposed to be here for (generally a week, a month) and 11 years later, here I am."

Seriously, both of them supposed to be here for short term and they never left.

I've been asked how long I want to be here. Honestly, I'm up for any amount of time that is allowed.

When I didn't live here I would often spend a few days in London. This was often because I was done with whatever project and wanted to get out of the way of whatever colleague had housed me. I would wander down to the water, and stare at the London Eye. Now, people can complain all they want, but I really like the London Eye. For those who don't get to visit every structure during their brief pass through it's a great thing. Plus, it's well engineered considering the English wind.

I digress.

There are these benches that I think (memory failing) serve as nice little statues to the Queen's Jubilee. They have sphinxes propping them up, and are actually not that comfortable. I go and sit there anyway because it's a lovely view. However, right above the London Eye, right dead center, is the inward flight pattern for planes to Heathrow. (One of them, anyway.) Every time I look up at it, my heart literally sinks. I suddenly wish I could merge myself into the benches. I don't want to leave.

Now, you would think me having visited, worked, and lived here for six months would mean that I would eventually not feel this way. But sitting here, typing about it, I want to find a way to bolt myself down and not go. Maybe it's because I feel like I haven't finished whatever I'm here for. Maybe it's because I am supposed to stay.

I don't know.

But whatever I do know is, it's not time to go yet. So I need to get over this homesickness/sad thing.

I get by with a little help from my 100+ friends

2009-07-11T10:49:00.004+01:00

Walking home last night I realized I'm in a unique place. And when I talk about place, I mean Oxford itself as a city. When I first came here my closest friends where all Londoners, and all of them moaned. "Why are you coming over here?" was a really common question. It was too expensive, too crowded, to inconvenient, too this... too that...

But, I'm in Oxford. Oxford is a transient town. It's very youthful because of the university, but it's also very accepting. People come here from everywhere, whether they are a tourist or someone wanting to learn English. Because of this you wind up with a much more open community. For instance, I can walk into the local pub frequented on Fridays and without fail will find someone to sit with. Even if I only know them through a friend of a friend of a friend. They don't care, they'll let you sit with them because of that encounter you had a few weeks back where you said hi.

So long as you position yourself with the same open tendency you can't really ever run out of things to do or places to go. You don't have to run around with loads of cash, nor think you'll be crammed and inconvenienced. Sure, sometimes I miss my car and the stores full of stuff I don't need, but perhaps the reason the bike paths and long walks were put into place is to remind you not to rush.

So, despite the bad few weeks I've had (which I'm pulling out of in case you were worried) I have to be grateful to the 100+ people I've met, sat with at a pub, apologized to when I bumped, crammed in on a bus or train with, and lamented when they were biking so slow ahead of me - thank you. Last night, after being very internal and miserable and feeling foreign I was reminded that most of us here are foreign, but we're here. Wherever I go, there I am.

I will not give up...

2009-07-06T21:10:00.003+01:00

If there is one thing massive international upheaval has taught me, is that in order to survive one must remain flexible. Living and working in England is not a total cakewalk. There are standards I don't quite meet or understand, and times when I feel lost. Somedays I just wish I was home, but then things would pretty much be the same as England, but with words I understand and a massive heat index.

Words suck. Seriously, there is something to be said about those people who got together and decided to build the Tower of Babel. It would be nice if we could all just speak one language and get on with it, but even when you speak one language you can get tone wrong or not be descriptive enough and *poof* things can still come crumbling down.

I'm particularly good at that. I have a note that sits on my computer that says, "Read it again." Not that I do, but there is a note there. I am particularly bad with words at times, and even worse as a reader who generally skims.

Despite, I know that I'm still willing to struggle. Willing to pour over words like 'fine' and 'quite' and 'pants' and whatever they are willing to throw at me. To not want to scream at them when they tell me how cute it is when I say 'awesome.' Willing to read it again, to try again, and to hope that one of these days I finally master it. I'm just frustrated right now. Frustrated and feeling acutely foreign.

But I don't know how long I'll be here in England, so I have to take the good with the bad.

Anyways, I just got my super duper special members tour thing for the Royal Palace somethingorother I just joined. I can climb scaffolding next to stuff older than America. Seriously. So I gotta take the bad, because stuff like that is really 'awesome.'

Tourist in Mourning

2009-06-28T22:20:00.003+01:00

I've been a tour guide or tourist for about three weeks now.

Honestly, I'm pretty pooped out. Not that the sea of people that have been coming through aren't welcome. It's almost as if I just wish I could have a whole day to myself and then resume.

Whenever I can't sleep I pretend the whole world belongs to me for a year. No one is in it but me. (There is a host of rules and things to keep it sustainable for a year, but we won't get into that.) I can go in any door, drive any car, even fly a plane around for fun.

Right now, I would dig that.

The problem is I know that in two weeks I would be lonely. Suddenly all those people would be greatly missed. The sidewalk rage I feel down St. George's Street would even be missed. And I would also think of my friend who is gone, which would in the end make me a little ball of pathetic in the middle of whatever palace I had decided to take over that week.

A while ago I had a friend whose father passed away. He said that he felt like the whole world should've stopped as it had all stopped in him. Yet everything kept going, his kids kept growing, you can't freeze time. So I am a tourist in mourning. Next to me dear friends and loved ones I want to cling to, while at the same time wanting to go back and grab at something gone. Like forgetting to take a picture of yourself in front of some important building that gets destroyed the next day due to a natural disaster.

This is a difficult ride right now. But tomorrow is work and some bit of normal. I have to grasp for normal, and appreciate what is here right now.

On travel, broken promises, and hellos and goodbyes.

2009-06-26T22:20:00.003+01:00

It was foolish, really, to think that in the span of five people visiting I would blog fiction everyday. I wanted to try, and by day four it became impossible.

Not that I won't try again, I have lots of material to work with.

I've discovered the Pitts River Museum. It was under renovation when I moved here, but now it's open and wonderful. It's full of whistling arrows, models of who-knows-what, mummies, shrunken heads, you name it. It's dimly lit. You go in, get a torch, and just find weird stuff.

I've also rediscovered Paris. It's highs and lows, and it's glorious outer world of Versailles. I got to see an old friend and marvel at 'sparkly Eiffel Tower.' Seriously worth a look once in your life.

I got to say "Hey" to London again. To see it through the eyes of someone who has never had such the chance. To remember being scared of Tube maps and constantly overwhelmed and awed at such an intense city.

I said goodbye to someone I care for dearly due to life, mercifully, not death. People change, people move on and do different things. It wasn't the way I really planned for it to happen, if you can plan such a thing. I will mourn this for a long time, but will be grateful for the time I had.

And now I have my last little group of people. We've gotten them through their stay awake phase, now to let them rest and take them about in the morning.

And then, then, back to life. Maybe.

Day Three: SHOWTUNES!

2009-06-11T22:19:00.002+01:00

I stepped off the bus, holding the red envelope. Terminal 5 has this lovely smell of diesel fuel that reminds me of my youth. Strange, how it is, when you realize that diesel fumes can provide a happy memory. No cars are allowed to drive around in arrivals. They have to park. If you want to get picked up you have to clamber all the way up to departures.

Heathrow. I'm horrifically familiar with Heathrow. I was the Queen of Terminal 4 once, back when there was only four terminals and people were chaining themselves to the construction of Terminal Five. Those were the days. It was my three hour waiting session for a colleague to pick me up (only recently surpassed by a four hour session waiting for the dog to clear immigration) that put me on a more than personal level with Heathrow.

Plus there was this overnight stay I did once there that I will NEVER EVER do again.

I digress. Red envelope. In it was the following note:

You are here to pick up your brother. He will arrive at 10:10 AM from Atlanta. Do what he says and nobody gets hurt.

I looked over the card once, twice, three times a lady and pondered. Cops regularly walked the Terminals. (I should know, I had to explain myself several times.) All I needed to do was find two and...

"Nobody gets hurt," came a voice from behind me. I started, turned, and there was Nana.

"You're reading my card," I said back to her, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but I can also tell you that despite what you might think, dear, you should do what it says."

I was puzzeled. This woman had more mood swings that Lana Lange on Smallville. What was it now?

"He's watching you, that gentleman," she didn't point, she sort of looked over my shoulder. "He was on the bus. He didn't help you on the bus, but he was there. I think... I think that if you don't do what it says, then dear, if you have family or friends or loved ones. They are in trouble." She then walked up, smiled, shook my hand and patted me on the shoulder. "I'm doing this because I don't want to be one of them. Goodbye and good luck."

I turned and walked away from her with purpose. If this was all about the £40 difference on the contract I was writing, then obviously this man was crazy. But maybe I was missing something. Maybe I needed to change perceptions, look at the world with the happy diesel smell. Whistle, shuffle my feet, maybe twirl or jump or do jazz hands.

It was obvious who the 'man' was. Another pressed suit. Granted, black is the color for England. I remember sitting in the lounge looking at all the black jackets, black dresses, black, black, black. But he was just too neat and too tidy to be there. This was not a harried businessman, this was security. I tried not to stare as I wander into the Terminal. International Arrivals, there would be two exits he would immerge from. There I would wait against the cold metal pole and crane my neck, knowing only I was looking for a male.

Day Two: Mystery

2009-06-10T21:04:00.003+01:00

I woke up, shaken, disoriented.

"WelcomeaboardtheHeathrowExpresstobuzzbuzzbuzz..." suddenly mumbled out above me. It was light. When the metal hit me it was afternoon. Surely I had not lost a day. I tried to scoot upwards. I seemed to be smashed between two blue seats, and I was definitely moving.

Above my head I heard a voice. "You alright there, love?" I turned myself over, facing a kindly English woman who looked like she would be a kindly English Nana. She gave reason to the word Nana, which only prior had applied to my Great-Grandmother. I checked myself once-over, and was grateful I was at minimum, still fully dressed.

"Yeah," I mumbled back. She held me steady as I pulled myself up and got wind of my surroundings. It was the Heathrow Express bus. A bus I was overly familiar with in my last line of employment.

"Friends were nice to get you on. Said they were all worried you'd miss your brother's arrival," Nana was keeping a chat going, though her eyes suggested that my 'friends' were anything but. I felt my face, it was swollen. "Must've been a nasty accident," she said. I am sure she was poking at the reason I had most likely been hauled, bloody and semi-conscious, aboard a bus to the airport.

"It was," I said as I hauled myself to the bathroom in the back.

The light flicked on over my head and I sealed myself in. A quick check in the tiny mirror suggested that I had decided, on a whim, to bruise the left side of my face for fun. Outside of that I had everything that I was supposed to have on me. My trousers, my shirt, my jumper, but zero ID and cash. I wasn't going to be getting back on the bus to go home. This was a one-way trip.

Stumbling out of the bathroom I made my way back to Nana. Her wide eyes suggested she would miss every plane, train, or vehicle of transport to see me to the authorities if needs be. So I risked it.

"So who escorted me on?" I asked, no joking in my face.

"Well, a nicely dressed man, and what appeared to be a younger male, though he was just in his trousers and jeans," she trailed away, "He didn't look like a hooligan or anything so I don't think..."

"I'm fine. Just the bruise," I reassured.

"They said you had a few, took a fall, but that your brother was coming and if you didn't meet him your Mom would kill you. So alcohol poisoning or no, you were going to Terminal 5. They even gave me his flight and all that in this little envelope." She pulled a red envelope from a folder and handed it to me.

I pulled it open and noticed that there were things inside besides the flight information. I looked back at her. "Anything else they say?"

"No, no. You were in the seat when we started, nasty turn we hit. Why they didn't buckle you I have no clue."

Nana started to look more shaken. She was deliberating, I could tell. She was concerned for me but worried about her safety as well.

"No worries, ma'am," I said, mixing English and southern properly. "I have everything I need. I can find my way to my brother just fine. Honestly, I just don't know what got into me."

"No dear, I'm pretty sure you didn't."

Over-dramatization of Life: Day One

2009-06-09T21:02:00.002+01:00

I have decided, somewhat oddly, to spend the next 30 days writing overly dramatized accounts of some part of my day. The events are based in fact, but fictionalized. Why? Because it sounds like a challenge.

Day One: Horrors.

"I am defeated... humiliated... stalled... and forelorn..." and that was the start of the email. Staring at the screen I couldn't help but laugh. Here, before me, was a plea for maybe £40 more towards the contract. "I beg... I plead... this is an insult to me."

Surely, this man has nothing better to do than look up the alternatives to suffering in the theasurus. Give it enough time, and you would think that the lack of a week's free maintenance would equal the hallocaust all over again. I slammed the laptop shut. That was enough.

"What terrors alight in the man whose contract is not what they wish!" I exclaimed, to no one imparticular. Next to me, the System Administrators looked up briefly from their bank of computers. With what would be considered a sort of group ritual they stared bewildered at me for a moment, then returned to their PuTTY screens. I had be yabbering about this man for days, they were out of quips.

Air, I needed air. Before I could start typing back the moaning client with words starting with "Dear Mr. Butthead, Shove it. Kind regards..." I needed a walk. There was mail, and down the street, a postbox. I would go there and back and by then a nice, civial response would form in my head.

"Be back!" I yelled as I jabbed the green 'Exit' button. The door opened and then locked shut right behind me. Three flights of stairs, three letters, and a 15 minute walk and I would be right as rain. Of course, I never really understood that phrase until moving to England. Where if it didn't rain after a day people became paranoid and declared an Earth emergency.

I stepped into the gray sunshine and instantly felt the gravel begin to invade the £4 Primark shoes. I had them on because they were flat and fit into my gym bag. Days I ran into work I never had to think about clothes. Not that I needed to think about clothes in a software firm where most of the 90% male population wore the same 5 shirts, but I did strive to be clean and match.

Up ahead of me was this masonry company whose parking lot read like a luxury dealership. I wasn't quite sure if they were really a masonry shop, but there were blocks of things were were trucked in daily, and apparently if you sold enough you got a Mazaradi. I was particularly fond of the red one, which, of course, is cliche. But there it was - front and center, outshining all the other cars that were worth more than my life.

Clutching the letters and the jumper on my form, I acted as casually as possible as I moved as close as possible to the vehicle. "One day," I said in a whisper, "I will have nothing better to spend my money on than a vehicle. Screw world hunger." I could see my reflection on the polish. The messed bun, the Primark shoes, and a man, who was standing right behind me.

"Ohmagawd!" I screamed out and turned. He stood there, patiently, black suit perfectly pressed. "I swear, I swear I was just looking. I wasn't going to do anything to it." I stumbled out. I was a good 20 feet away from the car, had I been heading there so purposefully that he had to ensure it's safety?

His silence rattled me more. He wasn't tall or imposing or the kind of power figure you would think owned a car like this. I really didn't know who actually would outside of the 80s jerk characters in movies. The highest I have ever gotten up on the luxury car rung was a Land Rover.

"It's not a problem," he said back. But that was all. There was no approach, no retreat, nothing. A man in a perfectly pressed suit was staring at me intently. Inviting me to converse.

"It's a nice car." I said, shifting and grinding more gravel into the cheap shoes.

"Hmm." came the response. Still standing. Still intent.

"I'll just go. Sorry. I wasn't planning to touch it," and with that I turned, though I could feel his stare on my neck. I had worn my 'fat jeans' that day, so it wasn't like my butt was looking particuarly recognizable today. Though, still, I didn't feel that the look was sexual. It was more, well, intentional.

I walked towards the postbox. Turning briefly and noticing he was gone. Thank God. Apparently the Mazaradi set includes well dressed, soft spoken lunatics. And to the postbox I went, all the while feeling the gravel grinding out the bottom of my tights. I had had enough of loonies this week, having dealt with the mother of all over such a small amount of funds that it would bring you to tears. In the phone conversations he wailed away about his numerous problems, as if somehow I would eventually bend to what I considered excuses. In the last conversation he spoke of 'pressing me to consider before it all went wrong.'

I gave a wide bearth to the car lot on my way back, and the moment I opened the main door I realized I had forgotten the keys to my floor.

"They are going to give me hell for having to press the buzzer," I thought. Shaking the shoes outside, I slipped them on and headed back in. When I reached the top stair I noticed the light over the hall had gone out. Standing in the dimly lit cooridor I realized I would need to tend to that right after I got back into the office.

As my hand headed to the buzzer I could here the ladies room door opened. This was weird, as I was the only one who used it on this particular floor. I turned, but as I turned I only seemed to help along the metal bar coming in the opposite direction. The connection was painful, direct. Cold metal against bone. Crack. And as I slid down the wall facing opposite the door I heard these words, "I am humiliated...stalled...forelorn...but I will not be defeated..."

Homesickness.

2009-06-06T10:22:00.002+01:00

Home is a place where in order to go outside you must first put on your sunscreen 15 minutes in advance, pack water, and upon stepping outside hose yourself down in deet and remember that you can breathe the humid air.

Home is a place where the sand squeaks, the water is blue, and you can get a free t-shirt with airbrush design. Oh, and it's not populated by anyone you actually know, but people from Canada.

Home is a place where, when you see someone walking down the street you wonder if their car broke down.

And while I don't mind this mild weather (great for running), the pub nights, the ability to walk or bike everywhere, the international and glorious nature of people... sometimes I miss home. And that is perfectly okay.

June. It's coming.

2009-05-25T16:51:00.004+01:00

Again with the holiday weekends. It's like the gods must love me, and I love them. Though I must admit this one I'm squandering on movies and picnic and lazing around the house.

All the while June in knocking at the door. June, the official busy month of the year. In a span of four weeks I will be invaded by loved ones, each staying long enough so that we won't kill each other.

Hopefully.

My first visit is from my baby brother, now 17 (almost 18) and a high school graduate. It will be his first trip abroad and I look forward to his observations. I'm almost like an anthropologist with observations. There are people who I've taken to places just to watch their reaction. Ever since I was in college and learned all about watching and gauging reactions in theatre it's just overwhelmed me. Taking a cynic to Disney, bringing anyone not from Texas/Louisiana to a crawfish boil, that sort of thing. Fish out of water stuff. I actually do it to myself when I can, because taking on something new - even for a short experience - can be enlightening and liberating.

But, I'm fretting. Or worrying. Or going a bit barking, depending on where you are from. Because even though I am sure my baby bro and my friends will enjoy wherever we take them, I want it to be special. Spectacular. I'm so grateful that somehow I was programmed to want to make sure that everything goes so well. At least I am sure the hair dye industry loves me, considering how I love fretting over just about anything.

So as I laze (and feverishly read books on Paris... and websites on bus fares ... and contimplate castles and manor houses...) I just want to give a big shout to the people who thought up these holiday weekends, who remind me that I do need to work on this lazy thing just a little. Because soon enough I'll be a very busy bee.

The slow poke is speeding up.

2009-05-17T12:09:00.002+01:00

I is so proud of self. Today I ran my first British 10K. Let me say this much, the British people are fast runners. Perhaps these runs are still more sport for runners and not how they are in the US - which is for runners, joggers, walkers, and variations thereof.

But despite all, I need to thank the British population, those of actual citizenship and not, for somehow inspiring me to pick up the pace. Because of you I actually beat my best 10K time.

I'm sure this has something to do with the fact that I'm also not risking heat exhaustion, as I was in my previous hometown. I'm also well aware that having my ass kicked by a person in a full gorilla suit, or frog suit, or cricket kit, or etc. is also an incentive to continue to put one foot in front of the other. I used to dread the person (I never knew the sex) who would show up, year after year, at the Halloween Fun Run in a complete pumpkin suit. All you ever saw were the legs. Every year they beat me. Every year. If the pumpkin suit only knew how many full size cavemen I had to overtake to clear my memory of the horrible loss I suffered every year at the hands of him/her, I'm sure they would poop pumpkin seeds.

So, the race. Oxford Town & Gown. Benefiting research for Muscular Dystrophy. A run around the glorious city of Oxford. It was pouring and cold at first, which was very properly English, but since I was racing along I felt more for the poor little race marshalls who had to stand out there and make sure we didn't go wobbling off course. I must admit that this is one of my faults, and probably several others, when I get going on a course I sort of become direction stupid. I would probably run to my impending destruction if someone waved me in that direction or placing a brightly colored arrow. Along the way they had these signs which I am sure read one thing but all I kept reading was 'bollocks.' That's how horribly out of sorts I let myself get. (Seriously, I'm sitting here now trying to think what they actually read and that's all I'm getting.) My only goal is to get to each mile or kilometer marker in one piece, and know what point is halfway so I can have my Gu. I hung at the front for the first 2K and then let myself slip to the back as I hate running in crowds. I hung with some pretty fit pensioners who kept each other going and insisting on faster paces. Near the end they slowed but I sped, joining two girls who kept having to rush past me the moment I passed them. When I rounded the finish I went to high five the announcer but then realized that I had a chance to complete the race at an hour 15 exactly, so I put in the kick and made it across in a time I had causally thrown out as being possible. All in all it was a good race.

The English are bigger on medals than t-shirts, so I own a nice bright orange and blue one now. Now that I know I can run as fast I as I did I figure that I'm probably getting closer and closer to considering running the whole entire time. When I think back to about 5 years ago and starting this whole running mess I never would've placed my thought process at running the whole time... but maybe I should try it.

But first, I think I'll nap on that suggestion.

I hate wind.

2009-05-12T19:43:00.002+01:00

I can put up with hurricanes.
I can deal with gray days.
I can cope with drizzle.
But I hate wind.
I hate how it pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
I hate that it makes me feel slow on a bike.
And slow on my feet.
I even hate the pretty kites that have been flown in the wind.
Markers to say, "Hey, guess what? You ain't going nowhere fast today."
With the wind at my back I feel erratic.
With the wind at my side I feel like a drunken cyclist.
With the wind at my front, well, it pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
And pounds, and pounds, and pounds.
So, right now, at this moment.
In this place.
With the current mental state that I am exhibiting.
I hate you, wind.
Hate, hate, hate.
Pppppppffffffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

All the reason to run.

2009-05-10T20:07:00.003+01:00

I'm a slow runner. By most accounts I'm a walk/jogger, more emphasis on the jogger part. It takes me nearly 3 miles before I feel warmed up, and since most races you can sign up for are 5K, that means that for .15 miles I'm really in the zone.

The one thing about moving to England is that I can now, with happiness, sign up for lots of different kinds of races all year long. I don't have to do what I did in the states, which is avoiding running altogether (unless really early or really late) during the summer months. But I do have to fight for spots on runs, which I had never had to think about before.

Today I went through my first 7K, which was at Blenheim, and was A-MAZ-ING. It was actually warm today, which was VERY exciting, except for the fact that I didn't wear a matching running kit, which really only bothered me. It's a partial off-road and hill course that goes all over the property, and for someone like myself who hasn't really been in Blenheim's hiking grounds, they could've put me over a cliff and I would've gladly run straight into oblivion. One thing I have to say is hill courses are tough, though that statement is not a really profound one. I've run Austin TX's half marathon, where mile 12 is uphill, so as I hit the off-road inclines I had to chant to myself, "Austin is worse, Austin is worse." That helped me truck on by the stragglers who were beginning to feel the most 'fun' part of a 'fun' run.

The best part about this run is the scenery, which is truly spectacular. I was just awestruck not only with the nice woods and the little lodges I saw tucked away here and there, but the simple fact that people like Queen Elizabeth I went riding around the area HUNDREDS of years ago. Where I started running 6 years ago they were all keyed up that a marathon had been taking place with regularity for 25 years, and that it's history was that it started with people using a station wagon as a turning spot. I'm sure in the year 2107, when they've reached their 125 year and cars are flying, that station wagon will be revered.

I finished near the back of the pack, which was fine. And I did pass the man in the bananna suit, which suited me well, though the guy in the cricket kit really booked it and I never saw him again. Oddly enough there was this woman I was sorted of paced with, who near the end started to weave the course, but then at the finish she cut me off to 'beat' me. Yes, even us slowpokes have a bit of competitive nature in us.

Next week I run Oxford's Town and Gown 10K, which I hear is going to be a kicker. 4,000 of us tearing through the streets. Perhaps they will shove bicyclists in our way and make it interesting. We'll see. We'll see.

The ritual.

2009-05-08T07:59:00.002+01:00

What is it about toast and tea in England?

Why is it that, in the morning, I find this little joy in making dry toast? I never cared much for dry toast in the states. When it's gray, as it likes to be for stretches here, there is something about warm, dry toast, that stokes some sort of inner fire.

Couple it with tea. I go to work and set about a tea ritual, which I do twice a day. First, in the morning, when it's quiet and I have the electric kettle all to myself. I set about picking up in the kitchen and making the developers coffee, and once that is sorted the hot water is ready. I stick the little bag in and put a spoon on top to push it down. Then, I look out at the bike racks and watch the cars and people peddle in. In the afternoon almost witness the opposite. Developers cleaning their coffee cups and seeing the cars and people peddle away. Sort of like some little cycle of life punctuated by hot beverage.

All the while I am taking in some strange English comforts. Things like this I know I won't do once it's time for me to go home, whenever that is decided. Nonetheless, like the grass being so green here and picnicking being a type of leisure sport, I will take it on. I will relish it. And that, as they say, is that.

The Merry Month of May

2009-05-04T10:08:00.006+01:00

May is the time for new beginnings. For marveling at the wonders of nature. Drinking in the long days. Planning holidays and picnics. Jumping off bridges at 6AM, watching tortoises race, and then picnic while people willingly hitting each other with sticks.

Yes, May. Within my first four days of it here in England, I have witnessed a lot.

Take, for instance, May Day itself in Oxford. It's highlight: Waking up stupid early and going down to Magdalen College to hear people greet the morning in song from the topmost tower. Now I say wake up, as I am 31 and therefore old. If you are in college you stay up all night at the pubs who bravely allow themselves to be open. Then, at about 5:30 AM you stumble out, screaming incoherently at your friends. Afterwards you sort of stumble, in a chain, towards the bridge where you want to jump from into the river Cherwell. However, there are police there blocking the bridge, as the water levels can be very low and you could do something like break your back. But, as the grand rap group of the 80s proclaimed, &*(^ the police, right? You're invincible, and barely dressed! And mafakulllllrghhhh! (I think that is what the guy said before they simply arrested him.)

People did eventually jump from the bridge, I've been told. But no injuries. Apparently in the past it's been a light policing, but that usually ends up with 40% of the jumpers needing to go to the hospital. In ye olden times the bridge jump was an actual tradition, but the water level has changed. Personally, I'd be all for rushing into the Cherwell, not jumping. Have you seen how far it is from the bridge to the water? That's freaking high!

The second of May this year was dedicated to the Oxford College tradition of racing tortoises. This is an event held by Corpus Christi, who held a fair, and then let us cram into a corner of their courtyard to watch tortoises from other colleges race to the outside lettuce ring. Now all colleges do not have a tortoise, though several do. Those who don't send people dressed as tortoises, who hold their own competition of seeing who can eat a head of lettuce fast enough. This year Christ Church's got dirty, mounting several other competitors and eventually leading to disqualification. Oddly enough, it was Corpus Christi's tortoise, Oldham, who seemed to pull through and win twice. Tortoise enhancement drugs?

I shot most of my pictures through people's legs. Standing next to me was a man, maybe 20, who was in a full summer suit.

"I say!" he said to a man in front of us. A bearded chap with a bit of a bald spot. "I say good sir, how are you?"
"Fantastic," the man with the beard and the bald spot responded back, "Doing a dramatic reading for the kids in the courtyard in an hour."
"Truly splendid," the summer suit man responded, "Tell me, do you Facebook?"
"Surely I do." he replied.
"I shall search for you then."

Only in Oxford would the politest means of Facebook exchange ever take place at a tortoise race between a 20 year old in a summer suit and a dramatic literature reader.

May the Third was given over to jousting. It's bank holiday here (WOOT!) and Blenheim Palace holds jousting during this weekend past the cricket lawns. Blenheim is still a family home, so sometimes I wonder what it would be like to actually be a person who lived there and could call it their home. I could imagine a sulky teenager all angry because it's jousting on the lawn this weekend and he has to stay rather then jet to Paris or something strange.

They are quite smart during the jousting events, inviting children out to do a knight's parade and play shrubs for the falconer's birds to fly over. I think 80% of the attendants were children, which of course makes me wonder to some level how they still managed to be on rather good behavior. We got there for second round, squeezing in a picnic blanket at the front so we could watch, but keeping a row back so kids could sit in front. It was actually quite fun, as the knights really seemed to enjoy their work, and the competition was pretty real for some of the events. I also salute the fights, and with that highly recommend heading out to a jousting weekend should you have the chance.

And May 4th? Well, it's being spent cataloging all this craziness. But there you have it. I hope that we get a rest break of sorts... who knows... may there is ferret racing at Baliol followed by ninjas on the lawn at Windsor... Hooray for May!

Manual

2009-05-03T11:07:00.002+01:00

Something I have noticed since moving here: I don't mind the manual labor so much.

I'm not digging ditches, nothing like that, but the things that I thought I could never do without I am doing without. I don't mind washing the dishes. I don't cry over hanging clothes out to dry. I shred my own cheese, I chop my own vegetables. I make my own sandwich fillings, it's crazy like that.

Before I would've been searching in vain for pre-packaged, pre-shredded, pre-anything, and now I'm fine with it taking a bit longer. I notice that even when there are times I miss the mega super duper pooper scooper stores, there is some weird joy in having to search. For example, last week I went to an ironmonger (which is their word for hardware store) that specialized in doors, door hinges, and all things necessary for a door to open and/or close. Down the street was the other ironmonger, that held sets of screws and nails. And it all lives together like that, happy for some reason.

I also yesterday pronouced basil as they do here, which is baz-ill, so I guess I'm transitioning.

Now if you don't mind me, I have to go dig that ditch that I hadn't dug before.

Summah and Long Runs.

2009-04-26T18:04:00.003+01:00

Today, for about 30 minutes, I went without a jacket. This is very exciting. For, you see, that means it is soon to be summer. And in summer, you can be without a jacket for maybe an hour. And sometimes, maybe sometimes, you can be without a jacket for TWO hours.

I went to ice cream. Because when it's 60 degrees out, it's ice cream weather. I got two scoops and a waffle cone. It was from G&D, which is like Amy's in Texas, all home made. It's not as good as Amy's (as nothing from home ever is as good as when you are technically not home), but it's close enough and excellent quality. They also make bagel sandwiches, which is nice, as I miss my bagels from my proper bagel shop.

I noticed today people were literally traveling across the parks with the sun. If the sun moved, so did they, quietly packing and moving their blankets like little sun dials all around Oxford. Myself, I'm still shopping picnic gear. With some events and visitors on the way I figure we must be proper English people and picnic. Preferably after pushing ourselves around on a punt all day. Or, at least, making my younger brother push us around. I believe that is the entire point of having younger siblings.

In other news, I am going to queue for the London Marathon. I've run numerous halvsies, and will run at least one halvsie this year (though I want to run two). Surely this to is one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but I've been at the halvsie game long enough that I should mark a marathon, before happily returning to halvsies until without any rhyme or reason, signing up for another marathon. Preferrably in Antartica. We'll see if London takes me, I hear it can be tough, but I'm sure I will run for charity, which should make it slightly easier.

This all sort of wraps itself around and back to summer due to the fact that in the interviews after the finish people were complaining it was too hot. It is those people I feel need to be given entry into the DisneyWorld Marathon, which can either end at 40 degrees, or somewhere closer to 90. It's like the seesaw of races, as it takes place in this incredibly odd transition point where, for no known reason, a bout of winter hits. Thing is, you don't know if it will hit that week, or the week after. It's a toss up. It's the only race where I pack both winter and summer running clothes. No joke. I think everyone needs the experience of going 40 to 90 or the other direction, once in their life.

There is also the Dubai Marathon, but I digress.

The short of it is as thus - today was another lovely day in Oxford and I'm foolishly going to attempt to run in the London Marathon next year. And that, as they say, is that.

Not following a pattern.

2009-04-15T19:49:00.002+01:00

I'm getting sick. This stinks. I was told that within my first year I will end up ill a lot, all those "British Germs" invading my system. But what they didn't tell me was this whole new pattern of illness thing.

I've been ill once before and it didn't follow the same pattern as this one, which is a sore throat and weird light-headed feelings. In the states I would have it the other way around. Before this I just got really sleepy and then sneezy. It's if my body is going, "Okay, this is not a good thing. I'm ill, but this is not something I've experienced before so I'll switch around all the feelings I normally get until something stands out as familiar. Err go, I start reaching for meds."

Or something like that, I really shouldn't be writing, feeling as I do.

I could get into the whole doctor thing here, which I'm immensely grateful to shove part of my paycheck to knowing I can see someone - but - for some reason people in the UK are less apt to medicate. I've argued in the past with colleagues, obviously ill, who will swear up and down that a bit of aspirin will do them fine. Like they WANT to feel the pain. I recall specifically one colleague who insisted on taking only half a set of over-the-counter meds because we were traveling. It amuses me greatly. Outside of that I was purchasing honey in droves.

Anyways, I'm just a bit miffed because of this, as there is that since that comes now and then of being 'foreign.' Just when I've figured something out or felt a bit more British (I did postage today and learned all about weight and mailing types) I get something strange knocked at me, like weird illness.

Okay, to bed with me.

Weather.

2009-04-13T09:45:00.003+01:00

I shouldn't ever complain about English weather. I have no right to. When coming from two of three states where you have two seasons: Summer and Not Summer, actually experiencing seasonal change should be relished.

On Thursday walking to an early pub lunch one of my colleagues bemoaned the weather. "Oh, it's that might-rain weather. I hate that." I, of course, can think of the anywhere from 3-7pm daily shower and rain so hard you can't see an inch in front of you. "This isn't bad! I had to work the DAY after a hurricane at a water park, that was bad." And I lived 10 days without power, and I resided in a flooded city, and... and... and...

England has some rough winds and overcast days that stretch on a bit longer than they should. But, then again, they are an island. They have snow sometimes, and rarely but occasionally, warm sunny days. I did notice not too long ago that I was becoming paler than normal, and that the area where my running top used to leave light tan lines is gone. I recall mentioning to my best friend how his hair seemed darker. It was never darker, he said, he just doesn't get much in the way of sun when he goes out.

But you can go out without first not checking if this is an 'Ozone Warning' day. For those not in the know, an 'Ozone Warning' means that there is a pretty good chance that if you were to die of heat exhaustion, or fancy that opportunity, now is your chance to take it. There is also that whole knowledge that you can go out in England at nearly any time, where in my home states, if the sun is up then you may need to think about it. You also may want to consider the purchase of a vat of DEET, which is the substance you bathe in in order to ward off the numerous flying insects. (Did I mention Oxford has a lot of birds? I really like them because they eat the bugs, thank you.) I've had a few bee problems here, but that is because they were wandering around flowers, which bloom here, rather than wither and die.

What this all really points to is that for the past two days I've been grumbling about the weather. The almost-rain and windy weather. I've had to keep my winter jacket out, and realized that the pictures I've been posting feature this jacket almost exclusively. But nonetheless, I went out. I wandered about. I didn't have to hose myself with sunscreen and DEET and make sure my water was near and that the Ozone Warning would fry me to pieces. So I will take almost-rain thank you. And cold, and windy. Yes, I will take it and I will relish it.

Hooray for the British / European Holiday System.

2009-04-10T11:24:00.002+01:00

Chalk up another reason why I may never move home again: HOLIDAYS.

In the US there really aren't any holiday laws. By all account you are able, should you wish to sign up for it, to work every single day of your life until you die. There are no laws stating you should get time off. Though, when you do, HR makes a fuss over the fact that you are using it.

Of course I believe that this has eventually lead to the "use it or lose it" policy. In which you, as a person who is made to feel horrible requesting vacation, must take vacation or it will disappear. This sort of rule came into effect after people, realizing that they would be subject to guilting if they took vacation, horded hours (which is money technically owed to you). Then, when they left the company the company would have to cough up months of vacation never taken. I recall a professor at my former school was owed a years pay on top of his retirement when he left. I had never thought I had seen a man so happy he messed with the system.

Fact is, on holiday Europe has it right. People need time off. People need to be able to go places, or go nowhere. In short, people need to live. In the US it's all about work. Work, and apparently, accumulating debt. Here I have never been so happy to join in Friday pub sessions and realize that I could plan long weekends driving/busing/walking around England and exploring because I could, no guilt needed.

My brother will be making his first trip to Europe in June, and I can take time off to wheel him about. In the US, having been on the job less than six months I would've had to beg for a long weekend. It's so great I can't even describe it. I think it should be mandatory everywhere. While now I'm happily on a government sanctioned holiday (4 days! Woo!) I know that in a short while I'll have about two weeks where I can watch my brother be surprised and shocked and awed and everything with the UK.

And that is just wonderful by me. :)

British Shopping.

2009-04-05T13:36:00.002+01:00

So they say that the British are all about queuing. That if you stick them in a neat little line they will stand there, obviously miffed about it, but enduring it. The queue is, after all, the English way.

Put them in a supermarket, or shopping mall, or anywhere else that people have to go to purchase things, it's mass pandemonium.

This is most obvious in the supermarket. Mostly because, unlike in the US where we have large and well spaced aisles, you are looking at a store the size of most US living rooms. Within that you have the aisle listings, often found in strange places, and often listing things you don't actually want. I have run across the 'Canned Fish' aisle, for instance. So what you do instead is roam the aisles, looking at each shelf for whatever they might have, and often doubling back because you later find out that the canned fish is right next to the rice, which last week was next to the bread but they aren't carrying that much bread, so they put chocolate there.

If we were to place English markets in the land of Buddhism, then we would be looking at change and change acceptance at it's highest level. Nothing is constant in the super market, and if you accept this, you are a far better shopper than most.

The other shopping experiences are what I would refer to as 'flocking.' You go into a mega store, ex. Primark - land of stupid cheap clothing, and you go to a rack. It could have the most horrific neon yellow belts with orange and puke stripped bags, but go there, and just look as if you are mildly interested. Within moments you are flocked to by shoppers, who obviously are drawn to your mild interest, who then push their way in front of you and grab and snatch at these items solely because they are there. Moments later, as you wander towards the exit, you will see those items deposited randomly on top of a pile of riffled through but decent shirts. It's the way of shopping in England.

Outside of, of course, the closet store.

The closet store comprises the majority of all independent shops in England. This, of course, is actually quite fun if you are in the mood for it. Usually you have to shove your way in and are greeted by 15 other people, who have been trapped there since who knows when, and a cashier at the till, who carries the greatest amount of space behind him or her. It's best to know what you are coming in for, because if you don't know then you will be there for days on end. This is because only the cashier knows where things are. They are the keeper of knowledge. So, unless you really just want to browse and find a full tea set under a stack of newspapers, go in with knowledge of your end game. And best of luck in getting back out. Oh, and by the way, mind the step, because all these shops have steps, either up or down or both ways, because that is the rule.

I suppose I wouldn't consider this a ranting, just sort of a catalogging of my shopping experiences so far whilst here. When you come from mega huge store land, like I do, it's an adjustment. I'm getting the hang of it. Now, if you don't mind me I need to go to TopShop. There are some things other people are looking at which I need to look at too, right now, and I hope there is stairs.

Lingo Layers.

2009-03-28T15:05:00.002Z

First, there was Cockney. "Rosie Lee" for "Cup of tea."

Then, there was clipped Cockney, which is far more common. "Donkeys" for "Years" from "Donkeys Ears" meaning "Years and years."

Further on, there begot Oxford slang. "Bop" for "Party" and horrible pronunciation as in "Mordalin" for "Magdalene."

And now, I'm learning work slang. So far we have "cabbage" "pony" and "magic." Mercifully, none of them are rude. There is also the naming lexicon, which I'm thinking of putting a wiki entry in, for all the many names one goes by. Usually it is your actual name or your initials, which makes up your email address. However, there is also the possibility of a nickname or other name you wish to be called by. This has resulted, for me, in the following exchanges:

"Hello. My name is Cristin."
"And what else?"
"Um, Cam. Sometimes Elf. You?"
"My name is David, but they call me Stuart and sometimes Dis."
"Excellent."

I go through this, on a daily basis, with at least three people. My overriding problem is that I will possibly go through this with many of them more than once, because this is a fairly large company.

When I moved to England I thought I would learn a lot about history, culture, and language. What I have learned so far is that they are very strange, just like the US.

See? We're not so different after all.

Crummy Day Blog.

2009-03-25T20:17:00.003Z

Today, not such a good day. They are bound to happen. I read somewhere (Red Magazine I think) that we shouldn't strive for always being happy, but instead work on being content. It's a very practical way of utilizing the Buddhist phrasing of living in the moment, but it makes sense when you think about it.

Overall today (and most of yesterday) was overshadowed by a stomach bug. I think, by the way I'm feeling now, I'm on the upswing. This if of course after consuming vast quantities of Lucozade and anti-diuretics. Within my learning curve of new work came wonderful stomach cramps and sudden head pangs, which I didn't enjoy. But I soldiered through, and hopefully after a good night of sleep I will be able to tackle tomorrow in a whole piece.

Of course it didn't help that someone decided, for some unknowable reason, to unlock my bike, lock it back together, but pop the bike chain off and dent in my basket. It was as if I had a warning shot fired across my nose, though for what reason I don't know. I'm still new in this biking world, still trying to figure out which way is what and how not to piss off better bikers and cars, but it mystifies me that someone would go and do it.

But, like my tummy, I managed to fix the chain on the bike and still make it to the post office, where I mailed off thank you cards to all my job references. I think the art of the thank you, so insanely drilled into my head by my high school English teacher, is one that is truly forgotten. Three of my four references (and the fourth just gave me his address so he's screwed now) have dozens of cards, notes, letters to tell them how much I appreciate them. They need to know it, it's important. Especially now, with all this crummy stuff happening around us - things that are bigger than stomach aches and strange bike vandals.

So, amid all this crummy let me say that despite the fact that I want to curl up in a ball and sleep forever, I fixed a bike chain and mailed four very important letters today. That makes me content, and that's just fine by me.

The baker's dozen.

2009-03-19T19:58:00.002Z

I believe in baking therapy. It's not the healthiest of therapies, but it's part of what I like to call the "Turning of Negatives into Positives."

This being my first week of work, I felt necessary to make as many mistakes as possible. And because I don't know everyone well enough, I don't want them thinking that I am hopeless. Instead, I would like to think that if they choose to think me hopeless, let it be as a hopeless cause who makes damn good lemon bars.

One of the happiest days I had since moving here was when I finally unpacked my American cookbooks and baking bits. The swell of estrogen was probably so great it drove all talk of sports from the neighborhood for a good 5-10 seconds. Within my boxes were the histories of easy baking goodness, passed down, discovered, or dropped in by someone somewhere.

The best part about baking is rarely do you encounter great amounts of wrath for doing it. Most people are shocked or pleased, as baking is a sort of traditional thing that didn't go the way of the mailed letter or the rotary phone. One time between jobs I took up learning the art of the pie and would bring in samples to the bookstore I took a short job at. I can remember being grabbed in the hallway by one of the workers who kept going on and on about how great it is I'm bringing sweets in and that rarely do nice things just happen.

I guess then that's one of my things in life that I want to do, to make nice things happen. They don't happen often enough, you see.

So every time I think bad things are happening, or I'm having a rough go, I go about doing something positive. This inevitably means I will go from feeling crummy to feeling much better about myself. At the same time I'm making other people feel good too, so it's a winning situation.

Cookies, cakes, pies, and brownies - make them and nice things happen.

On repeatedly falling off a bicycle

2009-03-17T18:53:00.003Z

Thus far in my lovely forays into the streets of Oxford I have fallen off my bicycle twice. The first of these bike/person separations occurred on my first day at work. Happily looking at 7.5 hours in which I learned much, felt confused, but overall know that eventually it will all work out, I graciously decided it would be best to jump a curb and hit a pole. For added effect I chose to do this about rush hour, with several cars, pedestrians, and other cyclists looking on.

Of course, in hindsight, I realize this is not, in effect, my fault in the slightest. The curb, you see, was strategically located such that if perchance you made the decision to park your bike at the stop too far on the right to make your turn you would set yourself up to jump the curb and hit a pole. This, I feel, is Fate taking a cruel swipe at me, the cycling novice. Had I but known that such curbs would manifest themselves on the streets of Botley Road in order to cause menace to the unknown peddlist I would've immediately written to council. This, of course, would not change anything. However, as an American I reserve my right to complain profusely about everything.

My second bike separation occurred due to the lack of traction on my 3+ year-old Pumas. (Here pronounced 'pew-mas' not 'poo-mas') As I was gracelessly gliding to a stop in an area where I am not altogether sure where to cross I slipped. You see, in an engineering move much like the aforementioned curb, Oxford made the decision to place a separation device that would lead cars away from the center of the city. This is done primarily because driving within the center of the city is a foolish idea. You see, when Oxford was founded cars had not reached invention. In fact, cars themselves would mostly be abscent from the overall fabric of Oxford for about 2,000 years. For some unknown reason the Trojans, or whatever ancient tribe founded the city, did not imagine setting up an infrastructure to support motorized vehicle transport. This lack of foresight eventually resulted in severe internal traffic problems. The end result was Oxford closing some streets and blocking various locations altogether. Thus we are brought to present day and an encroaching problem. Me, being of the two-wheel self propulsion, can get around said motorized transport. However, I have to figure out my way around the blocking systems. To do this one must remove themselves from the bike and walk it, usually across pedestrian intersections, before remounting the cycle and continuing on following all normal traffic laws. In my attempt to do this my Puma made contact with a slick surface and I was prematurely removed from my cycle and into the nearby path of a friendly Italian.

It still embarassed me greatly.

And lest I not begin to discourse my feelings towards the seat upon which I place my hind region. This is primarily my fault, as I protested the purchase of further items to adorn my shiny new transport. Now, of course, as it has become difficult to sit, the method of which I ride has become very odd and uncomfortable. I hope to remedy this issue shortly, however, I know it is greatly imparing my abilities to balance and will probably lead me to a lovely collision with the next Asian walking tour. This may, however, result in minor Flickr, YouTube or Facebook fame.

I also need gloves. As a runner I have calluses on my feet, it's part of the job. I do not, however, want the same on my hands. More people see my hands than my feet, so if anything I'd like to keep those pretty. I'm alot about the pretty.

I guess I should find some eloquent way of bringing this blog to a satisfactory closure. So I shall leave you with this: If you see a female peddlist on a mountain bike with a basket looking very worried and in pain, stay clear. Or, if you cannot, please place the nearest curb or Asian tour group in your path so that you may avoid injury. Thank you.

Protocol/New Girl

2009-03-15T17:36:00.000Z

I am one of four females in a forty-person office.
One of four.
The place is quiet. Really quiet. Scary quiet.
It is populated by developers and they've never really had to sell or market.
They go by nicknames, not by actual names.
This is because everyone is named Mark, Stu, or Matt.
Even the females.
They have office protocol they have you read.
One is "How to cope with the phone."
The instructions:
You may notice from time to time a strange buzzing or ringing sound emanating from a box-shaped item located on some, but not all persons desks. This is called a telephone. To activate the phone pick up the small, funnel-shaped stick (known as the receiver) which is attached to a spiral code. Say "Hello." Should you not wish to activate the phone simply let it sit and buzz or ring. Eventually this should stop.
They also have office protocol on toasted sandwiches, and one on milk delivery.
The milk delivery should come with flow chart and algorithm.
This is because, I fully believe, one day someone really got irked about the milk situation.
There are ratios of milk to beverage to consider.
Today, a soap protocol appeared.
Being that I am now, officially, surrounded by developers this sort of amusing, yet passive-aggressive behavior is probably going to be common.
I think I will do fine.
I'm the new girl, after all.
But I miss the loud sales folk.
I miss my friends.
My office.
The things that I considered mine.
And I feel like a total muppet on my bicycle.
A complete newbie.
Such mixed emotions.
It's strange, really strange, to be new.

Eventually, this will be an Audi.

2009-03-15T16:41:00.002Z

There is a thrill when buying a vehicle. I've only experienced this thrill one time, when I bought my first real car - a 2000 Ford Focus. Standing in the bike shop today, looking at the scratch and dents, I had that same thrill.

I also had that similar desire when looking a little wire baskets.

The joy of this new job is that I can commute there on bike. One of the things I really wanted to embrace when moving abroad was getting rid of some of my very obvious American tendencies. One of these is the car. Now, before you protest let me say I have nothing against cars. I love cars. I have gone to car shows. I have poked under hoods and studied engine models. I am no gear head, but I keep up with the latest in best designs.

Right now, however, I am starting over and am dirt poor. I'd rather be spending my gas money on train and cheap flights around the UK and Europe. So I have to let the car dreams pass.

Not that this dream is dead, no. But first, you see, I have to learn this whole 'left' thing. And the whole squiggly lines thing. And that whole diamond yield thing. And roundabouts. (There was a roundabout in Houston but that was one.) I figure this is good, healthy practice for my eventual rise to Audi ownership.

You may notice from my previous posts I have a goal-set mentality. Working with a lot of sales folks I have gained one. That lovely little scratch and dent with basket? Eventually it will turn into an Audi A4. I'm not being crazy, A8 is just a bit too large. You see I love the rope lights, but apparently Audi is returning to the status of being a fine car engineering group. And frankly BMWs are all over the place here. (Not that I would turn down a BMW if offered one. I just think an Audi would be different.)

So as I huff and puff my way to my first UK job tomorrow morning, I will be thinking of the eventual Misano Red Audi with the fastest possible engine so I can play the worlds longest game of chicken with all the other motorists. And I will be happy and glad, because one day I will make that goal.

Until then I will peddle, peddle, peddle.

On new beginnings.

2009-03-13T20:09:00.003Z

Monday I start my new job.

Six weeks, it's been a solid six weeks of searching. At week seven the windfall came. I had three solid days of interviews, and magically - an offer.

I will tell you, at first I was excited. But then, here's the really weird part, I became incredibly sad. You see, it's because I realized I am honestly about to leave my old self behind. That the four plus years I spent in one spot have had their chapter book closed.

Now, here's the deal. I've gotten some AMAZING friends out of that. Some incredible, wonderful people who I will keep in touch with, visit, and stay with, for years upon years. And even though I technically haven't been working with them for seven weeks, I feel like I'm leaving them. Like I want them all to come with me.

I have a great friend who once wrote to me, "When God closes a door he pushes you out a window." That's how I feel. I've agreed to free fall into a new space, a new place. I'm scared and excited and just like my job before this one - hopelessly wishing I could take everyone from my prior job with me. When I was interviewing - and this might creep people out - I was imagining their little ghost-like presences all over the room. My mentors, my friends. Sometimes I wished they could be there, holding my hand. (I honestly can say this, interviewing right now is tough. Really tough. I doubt I'm the only one out there wishing they could answer questions whilst gripping the hands of their most supportive friends and loved ones.)

So, I guess in a sense I am wrapping up this small (thank goodness) chapter of uncertainty, but with a sort of mournfulness. My whole world has decided to change. The most true, inevitable thing in life you can expect, but even still it comes unexpected. And when I go into work on Monday, holding the invisible hands of everyone who supported me so far, I hope to take new hands who will lead me forward into even better places.

I've got a Red Nose.

2009-03-11T07:47:00.003Z

So this is something really neat about the UK. Once a year the whole country gets together to raise funds for charity and have a giggle. They call it Red Nose Day and for all intensive purposes, this is my second one. The first one I was bleary and tired from doing travel for work. All I can remember is that for an entire day the television was full of comedy and the streets full of people in red noses and costumes. It struck me as so odd, as in the US only pieces and parts of the country would participate. Here, everyone does it.

So, to reference back to my earlier post about "Things I like about England" let me place Red Nose Day. I wish that more countries had the nerve to get up and toss some laughs around to benefit as many charities as possible. England, you win this one hands down.

Numbers games.

2009-03-09T09:43:00.003Z

I should've gone into statistics, had the course I not taken in it in college make me cry. In fact, I know I'm a bit of a maths whiz. Not a sort of 'ethereal' maths whiz where you have trains departing upside down and a jelly donut involved, but a practical maths whiz. I am good a budgets, I am good at figuring out audience percentage, I am good at balancing a check book.

In short, I'm good at people math.

Part of being out on the job hunt has been trying to figure the percentage of applications I need to apply for in order to result in an interview. Now, this isn't me just applying for random jobs. They must be related to prior work, within a rough salary or contract frame, and hopefully - hopefully provide me personal satisfaction. (I am picky, thank you.) Because of my extensive and very odd range of work, this offers me opportunity that, say, someone who has only undertaken one version of work - like corporate accounting - cannot have.

So I figured my range and targets, and like a good little marketer I have hit those targets. Within those targets are goals. Those goals are based on Cadbury Cream Egg Acquisition. Namely, that I need to sit and write excellent applications, and each which results in an interview yields access to one Cadbury Cream Egg, the bane of my existance. Sometimes, for motivation, I line them up next to me, like a sales person shooting for a sports car, and look at them fondly whilst I pull up a successful application and analyse it for further contribution.

This method has worked well, resulting in a fixed intake of one Cadbury Cream Egg per week thusfar. I have yet to purchase my true reward for at last hitting my acceptance into work - which is the huge Cadbury Cream Egg Easter Extravaganza of Chocolate - but I'm thinking I should, because the egg goals have worked out so well.

Now, what this whole thing is really about is why can't we teach kids math skills through things like this? Real things, important things, like getting as many of those tasty chocolate/cream eggs in your tummy? Honestly, we need to change our tactics. Granted, if it was always about chocolate/cream Easter eggs we'd probably need to consider the obsesity problem, but I doubt kids would leap at a celery initiative.

A little bit of validation.

2009-03-05T09:55:00.002Z

I have great news, my SAP Super User paper got a HUGE nod from IT Toolbox: My listing as #3. It came to me from my former boss and mentor, who said in big quotes, "YOU'RE FAMOUS!" Seeing it is, really and truly, touching. Knowing that so many people contributed to make it happen and there it is ... I'm emotional! #3 for a huge audience to see!

How many companies might we be helping today? How many internal jobs could we save? How much of a chance did I give someone, anyone, who is looking to sustain a positive education environment? Maybe 1 or 2, but that is 1 or 2 more than before.

I've always believed in making an impact. That you shouldn't just market for sales, you should market for change. So sometimes you have to take on projects that aren't just about leads. We're in a world that is gripped pretty strong by uncertainty. So if my publication can make a few people more sure, drive them to make things better for others, more power to them.

Like I said in my last post, the determined will succeed so long as they never give up. Seeing that something I did in my past may fuel people to keep going keeps me going.

Defining Opportunity

2009-03-04T13:32:00.002Z

I've heard all sorts of weird things. Things like people who were executives applying to shovel poo at the London Zoo. People who had administrative skills that are trying to work at gas stations. And the media are spinning them as sad and yet funny stories.

It's made me think, though. What is opportunity?

We define ourselves by what we do more than what we say. So who is not to say, unless they see they are terrible at it, what great pooper scoopers some former executives are? Who is to say a typist can't change a tire? Who is it to say that an accountant can't make coffee?

Yes, alright, I get it. People out there in recruitment and HR are flooded with applications. Applications out their ears and noses full of people who may not have the 'exact requirements.' But who is to really say that they don't deserve the opportunity? Who is to really judge a person for applying above or below their means? This is a time when those who seek out with determination should eventually emerge victorious. I would rather have someone ambitious and willing over someone literally slogging through. I'd rather build a team on those wanting to rise to the occasion, or humble themselves for the better of others, than search for a person with 5 years of experience in poo scooping, specifically in the elephant species.

So for me I say hats off to those who have thrown themselves out there. Yes, there requires some caution, some proper letter writing, but at least - at least - you're not giving up.

Seriously, most vivid dream in awhile.

2009-03-02T08:01:00.002Z

Last night in my dreams I competed to be a bridesmaid.

It started out small. A friend, actually a person who I worked with in college years ago, was getting married. She asked 20 of us up to this theatre, where we would all model outfits, and from there she would pick 5 bridesmaids.

I showed up and slowly but surely 20 became 300 and I found myself in a backstage existence, trying to find the two dresses I was supposed to model. Around me flurries of activity were taking place. The women were completely dressed in full makeup, while I was standing there with my hair in a bun and completely unsure when I was supposed to 'go on.' I eventually am handed my gowns by a stern wardrobe assistant, who tells me I should've known when everything was happening, as it was on my card. She hands me a new card, which includes a middle act, the obstacle course.

My first dress is by Stella McCartney. I know this because one of the girls with me is going on and on about wearing a designer dress. As I step out onto the stage, that's when I realize that this is a show. A sort of "Who wants to be a bridesmaid?" sort of thing. We walk and pose and then are asked to leave the stage. I can't remember if, before I got there, I had my hair and makeup done.

The obstacle course is a partnered affair. We have to swim, using a lifeguard orange lifesaver, around obstacles and to the finish. As a former lifeguard I know what I need to do, but my partner can't swim. So I flip over, placing my knees around the lifesaver, and I tell the girl with me to grab on behind. I begin to use my arms to pull us and am shouting instructions for how she should kick. By some miracle this works and out of the four teams, we're first. However, as I get out of the pool I hear the announcer asking the bride to be what she thought. "Well, Cristin didn't suck in her stomach as much as she should."

I return to the theatre, magically dry and pool smell free, and go to look at my final dress. It's this green horizontal stripe, which I and another contestant loathe over. The partner of mine from the obstacle course steps out in this fancy final number and we 'ooo' and 'ahh' over it. But before I put it on I suddenly wake up.

I know where the bridesmaids came from - there was a wedding in town on Saturday and a gaggle of them were wearing pea green with these little furr shawls. The obstacle course could be from finally watching Survivor last night, plus all the inner jokes I make about an obstacle course in existance as part of my interview process. The competiton - well, a little Survivor, a little of this whole job thing. Seems with how the economy is going the numbers are only continuing to swell for who I'm competing against.

It's been a long time since I've had a dream that seemed to carry on, making complete sense, from start to (near) finish. What this all means, I'm not quite sure. But apparently if I'm ever asked to just pop by a theatre and try a few dresses on the answer will be no.

My dog is in love.

2009-02-28T18:33:00.002Z

My dog has met a new girl. She's a full sized golden retriever and her name is Dizzy. He lets her play with his orange squeaky ball and rarely barks when she runs off with it.

In the past, if he's liked someone, he's usually more apt to drop the squeaky at my feet. A sort of, "Here, keep this safe..." before he darts after his latest love. But Dizzy could play with the ball, which is a massive deal. It's his most precious thing, his binky to get through all things.

And today he let another touch and run and rub on it. This is huge.