GOING HOME

On our last day, I morphed into a shopping fool after discovering Muji and its sister clearance shop. Ron-Ron also requested a few tubes of men’s Face Protector from the Body Shop and I was fortunate to come upon “Buy 2 Get 1 Free Sale”. Lucky bastard.

After some deliberation, we decided to have a proper English meal at the local pub to conclude our beloved trip. **Sigh** - Fish & Chips and Shepherd’s Pie with 2 half-pints of ale. Man, can we get any more authentic than that? Oh wait, we could’ve went for Mr. Brains faggots with mushy peas once again…Blimey!!!

We headed out early to Heathrow Airport since we didn’t want to play in the traffic or deal with any unexpected delays. Once again, I had a tremendous workout dragging my luggage through the Tube and was practically sweating through my coat. It was NOT a good thing. I was afraid that I might reek like Richard!

Upon our arrival at JFK, Ching and I took one of those airport shuttles back to Manhattan since our car was still out of commission (registration had expired). Even at home, it was raining dogs and cats – UGH – you have no idea how much I detested the rain, especially after being whupped in the UK!

The driver left the radio on and PLJ was playing the greatest hits from the 80’s. Because of fatigue and being soiled by my aura of ickiness, I rested my head against the seat in front of me praying that we would arrive home in a few minutes. As soon as the unmistakable keys played on the airwaves, my head popped up when I heard “Head Over Heels” on the airwaves.

Now…how appropriate was that?

;o)

EVERYTHING happens for a reason…

LAST DAY OF FUN

Thanks to last night’s bipolar outbreak, I was painfully hung over and wondered what on earth was planted in Ching’s breakfast allowing her to be chipper in the morning. All throughout my UK trip, I had been experiencing nasty bouts of charley horses, and boy, I was ready to saw off my knees.

As a non-driver in NYC, walking is a default. With my braided leg muscles, I hobbled my way around London in dignified grace. Not.

Before embarking our journey to the Tower of London, Ching wanted to stop by at Boots to buy 10 little tins of Vaseline Aloe Lip balm for 99p each while Richard grabbed a small can of deodorant spray. I couldn’t believe it! Does he know…or not??!!

Anyway, this was my second trip to the Tower of London, so I was looking forward to seeing the crown jewels and the animated Beefeater tour once again. As expected, Richard pointed to one direction while facing the opposite way - when he led us out of the station exit. Till this day, Ching and I are still trying to unravel this mystery about Richard.

It was absolutely a gorgeous day. We joined a band of tourists on a popularly guided tour narrated by lively and burly Englishmen donning those adorable eye-catching red outfits you find on bottles of Smirnoff vodka. It must be HELL during summer.

About 1/3 into the tour, I noticed that our group had increased twofold as more and more Americans realized how clueless they were about the English history. The narrative piece was quite different than the one given 7 years ago – this time, there was a greater focus regarding the murder of the young Princes in the Tower as opposed to Henry VIII’s six marriages and Elizabeth I, Virgin Queen. To this day, I still recall the historical account (as given by the garbed warders, of course) of Elizabeth’s claim to throne and how she fended off her enemies during her reign. Maybe because the movie, Elizabeth, was due to be released later that month (we're talking 7 years ago) - therefore, a deliberate marketing ploy to hype it up in the motherland. Who knows.

The final chapter of this tour included a visit to the Chapel where everyone was seated during our guide’s spiel. Interestingly enough, he wrapped it up by introducing a Q&A forum to everyone. Only two questions were asked and quickly answered, so the guide alluded to the topic of ghosts seen roaming around the castle grounds. He described his personal experience of paranormal activity within this very chapel as well as the sightings of the infamous glowing orbs floating by the towers during the day. Skepticism, anxiety and even excitement, descended upon everyone when he spoke of a woman seated by the pew dressed in a period garb.

When the tour was over, Ching and I headed towards the front to take a closer look at the altar and its surroundings. It was nothing truly spectacular in its appearance; in fact, it looked quite ordinary and eerily quiet. We turned around and followed the rest of the group out. I tipped the guide £2 and couldn’t help but to notice his enormous hands. In his right hand, there had to be at least £60 worth of coins (£1 pound coin is a bit smaller than a quarter, but denser in thickness) while his left hand was free to assist the ladies, should they stumble over the inconspicuous little step by the doorway. Per our guide, this was the best part of his job and the men would have to brace themselves should they trip. Mind you, he was handling the coins rather deftly without losing any of his wonderful charm.

Plus, this isn’t his only tour round for the day. On a good day, I bet he could easily make well over £150 a day on tips alone…that’s better than some college educated grads like me!

About 20 feet away outside of the chapel, Ching asked me a question:

Ching: Did you feel it?

Me: Inside?

Ching: Yep, uh-huh.

Me: As though as someone’s lookin’ at you from behind.

Ching: That’s it.

[On occasion, I can feel two eyes boring down my neck when I visit such places. People often wonder why I would turn around and look behind me. It’s as though someone whispering and pointing behind my back and I would react by turning around to halt the buzzing. Because of this sensitivity, I can’t help but to look back a few more times causing those around me think I’m some paranoid freak.]

Since Ching and I were the last two to file out, I didn’t bother turning around to check and see. Fortunately for us, it wasn’t a negative entity, or else I would’ve ran my ass outta there crying for my mommy.

During the entire time, we walked from one end to the tower and the next, facing many detours. Apparently the areas were sectioned off in a choppy manner, so we would have to climb in and out of the towers instead of walking along the bridged areas. Ching had assumed that we didn’t enjoy ToL because we were unusually quiet. Erm, she was the only one who wasn’t quite hung over in pain.

Because it was so late in the day, I assumed that Richard would return to Brum and Ching would skip the British Museum. NOT. Ching absolutely had to pay homage to a proper museum in the UK, and Richard, well; he’d rather tag along with us to ensure that we wouldn’t get lost. A-hem. With all of these human roundabouts and the sort, we’ve gone the long route more often than not.

Because NYC MTA is FUBAR, getting around via Tube is a piece of cake. Plus, their maps are EASIER to read than our shitty ones here. Richard, on the other hand, is color blind and takes the plunge when it comes to traveling. We had to get off the train a few times because we’ve either taken the wrong line or gone the opposite direction!

So off to the British Museum we go. Because we arrived there at quarter to five, certain exhibits began closing up – so we could only get a taste of the whole pie. The Museum is massive, along with its extraordinary displays of culture and civilization. Unlike the Met, the Museum requests donations for entry as opposed to the set ticket prices. I didn’t think anything topped the Met, but in terms of variety and possessions, the Museum is extremely remarkable with its collections.

What I found a bit odd was that many of the items were not roped off which is a big invitation for damage and destruction. You’ll always have the moronic lot of wankers who cannot refrain from touching or ruining property because they have nothing better to do with themselves. You could actually take pictures of these monumental displays which is a big no-no in the States.

Grounded by my American standards, I barked at Richard for touching an Egyptian sarcophagus. Maybe it’s because we are more in tune with preservation of historical artifacts than the Brits? Not only were the displays were out in the open, no Steward was minding them either. Ching and I were constantly questioning whether or not these museums in England were 'hands-on' because they were out in the open.

The chief aspect I disliked about the Museum was the shoddy arrangement of their cultural exhibits. It was as though they took everything and anything that was related to the subject matter and dumped it all in one place. Although the Museum’s individual items were exceptionally impressive, the disorganization between exhibits could shadow the most famous displays in its possession.

At least with the Met, the flow of history and its events would lead you to the ultimate prize when you complete your tour from one end of the wing to the other. Its introduction sets the stage building up some drama for a sensational ending to experience.

We even saw a well-preserved body along with its burial site at least a thousand years old. Then Ching announced the reason why she wanted to be cremated was to avoid being put on display with her ass hanging out at some historical museum. Okay…

As the day hits the night, we neared the final moment where we said our proper goodbyes to Richard. Before we went our separate ways, we requested that he ring us up when he reached home. After we exchanged remarks, gestures and hugs, he headed off to Victoria Station while Ching and I discussed our plans for our departure on Saturday.

Again, we had to get off our train because we had taken the wrong line thanks to Richard’s advice. Why did I even bother to listen to him?

Duh at me.

Thanks to an invigorating shower and a full night’s sleep, we woke refreshed and ready to take on the city…after some breakfast, of course. Brain food was an absolute necessity.

The hotel’s décor was stunning – modern, sleek and spacious. The breakfast room was converted from a greenhouse, so there was a view of the adjacent buildings, spiral stairwells and sunlight through the windows. It gave such a wonderful ambiance to start your morning with. After having a healthy dose of caffeine, I suggested that we ought to get a move on since Richard was going to meet us at 9AM. Although I had asked him to come straight to meet at our hotel, he was quite the gentleman by patiently waiting around for us. I guess the earlier timeframe would encroach upon our personal time, so he suggested meeting us later.

• Of course, Ching categorized me as a Type A Personality – rush, rush, rush…let’s enjoy our breakfast, Linda.
• But, but, Richard is…and it’s already 9AM…

(And if you think I’m BAD, wait till you meet my mother!)

Upon returning to our room, we missed Richard’s call by 2 minutes. His voicemail kindly informed us that he’s been in London since 8AM and have been roaming the streets since. Aiyah.

My dear and best friend does not have any concept of time. Oddly enough, I’m the one at work who’s always late, stays late, and works late. Yet, I’m awesome when it comes to forecasting and projecting timelines. I guess being a project manager has its benefits, huh? In this current life I lead, I pay no attention to time. In fact, I don’t wear a watch. I get a sense of the time during the day simply by looking at the sky, observing crowds and by listening to my internal clock.

When Richard arrived at our doorstep, I noticed that the peephole was way above my head. Apparently Jolly Green Giant designed the hotel.

First stop: Westminster Abbey

Needless to say, it was maddening to take the Tube because Richard has an annoying habit of looking forward and pointing the opposite direction. He’d go, “This way” and pointing at the Northern Line, while his entire body and face is turned towards the Southern Line (!!!). Ugh. So I would try my best to memorize certain directions and passages to avoid having to listen to him. It was extremely mind-boggling. Plus, this is how those damned human roundabouts are formed.

Since my first visit, it was nice to revisit the church again, along with some new attractions – a little museum gallery plus a quiet Victorian garden. I think they removed the description plaques because I distinctly remember reading a whole passage about Mary Queen of Scots. Alas, I have a terrible memory when it comes to history, but it’s exceptionally keen for useless information. If the descriptions did exist in the past, then it might’ve been removed to either to boost profits via audio tours or dumb asses were blocking up traffic.

Second Stop: Buckingham Palace

Confuzzled with the directions getting to the Palace, we concocted our own pedestrian roundabouts because this holiday would not be complete without getting lost or taking a longer passage. So when we came by this massive building, we ASSUMED that it was the Buckingham Palace. There was an area with red bleachers surrounding and the ground was covered in mulch. Richard was filming the area and goes, “Here’s Buckingham Palace” and continues his narrative, “Although it looks nothing like it on TV…”

After we continued walking some ways, we later realized the Palace was located on the opposite end of the park. Ahhh…more human roundabouts: we somehow trailed onto a long passage known as the Mall and took a LONG way over. Aiyah. Once we made it to the Palace, Richard popped open the video camera and proclaims, “Now HERE’S the REAL Buckingham Palace!!”

For him, it was embarrassing as a Brit to incorrectly identify his country’s landmark. For me, well, I was here a few years ago…OY!

Third Stop: Covent Gardens

After everyone got a bit picture happy, we headed over to Covent Gardens in a dire search of food and merriment. Walking along the Mall’s parallel road, we argued over the pronunciation of Leicester Square since both Ching and I said, “LIE-ses-ter” as opposed to Richard’s, “LISE-ter”. Darn Americans. Anybody wanna guess how you pronounce Worcester?

Much like the open markets in the West Village during the weekends, Coven Gardens had eclectic and quaint items for sale. Shopping was a bit drab since I was terrified of having to lug my suitcase to Heathrow on Saturday, so I kept my shopping inclinations to a minimum.

According to Frommer’s, there was a tarot/new age bookstore at Celia Court, so Ching and I was eager to see it. Like déjà vu, walking around the area gave me an odd sense of familiarity. Much of the area had changed dramatically, but one thing for certain, the same hustle bustle that exists in NYC’s Herald Square was still prevalent here.

This exclusive bookstore, Watkins, consists primarily of subject matters related to New Age and Spirituality. Its adjacent store carried meditative tools such as crystals, tarot cards, orbs and the lot. If I had all of the time in the world, I’d love to spend a whole day simply browsing through the cosmic topics and maybe even try a crystal or two.

Fifth Stop: Tower Hill

Last but not least, we hopped on the Tube heading towards Tower Hill for the Jack the Ripper Tour. In the train, Ching was uncomfortable with the crowded train and mentioned about how our ride coincided with London’s rush hour. Technically, it was already quarter to six, so by a commuter’s definition, this was way PAST its peak. Before I could point it out, an extremely HOT Englishman corrected Ching. As my eyes were widening in fascination, he kept looking at me while talking to Ching. Dammit, is this where all of the fricking attractive men are!? Concentrated in London!? This eye candy was decked out in a sleek business suit, a designer leather briefcase, a sharp tie and great hair. Since Ching stood directly in front of him, he was oozing alcohol through his pores. Basically if you stick a lighter in front of his mouth and he’d breathe fire on ya.

But dammit, something overcame me and I couldn’t help glancing at him. He reciprocated by toying with my glimpses as well. If Richard wasn’t with us, we’d probably be off with a bunch of Englishmen on this trip! It’s so ridiculous because you’d never catch me doing anything of that sort, not even when I was single. I’d have my face buried in a book, covered in a cloud of smoke, or put on my war mask on to stave off potential dogshit. Then again, girls with geeky glasses (moi) don’t get the boys anyway.

Since I lost my glasses 3 years ago, I actually get noticed more. Although I belong to a rare population of people who look good donning specs, I have this formal, so-called academically superior look that goes along with it. Hah, what a joke! When I open my mouth, the dense truck driver from Brooklyn comes out instead.

Sadly, both Ching and I were reluctant to leave such a lovely sight when we reached our stop. *Sigh*

I can’t begin to tell you how many awesome looking men were roaming the streets of London. Just for the fun of it, I was trying to film them on my camera, but I didn’t want to make Richard feel awkward behaving this way.

Like a typical goober, I had no idea that this was a 2 hour WALKING tour. After our roundabout expedition earlier, the muscles on my leg were facing cell death. Our Irish tour guide happens to be a yeoman or beefeater at the Tower of London, so he gave an excellent, as well as, animated narrative. During those 2 engaging hours, the rain would sporadically toss us a cat and a dog while we headed over to each murder site. We even passed by Little India where I was dying for a Chicken Balti as the smells of curry emanated from the restaurant kitchens. Every now and then, Ching would glimpse at Richard and reminded him that he needed a drink. He look it.

Nonetheless, the great tour ended with Ching and Richard having a blast. For once, I actually saw Richard enjoy himself as opposed to ‘babysitting’ us. Unfortunately, I had forgotten much of what I read about the Jack the Ripper murders and was glad having watched, “From Hell” a few months ago. At least I wasn’t completely lost.

Ching decided that we would take the Circle Line over to Victoria Station for drinks and to properly see Richard off. Because Aldgate was the last stop on the yellow route, our train brought us to the opposite direction heading towards Bayswater first. We hopped off at our popular stop instead and strolled towards the local pub, the Rat & Parrot.

Famished, I was hoping to grab a bite before drinks, but food was no longer served at that hour and only the alcoholic menu was available. So…the fun begins…

PISSED AS IN DRUNK

With the girls seated at the table, Richard skipped over to the bar and ordered a round of lagers for us. I made an appeal for alcohol nullification not only because I will become unspeakably plastered and require assistance with walking, but due to the strain it puts on my bone marrow. To make a long health history short – alcohol is bad for me and I shouldn’t be consuming any of it. There.

Ching and Richard enjoyed moments of having to tap dance on top of my head and initiated their tirade to ban prohibition. Thanks to peer pressure, I gave in, but not without a list of absurd demands –

• One, Richard was to assist me in finishing up some of my lager (and it tasted mighty good) so I could mentally prep for my very first tequila shot (Ching’s favorite). I wasn’t sure how my body would respond to Tequila and was prepared to embrace the porcelain bowl for the night.
• Two, I wanted a smoke – why I requested this baffles me to this day. Thanks to these lunatics harping over my weightlessness with drinking, I guess I wanted to find something to pick on them back. Can I tell you how many times the Brits corrected me by calling them fags?
• Three, these uproarious dolts needed to shut their faces before I was gonna to rearrange them myself. They were having WAY too much fun at my expense – I was already buzzed after consuming only half of a pint.

Richard certainly didn’t mind the extra lager in his glass and kept rubbing his hands together with each swig. Weirdo. Although he was willing to buy fags, I soon realized in my drunken stupor that he didn’t know to how to purchase them. I specifically requested menthol lights and his face contorted indescribably.

I got up from my seat and dragged my lead feet over to the back of the pub looking for the vending machine (Richard informed me that they’re USUALLY in the back of the pubs). Some chap spotted me squinting in the dark for something and kindly pointed that the TOILETS were located in the front of the pub.

Okay, okay, I’m not THAT pissed yet. If I can still count my change in British pounds, then I’m still kosher.

I kindly thanked him and told him that I was looking for cigarettes. He did a double take and informed me how they’re called fags in England and how I could find them at Tesco’s Express. Yeesh, MUST everyone correct me?

So I lurched my way across the street, carefully looking both sides of the road since I was still confused as to which way the cars would be coming. It’d be utterly pathetic should I die from crossing the street while pissed. At Tesco’s Express, I asked the cashier for cigarettes with a combination of menthol lights. The Indian bloke cast me a strange glare while searching for the proper brand. Damn Americans.

Then I noticed a row of Silk Cuts and wanted to purchase a pack of them to salute good ol’ Bridget Jones. But it didn’t come in menthol, so I went with a half pack of Marlboro’s for £2.95. Owch. Unfortunately, there were too many executive decisions to be made in my sorry ass state.

Plus, they don’t give free matches away…I had to purchase my own. Since the cheapo bic lighters cost ₤1.04 (and the exchange rate being 1.92 and I could get a ton of them in the US at those 99¢ shops), I opted for a small box of matchsticks. Man, I felt ready to barbecue!

Miraculously, I made my way back to the pub without any head injuries and shoved the cigarettes up Richard’s beak. To their surprise, menthol fags tasted “quite nice” and with each puff, both semi-pissed geezers continued making assessments as though they were a panel of judges on Iron Chef. Gawd, I wanted to barf on them.

Observing Richard with a cigarette nearly made me pee in my pants. He held the butt on the web space of his hand as opposed to the upper joint between his fingers and nearly burned himself when it reached the end. He choked a few times trying to ‘inhale’ and blew smoke right in our faces. With his face beet red, he happily bopped away in his seat and I don’t believe I saw Richard as giddy as he was that night!

Ching also had a ball - she nearly fell off of her seat a few times since her chair was placed right above the step. An abrupt movement could send her reeling backwards and a potential trip to the ER! We were simply pitiful. Although I can’t remember what we deliberated that night, we were roaring till our nasal passages were cleaned out,

Nonetheless, here is a mess of excerpts coming outta everybody’s butthole:

What the SHIT is this? (C), F^&$%@!#!!! (L), I can get home like this, I went home pissed before (R), No, really, you can stay tonight, on the floor, of course (C), Man, you’re gonna reek. Better get some deodorant at Boots and douse that shit on your head (L), I can get the coach back to Birmingham at midnight (R), No, you’re not, you’re too damn drunk to even read the Tube map properly, you men are fricking color blind! (C), Just wear your clothes and underwear inside-out and you’ll feel as good as new (L), Roundabouts, anyone? (R), Yeah, yeah, I can smoke a fag (R), Aftershocks? Oh! You mean aftershots! (C) YOU ARE STAYING TONIGHT AND THAT’S FINAL! (C) The coach runs all night…(R) He’s going to take a coach to Scotland and end up in Edinburgh (C) He’s looking that way and pointing the opposite direction again (L)

My sides were hurting because I was laughing so hard. I noticed some dudes standing outside were amused by my uproarious behavior and waved at them from my seat. Boy, I sure caught Richard’s giddy bug. Somehow both Ching and I made it up and down the stairs from the Ladies Room free of injuries. While waiting for Ching, I recall propping myself against the wall and slowly sinking downwards in a giggling fit. I wondered why the ceiling appeared higher.

I bought everyone a round of pints and met up some black dude by the bar. He kindly flagged the bartender to take my order and chatted up with me. Trying to muster any composure I had left, I made a huge effort to keep a decent conversation without chortling. He assumed that I was some American working for some major corporation in Central London and asked me what did for a living. It took me a good while to come up with an answer, especially since I hadn’t been working for over a year. I came up with Treasury Systems Analyst (which was my former title 5 years ago) and stumped him.

The bar closed (earlier during weekdays) after about 5-6 rounds of drinks. It was a somber moment as the lights were turned on and quietness descended the pub as everyone feverishly tried to inhale their drinks. Then the incessant bar rambling started up again. On our way out, I met up with the black dude who politely wished me well and kissed my hand. Ugh. Both Ching and Richard were guffawing over the stupid display of ‘affection’ while I promptly wiped my wet hand on my coat.

We bummed our way back to the hotel with Richard in tow. Unrelenting, he carried on with his rant about taking the coach home while Ching had to set him straight. I, on the other hand, was so far gone that I couldn’t tell if I was walking on the sidewalk or the street. All I remember was Ching grabbing my arms and redirecting me around the corners. Swiping our hotel key to get into the main door proved to be a daunting task as no one was sober enough to pull the stunt properly.

Back in our room, Ching reverted back to her role of being the nurturing, caring big sister, while Richard and I behaved like drunken bozos people generally abandon on the streets. She rolled me into bed, took my shoes off and tucked me in. Then she went off to accommodate Richard by setting up some chairs and explained what her life’s role has been for the past 34.8 years. Oh god. We all tried to sleep but explosive fits of laughter overpowered the room and the banter lasted for a few more hours.

At some point, I found Richard sprawled all over the floor because of something Ching had said. It was along the lines of bad sex - she was in utter disbelief when we both concurred how practice makes perfect…unless the person KNEW what he/she/it was doing. Ooooh boy...

Later, I don’t know when, how, or even why - I had gotten up, changed my clothing (my jeans were giving me a wedgie) and decided to make hot caffeinated drinks in our room.

Although I appeared sober, I was so NOT. I remember verbally chewing at Ching’s ass about her philosophical topic about men suffering from societal stigmas and why she’s better off being single (why she even raised the topic is beyond me). She was wondering WTF crawled up my asshole and died, while keeping a very straight face. I think I did it to diffuse any sexual tendencies anyone might have in the room especially because we were so plastered and even whining about our significant others. Even though Richard was a perfect gentleman, hell, let’s just not go there, shall we?

I headed off to bed and passed out…leaving Ching to play Richard’s therapist. They were having some deep conversation about life, love, and maybe fish & chips?

Although we spent 5 days with Sarah & Andy (I think I’m going to refer them as SAndy to save myself a few keystrokes), time flew right by us. The level of comfort was so delightfully pleasant that it seemed unfathomable for Ching, who has only known about Sarah through me. Ching did an excellent job in concealing her apprehension, but once she met them in the flesh, every bit of it was ebbed away by the waves of their warmth and graciousness.

[First it started out with a brief letter from Sarah, instant connection. Then comes Andy, and now Ching. Circle is now complete. They love her to death and probably wonder why Ching hangs out w/ a loon like me.]

Anyhoo, we frenetically packed and reluctantly parted our ways with Andy & Sarah, who trying to hold back the tears (Awwww!!). To me, good-byes have an uncanny sense of finality which never sat well with me, so I prefer to say ‘so long for now’. Although some of the lads thought we’d return from London, I’d rather depart without saying anything and showing up later in life with a toothy smile. Sarah blarted when she first met in Birmingham rail station and again, when I departed to London back in ’98. She's such a sweetheart.

Only punctual on arrival, Richard drove us to the B’ham coach station. He made it just in a nick of time. Whew! One of the annoying things about England is that the public loo is not always free and requires specific change. Rummaging through our pockets and purses, no one had 20p handy. Oy. Ching will have to wait. Off to London we go!

Upon our arrival, it was raining cats & dogs again. Aiyah, such is my luck. Fortunately, it stopped for a moment when we left Victoria Coach station to catch the Tube. I was caught off guard traveling in London because I had forgotten that the underground rail was not designed for disabled passengers as they are in the US. So I had to drag, pull, and lug my heavy suitcase up and down those blasted stairs with a gazillion commuters shuffling by. I was also carrying about a quarter of Ching’s stuff 'cuz it didn’t fit in her small upright.

Like all of the tourists, we got on those long lines to ask for specific directions getting to Bayswater. Although I could read those Tube maps, I wanted to be absolutely sure and get my ass over to the hotel in one piece. Sweaty and damned tired from walking in circles, we felt relieved when we arrived at our ultimate destination. Although Richard wasn’t driving us around in the roundabouts, we were literally walking in circles thanks to crappy maps that neglect to add “You Are Here” when you leave the station.

Cutting to the chase, we asked this cute American guy for directions to Princes Square as my arm was ready to give way. Okay, I’m really enjoying the sights ‘round these parts… ;o)

Well, we found Princes Square, all right. BUT how on earth do these postal carriers deliver mail to these places?? I mean, the numbers are inconsistent and the streets even extend perpendicularly without any indication. It’s not like the numbering system we have here where the odd numbers are one side and the even ones are on the opposite street. Again, we walked in dizzying circles and almost missed our hotel when I realized the number went from 20-something to the 80’s by crossing only one street. Oy.

I eagerly check into our lovely and modern hotel – Somerset Bayswater – and was extremely satisfied over my choice when I booked the room as part of the Virgin Vacation package. During my first visit to London, my hotel room was clean but a massive disappointment for a lousy £297. If the room description does not include ‘private bath’, then expect to haul your ass out on the floor the same way you showered back when you were in the college dorms. Plus, the furniture was so beatened up that Salvation Army would laugh in your face.

For the price we paid, this an excellent room which included a kitchenette, satellite TV, mini stereo system, microsuede décor and best of all, A FULL SHOWER! We had to unpack, unwind and unleash our burst of energy being in London. Took a lovely walk around the posh neighborhood and in Kensington Park. Guess what we decided for dinner?

Chinese.

Yes, of all things in this part of the globe, Chinese food. I wasn’t disappointed because Chinese food is actually better in the UK than it is in the States. I absolutely can not consume any of the stuff made in those quickie takeout restaurants catered to non-Asian palettes. Meal items like Chicken w/ Broccoli, Egg Foo Young, or Chop Suey have a particular aftertaste reminiscent of kerosene & citronella mixed together. And if you’ve worked in a restaurant at some point in your life (like moi), you wouldn’t touch any of it for the rest of your life. There’s only ONE exception to this rule and it’s extended to Ching’s parents. Because they are excellent cooks, the stuff is concocted of pure love with great taste.

Never in my life did I think a serving of Chinese vegetables would look so damn good, especially since I was turning green from everyone chowing at enormous quantities of junk food all day. Ugh. We wolfed down our meal heartily and explored some more of Bayswater. The area was superb - filled with shops, stores, internet cafes and restaurants opened LATE. We made pit stops to load up on some goodies and went back to the hotel for some Rest & Research for our London agenda. Also, we were expecting Richard to stop by and meet us here tomorrow to properly enjoy and see the city. Honestly, Richard wasn’t exactly keen about London, but he had a philosophy of “Been there, done that.” Served us well!

A HUGE ROUNDABOUT

After last night’s concert, my body was sore and wracked with pain. Man, I’m getting old for someone who acted about a third of her age the night before.

The lads were up and getting ready for school with Sam & Ben making our lovely cups of coffee and tea. Punctual on arrival, Sir Richard greeted us in the morning with a map of England detailing our trip from here to Stonehenge and Bath. I peered over his shoulder as he described going south to Stonehenge and back north to Bath like an oversized loop (or a letter 'J' per Miki).

After feasting on heaping portions of French bread and crumpets, and we headed out to the mystifying Stonehenge towards Amesbury. I decided to take backseat again to recuperate and conk out for 2 hours. Because Ching’s got an IQ of a billion, she’d adapt quickly in navigating these blasted English road maps to ensure that Richard stays focused.

When I finally woke up, it was pouring cats & dogs and we were milling in and out the roundabouts somewhere in Amesbury. Because we got sidetracked, Richard pulls into a gas station (an unheard feat in America - men to stop and ask for directions!?) while Ching asked some cute bearded chap for driving directions. Their banter was quite amusing. Here’s how it went:

Ching: Excuse me, can you please tell me how to get to the Stonehenge?

Bloke: What? WHY on earth would you want to visit there? (Flirts)

Ching: That’s because we have a meeting with a Druid up there. (BIG grin)

Bloke: (Laughs) Okay, go down the road and the 3^rd exit on the roundabout…

I roared in laughter over the remark on the Druids. At least someone's done her homework!

More roundabouts. Ugh. We spun around the damn rotary a few more times and still couldn’t get to our destination. Asked another couple for directions and reeled around some more. I should’ve continued snoozing since it appeared that we would never escape the wrath of these horrendous roundabouts. Plus, you would think being no more than 5 miles from the famous site that there’d be a sign or two posted??

When Ching caught sight of the road sign, we breathed a sigh of relief knowing that we getting just a smidgen closer to our target. At this point, we hit complete grasslands with sheep grazing everywhere. With a big-ass sign on the left hand side indicating an exit, guess what? Richard blows right by it and we could see the fallen stones behind us..OKAY! WE’RE HERE, BEEN THERE, AND DONE THAT! NOW LET’S HEAD ON OVER TO AVEBURY!

It was then Ching and I realized the dude wasn't particular in reading the signs (like the Richard I married), he simply DRIVES. Either it has something to do with driving on the left hand side of the road or the signs being too small, Richard tends to purely gun the engine and go off somewhere based on his voided instincts.

So, he brazenly made a U-Turn to get our asses over on the opposite side of the road. Upon reaching our destination, the rain clouds from Brum followed us all the way here and the winds were gusting to 20 mph. After warming up a bit in the gift shop, we braved the cold again to pay tribute to these ancient and enigmatic structures.

Ching gave a brief synopsis of these Stones while I was simply “soaking” up the environment. Miraculously, the wind and rain had stopped just in time for us to take some serious footage. I left the premises rather giddy and open-hearted.

So…onwards to Bath! When we pulled out of the carpark, the sun had shone brightly and the birds were chirping happily away in what was formerly an ashen sky. What a cruel trick! Bad, bad hair day for me..

The roads leading to Bath were breathtakingly beautiful. The areas we passed by were surrounded by farms, verdant green pastures, brilliant flora and deep foliage which cast a spell to all who exercised the power of vision. The vast grasslands were in a bright hue of lime green with livestock grazing in its own peacefulness. It was lovely and serene. I felt exceptionally fortunate to have been able to feast my eyes upon such an exquisite, yet tranquil landscape.

The trip to Bath was surprisingly seamless. From the moment we entered the wet city, I was undeniably floored with my mouth gaping open (again – I did the same when I saw Roland last night). Awestruck, we arrived to the most gorgeous city in Britain. Without paying any attention to the maps in hand, Richard drove right into the heart of the city and parked the vehicle without a hitch.

This was the easiest trip we had thus far. Famished, we hunted up and down the streets of Bath looking for some decent grub. When we passed by a place called “MOGERS”, Ching turned to us saying, “How come Frommer’s didn’t even recommend a place like this?” Since she was suffering from hunger, she didn’t see the words “Solicitors” underneath “MOGERS”. Her delirium caused her to presume that it was some posh pub. LOL!

The neighborhood was posh and stunning. The buildings lining up the hilly streets exuded their antiquity while a colorful array of modern and quaint shops furnished customers with their unique merchandise. Every little thing looked wonderful, whether it was a church, a bench, a croissant, a kiosk or even bath soap. For the first time in a long while, I completely unzipped my mind to be ‘one’ with this amazing ambiance. I died and went to heaven that day.

After a satisfying meal at some restaurant chain (Litten Tree or something?), we headed into the heart of the city and to cover more ground. Although we didn’t really have a set agenda for Bath, our aimless path somehow led us to the Roman Baths. Once again, this was another effortless attempt to reach a destination without appearing like a bunch of lost retards.

Like the Stonehenge, the Roman Baths is an ancient historical site to be appreciated and to be captivated in. Considering what technology was in those days, it is positively astounding how the temple was constructed surrounding these phenomenal hot springs which were thought to be the work of the Roman gods. The dedication and worship makes the site sacred and would even lure you into believing the water’s curative powers. No, I wasn’t going to dive into the water and make myself look like some attention-starved schmuck, but do check it out if you ever see Bath.

The Roman Baths

Here' s great shot with a rainbow over the steaming spring.

For sure, my 3^rd UK trip will consist a week in Bath.

When I hit the gift shop, I was adamant about buying souvenirs for Bath. Being a huge soap fanatic, I purchased a box of soap made in Bath. I know, I know…kinda corny, but it smells lovely! Well, it was acutely obvious to everyone how much I loved Bath – either I couldn’t shut up about it or my jaw was open throughout the entire trip.

When we left Bath (boo-hoo), it was rush hour and stuck in traffic. Yuck. Here's a lovely snapshot of how the buildings are lined up...

Then Richard decided to pull out of the stagnant road and drove off. I assumed he knew what he was doing and dozed off again - Zzzzzz.

I woke up about an hour later, with Ching and Richard in a rather heated conversation. For whatever the backwards-assed reason, Richard somehow veered off course and drove BACK to the Amesbury/Stonehenge!! He took 361A which was going the opposite direction of our ultimate destination! Groggy as I was, I couldn’t believe what he was trying to do especially since he planned to drive back north from Bath to Brum – after illustrating the directions on the map earlier this morning. Supposedly we were going in the shape of a loop, but at this point, he was going in a DOUBLE loop. OY!!!

Well, after a few attempts, he finally got us back on M5 to Brum. I conked out and woke up just as we entered Tamworth. Interestingly enough, I seemed to conveniently wake up whenever we neared our destinations.

After a few lunar eclipses, we arrived home almost 10PM - it’s considerably pathetic since we left around 6:30PM. I felt awful for Sarah & Andy since they prepared an authentic English roast dinner for us and waited eons for our return! Furthermore, Ching wanted to make her Chinese dishes since it was our last night with the Ridgards!

Once again, our beloved chef feverishly plows away at the kitchen to bring her recipes and ideas into fruition. Remarkably, her dishes came out great even after compromising a ton of ingredients and techniques. Because we ate terribly late – midnight – I could only eat small portions of their roast dinner and of Ching’s cooking. Nevertheless, Andy had the biggest thrill of all, he was able to learn how to make them and enjoyed them immensely.

I have to give Sarah credit for trying…she’s picky to the bone and you couldn’t force her to try something even if you threaten to cut off her toes and fingers. Although the lads had gone to bed, they enjoyed the leftovers the following day. During our conversations, we reviewed the methods regarding the construction of these dishes as well as the invitation cards assuring that they could replicate our efforts after we leave.

Two nights ago, Sarah & Andy dug up all of their craft materials so we could put our creative hats on to assist designing their wedding invitations for their handfasting ceremony. With some glue, dried rose petals and golden threads from old window sheers, Ching devised a totally organic theme to coincide with this beloved ancient rite.

Me? I busy playing with her rubber stamps and ink pads to come up with colorful backgrounds for the cards. Sam caught on and began make a few of his own on white paper. Later, Sarah wanted us to continue with these abstract pictures so she could scan the designs as brushstrokes for the Blends.

[I have a 'thing' for stamping and as a kid, I had a special collection of Hello Kitty rubber stamps. Because you tend to share things you enjoy most in life with your best friends, I sent her a similar set and she's been hooked on since. It's all my fault! And...I'm still rubber stamping!]

Interestingly enough, she called them ‘Samdalin Grunge’! Initially I thought it was some special technique, but the term was coined by Sarah to give the brushstrokes a title using our names - Sam + Linda (Dalin)! Someone still remembers how I used to sign off as Dalin or Adnil since I was very much into anagrams. Jumbles anyone?

Boy, the babes in us crawled out this week! We even went through all of Sarah's and Andy's pictures during high school a few nights ago! OY!!!!

WHY I NEVER OFFERED TO COOK AT SARAH'S HOUSE

Today is the da BIG day for me.

A week ago, I thought I might need extra effort to keep a cool exterior without my brains exploding to bits. Being with my beloved friends was enough to ground me because I knew when I returned home, all of us would resume our normal daily lives once again. Every second counted and I was determined to make it worthwhile.

We headed out to Morrison’s in the critical search of Chinese Rice Vermicelli Noodles. I always have fun shopping at supermarkets because a lot of the culture is based on its food.

Food is always great and food is a whopping load of fun.

Again, the chocolates were prominently displayed in front of us and could not help but to take a look at their lovely selections (what does this say about the English?). Before reaching the Asian section, I suggested making a lo mein dish (they call it chow mein in England) as a contingent item instead of mai fun. She agreed and was appalled to find the lack of variety in Tamworth (Surprise! Surprise!). She realized when we hit Morrison’s buying ready made stir-fry was looking better than ever. Believe it or not, the store actually did have the vermicelli noodles, but it was incorrectly stacked behind the rice noodles (need to have a word with the store manager about that..). Ching excavated through the piles before accidentally coming across the beloved product.

So a cart filled with French bread, chocolates, digestives (me no likey the taste nor the name of the biscuit), tea, crumpets, a gazillion ingredients, and most importantly, a bottle of Ribena, had Ching singing to a completely different tune on the trip home. Returning from Morrison’s in a cab, I wanted to show Ching the sign stating that the driver would charge £50 “Soiling Fee”. This particular cab didn’t have it, but I guffawed at the notion of pissed drunk Englishman stumbling into the vehicle with his head out of the window to avoid paying the soiling fee!

Upon reaching home, Ching and Andy partnered up to prepare the Chinese dishes feverishly in the kitchen. Andy enjoys cooking and loves to learn new techniques and how-to’s of the dishes. Moi, was busy with ‘stuff’ – quite honestly, I don’t know what on earth I was messing with. Like a typical schmoe, I promised to help and never showed up. I would occasionally pop in to wash a pan or two, put stuff away and waltz back into the living room with Sarah. Cooking isn’t really my forte anyway. Ching’s an excellent cook and I pale in comparison.

[I wanted to spend as much time as I could with Saz. When we corresponded as kids, using actual pen, paper and postage, therefore receiving a letter was like manna from heaven. All our menial wages went into buying cutesy little gifts, stationery, and postage. Those days were extraordinary and we couldn’t get enough of each other. She’d supply me with a load of Wet Wet Wet articles and stuff and I toss back my Hello Kitty collection.]

Our original plan was to visit a bit of Brum in the early afternoon, but the food preparation took well over 3 hours. Although they had done some of it the night before, Chinese cooking demands HOURS of preparation and only minutes in cooking under very high heat, of course. She had to creatively figure a way to make her dishes w/o necessary ingredients, ultra high heat, tools (a mega cleaver and spatula) and so forth.

Richard came by to take us into Brum, but because of the time spent in the kitchen, we finally left at 4PM. Ching was exasperated from the physical workout and workarounds she implemented to construct these dishes. For assurance, I told her that she could start her own frozen food line and have Grandpa Chicken be prominently place right next to Mr. Brain’s Faggots. She wanted to smack me so badly, but was laughing too hard to do so. Indeed, those faggots are lovely!!

I anticipated some of the difficulty only because I had nothing in my own apartment for a couple of years and never bought proper tools for cooking. Heck, when you live in NYC Chinatown, there’s no need to cook. The take-outs are so inexpensive that you could have a complete meal for under $5.

So off to Brum we go!

TEARS FOR FEARS

Alas, today was MY day.

Mine, all MINE...

I couldn’t believe it.

I STILL couldn’t believe it.

After the birth of Mikayla and my resignation date at Fidelity, I can’t recall a day I truly looked forward to. I finally rejoined and embraced my best friend from 3^rd grade, spent quality time with my wonderful pen pals again (17 years and going on strong!), and embarked on a journey to simply let loose and have some pure fun. With much gusto and anticipation, I will be seeing my #1 band perform in my favorite country.

[I was prepared for this event. I packed my Sharpie pen (a trick I learned from Chie), my ELAHE album sleeve, a fully charged camera battery, and two jars filled with origami turtles, stars, tetrahedrons and cranes. I specifically grouped the items together ensuring myself minimal stress, if at all possible on this fateful day. ]

So we headed out of the door and I was trying to contain my excitement. Life couldn’t be better.

Or could it?

On the highway, we came to a complete stop on the M6 to Birmingham. Uh-oh…

Oh no.

Shee-it. There was an accident with a lorry causing traffic to be stretched for miles from Birmingham all the way to Tamworth.

People were getting out of their cars and rearranging their trunks. Oy.

My stomach was churning like butter. I looked at the dashboard clock: 5:40PM.

I contained my anxiety by thumbing through England’s notorious celebrity magazine. With naked women displayed prominently on Page 2, its newsworthiness was that of a bumblebee. It had an entire spread on Kylie’s probable facelift by comparing her current picture to the one dated 1986. Did it ever occur to the general population the picture on the right was taken nearly 20 years ago when she was a lanky teenager? It’s amazing how finely tweezed eyebrows can be construed as an eye lift.

Speed Demon Richard proclaimed that he had never been stuck in traffic in his entire driving career and whipped out his camera and to take a photo. Arse. He decided to point the gizmo right up my face which I lovingly gestured my middle finger in front of the lens. Irritant. He even joked about missing the meet & greet and the concert altogether. I, obviously, did NOT find it hilarious. My initial reaction was to shove my fist into his face, but thought twice about it. After all, we needed him to drive us back to Tamworth, so I took a deep breath and smacked him in the back of the head instead. There, all better.

Ultimately, the traffic moved and speed demon made his way into Brum. BUT, we weren’t headed to the NIA Academy just yet…we needed to make a pit stop over his house to pick up the concerts tickets. Why? Methinks he brought over was to show his family he actually had overseas friends to hang out with. He introduced us to his family (met his sister and dad back in Jan ’05 when they came to visit here) and deliberately skipped this guy sitting in his living room. Ching and I thought he was the plumber or something 'cuz Richard's redoing his bath.

Turns out the dude was his half-brother (who is half-white, half-black, erm) and the family wasn’t on good terms with him. His mother was this short, dumpy, and rather large woman whose deeply reddened complexion could flag down an airplane if she worked as an airport ground crew. She reminded me specifically of Jingbah, a pink Boohbah Mikayla used to watch on PBS. Ugh!!

We left the house to grab a quickie bite of fish & chips and took our huge orders of food away. I asked him where we could park our asses to eat and his response? We’d be walking AND eating.

Are you kidding me? First, I was stuck in traffic which nearly gave me a heart attack; second, we headed over to his house to meet the fam and now this? I can’t eat with my hands without looking like a 6 month old baby chewing its first Zwieback! He shook his head when I insisted that he shows us how to eat food while walking around the neighborhood. Is this why he thinks I’m obnoxious?

[Per Sarah, this style of eating is referred to as “Commoner’s Way”. She dislikes the method because it promotes greater loss in getting dates with your fingers and face all greased up. Blearghh]

To kill time, we had a nice walk around the NIA Academy with food in hand. I skipped the chips (steak fries) because I was getting a tad bit sick of eating them. I wolfed down my scalding fish and tossed the rest of it away – hate wasting food ‘cuz it’ll kill my karma.

So by 7PM, arrived at the box office but the guest list hadn’t arrived yet. UGH! A miserable scalper (called scouts in the UK) was hawking everyone who went in to purchase tickets for the show. Bloke looked like he could use a keg of ale. There were still a number of good seats still available since the cashier kept offering Block B which was the center stage on the floor.

Poor Ching and Richard basically waited around for me and I felt bad ‘cuz there wasn’t anything I could do. As always, Ching put the perspective in a different angle: Well, you waited around me yesterday at Stratford-Upon-Avon and Warwick Castle, so this is your day, we’ll wait for you. Around quarter to 8, the guest list arrived and I received an envelope with a VIP sticker pass. WAHOOO!!

As we entered the venue, Ching gets stopped because of her chunka munka camera. Rats. Fortunately, I was able to sneak in my little digital camera because I hid it inside my makeup bag while the goofy-looking steward was busy asking me where I was from to notice it. We split off because Ching needed to put the camera away in the car and I was supposedly off to the M&G. We agreed to meet up back at our seats.

Well, it turns out that none of the venue stewards heard about the M&G and I swear, I asked about 3 people before I found someone who could tell me something substantial. The M&G was presumed to take place after the concert, but no one was sure where. Oh great. Again, I continued to interrogate every other steward like some effing pain in the ass.

FINALLY – after being referred from body to body, I spoke to a senior manager who advised me to wait until the show was over, come ‘round to the side of the stage, and wait for an available steward to lead me towards the backstage door. Oh gawd. How simple was that?! You mean to tell me that over 75% of the staff couldn’t produce a resourceful answer for my inquiry?! Was it THAT farfetched??!

When I reached to my assigned seat, Ching and Richard hadn’t arrived yet. A bearded chap sat beside me and muttered something about TFF in a thick Birmingham accent. 'Cuz I couldn't understand him, I smiled and nodded away while observing the audience. Holy guacamole! Everyone appeared as though they had just gotten off of work in their business casual outfits! It was a more subdued and older crowd (compared to the NY show) with waves of beer bottles being passed back and forth. I also realized that Ching and I were probably the ONLY Asians present in this concert.

Everyone assumed the M&G took place prior to the show, but not at B’ham. I told them about my ordeal of fishing around info like some addict who desperately needed a fix. Richard piped up and informed me that the Brits aren’t always the brightest light on the Christmas tree and hardly pursue anything beyond a ‘no’ or ‘I don’t know’. He noticed that Americans prefer to get down to the nitty gritty and are more determined seek out the answer than to accept the circumstances as is. Phew!

While Richard ran off to get some alcohol, I asked to switch seats since the guy in front of me was over 6 feet tall. Again, like the NYC show, I was seated in the middle with a girl on the left and a guy on the right. So, the show opens up with Gled Hill who was actually pretty good. After attending a slew of Carson Daly show tapings, I have come to discover the overabundance of lousy hard rock/metal/punk bands with screechy skinny lead singers.

Once I heard the studio track for “Famous Last Words”, my heart melted.

Here’s my review of the concert: http://www.curtsmithzerodisc.com/gigreviews/brum0425.html

My review is the first one placed on top of the webpage dated May 8th. (Yeehaw!)

Without a doubt, the concert was MAGNIFICENT. These guys really know how to put on an excellent performance and they do NOT disappoint. This is my 2^nd concert attendance and I’m planning to up the score as much as I can. It has always been a lifelong dream to merely see them in concert as a kid, but with strict parents and no money of my own, the probability was nil. Now, I’m finally living my girlhood dream of seeing them performing live, in the flesh.

[The first time I saw them live at the Carson Daly show taping, I was absolutely awestruck. My jaw hit the floor when I saw Curt and Roland with their guitars smiling and pacing around the stage. With Chie going, “OH MY GAWD, IT’S THEM! THEY’RE REALLY HERE! THEY’RE BACK TOGETHER AGAIN! CURT LOOKS HOT! ROLAND LOOKS AWESOME!!! OMG! OMG! OMG!!!!” – you better believe it added more fuel to the fire. I also have to thank Chie for being so supportive. If it wasn’t for her keeping me apprised of their reunion, I doubt very much I would be doing any of this.]

At the concert, I was rocking, dancing, and hollering my tush off. I also noticed how everyone around me basically stood at their seats and stared at the stage (hypnotized?). I didn’t give a rat’s ass about what anyone thought about me and heck, I didn’t fly my butt out from the States to pose as a tombstone. I sorta wished I hadn’t switch seats because the chap beside Richard REALLY enjoyed the concert by dancing, singing and saluting the band during “Break It Down Again”. The bloke was a hilarious riot! Or was it the beer?

Okay, for those of you who received my online album invite, there’s an awful picture of me with my arms up in the air that says, “Me doing a rendition of ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’ Email me and I will explain this”. Okay, here’s the 411:

During the chorus of EWTRW, the audience had gotten involved with the song and began raising their arms to clap. Well, um, *HACK*, *cough*, Richard caught on to the song and raised his arms as well. With one swift movement of his arm, a slight gust of BO wind blasted by me.

* spasmodic cough followed by a crowing intake of breath *

Green as I was, I immediately turned to Ching and huddled over to her regarding Richard’s blasted whiff. I had gotten her convulsing with laughter that she nearly fell out of her seat. Seeing her all over the floor made me choke on my Smirnoff Ice - which almost created a nasal emission. We laughed for so long and hard that I hadn’t noticed the song was over! Going forward, I can never see my favorite song in the same light again.

*Sigh*

So, if you see any references to EWTRW, it’s all based on Richard’s undoing. OY!!!!

[Ching sat through most of the concert because she and I have adopted to a specific philosophy regarding rest…if we could reserve our energy or get some sleep, we’d have to grab as much as we can, especially on this trip. So, she sat upright on the edge of her seat until a familiar song came along. She found it to be rather absurd to stand and watch when you could it sitting down. Unless everyone was bopping away, then the outcome would be dramatically different.]

At the end of the show, we agreed to meet up at the box office in about an hour or so while I go off backstage. I was a tad bit concerned with being separated, but ahh, I’m a big girl. The worst case scenario is to get a cab from Brum to Tamworth.

Yet again, I faced another obstacle with the stewards: Sorry, but you can’t go in just yet. You’ll just have to wait. Argghhh…

So I waited around and then saw a whole parade of people marching in with similar VIP badges. I got on the same line and walked right in. Evidently, I followed the entire Smith clan into the backstage with Curt’s wife carrying their youngest daughter in her arms. Curt’s brothers had also attended the concert with their children and I felt awkward hanging out there (big-time DUH!). I had no clue what to do, where to go and how to act. It was so weirdly normal with kids running up and down the halls screaming at each other. This obviously wasn't a M&G, but a friends & family hangout.

I spotted Curt sitting on top of the table outside of the dressing room and walked over to him. I introduced myself hoarsely (all that screaming & laughing) and presented him my little origami gift. With a surprised look on his face, he asked me how long it took to make them. He made a point about how much work was put into making them and thanked me for my thoughtfulness. He told me that Wilder would probably take off with them since this would be something she’d like. I might’ve blushed because I was started to sweat like a pig.

He seemed a bit out of breath and apologized for being knackered because he only had about 4 hours of sleep. He asked me if I was from Birmingham…??? WTF??! Talk about being tired!! I told him to guess my accent because his question was way too funny – really! I sheepishly asked if he could sign my ELAHE cover sleeve and he did it in a heartbeat. He asked me for my name and the spelling. Although I said it didn’t matter, he said it did for him - AWWW! Curt was extremely down-to-earth, virtuous and cool. I probably walked by him a thousand times in the West Village without ever knowing it.

I spoke about my attendance at the NYC show and he was explaining how awesome the audience was; whereas he couldn’t tell if the B’ham audience enjoyed tonight’s show or not. We chatted a little more and he went after his girls while I headed into the dressing room. When I saw Roland standing, I gaped at him like a dang fool. I don’t know what it is about him, but he exudes a kind of charisma which is difficult for me to explain. There’s something about him…uh, um, Heather, care to elaborate?

From here on, I didn’t recall much. Everything was moving with such viscosity my system was ready to break down. There were no fans, no one who I could chummy up and get autographs, and I was feeling exponentially gawky. I somehow made my way over to Doug and Charlton and asked for their autographs as well. It was an easy way to break the ice as Doug was nice enough to chat with me like a real person. He asked me if I was fan from the early days and I replied, “Yes, so you can pretty much guess my age too.” When Charlton and Doug heard that I was from NYC we started to converse about everything and anything related to babies, sunny California and their former homes in the city. Like Curt, once a New Yawker, always a New Yawker.

Then I make my way over to Roland to hand over the final gift. Like Curt, he praised my efforts and asked me how much time was spent making them for him (you really don’t wanna know). I noticed that he observed them a bit before setting them down. He gave me a hug and a kiss (Europeans give two pecks on the cheek) with me acting like a flustered schoolgirl with an IQ of a toad. I had no idea he’d have that kind of effect on me! I couldn’t carry on a conversation like I did with Curt and came off like a rambling goober. The only thing I remembered telling him was how my 5-year-old Mikayla adores him and wished she could be here tonight. He replies by saying that she’s got such wonderful, fabulous taste; while in an earlier conversation, Curt tells me that she has terrible, terrible taste (and something needs to be done!)! I honestly don’t know what happened to me at that point - I’ve never been in a situation where I’ve been knocked breathless because of someone’s aura?!

So I hung around a bit more because I really, really, really wanted to take a picture with Curt. Because he’s my favorite TFF member, I wanted to paint a 10x10 mural of him on my living room wall. Just kidding, I’m not THAT crazy, but you do get the drift. Then Curt chatted up some more about his house in Rochester, his former apartment on Mercer St, introduced his immediate family members, etc. He put me completely at ease and I chanced a moment to ask him if it was okay to take a picture with me. He agreed and I seated myself on the armrest of the sofa while he tried to prop himself up on the couch. I didn’t want to sit on the couch because of his girls…fearing that they’d be caught on camera and I would have to chuck out my precious photo! I didn’t know if it was okay to hug or touch R&C or not…I must be a typical NY’er…giving everybody their personal space.

I was guzzling down bottles of Penta water and it even caught Curt’s eye. Water is water…what’s the big deal? Penta advertises how the water’s molecular structure has been altered to provide the drinker with a higher level of “bio-hydration”. Whatever. I also became quite popular in the area as other people requested for autographs and no one brought pens with them. With my handy dandy Sharpie, I was being led from one guy to the next for signing purposes. There was one point where this woman wanted Roland's autograph and asked me for the pen - I kept fishing around my bag and could only dig up my makeup. Desperate, she asked Roland if it was okay to use makeup to sign his autograph (HEY, what about me?! Those are MY cosmetic products - I'm not going to let Roland sign a cover sleeve using my agnes b. liquid eyeliner or my Bobbi Brown creme blush!) and he replied: "No, I only use makeup on myself." and looked away from her. I giggled at the response.

After spending a little over an hour sweating like a nervous pig, I said my good-byes and good luck to everyone. Curt & Roland both gave me another hug and their trademark European kiss which had me skipping away like a lovestruck fool.

something happens and i'm head over heels
i never find out till i'm head over heels
something happens and i'm head over heels

Next: Linda Stranded!