Next stop: Croatia

Trepidation. That's the word I was looking for.

Everyone's asking me if I'm excited about my trip to Croatia with my mother. (We leave tomorrow morning). "Excited" isn't really the word.

Here's the thing...I'm used to traveling alone. No one there to check if they're having a good time, no one to make me late for a flight, no discussions about how early is too early to get up or too late to be out.

It's just me. And except for a few trips with Firecracker, I usually prefer the solo route.

Coming and going on my mother's time will cramp my style, but I can live with that, I guess. But my mother isn't a young traveler (78!) and she's used to putting her luggage in the hall and having it magically appear at the next destination. I had to remind her that I didn't pack a valet.

I have a Croatian colleague who's been advising me on my travel plans. Well, yesterday I asked about tipping in Croatia. In some countries, leaving a tip is tantamount to wearing a t-shirt with an American flag on it and blowing your nose with $50 bills.

Suffice to say, I should be careful with my money in Croatia. It seems, at least according to my colleague, that all Eastern European nations have a tendency to cheat the tourists. "That's just the way it is," he said.

Fabulous!

After my trip to Spain, I got a little more comfortable with the euro, so I thought 'this will be easy.' But NOOOOO!!! Croatia doesn't use the euro, they use the kuna! One kuna equals about 17 cents American.

How's your math?

Smart girl that I am, I created a wallet-sized cheatsheet of kuna/US dollar conversions. By looking at this, we should at least know not to spend $80 on a sandwich and a Coke. Hopefully.

Usually, I get very excited and can't sleep the night before I take off on a trip. I don't know if I'll sleep tonight. Maybe a vodka and tonic will help.

Better late than never???

After receiving an extremely sincere-sounding apology the day after the ass-grabbing, lip-chewing, drunken slobber of a "date," I decided to give Newzie another chance and agreed to meet him for a Cubs game. We made arrangements, but the day before the game, he called to change the plan.

Seems he had been asked to substitute teach for a friend's college class. Could he meet me at the game, probably by the 4th or 5th inning?? Since I had been planning to attend the Cubs game before he offered to join me, I didn't mind the adjustment.

During the game, he said how happy he was that I agreed to see him. He was feeling bad about his behavior the night we met. I told him that I was giving him two choices: 1) we could pretend we just met and this is the first time we've gone out, or 2) he could pick up where he left off that night, but he'd have a very deep shit-hole to dig out of.

He wisely chose option #1.

From there on out, it seemed very much like a first date. Small talk. One beer each. A few laughs It was a beautiful evening and the Cubs even won! After the game, we decided to return to the scene of the crime, so to speak, and headed to the same post-game watering hole where we met.

Two drinks later, Newzie insisted on walking me home. From my perspective, he was still on probation, so I didn't respond when he put his arm around my waist as we left the bar. Standing in front of my building, we kissed a bit but nothing like the tonsil-hockey of the first night - - fortunately.

"You're getting me excited," he said.

"Then I'd better send you home."

We spoke briefly a few days later and, I thought, made plans to have a drink after the Bears game. When no call came that night or in the following days, I figured he was just looking for nooky and when I didn't oblige, he bailed...

Till he called a few minutes ago to wish me a safe and fun trip to Croatia.

He wanted to see me tonight but realized that I'd be packing and there was no chance. Newzie asked me to please save an evening for him when I return when he wants to see pictures and hear all about my trip.

That day

All across the web, people are remembering where they were on this day five years ago. My first memories aren't of a place, but of a face.

My coworker came to my desk, his eyes red and swollen. He collapsed into a chair with a shell-shocked look on his face. One of our clients - - one of his clients - - had an office in one of the World Trade Center towers.

They weren't there anymore.

Technically, this specific scene happened on Sept. 12, but back then, time was meaningless. At least for a few days.

As for the events of Sept. 11, 2001, they are as clear in my mind today as they were then. The first inkling I had that something had happened (strange how people say 'something had happened' like there was a traffic accident) was a cell phone ringing for a fellow passenger on the CTA bus that I took to work. Normally, no one cared about a call, much less bothered to listen to the conversation. But it seemed like the phone wasn't ringing for her, but for all of us as she hung up and said to no one in particular, "a plane just hit the World Trade Center."

I didn't understand the implications. How could I?

When I arrived at my desk, I noticed that everyone was in the next room, gathered around one of the few televisions on our floor. I thought it was a replay on CNN as I saw a plane flying unbelievably low in the Manhattan sky. Then it hit the remaining tower!

One of our board members turned to me and instructed me to close the office. We had only just opened for the day.

I'm normally the last one out of our office and this day was no different. Actually, it was different because all of my colleagues waited at my desk until I was ready to leave. We closed the office together and walked out of our building together. Instinctively, I looked up and west to the Sears Tower and wondered if that skyscraper would still stand the next day. (Ironic that we now work in the Sears Tower. Or maybe it's just scary.)

With no particular place to go, we wandered without purpose, thought or speech among the thousands of Chicagoans that were released from their offices. We stopped momentarily at a TV in an office window and watched as one of the towers fell.

We walked for blocks and I couldn't help but think to myself, "this isn't supposed to happen to us! We're the United States of America for chrissakes!" Instead of screaming my anger and indignation, I just walked on in numbed silence.

Eventually, we decided that we would each go home and deal with the situation in our own way. For me, that included taking a transistor radio, a bottle of water and my keys and getting the HELL out of my high-rise apartment and to the relative safety (?!) of the lakefront.

God speed to my friends across the globe who are thinking of us today.