Today

• I'm going into Paris to take my mind of the quickly closing window of time I have to find a job
• I'm going to a huge vintage sale to look for a dress to wear to a spring wedding
• And accessories
• And the perfect pair of boots which have eluded me for years
• After,
  
• I'll perhaps stop at Shakespeare & Co. to look at childrens books
• I'll likely spend some money that I shouldn't
• And on the train home I will thumb through the items purchased at bargain deals with pleasure
• Open up my bag and take out the Simon story to work on it
• But get distracted by the people getting on and off the train
• And then daydream about SweetLips for at least three stops
• Back in Meudon I will go to the doctor to have my prescription refilled
• I will sit in her awful blank white waiting room and mentally re-decorate it
• I'll paint and turn on the damn lights - maybe throw down a warm colored carpet or two
• I'll wish I had a book in French to read
• And instead take out the Simon story again
• I'll probably have enough time to finish the rough draft in the long wait
• I will see the doctor who will be impatient with my French and make me want to strangle her
• But she'll give me what I need
• And I'll leave happy
• At home again I will cuddle the cat and wonder about what I'll make for dinner
• I'll start a school project with the Young One
  
• And set the table so that it looks like I care about my job
• Then try to fill the evening hours alone in my apartment
• Hopefully without thinking about the quickly closing window of time I have to find a job
• But I'll be one day closer to the weekend
• Which I will spend with SL
  
• He says he's going to teach me how to swim gracefully
• There is a surprise of some kind involved
• Did I mention the smitten has returned?
• Only this time for someone who deserves it
• I'll turn the light off
• Without looking at the weather for tomorrow
• So I can wake up in the morning still hoping for sun.
• At least, that's how I think it will go.
  

Le Giboulée de Mars and Sundays

The French generally believe that you've not seen the spring until you've seen the "giboulée de mars" which basically refers to the seemingly drastic change of temperatures that usually occurs when March comes around. There is a meteorological explanation for it of course, called convection:

"Convection is the vertical movement of air caused by the thermal contrast which occurs in spring.The lower layers of the atmosphere are warm (but still cold in the layers above) and the soil remains cold. Under the effect of upwelling, the warm humid air rises and is precipitated creating clouds consisting of water droplets or ice particles, which give rain, sleet or hail."

All that to say I still have to wear my coat. It got cold again and all my talking about wearing skirts and one pair of tights was for not. Now that we've gotten that out of our system, France, do you think we could have spring back?

Not that it is really cold anymore. I can forget my scarf and not feel like the icy hands of death winter are wrapping their fingers around throat with every step. It's just that my feet are longing to be naked. Oh how lovely it will be to paint my toenails red and put on a skirt (without thick cotton tights).

Alas, April is just a few days away and Host Mom's blue bonnets have fully bloomed, promising me that warmer days are coming. I will ignore the fact that all of next week is to be rainy and hovering in the mid 50's. And no I'm not jealous that Texas is already seeing temperatures in the high 70's.

It's Sunday, though, and so I wasn't required to go anywhere which meant that I could lounge around in my pajamas all day and pretend that the warmth in my flat reflected that of the outdoors. I could drink as many cups of tea as I wanted and still take a nap halfway through the afternoon. I cooked twice and did the dishes immediately after both times. I showered and then put my pajamas back on. I called my mom and my sweet Seattle Katie and talked to them both for an hour and a half. I chatted with Sweetlips while watching the same T.V. show in our respective apartments. I cuddled with Boo Radley.

I don't know why but the last week had left me so tired. Maybe it's having a New Boyfriend, or maybe it's because I went into Paris at least once (sometimes twice) every day last week. Either way I needed Sunday. I've written about it before, how much I love the "day of rest" and even though it eventually means the beginning of another work week (or "work" week, as I call it), I can think of nothing more satisfying that filling a whole day with nothing.

Tomorrow starts again the routine of dressing up and the going out and coming back. One of these days (fingers crossed!) I'll get to compare my Sundays with the grind of an actual work week, lamenting getting up early. Until then, though, I'll just keep on enjoying what I've got and looking forward to a Sunday that actually bears sun.

When One Door Closes The House Opens Up on a Hinge

It's finally spring here!! Spring, so much that I have can open my windows during the day, I am not wearing tights under my pants and I wore a dress out last night to dinner and wasn't even that cold!! Oh, you've no idea how good it feels. Unless you are also sick of winter and currently experiencing lovely weather. Then you know EXACTLY how it feels.

And that is what it looks like.

So shortly (as in maybe immediately) after the thing with the Marseillais happened, I met a boy. He was shy, it was an odd introduction. That is to say, it was his friends who did the introduction.

It was vaguely reminiscent of the "dance" we had in Catholic school where I sent my friends over to ask the cutest boy in school if he wanted to dance with me. We all stood around awkwardly in little groups of boys and girls, popular vs. unpopular, listening to the music and looking for a chance to hold hands.

That day I was coldly rejected and maybe it was because of this that I gave him my number when he wandered over and blushed: "My friends have given me the impression that I should ask for your number."

It was sweet and the next day he called. Because that's how the French role. On our first date I found out that he wasn't really as shy as he seemed, and that he was a very good kisser.

Where the Marseillais had me tripped up with the idea that speed kills this boy with such sweet lips is not at all afraid to see me as much as humanly possible. Nor is he afraid to tell me how much he likes me. In fact, you could say that despite his very first initial fear of making contact, he maybe has none at all. Which I find very attractive.

Maybe I've found a partner for life list bullet number one?

So I'm generally giving the finger to the camp of "go slow" in lieu of really enjoying someone who enjoys me. We don't know where it will go, but that's the risk isn't it?

As for the very probable closed doors of the last two interviews I've gotten lucky and now have Sweetlips to keep me going on the Great Job Hunt of 2010. Those of you from the camp of "You're not qualified to do that" will be happy to hear I've changed direction more than once now and my current search shouldn't be stopped up by that pesky lack-of-art-history degree. I am mostly searching with the key words "English Fluent".

And as the trees in the garden bloom and the flowers push out of the ground I am renewing my hope that things are going to be okay. Eventually. Somehow. 'Cause that's how my life works. Can't fight that can I?

Mini Break

Like every trip I've taken to Caen, this one was delightful. We ate and drank and ate and drank and ate some more. Lots of laughter ensued. Here, for my darling friend Ames, are the photos - most of which I realize were taken while I was a bit tipsy.

Needless to say it was exactly what I needed. And now I'm back in Paris with the almost spring. I feel refreshed.

Cue the Queen

(And another one bites the dust! [And another one down, another one down, another one bites the dust! {hey, I'm gonna get you too!}] Another one bites the dust!!)

Ugh. So today's interview went like this:

Think I am going to be thirty minutes late because of a printer snafu (call the Big Huge Giant Corporation and tell them as much) and then end up walking in the door only five minutes behind. Proceed to wait in the reception for forty five minutes due to a miscommunication between receptionists. Finally get in the door.

Go through interview with relative smoothness. Feel almost pleased with it. Until the words "A little test" come out of the mouth of the interviewer. Sense of dread washes over. This can only mean something in written French.

Oh no? It's written French and a test in the French version of Excel that I've never used? Oh okay.

Swim through an hour trying to find all the things I once knew in Excel, fail, give up and roughly translate the required document into French from English.

Leave, don't cry but feel incredibly under skilled in the area of work I was once quite capable in.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

Nightcap Recap

This week has been full of ups and downs. It started off so raw and then on Wednesday it was as if the universe decided to give a little and things turned lighter and easier. Which is not to say that my mind wasn't still preoccupied with the abrupt ending to my week long fling (because I was) but I was also busy.

I am not busy these days with work per se, but rather lunches and coffees and dinners and drinks. I don't find this disagreeable, although it is by no means how most people live their lives and I know better than to get used to it. I'm a lady of leisure in a really weird way (which means I am incredibly spoiled by excess time), and this is only counterbalanced by the return of the once weekly interview and my slow but forward efforts on my art projects.

I finally heard word back from the "Possible Job" and it's a no go. Which I had set myself up for, I guess. I was sitting on the fence of excitement for "Possible Job" and disappointment for it. But I realize it's not my only job prospect though, and admittedly the commute would have sucked a bit so perhaps it's one of those "Everything happens for a reason" things.

I had an interview today which was the shortest, weirdest interview I've ever had and because of it's length I didn't even have the time to put out one good response to the questions. Of which there were two. One being "how much do you want to make?" and the other being "Why do you want to work here?"

I hate that question "Why do you want to work here?" Because I need a job, duh, and I'm more than qualified to do everything you listed. But I always feel like I should answer something clever and thoughtful so this time I fumbled out something in French about being a designer and artist and being able to offer more than just an assistant.

"Well, we're only looking for an assistant," he replied, sharply.

Oh. Right, well of course.

And then he asked me if I had an questions and I was so shocked that this was already the end point of the interview I said no and then he got up and ushered me out.

Eeg. So I loused that up. Luckily I have yet another interview for a Big Huge Giant Corporation on Monday and so I have time to redeem myself. This time, hopefully, I won't be such a dolt.

As for my wonky heart, it's still out there. I have had a couple of dates with a very sweet boy who is a good kisser and on my agenda for next week is a rendezvous with a Swedish man who, thanks to my ex dating site, has become a delightful penpal. He'll be in town next week for a conference and so we've planned on spending some time wandering around Paris and chatting "in real life".

My guard is up on all counts, of course. Because, it seems, with age comes wisdom, or at least caution. Which is not to say I am no longer the kind of person who falls in love with every other man she meets, but only that I am less quick to admit it.

And for the weekend I am getting my sought after escape. At the last minute I accepted an invitation to go visit my favorite Normands (along with Sarah and Gui) this weekend and I will be happily off the radar for the whole of three days. There will be chocolate, champagne, fresh seafood and good company. I will come back refreshed, which is exactly what I need right now.

I promised someone (though I've since forgotten whom) pictures, and so on Tuesday you will have those as well as a weekend update. I promise to try to write more next week. My head should be out of my ass by then. Most of the way, anyhow. So here's to that.

If You Don't Have Anything Nice To Say

You know, that's what my mother told me anyway.

And because of that I will say nothing.

Today has been one of those days.

Not horrible but with a general sense of emptiness and malaise.

The day started in tears. It will end the same.

Tomorrow will be better.

Someday I will stop listening.

Just because someone speaks doesn't mean you have to listen.

But look - I've already said too much.

A Retraction of Smittens

Last we heard, I was in deep like with a certain Marseillais. We had date number two, which was followed by date number three and then three and a half and a sort of fourth and Oh My God we've suddenly spent almost the entire weekend together. And it was wonderful. Until it wasn't which was approximately the moment I realized he was freaking the fuck out.

He was gone from Paris for the week, and there was virtual radio silence. My woman radar went berserk and I knew something bad was on it's way. And then, just as I suspected, this morning I received the "It's not you it's me (but it's also kinda you)." email in my inbox.

After crying over it a little bit - because this is what I do people it's just me - I sent him an email thanking him. Another one bites the dust, yes, but I'll be damned if I haven't started to really appreciate this rash of honest men I come across. They could do so much more wrong by me, and yet they don't. They actually withdrawal because they don't want to hurt me. It's fair and right and it's what dating should be like. If you're not into a person, tell them so. Period.

Which is not to say that every rejection isn't like a kick in the nuts (if I had nuts I imagine it would feel like this). It IS. It fucking sucks big fat hairy (smelly) donkey balls. But it's a necessary evil, isn't it?

So I tried to take my profile off of the dating website. Mostly because the only people who email me now are pretty creepy, but also because this just isn't working. I need more patience. I need to learn to not settle because for some reason no matter how loudly or how often I say it I always end up settling. I need to stop trying so damn hard.

And I will. Just like that I will. 'Cause it works like that, right?

I say, until the next time when I do the same exact thing...

On Thursday

After I have no idea how many hours of sleep, my fever has broken and I feel a little better. It does feel a bit like someone has lodged a lollipop in the back of my throat and swallowing past it is less than fun. But as I said, I have felt much much worse.

My dreams were colored with macarons and 18th century footwear (I watched Marie Antoinette before bed.) and something about Toady's new 60 meter squared apartment. I would like to stop thinking about that, actually. Putting that whole thing to rest from my subconscious would be a real breath of fresh air. Day to day I am fine with it. I don't think about it unless it's brought up, and I still hold firm that I want their happiness first and foremost. But gah. Go away already.

Today... today is cleaning day. I am happy that last week while I was quite well I mopped the floors because I wouldn't have the energy to do all that this week. Not for someone else's house anyway. I have trouble reminding myself that mopping the floors is, in essence, the rent I pay. And truthfully some weeks I am very happy to help out the family where they need it most. But some weeks I walk into the kitchen the day after I've cleaned it and see jam smeared on the counters, tea spilled by the cutting board, crumbs from half a loaf of stale bread and all of the dishes from the morning (even though the dishwasher is empty) and it simply makes me want to scream. Yes, okay, I understand the early morning rush but...really? The swipe of a sponge would take fifteen seconds more, no?

On days like today when I am feeling like my body has been literally sucked of all it's energy THOSE are the kinds of thoughts I have.

Moving on.

A couple of days ago, inspired by some of my fellow bloggers, I started a life list. Partially because I love writing lists (and hanging them around my apartment) and partially because I think it's important for one to solidify their goals in some fashion. And because one of the best ways to make ones goals a reality is to share them with others, here it is:

If you're like me and have a thirteen inch screen you'll probably have to click on that link to be subjected to my girly print and smudges. And yes, number one is skydive. I am not so keen on the idea of bungee jumping, but skydiving sounds divine (as well as being the metaphor I often use for my life, ahem). And notice how "stop smoking" is number seven? That's because I'm not ready yet. So don't push me.

I've been really loving reading people's life lists. I think that so many people these days constrain themselves within the confines of what is socially acceptable and normal but deep down most of us have wild, hair brain ideas that lurk in our dark corners. Well, mine are not so much in my dark corners, really. Everything on the above list is, I feel, pretty within reach if I work hard enough.

So? Where's your life list??

How Fortuitous?

This is my six hundred and sixty-sixth post! I hadn't planned any thing special because I really only occasionally notice things like number of readers and number of blog posts. I don't know my Blog's Birthday - though I suppose that could be quickly remedied couldn't it?

No, for post 666 the only thing I've got is a low grade fever and a sore throat. Cue the Twilight Zone theme song.

I am worn out I guess. Thought I've been taking pretty good care of myself of late. Perhaps I should blame the Paris springtime, which is I think, bipolar. Finally we have the sun shining - oh the glorious sun!! - but the temperatures have been hanging around 5 degrees Celsius max (with a wind chill of -6!) That adds up to about 41 degrees Farenheit but as the winds simply won't stop blowing it definitely feels like a bristly 21.

No, I know that's not so cold but I promise you I don't want to go out in it. And the drastic change in temps is, I'm sure, the reason for my ailments.

Today I finished up my test for the Company. They have my references and, I think, all of the possible information to make their decision. And now I wait. Wait, wait wait. I feel pretty good about having gone through the whole entire process and even if I have to start from square one next week I am happy to know that I am capable of doing it. That's a pretty good feeling.

A feeling that would be way better if my head wasn't kinda spinning and my little fingers weren't like icicles. Lo, the cat is under the covers in the tent I've made with my knees and we're about to watch a movie, so the lesson I guess is it could be worse.

Certainly I have been far sicker than this in Paris although I really thought I was going to make it all the way from December to the warm weather without getting sick. Just goes to show who's in charge of this body (and it's apparently not me).

Have you gotten anything interesting from this post? I don't think one thing interesting crossed my mind. Hopefully I will have kicked this by tomorrow and I can complain about something else.

Obsessions

There are certainly few things that humble a person greater than dating. We are all bumbling idiots, it seems - despite our array of positive qualities - who can do nothing quite right in the eyes of a new suitor. It is then that we treat each other to our harshest eye of judgment because what could be more serious than finding the person with whom you are supposed to mate with for life? Shouldn't we be scrupulous? Shouldn't we pay attention to each mannerism, the dirt beneath their nails so to speak, divining which would be the ones that will drive us batty twenty years down the road? Shouldn't we be wondering what said person could offer to our family and to our hypothetical children? Shouldn't we?

Or maybe that is just a woman thing.

I spent nearly all weekend with the Marseillais, seeing him in between coffee lunches and drinks with friends. It was fun and fantastic and sweet. I am veering to the side of "smitten" quite honestly. It's terrific and terrible. Which is why, naturally, I am sure that I am going to f#@! it up. That's natural, right?

Saturday came around without me purchasing tickets to the Brazilian music concert / third date which meant that we were without plans. His friends invited us for a drink out and then couldn't in the end. As we had our aperitif (kiwi capirinhas, mmmm) and looked for a movie playing nearby I turned on his giant manly man sized T.V.. It had so many channels. And then somehow after an hour or so I realized that our plans had just turned to a night in watching The Late Show with Jay Leno. It felt so natural... but was it okay for the third date? Shouldn't we have gone out - had dinner, seen the movie, kissed goodnight and see you next week? For the evening I didn't care. Now I obsess.

Oddly, just as I decided joining a dating site would distract me from the stress of searching for a job, now I find I am turning back to my job search to keep my mind off this delightful new thing. Part of me truly believes I can't have it all at once. I want so badly for the universe to prove me wrong.

I am in the final stretch of this "hypothetical possible job" and so thankfully there is that. Strange how one stress can make the other seem so small and vice versa. In about a week I will know for sure and I can hang the hat on that opportunity.

In other news of obsession I have been agonizing over what to write on my "Bio" page. Why is writing about oneself so hard? What do I want to get across? Do I want to be cheeky, funny and sweet, or am I aiming to push the "deeper" side into the spotlight? What kind of picture do I want? Why doesn't Bloggers Pages format the same way as a regular blog????

The only thing I know concretely is that Boo Radley WILL have his own spot on this blog. Because he deserves it, really! He's on my shoulder (literally) right now helping me compose! And I don't even have to dress him up for him to be cute and funny. He's a natural.

So there it is - the new "What about Boo?" page, and coming soon a bio with some kind of interesting self portrait. Perhaps a brand new one is in order. We'll see.

Let the week begin.

Photo Friday

Photo Friday, I know Crystal I totally ripped off your theme. But Ladies and Gentleman I am distracted today. Can you even imagine?? Surely you can.

Today's photos are brought to you by the letters D, A, T and E and the word Stolen.

As in these spoons. Every last one of them. I started stealing spoons about a year ago I guess. The first one because it was a beautiful silver but the following because they reminded me of the places I'd been.


The first one was from one of my favorite bunch spots, le Rostand. The bent one was an offering from the Frenchman when I told him I stole spoons. He pulled one off the bar we were at and when I told him "No, it has to be special!" he proceeded to try and break it in half to make it so. He stopped when the metal started to burn him. Hrmm.


This blog post is also brought to you by the words Hippy and Dry Eraser Marker. Which are related because my recent affirmations make me feel a lot like a tree hugging hippy but oh what fun it is to find out the perfect place for your affirmations is a bathroom mirror!!

...In case I forget I am beautiful. Which happens occasionally, as I'm sure it does for all women.

I also found it's the perfect place for reminders. See there on the right? Notes on who I need to email back, because I apparently can't remember to do that these days.


I am toying around with the idea of adding a "Boo" page now that Blogger gives me the option. What do you think??? A la "The Daily Chuck"? Only with less frequence because I (unlike Dooce) do not make my living off of blogging, thus don't have all day to pose my cat with things on his head.


But he's just so cute!! (I'm in ur nitting, nomming ur needles!)

Happy Friday!

Lower Expectations - The Disco Remix

Just as I suspected I never heard back from my three a.m. chat buddy from the dating site. Not even a little note of apology after I my pleasant email wondering just where the heck he'd gone and "I assume this means you've met a real life girl - which is awesome!" But it's okay, really, because what would I actually do with a guy who lives in Wales??

With the website I chose it didn't take long for me to reach the bottom of the barrel. Fifty some odd emails from various interested suitors and of those, each day, the percentage of "normal" ones shrank considerably. It seems that now I am only attractive to men well over forty or from Cheshire, Nebraska. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure Cheshire, Nebraska is quite lovely but you can be sure I'll not be saddling up to move there any time soon.

I have, though, found myself on a few dates with some nice men. One that I dare say (dare I?) that I am in total like with. So much that we're going on a third date on Saturday. By French dating rules I think that means that if all goes well by April we should be moving in together.

Any of you have dated a French person know exactly what I am talking about.

The surprising thing was this: Of the two dates I had with two different men on the same weekend, the one that I had originally imagined I would have great chemistry with )(due to a string of witty emails volleyed back and forth over a week) was not the one whom I am excited to be seeing again. That man - though a truly nice man - left me at the metro with the sort of mutual agreement that went something like "So....yeah. I'll email you?"

No, the one I strolled around with for hours and laughed with over a bottle of wine was the man whom I had actually given very little thought to. We exchanged nearly nothing in the way of emails beforehand, making our first get together basically a blind date. He could have been an axe murderer!! (Remember???)

But he wasn't and now I'm finding myself in the absurdly smug, frilly rose-colored area of third date land. And why's that? LOWER EXPECTATIONS LADIES AND GENTLEMAN!

I swear, I'm gonna write a book about it. And then I'm gonna go on Oprah and talk about it. I'll make millions.

Between the positive affirmations scribbled on my bathroom mirror in dry eraser marker and my new semi-Buddhist take on life I am starting to feel a little like the walking version of the Borders self help section. But I'll be damned if it isn't just working.

I mean, I get to go watch Brazilian music with a handsome Marseillais on Saturday. What did your affirmations do for you lately???

Excentuate the Positive? I'm Trying!

You know what helps though? You all. Yeah, you, over there on the other side reading every day I write, even when it kind of depresses you. And then you send these comments and emails that remind me that sometimes life just kinda stinks but I do have great friends and a great support system. It also helps to remind me that I'm SO not alone.

Then I opened the mail box and got this lovely surprise!

I hinted quite heavily for it back in February while I was still using Facecrack and one of my old friends from high school (we took French class together! Ha!) hinted heavily that if I wanted the book I should add it properly to my amazon wish list with my current address. And so I did, and lo! He bought it for me! What a sweetheart!!

This book will, I hope, help me get off ass and put together the Simon book. Because even though I have, in the past, written some children's books they have proven to be not quite right for the age group I'd like to write for (which is six to eight-ish).

It gives tutorials and case studies on published works - things like "Creating a Story Board" which I have never ever done and probably obviously should.

Looking at the lovely images inside reminds me of how much I used to love picture books. It was the drawings that made me the most happy - that was how I chose the books I read. It reinforces this idea that I've been doing this children's book thing backwards. (Also, that I have no IMAGE ideas for the story AT ALL!)

Hopefully I will get some fresh inspiration here. At very least I have a good read for the Metro!!

Beware the Ides...No, Just March In General.

How is it possibly that the first of March could be a full moon and the first day of my period? (Sorry family! Sorry male readers! Women have a reproductive system!) What a cruel universe, eh?

I cleaned my house today, like really cleaned it, which is to say I vacuumed absurd amounts of cat hair off of various objects and fabrics. He doesn't seem like he sheds a lot, and yet... Anyway, it felt good. I always marvel at how different a house feels when it's clean, to me at least. It feels like home.

I lit candles in honor of the cleanliness. I even hung up my stolen spoon collection which has, for months, been being treated with SO LITTLE respect by one Mr. Boo Radley. My lovely stolen spoons knocked here and there? It was the last straw.

What's funny is that now the space feels bigger somehow. I love that magic cleaning power.

What I did not do today was start again in earnest on my job hunt. I wanted to, but I got to cleaning and eating and doing laundry and waiting for the phone call that was inevitably going to come and save me from having to continue my search which never actually came and I simply didn't do it. Thus, by seven I was in a good bit of an upset (add a full moon and Aunt Flo and voila! I'm a mess!). It's so hard to keep positive when another month is over and I am basically staring down the barrel of packing my things to go home. Which makes my heart ache.

It starting to feel silly, all this wanting and searching. Am I really good enough to do anything I love, especially here in Paris? I don't have a degree, I'm no one special. Maybe it's just time for me to throw in the towel, put my big girl boots in the suitcase and give up?

To stop myself from falling apart completely at thoughts like this, I ate 3/4 of a bar of 75% dark chocolate - which anyone who's done it can tell you will make you plenty ill. But the chemical effect plus the nausea did just the trick!

Oh what can March bring. I can only hope that "In like a lion and out like a lamb" doesn't have to limit itself to the weather.