Day 8, March 13, Oxford

Leaving the B&B

Friday was my last morning in the B&B. As I’d made my reservations a bit late, I’d only been able to get a room Tuesday through Thursday. So after breakfast on Friday, Carol called a cab for me and I headed to Jessica’s house, where I would pretend to be a college student for one night.

Brie and Souvenirs

Jess had an early morning meeting with her advisor, so I went off to purchase the souvenirs I held off on purchasing until my final day in Oxford. While wandering I found myself in the Covered Market, a place Jessica and I had discussed visiting. Very cute, though I could have done without the deer and rabbit corpses hanging outside the butcher shop.

When I met Jess later in the day, it was time for lunch and I had a very definite request. “Can we eat somewhere I can get a brie and cranberry sandwich?” So Jess humored me and it was back to the Covered Market where I got my requested sandwich on a baguette. If I didn’t need to lose weight, the brie and cranberry sandwich would definitely become a regular lunch option. Bloody brilliant.

St. Mary’s

After lunch, we visited St. Mary’s Church and Merton College, though I can’t for the life of me, recall which we did first.

St. Mary’s is part of the campus of Oxford, though I’m not sure if it’s tied to a specific college. Basically the idea is you climb eighty million stairs, but once you get to the top, you get the most amazing view of Oxford. Actually, the stairs weren’t that bad. After hearing Jess and her housemates talk about the climb, I actually was expecting something positively deadly. I was out of breath by the time we got to the top, but it was quicker than I thought it’d be.

Here is the view:

Yes, you’ve seen this one, but here it is with some context.

We admired the lovely grounds of Merton so we decided to grace their campus with our presence. Isn’t Jessica positively adorable?

Oxford Unlocked

I’m American. Therefore when I think of castles, I think of knights, ladies in silk and velvet, busy servants, people feasting on large roasted animals and mead in the great hall, green countryside, and possibly moats if the castle is completely awesome. Oxford Castle, a fortress that spent most of its existence as a prison, is not what I think of when I think about castles, aside from its reputation for being haunted, which I do find to be proper for a castle.

Tours of Oxford Castle are guided, as they can’t have tourists running around willy nilly, disrupting the spirits. Our tour guide was awesome, and the castle was fascinating, though it was strange to think it had been used as a prison until the 1990s. I think the newer addition (which has been converted to a posh hotel) was where more recent criminals were kept, rather than the ancient part we explored, but still.

Toffee Pudding

I’d pretty much given up on my diet at this point as I found that I wanted to eat everything England had to offer (aside from steak and kidney pie, anyhow) and I decided that I absolutely had to have sticky toffee pudding before leaving the country. I was as insistent upon this as I was on the brie and cranberry sandwich. So after the castle, Jess and I went on a hunt for it. And it was tasty.

The Ghost Trails

That evening, Jess and I did Bill Spektyr’s Ghost Trails in order that we could learn more about the supernatural influence in Oxford. We got to see Mary Blandy’s favorite spots to haunt,* a place where the Prince of Darkness himself appeared, and the alley that was once Oxford’s red light district.

The ghost tour was fun. The guide was entertaining, and he’s quite possibly the only person who can make puns actually funny (though, I may have been biased due to the fact that I think everything is more amusing when said in an English accent).

* Mary had been kept at Oxford Castle for the murder of her father and was then sentenced to hang. After death, Mary became a very annoying spirit who liked to tap people on their shoulders. Watch out for her if you pass Oxford Castle at night.

Indian Food

For dinner, Jess and I headed to an Indian restaurant, where I discovered that I do actually like Indian food.

Yes, I am an old lady

After dinner, we returned to Jess’ house. There was a party going on. I immediately fell asleep.

Why I'm Considering Making Furniture Out of Legos

I have a confession to make. Some might find this outrageous, ridiculous, possibly even sacrilege, but here it goes:

I don’t like IKEA.

Yes, the Swedish kings of chic, affordable furniture are not on my good side. I visited the Canton store today. My goal was pretty simple. I wanted to buy a sofa and arrange for an early June delivery date. I had a nasty migraine and the store was as packed as a football stadium on game day, but I managed to find a sofa I could afford plus a must-have bookshelf. I then found one of the elusive IKEA employees (ratio 100 customers per 1 IKEA employee) and inquired about how purchasing and delivery would go. I was informed I could not purchase my furniture today and have it delivered in June. Since IKEA is owned and run by sadists they require that I pick up the items in the store, physically transport them to the cashier, and then transport to them to the home delivery department. If the home delivery employees are in a jolly mood, my cashier is a Pisces, the moon is in waning gibbous, and I sacrifice a virgin on the countertop, then they may consider delivering my furniture to me within the next couple of days.

Ignoring the fact that I’ll need figure out if blond or redheaded virgins make better sacrifices, I have to wonder how IKEA expects me to transport this and this around the store. I sometimes like to pretend to have superpowers, claiming that I can fly around Metropolis at night, drop kick vampires, and open pickle jars, but the sad truth is I am what I look like: a short woman of moderate strength who has never drop kicked a vampire in her life. I might be able to move the bookcase on my own. It’s my understanding that IKEA breaks most furniture down to very small parts. (I think they might just hand you a bag of sawdust and a bottle of glue and then cackle at your wide-eyed expression as you wonder how you’ll ever make it look like the floor model and if you should’ve built your bookshelf out of stolen Legos like all the other hobos.) The sofa is another issue. I’m pretty sure they don’t break those down.

In order for me to even make it to the cashier, much less home delivery, I’ll need to find a strapping employee to help me. And everyone knows that every aisle in the furniture warehouse of IKEA is populated with women, 5’3” and under, with their hands on their hips and their feet tapping, each and every one of them wearing Victoria’s Secret’s latest push-up bra in case they have to flash someone in order to get some assistance. That’s a lot of competition.

So I seem to have four options here: I can order it online and hope the delivery process is friendlier, I can return to the Canton store in early June and hope for the best, I can order a sofa I sort of like from Art Van which can be delivered to my apartment without any dabbling in the black arts, or I can make furniture out of Legos.

Thoughts? Anyone ever order anything big from IKEA?

25 Random Things

#1 I am entirely too dependent on my snooze button. I never remember the first few times it goes off in the morning.

#2 I don’t wear nail polish because when I do wear it, I never remember to take it off when it starts to chip.

#3 My current pet peeve is how cilantro is sold in bunches that are almost as big as my head. Supermarkets of the world, no one goes through that much cilantro unless they own a restaurant or a catering company. Why do you make me buy so much cilantro when I will only throw out 85 to 90% of it when it gets brown and wilty? Can I donate three-fourths of my cilantro to the hungry at check out?

#4 Sometimes I think about moving to India. I can’t explain why.

#5 I can’t keep ice creams with caramel in the house because I will eat the entire pint by myself.

#6 My least favorite question in the world is, “What are you thinking about?” I always resent anyone who asks me this.

#7 My second least favorite question in the world in is “Why aren’t you dating/married/reproducing?” What kind of an answer are you expecting to that? (Hmm, this could turn into my next blog post.)

#8 In the fifth grade, I was put into a speech therapy session at school. Not because I had a speech impediment but because I was so shy I wouldn’t talk in class. This may very well have been the most counter-productive activity of my education.

#9 I’m extremely oversensitive and don’t take either teasing or criticism well.

#10 I have a (no longer) secret ambition to write American Girl novels. Seriously. I think they’re adorable. I’ve also wanted to write Nancy Drews.

#11 I just tried almond butter for the first time. I like it. A lot.

#12 My favorite Gilmore girl is Emily. By far.

#13 I have extremely sensitive skin, but it wasn’t always that way. My skin became high maintenance after I turned 25.

#14 One thing I’d like to change about myself is how I either procrastinate in writing thank you cards or I forget to write them entirely. I feel so rude.

#15 I think Billy Bob Thornton is seriously underrated as an actor. He’s always referred to as, “That weird guy who was married to Angelina Jolie,” but the man can really act.

#16 During my senior year of college, I read The Bell Jar and became convinced that I was going insane. Later that year, I realized many of my classmates had also read that book during the year and were also convinced they would go insane. Lesson learned: Never read The Bell Jar during a time of stress.

#17 I have ridiculously ugly feet that I inherited from my mother. If only I had a sixth toe on each of my wide feet, I’d look like my feet were made for tree climbing.

#18 I am thirty years old and my favorite sandwich is still peanut butter and jelly.

#19 Recently, I have found myself buying items of clothing that I don’t know how to wear: leggings, skinny jeans, a long scarf.

#20 In elementary school, I wanted to be an artist.

#21 In junior high, I wanted to be an actress.

#22 In high school, I wanted to be a history teacher.

#23 In college, I had no clue what I wanted to be, but I definitely ruled out the history teacher option.

#24 I’ve never managed to read all of C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity. I feel like this makes me less of a person somehow.

#25 I took one stuffed animal from my childhood with me when I moved out of my parents’ house. It’s a teddy bear that my grandpa gave me when I was two. His name is Big Oso, and he sits next to my computer desk. He was a very big oso when I got him, as he was bigger than me at the time.

Amazon Reviewer Archetypes

I’ve always loved reading the consumer reviews on Amazon, but I can’t help but notice that there are certain reviewer archetypes. Here are some of my favorites:


The Random Caps Reviewer likes to make very mundane statements in all capital letters:

“THIS BATHROOM SCALE LOOKS EXACTLY THE WAY IT DOES IN THE PICTURE AND IT FITS NICELY IN THE CORNER OF MY TINY BATHROOM.”

But does your font fit?



The Random Consumer likes to let you know that he’s doing his part to help the lagging economy:

“I bought these flip flops for my wife. She has lots of shoes, but she wore them on Tuesday, so I think she likes them.”

Congrats to your wife?



The Memoirist likes to make certain you are aware of the context in which the purchasing event took place:

“I am a 35-year-old lactose intolerant woman who has not worked out regularly for the last four years apart from my short lived Tae Bo phase in the spring of 2007. I have a cousin who is 5’7 and 115 lbs and I have always wondered how she maintained her weight. She did Tae Bo with me in April 2007, but I believe when I gave up on the Tuesday of second week of May, she kept going on and joined the Billy Blanks Fan Club. Tasha (my 5’7 cousin who is better at Tae Bo than me) suggested I try Hawaii Hula Dance Spectacular. I was a bit skeptical since I haven’t worked out in 543 days and 6 hours, but I tried and liked it! LOL! I had bean & cheese burrito for lunch today. Whew! I hope my coworkers brought their Swine Flu surgical masks with them!”

Thanks for sharing. I hope you don’t work in my office.



The Free Thinker forgets that the reason why he purchases an item might not be the same reason that a normal person purchases that item.

“My wife and I moved into a bad neighborhood and we decided we need to have something in the house to protect us in case of intruders. We purchased this model and we are very pleased with it as it is lightweight but very sturdy.”

Is that how you review a skillet?!!!



The Nitpicker also tends to forget the purpose of the item they are reviewing and focuses more on how it got from Point A to Point B:

“My copy of Low Fat & Fabulous was supposed to arrive on two days before my trip to Atlanta . Instead it arrived during our vacation and since we weren’t home to sign for it, the mailman left it on our doorstep. When we returned home from being bored silly by my Southern Belle of a MIL, I found the box was on my doorstep where it had been rained on and used as a latrine by the neighborhood birds. No one told me bird poo came free with purchase!”

Actually, Nitpicker, I was looking to purchase the cookbook, not the US Postal Service. Sorry about the bird poo.



The Confused Reviewer seems to exist solely to entertain us:

“i didn’t like this book because i didnt find it to be realistic i like real books not ones about vampires or ghosts or witches and stuff this author clearly has no grip on reality and my boyfreind and I both agreed it was the most stuppid book we ever read.

Might be an OK book if you like scary stuff and are very gulible.”

You reviewed Dracula. How could you be expecting realism?



What’s your favorite Amazon Reviewer Archetype?

Day 7, March 12, Oxford

A Brief Interruption

Before resuming my account of my vacation, I need to brag about one thing: I just made dinner, and it was not only edible, but ridiculously delicious. When my mom gets back from California, I’m definitely trying this recipe again as a late Mother’s Day dinner. Salmon with Lentils and Mustard-Herb Butter. Cook it, eat it, love it. Seriously, if I can cook it, anyone can cook it. I’m not an outright disaster in the kitchen – I’ve never set anything on fire, blown anything up, set off the smoke detector, or given anyone food poisoning – but I don’t generally have the skills to cook for anyone but me (given that I’m used to my own mediocre cooking and all), so it’s really nice to find something that I won’t ruin. I think the leeks are what make it amazing. Or maybe the herb-butter. I don’t know, but the combination of flavors is incredible.

Now that this advertisement for Epicurious is over, we return to our regularly scheduled program.

Trinity College (I think)

Is that rubbish? I collect rubbish.

Thursday was my second full day in Oxford, and I did not know how to dress. Jess and I were doing tea at the Randolph (the hotel I’d given some poor tourist bad directions to the previous day), which indicated my cute berry-colored pencil skirt and black pumps were called for. However, we were also starting with Jessica’s walking tour, which meant comfy shoes (which were my sneakers) were also called for. Since I value fashion over comfort, I went with the cute little H&M skirt and skinny heeled shoes. I put the last of my Band-Aids on my fledgling blisters and decided I’d be fine. Nothing quite like starting the day with A Very Stupid Decision.

The walking tour was lovely in spite of my bad footwear decision. Jessica showed me some of the other colleges in Oxford. Trinity College is pictured above.

New College (below) is lovely, and also one of the oldest colleges. It is surrounded by the old city walls. The chapel is absolutely gorgeous. It’s a pity my pictures came out so terrible, but the statues are very impressive. Jess and I snuck in, not quite sure if we were allowed in there, and the older man who was sweeping the entryway said we could go in, and I took the picture below.

“Is that rubbish?” the man asked Jessica on our way out, gesturing at her to-go coffee cup.

We looked at him blankly, not sure if we were being lectured or not.

“Is that rubbish?” he repeated. “I collect rubbish.”

“Thanks,” Jessica said, handing him her empty cup.

Not lecturing us. Just the cutest little man to ever sweep the chapel.

The wall of Oxford and entrance to New College

The chapel of New College a bit blurred

Courtyard of New College, used in the Harry Potter films

Jessica in New College making her “Draco face” (I don’t get it)

Me in New College

Jessica took me into an old cemetery. My emotional state alternated between fascination (for reasons I cannot explain, I’ve always found cemeteries to be both peaceful and beautiful) and annoyance (the ground was damp and my heels wanted to stick in it).

Cemetery gate

After the cemetery, Jessica tried (and failed) to get me into the library, so we took a rest in the Divinity School (also used as in the Harry Potter movies and pictured below) and I realized my feet were making me very crabby. I’m-surprised-Jess-hasn’t-fled-in-the-opposite-direction sort of crabby. It was there I noticed my shoes were in an awful state due to the cemetery so we went into Blackwells so I could clean my shoes off.

It was in the bathroom that I realized just how bad my feet really were. When I took my shoe off, I wondering why my tights seemed discolored at the foot. After the floor became discolored too, it became clear what the problem was: My feet were bleeding in spite of the four Band-Aids I put on that morning. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

And so Jess and I parted ways, so I could take care of my feet before tea at the Randolph later that day.

The Divinity School

The Randolph Hotel

If you ever find yourself in Oxford, tea at the Randolph is a must. A must, I tell you. But make reservations. Jess and I got in by sheer luck. If the two girls just behind us had beat us into the hotel, we would have either cancelled tea or moved it to Friday. Also, having the scones is another must. They really do taste better in England. Probably because they serve them with jam and clotted cream.

SCONES. SCONES. SCONES. SCONES. SCONES.

Yes, they really are THAT good.

Shrine to the Inklings, the Eagle and Child


The Eagle and Child

When I first decided to go to Oxford and visit Jess, the first thing I knew was that I had to visit the Eagle and Child, which was the favorite hangout of the Inklings, J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis’s literary group. Throughout my visit, I walked past this little pub several times, and each time I passed it, I had a thrill of the “Omigod I’m in England, and people who have actually written things worth reading have lived here!” variety. I make a fabulous tourist where books and writers are concerned, not so much where movie stars are concerned. (On my first LA trip, my sister tried to get me excited about the Hollywood Walk of Fame and taking pictures in front of the Hollywood sign. I suspect I was a huge disappointment to her, as my reaction was of the, “That’s great. Can we have lunch now?” sort.) To return back to my point after that long ramble, Oxford, of course, is a wonderful city for book lovers.

Another England goal of mine was to have fish and chips. I have been told that in the US we don’t have real fish and chips. It was Allie, actually, who informed me of this sad fact. Once, many years ago, on our writing group’s site, I’d mentioned that I had no fondness for fish and chips, and she’d replied that she’d had what the US calls fish and chips and it just wasn’t what fish and chips was supposed to be. I figured if the New Zealanders are horrified by our horrid fish and chips, then the English must be much more appalled. And fish and chips, much like scones, taste better in England, though not enough to merit all caps.

I went to England, assuming the food would be terrible, as that’s something every American that has ever been to England claims. Yet my experience was the opposite. I loved everything I ate there. This might be because I am a pescetarian, so no one was trying to feed me organ meats, but really, everything was tasty. Well, with one notable exception: mushy peas. To clarify, mushy peas are not merely overcooked peas; they are mashed peas. They serve them with fish and chips and they are this hideous green sludge on your plate, sloshing over your chips and your fish. England! Why do you mash your peas? Has no one told you this is disgusting?

Back to the pub, the Eagle and Child is charming. Not the quaintest pub in Oxford, but it’s quite lovely. And they serve tasty fish and chips if you can get past the mushy peas. While looking at the menu, I pointed out to Jessica that they had a brie and cranberry sandwich on their menu, as that struck me as The Best Idea Ever. “That’s really common here,” Jess said dismissively, as if the abundance of such sandwiches made them any less The Best Idea Ever. (No, it just made them ridiculously convenient.)

I can’t say I developed any brilliant ideas for fantasy novels while in the Eagle and Child, as the Inklings inspiration seems to have worn off over the years, but that’s just as well, as I’ve learned that I have zero ability to write in that particular genre. I was happy to just to have dinner in that pub and that the day, as a whole, was a thoroughly English day.

(And I'm still welcoming thoughts on bicycles on yesterday's post.) 

The Important Questions in Life

I’m moving back to Ann Arbor. This is now a definite and has been for a few days now. With my return to Tree Town, I’m pondering a new purchase. (Well, two new purchases as I’ll need a sofa since my futon is going in the second bedroom.) I want to buy a bike. The kind you pedal, that is. Ann Arbor is a very bicycle-friendly town. All major roads have bike lanes, and bike shops are as plentiful as squirrels around here.

I’ve never purchased a bike in my life. In fact, it’s been many, many years since I’ve been on a bike. Growing up, I always had my sister’s hand-me-down bikes. This is mildly annoying when you are three or four years apart in age. When you are eight years apart, it means you get a seriously dated bicycle. Like the banana seat bike of my childhood. Or 10-speed of my preteen and teen years with its curved handles. I’m sure that bike was hot stuff in 1984. Not so much in 1992.

So I’m a virgin in the world of bike purchasing, and I really hope that I don’t buy something crappy. A few weeks ago, I was talking to my then-neighbor who is an avid biker. I told him what I wanted: something that would be used mainly on roads and on the occasional path. I might take it on some mildly hilly trails, but no adventurous mountain biking. He told me that what I want is a hybrid bike. So I start trying to figure out the cost of hybrid bikes. Apparently, $400 if I’m cheap and about $1,000 if I’m not.

Ouch. Why do they cost so much? Can I find some geeky male starved for female attention, give him some metal and rubber and whatever else bikes are made of, and ask him to build me a bike?! There’s a robot supply store in Ann Arbor. I’m pretty sure I could find my geek there. I could probably even go for the manager if I find a top that is cut low enough.

Anyhow, so I’m trying to figure out if I want to pay $400+ for a bike, plus the cost for helmets, bike rack, bike locks, etc. Part of me says yes, of course I do as a bike is an awesome thing to have and I can ride it to work and take it to nearby parks. The other part of me remembers the time I was convinced that snowboarding was going to be my new sport and we all know how that turned out.

I’m definitely buying a bike, but part of me is tempted to buy something cute, cheap, and retro like this, put a basket on it, and use it for nothing but pedaling around town.

On a bit of a tangent, if you look up “vintage bicycle” on Google Images, the most awesome pictures come up, most of which are posters. Like this or this. And I totally want this poster of a drunken Tour de France.

Any advice on bike shopping?

The Minion's Movie Club Report: April

April was not an impressive month for the minion movie club. Mikhail got food poisoning. Vasily had a date, which meant he had to try on every pair of pants he owns and make us rate his butt on a scale of 1 to 10 in each of those pants. Ivan rated Vasily’s butt a 1 repeatedly, which means my most taciturn minion just got out of ICU. Boris decided to go mountain climbing. He got lost. For three whole weeks. (Never go mountain climbing with Boris. He does not know how to read a compass.)

So this month, we watched and reviewed a total of one movie.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Summary: Best friends, Vicky and Cristina, spend the summer together in Barcelona. Vicky, who is engaged to a man back in the States, is working on her thesis on Catalan art, and Cristina, who is recently single, is looking for love and new experiences. A painter, Juan Antonio, offers to take them to Oviedo for the weekend. Cristina, attracted to Juan Antonio’s boldness, agrees, and Vicky goes along to keep her friend out of trouble. The weekend in Oviedo results in a series of love triangles (Vicky/Juan Antonio/Cristina and Cristina/Juan Antonio/Juan Antonio’s ex-wife Maria Elena), and the characters find that they can never get what they really want.

Ivan: Unhappy people sleep around and have long conversations in which they try to justify their bad decisions. In other words, fairly amusing yet superficial. 3/5
Boris: I found this to be beautiful and sad. 5/5
Vasily: Some very lovely women were in this film. I’d like to see it again. 5/5
Mikhail: Full of clichés about free-spirited artists and uptight business people, but still, it is a fun film in spite of all that. 4/5
Stacy: So I watched this twice. And I still haven’t returned it to Netflix. Clearly, I liked it quite a bit, as it was romantic (in an odd sort of a way) and had the most gorgeous setting. 5/5

I do plan to return to my account of my trip to England. However, I may have to post one more non-travel post before Day 7 is posted here.

Poor Cinderella

I’m pretty sure I saw Cinderella with her stepmother and stepsister at the supermarket today. I was in Meijer, and I was in the process of being shocked and appalled by the lack of fresh tarragon when one needs it (Yes, tarragon was actually on my shopping list. Clearly, I’m feeling ambitious.) when I couldn’t help but notice a young woman roaming around with her daughter who looked to be about age six. Trailing behind them was an even younger girl who was pushing the family grocery cart around.

Now I don’t claim to be an expert on raising children, but I’m pretty sure if a child isn’t tall enough to see over the top of the grocery cart, she probably shouldn’t be held responsible for navigating it around the store. When the mother turned around and lectured the child in question for not keeping up with her and big sis, I had to wonder if she noticed that her daughter was in kindergarten, and as a kindergartner, the cart would be a bit heavy and unwieldy for her. Even for adults, who don’t need to reach up over their heads to move the carts around, those things don’t always make smooth turns.

After the mom did her lecturing, it was the big sister’s turn. She began shrieking at her baby sister. I don’t know what she said, as she was speaking in some Asian language, and I know a grand total of zero Asian languages, but I can tell you I was scared, and she wasn’t even yelling at me.

Poor Cinderella. It’ll be at least thirteen years before she can get away.

Target, do you mind explaining this?

Is it just me or does Target hire only sullen, silent cashiers? I do not pretend to possess the best social skills. In fact, I’m fairly certain that only cats find me charming, and that’s only because I share their lazy, moody outlook on life. Yet even I know that the proper response to “Hello” is either “Hello” or “Hi.” I also know how to smile. Target cashiers, at least in Ann Arbor, never acknowledge a hello, never make eye contact, and do not utter a word until they tell you your total.

Now I have no desire to strike up a conversation with my cashiers, but a response to my hello would be nice. And that looking straight through me thing is just a wee bit creepy. Are they all practicing to audition as Jasper, the mentally subnormal Cullen, for the next Twilight movie or something?

And Target, how do you find these individuals? I can only imagine the hiring process goes something like this:

Store Manager: And why would you like to work for Target?

Applicant: Well, I’ve always wanted to stare at people as if they are walking ATMs that exist solely to give me money.

Store Manager: Correct answer! You’re hired!

*new employee parade begins in the home & garden aisle, stock boys begin filling piñatas with Brach’s butterscotch discs slightly past its sell by date*