<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116</id><updated>2011-04-21T12:36:49.148-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I travel not to go anywhere, but to go."</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-530102346693525433</id><published>2008-10-23T07:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T08:39:28.328-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodbye for now-</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I knew that having internet in my flat was going to be bad for my London experience. After having internet for a grand total of five days, I've effectively moved back home. I chat with friends and family on skype while I putz around my apartment, I watch SNL clips, stalk NY Times online, email my friends, and meander through the GFU happenings via facebook. And I haven't written in my journal in that whole amount of time. I love being so "close" to all of you, but when I'm close to you I'm far from London. And I came here for a reason. I was talking with my mom last night about all this, and she said that she'd be so sad if I came back home and realized I hadn't ever really left Oregon the whole time. If I keep on like this, I think that's how I'll feel. How small technology has made our world.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, on that note, I'm going to disappear for a while. No blogging... canceling my facebook account... no skype... not calling home... no emails... disconnecting my wireless. I'm going to try to be present here... not Oregon. Because, honestly, this needs to be home for me right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you guys lots- if I didn't, I wouldn't be doing this. :) You're just so tempting to talk to all the time! If you have a giant emergency and need to talk to me, I'll still have my email... I just won't be using it for "home" purposes. Letters are still good... they combine communication and distance, which are two things I like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be back at some point. Cheers!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-530102346693525433?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/530102346693525433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=530102346693525433' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/530102346693525433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/530102346693525433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/10/goodbye-for-now.html' title='Goodbye for now-'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-520606684677645085</id><published>2008-10-21T02:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T07:27:35.206-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Goldilocks and High School Musical</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;This is a good week because my awkward, forty year old, male, long haired boss is in Dubai. When he's out of the office, I've discovered that he's fondly (&lt;-- sarcasm) referred to as "goldilocks" by the other staff members. His hair really is something; it's longer than mine (which is getting very long... yay!) and quite red. He plays with it a lot while he spews marketing ideas that turn into pointless excel sheets for me to populate. But it's all worth it for the occasional time that his headphones get stuck in his long locks, and his facial expression transforms into that of a seven year old girl who just got gum stuck in her hair. Panic. Embaressment. And on my end... utter joy. :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is also a good week because I have SEEN people from home. In fact, I've given them the tour of my flat and talked to them face to face. Through skype, but whatever. I think skype will be a good thing, but it also puts me a bit out of my comfort zone. I'm used to London being mine, and this little world belonging just to me and Lisa. It's probably healthy to have my worlds collide a little bit, but it still unnerves me. It allows you to see into my life... not just read about it or hear about what I choose to tell you over the phone. Yeesh... goes to show you how ingrown I'm gettting. You're just not going to know what to do with me when I get back. It is wonderful to see faces though. I have such pretty people in my life.. it's nice to see their pixely faces through my macbook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also this week is my first meeting with both the girls and guys at my small group (pastorate). I really liked the girls last week, but I'm excited for a bigger group with a bit more diversity. One of the girls and I have hit it off pretty well, and I'm hoping that we can become good friends in the amount of time that I'm here. Ah, friends. What lovely things. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also this week is High School Musical 3... in theaters. And HECK YES, I'm going to be there. Teenage drama? Zac Efron? Ridiculous dance sequences? School wide singing breaking out in the hallways? Sign me right up for some of that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, there you have it. I'm thriving, my friends. Honestly thriving. The newness has been conquered. I no longer notice the British accent. I have found little spaces of comfort in this giant city. I've learned to push my way onto the crowded tube rather than wait for the next train. I've had people ask me for directions, and actually known how to direct them... whether or not I got my left's and right's mixed up is another story. :) I've established routine and feel rather at home here. Don't worry; I'm not going to decide to stay here forever. I'll be ready to come home at the end of March, but until then, I'm thriving here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-520606684677645085?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/520606684677645085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=520606684677645085' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/520606684677645085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/520606684677645085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/10/goldilocks-and-high-school-musical.html' title='Goldilocks and High School Musical'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-8098620776395341838</id><published>2008-10-17T01:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T04:09:04.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sniff. cough cough.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Today I have a cold. My throat is scratchy and my nose is stuffy and I have the chills in this already freezing city. I hate being sick. Especially when I can't drive home and bundle up on the couch in my "sick sweatshirt" (a wonderful, oversized, embroidered, Winnie the Pooh number that I've had since about age eleven). Since it's Friday, that means my mom and dad will be home. He'll make a fire and she'll make blueberry muffins and then they'll read the newspaper. My mom always makes really good tea when I'm sick. And then she pampers me - tucking the blankets in around me and fluffing my pillows while I watch movies all day. I have a really great mom. I do not, however, have really great coworkers. When I told them I was sick, they said it was all in my head, and then went back to their computers. Ugh. Men.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being sick makes me cynical, and so I have to tell you about this absolutely moronical (did I just make that word up?) lecture that my boss just gave our office about Starbucks coffee. Apparently, he's been to the states a couple of times, so he IS the resident expert on how the Sbux works. The fact that I worked there for the better part of a year doesn't matter. Did you know that when you walk down the street in America you will sometimes see eight Starbucks in a row? And each of those cafes caters to a different crowd... you have all the bikers that go to one, all the theatre people that go to another, etc. And this extreme segregation of social crowds is all due to their marketing! Brilliant people, those Starbucks execs. But according to him they don't even serve coffee- it's just this acidic brown stuff made by incapable baristas. Can you see the smoke coming out of my ears? Sometimes I just can't believe how stupid people actually are. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got my absentee ballot in the mail a couple of days ago, and I am SO excited to vote. I love America... voting for my leaders and being part of a democratic nation. The Brits have such a funny perspective on our election. They just hate John McCain... they make fun of him for blinking so much, and they find the most unflattering pictures possible to put into the newspapers. Obama, on the other hand, nears the holiness of David Beckham. I hear from home that it's a close race, but you'd never guess it from what I read over here. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bought the ugliest sweater in the entire world a couple of days ago for only £5. It's army green, a men's medium, bulky, and lumpy. But it's deliciously warm and cuddly. When I put it on, it sort of resembles a giant burlap sack, but I'm already fiercely in love with it. It's a cozy sweater that I promised myself I would never wear in public... only in the comfort of my own flat with the accompaniment of tea and a journal. But, here I am at work... with the ugly sweater. Oh dear.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to make myself some tea... owowow my scratchy throat! But before I do, I have to tell you about this fabulous Bible study I went to on Tuesday. It's comprised of people like me... graduated folk living in the quasi-adult-quasi-adolescent world. I've only met the girls, and they were great. I'll meet the guys next week, and I'm so looking forward to that. I miss having male friendships so much... Lisa does a great job filling the role of family and friend, but there's not much she can do to fill the steps of my guys. :) It'll be nice to bring a bit of balance back into my life with a small group of London friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, tea time. I am going to go through withdrawls when I leave English tea. Seriously... at least four or five cups a day. It's a beautiful addiction. Love from here!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-8098620776395341838?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/8098620776395341838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=8098620776395341838' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/8098620776395341838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/8098620776395341838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/10/sniff-cough-cough.html' title='sniff. cough cough.'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-782763350214209698</id><published>2008-10-13T09:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T09:29:41.395-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's 5:30 and time for me to go home...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;So here's a really quick update on the last few days...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I tried a "short cut" to work and ended up being a half hour late. Woops!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today on the KUPL morning show I heard that they're going to remake the mini-series entitled "V." That might not mean much to all of you, but it's this horrible sci-fi thriller about aliens coming to earth, morphing into humans, and then very violently trying to steal our water. It also displays some of the most genius acting I've ever seen... possibly rivaling "Justin and Kelly: The Movie." Apparently ABC is going to remake it. Mom and Dad and Mattie- do you remember watching that when we had just moved to Virginia? Sitting on the floor, eating our gift basket contents, trying to see the 12" screen we borrowed from Daddy's work, and missing home like crazy? Now we can relive the glory days... sign me right up. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In better news, I have a church. An awesome church with an awesome worship leader. Maybe you've heard of him... Tim Hughes? He also rides my bus, and last night I grilled him about what service would be best suited for a temporary American transplant like myself. It's a great church, and I'm trying my best to worm my way into a little bit of community there. I'm in desperate need of some friends over here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today at work I had to go through this massive list of hospitals in the London area and convert it into useful information for my office. And I got to do the whole project on... you guessed it... EXCEL! The best part was that this list was accumulate in 1938 or something, so there were a ton of old abandoned mental institutions that I had to weed through. They didn't look pleasent, and I'm glad that I never had to live in one of those.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As of today, I've officially been away from home for six weeks. That is a ridiculously long time. I also discovered that my mobile plan is charging me twice as much to call home. Thus, I will be writing more letters. Maybe. But hopefully I'll just be too busy being involved at my church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lastly, the mouse. It went away for almost a whole week, so Lisa and I were convinced it was wasting away on someone else's glue-trap. In reality, it was just taking a holiday from our garbage, and is now back. I think that I'm procrastinating from fixing the situation out of indignance that I have to do it. At home, I could call any number of people to help me do this, and I'm bitter I can't do that here. Ugh rodents. Ugh forced independence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm making curry for dinner tonight! And maybe watching High School Musical 2 again. Because, yes, it's just that good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Write me letters!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, bye.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-782763350214209698?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/782763350214209698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=782763350214209698' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/782763350214209698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/782763350214209698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/10/its-530-and-time-for-me-to-go-home.html' title='It&apos;s 5:30 and time for me to go home...'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-5333882215844430275</id><published>2008-10-07T03:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T03:19:55.287-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A long post about things I like. And an update about the mouse.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Disclaimer – To my three favorite cousins, I’m going to say a bad word in here. Don’t worry; it’s not me swearing… it’s just an expression I heard someone use. But, you should still have your mom or dad read this first, and then they can decide if you get to read it or not. Okay? Love you guys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In honor of my post about the things in London that make no sense or just make me mad, I’ve decided to post about some of the things that America should adopt immediately.&lt;br /&gt;First, the stoplights don’t just go green, yellow, red. They also have a yellow right before a stoplight turns green, so you have a second to get your car in gear and zip along your way. It only makes sense, right? You have a warning telling you when to stop, so why not have a warning telling you when to go? Granted, I don’t drive here (I haven’t driven in over a month… weird!), but I can imagine how wonderful it would be to have warning both ways.&lt;br /&gt;Second, Brits do this funny thing when they end a conversation on the phone- not in person- just on the phone. They start winding up and get ready to say goodbye, but as they do this their voice gets higher and softer. So it would sound like this: “It was lovely speaking with you. (An octave higher) Yeh, well I’ll see you tomorrow then. (Another octave higher in a very quiet voice) Okay, cheers (even higher) Bye!  The “Cheers, bye!” part is very important- all good Brits end their conversations like that. Sometimes I just listen to people talk on their mobile on the bus and wait for their head to explode from the high pitch. And what’s funny is that this is not just something girls do- guys do it too. In fact, one of my coworkers just called me and he got all quiet-high-pitchy right before we hung up. It’s so funny to listen to… I’ll give you an impression when I get home next year. Only 177 days, according to a reliable source.&lt;br /&gt;Oh here’s what I LOVE. Indian food in London is like Mexican food on the west coast. At the grocery store, they have a bigger selection of curry sauce than they do of spaghetti sauce. I’ve been in love with curry ever since I was ten and they had mission’s potluck at my church. I remember being a little leery of my dad telling me to try the spicy chicken that looked funny… but I did, and it was pure love. I think I ate about three helpings and maintained a strict philosophy that I would have curry whenever my circumstances allowed. And so at least a couple times a week, I make myself curry in my little, tiny apartment and revel in my small victory.&lt;br /&gt;Another wonderful thing is the one pound coin. All countries should be required to produce a coin for one pound, one dollar, or whatever. It makes my wallet smaller and it’s just so convenient.&lt;br /&gt;Also, I’m a little bit obsessed with some of the terminology and phrases they use over here. I’m trying not to let it infect my own way of speaking too much, because I know that you’ll (ahem, Emily) just make fun of me when I get home. But some phrases are too wonderful to pass up. For instance, when you’re trying to get something figured out, you’re ‘getting it sorted.’ They say decent and lovely all the time. Cookies are biscuits, and Lisa and I can’t figure out what you call a normal, American biscuit. Maybe they just don’t exist here. I call home on my mobile, I live in my flat, and I travel to work via (pronounced with an I rather than an E) the tube. I drink tea proper because it has milk in it, but apparently Lisa’s tea is improper because it’s sans milk. I go to the cinema for a movie and the threatre to see a show. I “top up” when I add more money to my tube pass or mobile or even when I fill up the sugar container at work. I ‘mind the gap’ so as not to step into the abyss between the station platform and the tube, and I get my food for take away rather than take out. It’s all very different, and I feel very legit (that word doesn’t exist here… I got blank stares when I used it) when I can speak the London language.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like more things, but I’m not in the mood to talk about them right now. Guess what! Last Friday Lisa was working, so I went to see Grease. My Dad and I were laughing on the phone before the show… what if they all had British accents? Fortunately they didn’t… it was pure American goodness from the accents down to the giant hair and the fries (not chips). I snuck a Cinnebon into the theatre, and karma made it leak all over inside my purse. So, I’m still finding old Cinnebon sludge when I rummage for my keys or chapstick. But other than that, the night was great. Everyone sang the songs and a sixty year old lady in front of me got up and danced during Grease Lightening. It was a riot and I loved every bit of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here’s an update on the mouse situation. I’m currently panicked beyond my ability to think rationally because the mouse only rummages when I’m there by myself. To this day, Lisa has maybe heard it once, and possibly not at all. I’m so freaked out that I’m hanging plastic grocery bags on all the knobs of the cupboards in the kitchen and using those as my garbage. I haven’t opened the dreaded mouse infested cupboard in almost five days. Lisa opened it once to see what she could find (I stood on the bed and mentally prepared myself for impending death), and just swept out a bunch of poops. We talked to the godfather's son about it, and he said it’s a bad time of year for mice, so he gave us these awful things called glue-traps with the explanation that mice “stick to them like shit to a blanket.” Well, we didn’t know shit stuck to a blanket, so this didn’t make sense to us. It did, however, freak us out because these things don’t kill the mouse… rather, the mouse just sticks to this pad until you dispose of it. I’m not even sure what that means, but I know that I’m sure as heck not doing it. I’ve head it squeak while it’s alive, and if I hear it squeak while it’s slowly starving away on that glue trap, I will feel like the worst sort of animal murderer. So, living with the live mouse is out. The glue-traps are definitely out. The next tactic will be finding that expanding caulky (sp?) stuff that you can squirt into holes and fill them up. I’ve seen my dad use it before, and I bet Lis and I can figure out how it works.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That’s all, I think. This moment officially marks the eighteenth hour in a row that I have done nothing at my job. Ha!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-5333882215844430275?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/5333882215844430275/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=5333882215844430275' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/5333882215844430275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/5333882215844430275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/10/long-post-about-things-i-like-and.html' title='A long post about things I like. And an update about the mouse.'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-3289349901464054791</id><published>2008-10-02T04:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T06:12:10.347-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This and that...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Yesterday, I went to IKEA with Lisa specifically to buy a pillowcase for the bed. When we left IKEA we had bought candles, rugs, pictures,and lamps... and realized we had forgotten the pillowcase. How typical is that? We had a good laugh. But at least now our flat feels more like a home, and that alone was worth the trip.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Last weekend Lisa and I went to Oxford... did I tell you that? I feel like I might have. It's a college town- English style- so it sort of feels like you're walking with a bunch of equestrians and polo players. They do this fun thing called "punting"... which involves standing/balancing on the back of a boad and pushing it down a stream with a giant pole. No one can successfully do it with any sort of grace, and it was hysterical to watch all the college guys attempting to woo their lady friends by looking macho while they went down the river. Their facial expressions were of utter concentration and they didn't seem to be relaxing much at all... which I assume is the purpose of punting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Today all three of my bosses are out of town, and it's only the relaxed people in the office with me. We've already had at least three conversations, which is unheard of in this silent place. They have convinced me to ask for an espresso machine becasue they say they think the bosses listen to me. I think that if I keep opening my big mouth, I'm going to get myself fired. I've also noticed that the men in this office go through milk and sugar like they're four year olds, so I have to go to the grocery store and buy them more today. I honestly feel like I'm babysitting adults sometimes. :) I think I finished all my excel projects for today (hurray!), so it should be more relaxing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Lisa and I are convinced that we have a rat living in our flat next to the garbage bag, and have discussed the rodent situation at length- deciding not to kill it. We're both terrified of scurrying rats, but we're more afraid of dead rats. So, we sort of hold our breath everytime we have to open the cupboard to throw something away, because there's always the tiny possibility that thing will come darting out of the darkness and ruin our lives. On my bed, there's a blanket with fringe on it,and sometimes when the fringe touches my face in my sleep, I freak out because I dream that it's the rat's whiskers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Anyway, I think I'm done writing. I really should do some work... or check out espn... or research about the vice presidential debate tonight which I am livid I can't watch. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Also, if you read this, you should leave me a comment. I honestly wake up the morning after I blog excited to check and see if I have any comments. Little connections to home make all the difference. Hugs from here-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-3289349901464054791?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/3289349901464054791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=3289349901464054791' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/3289349901464054791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/3289349901464054791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/10/this-and-that.html' title='This and that...'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-3246914083638763181</id><published>2008-09-30T06:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T08:14:36.528-07:00</updated><title type='text'>pinky rings and dental drills</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Everyday I come across one or two things that I just don’t understand or really hate about London. Here are a few…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;1. In my book, this is the most important on my list. Ready? Guys wear pinky rings here, and it really grosses me out in a very extreme way. Once I see their pinky rings, I just can’t take their masculinity seriously. It’s just so smug and wimpy looking. I bet I could beat most of the pinky-ring-wearers in an arm wrestling competition. For real.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;2. There are these two haunted houses themed after the Tower of London, and they hire people to dress up with blood makeup all over their face to stand outside and get people to buy tickets. Sometimes they jump out of garbage cans along the street, and Lis and I literally run away down the street in terror. These people are SO freaky… both Lisa and I absolutely hate them. And they stand in between the tube stop and our wonderful cheese market. It’s like awful bullies that stand in between little kids and the swing set.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;3. The flat next to us is being renovated, and every morning at 7:30am, this guy whips out an electric saw (that sounds just like a giant dental drill) and just goes for it. Sometimes he opts for the hammer. Even on Saturdays. I work in the mornings, so I don’t hate it as much as Lisa…. She really hates it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a lot of things that I like a lot. But, I just get so frustrated about those stupid pinky rings that I needed to let you know what I’m being forced to deal with here. Oh, but here’s something fun…today outside of my tube station there was this crazy guy with a wig, a fake mustache and giant glasses handing out newspapers and smoking the hugest cigar I have ever seen in my life. It was the size of a banana, and I’m not even exaggerating.&lt;br /&gt;Also, send me your address. I have lots of time to write postcards and letters, so if you want one, give me your address. Actually, scratch that. If you want a letter, you have to write me one first. My address is down below this somewhere.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;PS - totally got paid today. Now, I can pay my rent and finally feel settled. Just wanted you to know that I'm going to be okay. :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-3246914083638763181?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/3246914083638763181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=3246914083638763181' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/3246914083638763181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/3246914083638763181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/pinky-rings-and-dental-drills.html' title='pinky rings and dental drills'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-2294000168831469656</id><published>2008-09-26T09:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T09:05:23.126-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I spell country k-u-p-l</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Today I realized that KUPL streams through itunes radio, and I can listen to it at work! Do you know that there's an accident on Farmington Road causing a big traffic jam? And that it's going to be 80 degrees on Sunday? Do you know that McCormick and Schmick's gave away $100? And that OSU beat USC in an absolutely epic football game? Well, I do. Even better, I listened to the morning show (at 3pm my time), and imagined all the people back home listening to it on their way to work. It was a great moment that I shared with my headphones in my quiet office. :) And it was so wonderful to hear all those Portland words. And... get a brief respite from London's obsession with techno. Praise Jesus for country music and tidbits of home life. Hope you all have a fabulous, sunny weekend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-2294000168831469656?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/2294000168831469656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=2294000168831469656' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/2294000168831469656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/2294000168831469656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-spell-country-k-u-p-l.html' title='I spell country k-u-p-l'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-4455638405732074891</id><published>2008-09-24T06:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T06:57:41.614-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Something for you -</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I have to tell you all that it’s hard for me to know what to write here. I’ve been here for three weeks, and the bright, sparkley feeling of London has long worn off. Life here is the same as it would be at home, except at home I would have a social life. J I wake up commute an hour to work, I work, and then I commute an hour back home. I pick up some milk or bagels at the grocery store, and then make some dinner. I putz around in my little flat for a couple of hours, and then I go to bed. It’s not really as pathetic as it sounds on here… I promise. We live vibrant lives on the weekend, but five days a week, it’s a pretty casual-average routine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s a very strange change. I’m not used to all this quiet, alone time and it has taken some conscious mental adjustment on my end. There isn’t much to distract me from the core of who I am, and I’m being confronted with things everyday. Deep questions run through my mind constantly… what do I want? Who do I want to be? What do I love? Who do I love? I find myself internally dialoguing with Jesus all the time. It reminds me of a verse my mom told me about in Isaiah- “In quietness and trust is your strength.” I don’t have many words to share with those around me, but Jesus and I have a lot we’re talking about. He has some important things to teach me here, and I’m trying to be extra aware of what He might be trying to show me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m often tired… not from being excessively active, but from the mental workout I’m getting all day long. And even when I sleep, I’m working through things in my dreams. Almost every night, I dream about something from home, or a weird situation that involves it somehow. It’s all very different. I know that it’s good… it’s hard, but good… which is as it should be, I suppose. The beauty of life is felt the strongest in the deep layers of our souls, right?&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                              &lt;br /&gt;So, to put your minds at ease, I’m okay. I’m even better than that on most days. I’m struggling through some things and just processing through others. I miss home… terribly. But I’m here, and Jesus is faithful to take care of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-4455638405732074891?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/4455638405732074891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=4455638405732074891' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/4455638405732074891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/4455638405732074891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/something-for-you.html' title='Something for you -'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-2949035958794460209</id><published>2008-09-22T03:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T07:57:58.285-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Round 1 goes to Sarah</title><content type='html'>Guys! Guess what. Today at our staff meeting I decided to bring up my beef with the constant silence in the office. So, at the end of the meeting, I raised my shakey hand and mustered my voice to sound more confident than it felt. I told them that all the silence in this office is a little unnatural, and it's driving me crazy. I told them that I'm a chatty girl, and I need to ability to interact with people every once and a while, and I think it's fair that the office be a place where people are allowed to talk. The men all stared at me for a minute- not quite sure what to think about this American girl, and then one of them piped up and agreed! The big boss (who is a little afraid of me, I've been told), avoided all form of confrontation and said it would be a good idea to facilitate a bit more communication... so shazam. I win! Back to work; I'll write more later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-2949035958794460209?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/2949035958794460209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=2949035958794460209' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/2949035958794460209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/2949035958794460209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/round-1-goes-to-sarah.html' title='Round 1 goes to Sarah'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-6287834752081021660</id><published>2008-09-18T12:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T12:29:57.592-07:00</updated><title type='text'>an honest post</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I'm trying to make up my mind about something. Is not having internet access at my flat a go&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;od or bad thing? I've reached that point where I'm starting to get a little homesick… a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;nd by a little, I mean that I teared up at work yesterday when I thought about how much I'm already missing my dad… and how I don't get to see him for another six a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;nd a half months. On the other han&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;d, not having internet access at my fingertips forces me to let go of home and wallow less than I'm tempted to do. I think in the long run it's a good thing, but that's not stopping me from really hating it right now. Is it much to ask of a mob boss to install so&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;me wireless internet? And maybe give us a kitchen table while he's at i&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;t? I really think it's a rational request.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SNKpwFg62eI/AAAAAAAAAAw/Zmb0Y8urSv8/s1600-h/P9020240.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SNKpwFg62eI/AAAAAAAAAAw/Zmb0Y8urSv8/s320/P9020240.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247443159419116002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; think I need to do some things differently while I'm here. First, I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; need to stop reading the&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; newspapers they hand out on the tube. To save myself from bordom (and the constant barrage of my own thoughts), I usually flip through it on &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;my co&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;mmute to or from work. Problem: everyday &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;there's some terror story about psychos roaming the streets late at night causing havoc. Granted, these stories are always in a bad part o&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;f town… where I never am. These horrible things always happen late at night… when I'm safely in my locked flat. But I just freak myself out anyway. And that leads me to the second thing I need to do differently… I need to smile more. Yesterday I was walking home from the tube stop, and this guy hollers out his window,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; "Would it kill you to smile, lady?!" I wanted to holler right back, "No, it won't kill me, but according to the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;newspaper something else might, which is why I'm not smiling in the first place!" Instead&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; I just ignored him and walked faster. Jerk.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I feel like this has turned into a stressful week for me. There have just been a couple of big things that have piled up to make me feel daunted… which is one of the things I most hate feeling. O&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SNKrMxV3LLI/AAAAAAAAABI/hMaBV8hXMtQ/s1600-h/P9120249.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SNKrMxV3LLI/AAAAAAAAABI/hMaBV8hXMtQ/s200/P9120249.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247444751731862706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;n Monday, my boss told me that he wants me to do an entire marketing campaign for this office within the greater London area. He'd like it done within a couple of m&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;onths. Completely impossible… even for someone w&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;ho loves marketing, and that's certainly not my attitude towards it. Also, it's being difficult to get on the payroll here for a handful&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; of reasons, and that's frustrating. Mayb&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;e a little m&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;ore than frustrating... the longer I'm not on payroll, the longer I go without a paycheck. London is expensive... you get the picture. I know how to be a penny pincher and cook cheap meals, but things could get interesting here. If you want to join me in praying about this, I wouldn't complain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;So, here I am in London struggling to trust Jesus, just like I always do. Over and over again, H&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;e takes care of me, but as soon as one thing goes wrong, I panic and stop trusting him and try to do it myself. I worry and stress, and that whole idea of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;being laid back flies out the window. I'm trying to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;work on it, but it takes conscious thought, and stressing comes as second nature to me, unfortunately.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I know that I promised that I wouldn't be an emotional blogger, but I'm not sure I can hold to th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;at right now. If I had a plethora of people to talk to, this post would have been about how much I love nutella toast and sudokus after work. But I don't have a plethora of people; I have Lisa and a blog. So, this is what it is.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;But for the record, I do really love nutella toast and doing sudokus after work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;And also for the record, I miss you guys a lot. I think of you often, and that's when I smile.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SNKqmng_1XI/AAAAAAAAABA/DL9dtU1A8dw/s1600-h/P9120259.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SNKqmng_1XI/AAAAAAAAABA/DL9dtU1A8dw/s200/P9120259.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247444096259183986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I've just included a few pics here... the rest are &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;on facebook. Or, family, the rest are with my mom. Email her if you want more. Ironically, I'm smiling like crazy in all these pictures, which doesn't really mesh with the tone of this post. However, I've been socially constructed to smile in pictures, and it's also possible proof that I am still happy here... regardless of how frustrating this week has been.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-6287834752081021660?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/6287834752081021660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=6287834752081021660' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/6287834752081021660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/6287834752081021660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/honest-post.html' title='an honest post'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SNKpwFg62eI/AAAAAAAAAAw/Zmb0Y8urSv8/s72-c/P9020240.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-5196816171492224526</id><published>2008-09-17T08:15:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T08:18:15.789-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My address</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Dear friends and family,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I have an address. Let's make good use of it, and send letters to each other. If you write to me, there's a much better chance that I'll write to you. :) From now on, ditch the BUNAC address and send things here:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Sarah Reid&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;139 Wandsworth Bridge Road&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Flat #4&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Fulham, London SW6 2TT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;United Kingdom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Savvy, pirates?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-5196816171492224526?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/5196816171492224526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=5196816171492224526' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/5196816171492224526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/5196816171492224526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-address.html' title='My address'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-2929934242002210086</id><published>2008-09-13T11:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-13T11:55:12.993-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Twelfth Night and musings</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Yesterday I decided to live it big in the city of London. Lisa was at work, and I wasn't about to sit on my bum on a Friday night... so I stepped way out of the comfort box, and I went to a rock opera version of Shakespeare's Twefth Night by myself. You guys, I wish you could have seen it... words can not express how freaking ridiculous this thing was. At one point, they encorporated this giant musical number and started bringing the audience up to dance on stage. And then the actors brought out pizza and threw it into the rest of the audience. And then they started handing out maracas and these fuzzy balls that we could throw onto the stage and hit the actors who were wearing velcro outfits. And twenty minutes after that, they did a tribute song to tequila, and had a bunch of people take shots on stage while a bubble machine provided extra spectacle. It was a Shakespeare play, people. I didn't know whether to be irritated, confused, or just go with it. I decided on the last two choices, and had a stellar time. I've decided that when it comes down to it, I like myself a lot... and I can be very content with my own company. That's going to come in handy here... with my non existant social circle. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning Lisa and I slept in and then spent the day at Burough Market and Hampstead Heath. We bought some great cheese (Moto, you'd die for this stuff), some bread, and some wine. And I bought some olives, because flavor is my favorite thing on earth, and these are bursting with it. This will be our traditional Sunday evening dinner, and I think it's going to be one of my favorite London things. It was so fun to wander without an agenda... snitching samples of cheese, eating strawberries, and lunching on fish and chips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After being in the crowded market, Lisa needed trees and space, so we headed out to Hampstead Heath. We ambled down paths through forests, and breathed clean air for a while. And then we found the best tree in the entire world... it had huge branches low to the ground, so we climbed up and sat for a while. It was good for Lisa's soul, and a good break for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all the adventures, we got some cleaning supplies and waged war against our dirty apartment. That was good for my soul. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I've realized something about myself since being here. Freaking out is a choice, and I have the ability to be a laid back person. After the initial trauma of landing in a new country, I haven't freaked out at all. I've approached this whole situation with a very different mentality than what I live with at home. Excellence isn't the goal... survival is. When things don't go perfectly in line with my plans, I get over it, and adapt. I'm realizing that I'm a lot tougher than I thought I was. I can comfortalby live independantly from familiarity. That's a big deal for me... the girl obsessed with routine, plans, and habit. It's just one of the many things I'm going to realize about myself while being over here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love it so much here, and I'm so glad that I did this. It's an adventure everyday, and I love it. I wish you could all come visit, so I could show you all the fun there is to be had. Who knows... we might be able to get tickets to another showing of Twelfth Night. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-2929934242002210086?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/2929934242002210086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=2929934242002210086' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/2929934242002210086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/2929934242002210086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/twelfth-night-and-musings.html' title='Twelfth Night and musings'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-1339675067875576771</id><published>2008-09-10T08:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T05:40:08.077-07:00</updated><title type='text'>From the desk of Sarah Reid</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Do you know what today is? It’s an important day… a day I’ve been waiting most expectantly for. Today, I have a routine and nothing else. I don’t have to go grocery shopping. I don’t have to buy things for my flat. I don’t have to go to the bank, make an appointment, or do anything else. Today, I go to work, and then I go home. It is such a welcome change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m at work and so terribly bored. My co-workers think I’m writing an email to someone, but really I’m just typing this, and then I’ll copy and paste it onto my blog when I finish. Sneaky, sneaky me. I am terribly bored, and being bored is certainly more fun in London… but it’s boring all the same. On Monday when I came to work, I had someone ask me to make his guests coffee. Apparently I’m in change of that. And I’m in charge of washing the dishes as well. Not only the cups that I’m not using, but also the plates that all the men use when they eat their lunch. Are thirty year old men incapable of doing dishes? Did they seriously hire me to clean up after them? I’m beginning to suspect this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was pretty much it for Monday. I actually got so bored that I voluntarily read a document about AV documentation processes. Desperate times, my friends. J Yesterday I listened to thirty six blank voicemails, found the mystery-Scotch, and wore my hair down so I could sneak-listen to my ipod. Lisa and I think that the Scotch came from the person who had this job before me… maybe it was their one thrill in an eight hour day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I organized two years worth of invoices according to date and stuck them in binders… where has my education taken me?! I just have to keep telling myself that everything is more exciting in London, right? I can do this!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other (much more exciting) news, Lisa and I now have a pan, some pots (which we assembled with only the help of a butter knife), bedding, and hangers. The Godfather dropped some giant knives by, and we used those to break into our soup cans until we bought a can opener. With the suitcases shoved under the double bed (which we share) and the means to make our own food, our flat is starting to feel like it has potential to be a home. But, every woman in my family taught me that a place to live isn’t a home until it has paint or pictures on the walls. Gah, there are white walls everywhere in my flat! It needs paint… pictures…decorative plants… lamps… flower arrangements… so many things I can’t supply. Oh gosh, the strength of my nesting instincts is a little ridiculous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should end this now… the “email” that I’ve been writing is starting to look suspect, and I don’t want to get in trouble yet. Oh! But one thing I have to tell you. Today, the phone rang, and some poor BUNAC person called asking if the administrative position was filled. I got a smug little smile on my face, and graciously (I hope) said that it was filled. BY ME! Woo! I didn’t say that last part… but I thought it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-1339675067875576771?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/1339675067875576771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=1339675067875576771' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/1339675067875576771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/1339675067875576771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/from-desk-of-sarah-reid.html' title='From the desk of Sarah Reid'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-8244093805806353539</id><published>2008-09-09T12:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T12:43:44.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>For you, with love from me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;My dear ones,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in such a happy place right now. I'm checking my email for the first time in two days, I'm listening to Norah Jones, and I'm typing on an American keyboard. Praise Jesus for the simple pleasures in life... how I've come to appreciate them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So where did I leave you? I was recently employed and about to become homeless? Well, I'm still employed, and now I have a home too! I am happily living in the flats owned and operated by The British Mofia. Let me tell you the story...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time Lisa and I were living in a hostel with two smelly, awful roommates. Trying to live out of suitcases was NOT working while having to look professional everyday, especially when they couldn't dry their hair because of said roommates. Thus, they did what they did best, and obsessed until they found a place to live. They called and emailed more than twnety people on Saturday, and had no lucked. They were even almost scammed by a horrible man named Jude Michael... who's name is now used as a form of negative exclamation. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, this story isn't working... I'm writing in my own voice now. So, Jude Michael is awful, but then we met The Godfather. You think I'm joking? We went to meet him after Lisa's job interview on Sunday, because he said that he owned some flats in west London we could afford. Sure enough, he and his "family" own about sixty flats near the furniture shops they own. When we arrived, he whistled and  Sonny came running to be our tour guide. We liked the place he showed us, so we went to sign the lease. We asked to move in that afternoon to avoid those awful roommates, and The Godfather just whistled and barked out orders to all his workers until they had the place clean and ready for us. When all was said and done, he said that now we were family too, and he'd take care of us. We're pretty sure that we'll be safe now that The Godfather is our protector... he's an awesome man, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's packing all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you want an update about the job? It's pretty boring, and I can't quite figure out what I'm supposed to do. On my first day, my boss sat me down at a computer and in as many words told me to figure it out. So I've been working on that... and spending a lot of time being bored. I'm also the only girl in the office, so it's a totally different environment than I'm used to. Silence... skype if you have a question... work independently... all things I totally hate. But, there is one absolutely wonderful thing I just have to tell you about. Yesterday I was browsing through the cabinets to see if ny supplies needed to be ordered, and I found... a half full bottle of Scotch hidden in the corner. Oh my gosh, I almost died... I wanted to show someone so badly, but even more than that, I want to know who hid it and is spiking their tea. So, that's the mission for the next six months... find out who hid the scotch bottle in the cabinet corner. I'll keep you informed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all for now. Know that I'm starting to miss you guys... it's been a week, and my schedule has slowed enough that I'm getting some pangs of loneliness. But, I am glad that I'm here. Love to you all... drink that delicious Oregon water and smile at the douglas firs for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-8244093805806353539?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/8244093805806353539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=8244093805806353539' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/8244093805806353539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/8244093805806353539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/for-you-with-love-from-me.html' title='For you, with love from me'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-2378086175496208701</id><published>2008-09-05T05:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T07:55:28.244-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The last couple of days...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;This is taken from an email I sent to Em today, but I don't think she'll mind if I put it here too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday morning was awful. Not in the sense that things were going wrong, but in the sense that I felt wrung out, stressed out, and a bit homesick. We woke up early for bank appointments, and had to brave the tube along with every commuting business person in London. I don't like the tube in the mornings; everyone walks at the pace of a near run, no one talks, and everyone looks down. The tunnels funnel you all together, and it has uncanny similarities to how I imagine herds of cows being led to the slaughter house.&lt;br /&gt;Everything at the bank was fine... accounts were opened... people were friendly... yadda yadda. Afterwards, Lis and I split up for the first time. She went back to the BUNAC office to work on job apps, and I went to hand deliver a few resumes. It's hard to describe how involved this all is. Hand delivering a resume involves getting on a tube, transferring to a different tube at a station, finding your way through the tunnel, emerging from below ground, and then finding your way through the streets. Because London is so old (which is awesome), the streets aren't on a grid system. There are streets running to and fro with little offshoots going everwhere. It's awful to find anything, and my hand map has become my best friend.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I went off to find this man's office which meant I had to navigate the tube and the streets myself, which I hadn't done before. I finally found it and dropped off my CV and covering letter, and was immediately after mentally done dealing with things. I was so tired of being in a new place and having to play catch up all the time. I promptly headed for a Starbucks and ordered tea. I sat away from the windows and as far from people as I could... I wanted it to see as much like home as possible. I pulled out my Bible and opened to the psalms... and read Psalm 18. Read the first few verses and you'll understand why I got a bit teary. It was balm to my aching soul, and Jesus affirmed me over and over again. He reminded me of how much He loves me... how the only reason I've been able to get to London is through his provisions... how He won't abandon me now that I'm here. It was so wonderful. I haven't had a deep moment with him like that in such a long time. As cheesy as it sounds, it completely revitalized me, and I was ready to move again.&lt;br /&gt;After I left Starbucks, I decided to see if I could find my way on foot to the BUNAC office to reconnect with Lisa and find more jobs. Well, I got blooming lost along the way. I came to one of their awful roundabouts with six streets jetting off in all directions. I must have been standing there for ten minutes trying to sort out my map in an almost panic.. realizing that I was totally lost in this giant city. All of a sudden, this man pops up next to me, and here's how the conversation goes:&lt;br /&gt;"Excuse me, are you lost?"&lt;br /&gt;Near tears, I reply, "Yes, very lost, I'm afraid."&lt;br /&gt;Him: "Well you don't sound like you're from here! Wherebouts did you come from?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "From Oregon... I've just arrive a couple days ago."&lt;br /&gt;Him: "Oregon! Is that near Orlando? I went there once- to go to Disneyland. Now, where are you off to. I'll show you the way."&lt;br /&gt;I'm convinced that man was an angel, or at least on a divine mission from God. Brits would rather die that talk to someone new on the streets, or talk to anyone at all for that matter. It was the most wonderful moment, and I could just feel God again assuring me that all was well... that He was taking care of me, since I'm not able to do it myself quite yet.&lt;br /&gt;Once at BUNAC, I made a few calls about jobs, and ended up in a phone interview with a lady who placed me at the job I'm going to do today. After talking with her on the phone, it was back off to the tube to navigate to her office to fill out paperwork. I got horribly lost on my way from the tube to her office, which was awful, but at least I got to explore a fun new area of London... it was over near Victoria and the palace gounds. After that appointment, I headed back home to the hostel in Shepherd's Bush, and on the way received a call on my mobile from the guy I had dropped my CV with earlier. He wanted me to come in for an interview that afternoon. So after getting home, it was off again to the tube station and the walk to his office. Once there, he explained the position to me in great detail, and it sounds terrifying. I told you a bit about it yesterday, but in short it's defining my own role to center around database administration, marketing, office management, and some small scale events. It'll be so hard, especially since I have to figure out what needs to be done and then do it. Without a taste of how this office (or any in the UK) works, I'll have a steep learning curve to catch up with.&lt;br /&gt;That said, the job pays fabulously and I'll get 12 paid vacation days throughout my time working for them. Isn't that crazy? I'll get to take time off to be with my mom when she visits, and maybe I'll be able to cash out a few days for when I start travelling around Europe in March.&lt;br /&gt;I'm still waiting to hear back from him to confirm that I've been hired. He said they were keen to have me yesterday, but I would just feel more reassured having it in writing. It's so hard to understand them when they talk sometimes!&lt;br /&gt;So, that said, it was a long and tiring day. But I feel so good about everything... I was (at least I'm 95% sure) able to land a career related job within two days of looking, and BUNAC told me to not expect anything within ten days. I mastered the tube, and for the first time I felt like I was really part of this place. Granted, I can't find my way anywhere, but I'm picking up on the way things work. I'm going to be able to make it here. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And PS, guess what I can see out the window of the place where I'm working today! The Thames River and London Bridge. How freaking amazing is that?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;PPS, just got an email. I was hired at the snazzy job. Thanks for praying everybody... you've all been such an encouragement!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-2378086175496208701?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/2378086175496208701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=2378086175496208701' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/2378086175496208701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/2378086175496208701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/last-couple-of-days.html' title='The last couple of days...'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-1497356675851439275</id><published>2008-09-03T13:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T13:20:00.067-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If you want to send me things...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;send it here:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah Reid&lt;br /&gt;Incoming Programmes Dept&lt;br /&gt;BUNAC, 16 Bowling Green Lane&lt;br /&gt;London EC1R 0QH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can send letters and packages there, but nothing that's being couriered. That's just an FYI, not a hint. But if you send me letters, I promise to love you more than anyone else. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-1497356675851439275?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/1497356675851439275/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=1497356675851439275' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/1497356675851439275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/1497356675851439275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/if-you-want-to-send-me-things.html' title='If you want to send me things...'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-1675621956940756068</id><published>2008-09-03T12:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T12:38:52.446-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The good things about London...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;There's one good thing in particular, and his name is Peter Pan. Lis and I went to eat dinner with him tonight, and he's just as boyish and wonderful as always. It was a welcome break after waking up early and working on the job search literally all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning began with my first tube ride to Farringdon Station when we walked to BUNAC for our orientation. It was such a relief to see the offices and assure myself that this org really is legit. We had our orientation with about forty other students, and we learned all about how the British Government will tax us within an inch of our lives, but we'll survive because that's the only choice. Thus, Lis and I will get awesome paying jobs that God is going to provide for us, and it's going to be fantastic. Note the future tense... it hasn't happened yet... keep praying. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also got our mobile phones today, which was another huge walk. Did I mention I did this all in heels? Yeah, not a mistake I'm making again. After that was another trek back to BUNAC to apply for jobs all afternoon. Hopefully we'll make some headway with that tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I'm obsessed with Hyde Park. There are parks everywhere in the middle of the city, and it makes me feel more settled somehow. The pace of this place is busy and hectic, so it's nice to have green places where I can breathe a little deeper. And the dogs get free reign in the parks, so it's a hoot to watch them wrestle with each other. Maybe we should get a dog... what do you think, Lis?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had something grand and adventurous to post here, but it's all just real life. Real life that's far away from all of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More to come soon-&lt;br /&gt;Sarah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-1675621956940756068?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/1675621956940756068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=1675621956940756068' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/1675621956940756068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/1675621956940756068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/good-things-about-london.html' title='The good things about London...'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-4225320852372490995</id><published>2008-09-02T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T10:55:03.183-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm here!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Okay, I'm not sure I can describe to you how many different emotions I have felt today. Because I hate emotional blogs, I'm not going to... that's the stuff I get to process by myself. In short, I'm tired and a bit unsettled. Our flights had some long delays, and once in London we got turned around and ended up in a neighborhood an hour away from where we were supposed to be. But, we're here, and that's the important part. Once I can get some sleep under my belt, there will be no stopping me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pray for a job, guys. Lisa and I can't start real life until we have jobs and a place to live, and both of us desperately need real life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I saw a group of protesters camping outside of Victoria Station with "NO WAR" signs plastered all over their tents. For a minute I thought I was home again. But then I saw Big Ben out the other window and realized that's just not the case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll update again soon... hugs to you all!&lt;br /&gt;Sarah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-4225320852372490995?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/4225320852372490995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=4225320852372490995' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/4225320852372490995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/4225320852372490995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/09/im-here.html' title='I&apos;m here!'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1373401905609272116.post-9003887557528193274</id><published>2008-08-20T22:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T22:30:44.677-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Before I go...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;My dear friends and family,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be attempting to blog from time to time while I'm in London, so we don't lose track of each other too much. I leave on September 1, and I'll be gone to see the world and discover what I'm made of until March 30. Adventure awaits, and with equal amounts of terror and excitement, I say goodbye for now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1373401905609272116-9003887557528193274?l=sarahbethreid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/feeds/9003887557528193274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1373401905609272116&amp;postID=9003887557528193274' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/9003887557528193274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1373401905609272116/posts/default/9003887557528193274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahbethreid.blogspot.com/2008/08/before-i-go.html' title='Before I go...'/><author><name>Sarah Beth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12452131411580640716</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jeFtZvzoVRw/SLoFonJXvsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/M4G0J65TpvM/S220/100_0826.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
