Put On Your Tourist Shoes

My best friend since I was born is visting me in Paris. She is making a whirlwind tour of Europe (Paris, Italy, Barcelona) and I'll be damned if the girl didn't hit the ground running. We have all kinds of touristy goodness planned and we tried to start is yesterday except that it rained the whole day. And when I say the whole day, I mean oh my god it poured.

Today we have planned to see the Eiffel tower and then Montmartre, and then drinks with friends. Tommorow picnicing and dancing and general smashing in the sites. Maybe Versailles. With sun.

Needless to say, I will be gone for the weekend. Talk amongst yourself. Or, you know, join us over here in Paris.

Planning, Already

May is a month in which half of Paris takes a vacation. Usually people think Paris - the Ghost Town in August - which is true as well - but it's May when companies demand that employees take their extra vacation days or lose them. Couple this with the three or four holidays spread over the month and you will be hard pressed to find people working a full week.

I, for one, have been taking full advantage of this. Even though I don't really do anything anyway. I guess I should say, rather, that I have been taking full advantage of The Boy's vacation time. He takes an extra day off, I take an extra day off. You see? It's working out quite nicely.

I am getting antsy to move into his apartment. We are getting prepared, mentally I guess, but physically as well. We have to make space in the closets, reorganize the bachelor pad a bit and most importantly we have to make The Boy's apartment ready for Mr. Boo Radley.

One would think that we were preparing to bring a baby home, the way The Boy is concerned with where he will play and where he will sleep (and where he will shed, and where he will poop). But he is not your average step (cat) dad. No no. In order to maintain the utmost cleanliness and happiness for my little Boo, The Boy has discerning taste. We are investing in top of the line cat-everything. So far Boo has coming via Pony Express:

The Furminator
This little puppy promises to reduce my cat's shedding by ninety percent. Ninety percent ya'll! We are hoping this is true because frankly The Boy hates loathes cat hair. Ahem.

Which is why we also bought some fancy, organic rub on shampoo and will buy stock in these things:


Also en route to The Boy's flat: The Modkat

The Litter Box That Will Change My Life. I have been dreaming about this litter box since I first read about it on I have no idea where. Probably ApartmentTherapy (because I heart that website). Like the Furminator, it promises to reduce by ninety percent (Ninety percent ya'll!) but this time the amount of gross old cat litter that spills all over the floor. It cost a very small fortune but I chatted today with the guy who owns this adorable kitty and he was SOOOO helpful. He even let me convince him to send me one of the improved liners for free.

Is it strange that I am excited about a litter box? We are getting it in black.

If I had a million dollars to spend on totally unnecessary goods, I would also be purchasing the following:


the Heppod. Because it's so damn cute. Not unreasonable, as far as modern art cat perches go.


This cat carrier (Sleepypod) makes me want to hold it tight and sing it lullabies. You have to go to their website to get the full awesomeness of it. I watched the demonstration video and nearly cried at its ingenuity. Kids, it comes with an electric warmer AND it stows underneath an airplane seat. Yes, Crystal, they make them for doggies too.


I find these lovely. Moderncritter is charging a bit too much for the average person to enjoy it's design, but it is good design, isn't it?

And these are just a terrifically cute idea. Color frames for the kitty to scratch! Replaceable scratchy bits! Genius!!

But I'm not rich, so we are going to build a kitty shelf and scratch pad for The Boobers from our own creative minds and save a couple thousand dollars. I am personally inspired by this wall piece. Looks easy enough to execute and handsome as well.

So, sooner than I had expected (but what doesn't feel even remotely soon enough) I will be saying good bye to petite maison in Meudon and Boo and I will be moving into our new, very chic digs in our new, very chic zip code. But who am I kidding, I am sure I will cry like a baby. Right after I wash the toilets with Host Mom's tooth brush.

And then, I will take a vacation. Because that's what you do in Paris in May!

In Honor of the Sun

Finally.

My body breathed a sigh of relief yesterday when the sun came out, accompanied by a balmy seventy degrees. It was amazing.

In honor of the sun king returning, I thought I'd post pictures from the last sunny day we had - the one so many weeks ago I spent in the garden sun bathing and making salsa. Mmmmmm, SALSA.

If I remember right I had a drink in hand during the whole afternoon. Don't try this at home.

Fresh cilantro. Nothing better.

With yellow peppers, for color.

Devour. I ate half the batch in one sitting. The rest of it went into migas and various other concoctions of deliciousness. Just finished it this week.

And for your listening pleasure, some songs about sun. I think it's the rules that we play these on sunny days.



I heart She & Him. Too cute for words.



I was made for those too.



This one has been ringing in my ears for several reasons.



A tinkly version of classic done by the incomparable Nina Simone.



OBVIOUSLY.



This song goes through my head every single time the blue sky makes it's appearance. "Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why you had to hide away for so long." No joke.

Your favorite sunshine classics?

My (Boyfriend's) Best Friend's Wedding

The Boy invited me to his best friend's wedding something like the second week we were together. Well, he had to RSVP, you know? Me, I'm not typically crazy about weddings but it's because I usually go alone. Anyone knows that going alone to a wedding is like having love acid rubbed in your single eyes.

But the sentiment was too sweet. He knew way in advance that he wanted to have me by his side. Of course I said yes.

Originally the plan had been to stay at a fancy hotel near Reims, near the reception hall, but through a little snafu in The Boy's planning we didn't have a reservation. This is how we ended up staying at the rental house chosen to lodge the friends and extended family (around twenty in all) of the groom.

Hahahahahaha, and none of them speak english.

I was nervous right up until the second I walked in the door (A few minutes before The Boy, standing in the door blushing up to my eyeballs because no one knew me and I didn't feel right introducing myself without him.) but after a good thirty minutes and a glass (or three) of homemade rum punch ("Punch maison!" said the mother of the groom brightly.) I realized these were just down home good people.

Effectively, the weekend was filled with eating and drinking. At every turn there was a maison this and maison that. Rillette, brioche, smoked magrette de canard, and of course calvados.

Calva maison.

Rillette and punch maison.

The long wooden tables were set each day by the mamis and tantes and maman, the fireplace was always lit and papi was always there at the head of the table - The Chief, quietly surveying the fair with eighty some-odd years of doing this under his belt.

a tour la table.

Fireman

and a stuffed rooster. Because...why not.

Since I was apparently quite sick (I didn't know it until Sunday) I mostly reserved myself for the wedding night which I knew would go all the way through till morning. But nearly everyone else kept that table by the fireplace warm until the wee hours every night.

Saturday I woke up and bised mami good morning while I got my coffee.

"Vous avez bien dormi?" I asked. "Did you sleep well?"

Mami - a good eighty-something herself - just laughed and responded in her thick country rasp "Oh it was quick!! I was up until 3:30!!"

Those old ladies made me look bad.

The day after the reception, when I finally dragged my sorry, hungover ass down to the table, the whole family (and then some) was there for a final lunch with the bride and groom. Barbeque happened, as well as petanque and the french tradition of sabering a bottle of champagne (with a spoon, though).

After eating someone broke out a ukelele which turned into a sing along, followed by a deafening quiz game hosted by The Boy and the boyfriend of the Bridesmaid (meant to happen at the reception but skipped in favor of dancing).

Wait for it...

Now blow!!! (Check out the mami on the left blowing as hard as she can!)

The noisemakers were all broken by the end of the game, as well as all of our ear drums. The bride and groom won.

(The groom's noisemaker was broken so each time he blew he nearly lost his breath. The bride assured us this is not a euphemism.)

When we left for our train it was exhauted but with warm and genuine au revoirs and a bientots. It felt good. The boy and I talked in the car about how much we loved that weekend, about how that atmosphere of laughing and singing and easy togetherness is something we both want badly in our life. We both come from small immediate families and growing up never really had that kind of thing.

Me, I have had brushes with this kind of Big Love - when I was a baby at my Aunty and Uncle's house (Hi Aunty and Uncle!!), digging potatoes and picking strawberries and playing penny poker. Mamas in the kitchen, kids in the basement entertaining each other, men talking shop on the porch. After they moved from my home town in search of bigger and better (as well they should have!) it would be a good ten years before I met the Big Love again, this time in the form of my sister's soon to be in-laws. The same passing around the baby, kids everywhere, everyone is welcome sort of happiness that is probably what turned me into the dinner party throwing happy hostess I am today.

Anyone who knows me will tell you it's very doubtful I'll have the gaggle of kids that my sister and her in-laws have amongst the group, but I know that I am going to be obligated to buy a huge dining room table so that everyone will always be welcome in my house of Big Love. I will have recipes for my own maison this and maison that. But you feel free to bring whatever homemade goodie you want. With all the people there, I'm sure it will get eaten.

They were all there.

Unannounced Disappearances

I really meant to leave an "away message" so that you all didn't have to think I've stopped writing again or that I don't love you enough to update you on my life. But The Boy and I went away to his best friend's wedding and I definitely ran out of time to write.

We got back exhausted last night and after doing laundry and ironing shirts I thought about writing a blog post but got struck by a coughing fit that wouldn't stop and sent me into tearful convulsions. The Boy, panicked but not knowing what else to do for me, called a house call doctor who came to the apartment at approximately one a.m.. What I assumed were terrible allergies turned out to be allergies PLUS an infection of some sort.

All this time The Boy had been saying "You have to go to the doctor and get that checked out. You have to go to the doctor and take care of yourself because I worry about you so much and respect your body woman!!!"

After I explained that in the U.S. I didn't go to the doctor often because it cost so much money which I of course never had, he added "Well stop being so American!"

Ahem, wasn't he ever right?

As for the wedding - four days away with my sweetheart was absolutely wonderful and got us thinking a lot about the future (you know, as in our future together.) I am definitely in love over here. And damnit it feels GOOD.

I have pictures to share with you on the highlights of the weekend but of course I managed to forget my camera for the actual ceremony and reception so there is no photo evidence of how awesome we looked. (He and I were Tens, it's for sure. Ain't too proud to admit it either!!) No matter we had a positively wonderful time and I'll be damned if we didn't drink our weight (volume??) in good champagne and dance till 5 a.m..

Oh. And I definitely caught the bouqet.

Blocked

Last night, after watching a marathon of House (or Doctor House, as they call it here) I decided to read a book.

I haven't been into reading books lately. I said it was because I knew I should be reading books in French and I hadn't found any that really caught my attention. I blamed it on Sylvia Plath who wrote The Bell Jar, the last book I really enjoyed in English but which drove me head-long into depression. I blamed the cost of books in France. I blamed the internet.

But I have books to read - books that had been left by the previous Au Pairs, books that friends gave me - I could have been reading at every spare moment.

When I wasn't quite ready to go to sleep yesterday and nothing was left on T.V. worth watching, I crawled into bed. I thought briefly about writing a blog but turned off the computer instead. I picked up The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (by Junot Diaz).

I had started the book several times but couldn't get into it until last night when I couldn't put it down. I read until I couldn't keep my eyes open, completely sucked into the witty, lively writing of Diaz. My heart ached for Oscar; I was dying to find out what happens next. I really liked the book.

When I was a kid I was what people might call a "voracious reader". In third grade I was put into the advanced reading group because I read at an eighth grade level. I read everything I could get my hands on, much preferring to escape into the fictional world woven by my favorite authors than to go outside and play.

True, my mother in summertime could scarcely keep me out of the house. Why go outside into the boiling heat when I had a new stack of Nancy Drews to read? I would often read books like that in a day.

At some point I stopped reading. Not all together - I could never - but never again like that. Maybe it was high school, when I finally had friends to preoccupy my time. My book friends were left to gather dust on the shelf. Despite excelling in reading and writing skills, I did not take Advanced AP English (I didn't want to challenge myself with all that extra hard homework, what a waste of time that would have been!). I've never read most of the books that are considered Classics.

It hit me then, while submerged in the painful teenage life of Oscar Wao, that I knew why I had stopped reading but now it was different. I suddenly understood why I no longer read: It's because I don't write.

I once read somewhere (back when I used to do that) that a real writer is a voracious reader - reads everything, all the time. The thought being, of course, that if you don't read how will you know what's good and if you don't know what's good how will your writing get any better?

Part of me wishes that weren't true but it is. How does any writer know what to write if you've never read anything good? Unless you are a genius, of which I am most certainly not.

When I finally turned off the light and went to bed I was sad. I miss writing. I have never been especially skilled at writing fiction but I used to at least try. Now it's all I can do to crap out a blog - and even there it's been a long while since I wrote anything with real literary merit. I wrote a page the other day on my "book" but since have hidden it well away. I don't even know what I want to say anymore, let alone how to say it.

And what am if I don't write? I indeed call myself that - and an artist as well - but if I don't produce anything then who am I really? I am just another romantic American girl living in Paris like all the other thousands of romantics who live here. I am no one special.

I would like to say I woke with a resolve to write more but I am not sure where to begin. I know the cost of writing and it's my social life. Finally which do I want more? To be a writer to cultivate the connections in life I hold so dearly. The choice is burning in my stomach.

As always, I wish there were an easy answer.

The World is Ending

It's tempting to speculate about, isn't it? Between the earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, flooding, oil spills and the terrifying dip in the Euro (followed by the riots in Greece), it's all stacking up to look like the Mayans had it right and The End maybe just be near.

Meanwhile, in Paris, I had a nervous breakdown. Over lipstick. Yes folks, the world is ending and I had a temper tantrum over the wrong shade of lip color.

As my friend C so aptly put it "These are bourgeois problems."

And SHEESH aren't they? Who the hell cries over the wrong shade of lip color? (And no, I'm not pregnant thankyouverymuch. Quite the opposite is the problem, I think.)

The best part is that it isn't even that bad. It's pretty much the exact color I was looking for.

Non sequiter to the book I just finished reading today called The Paradox of Choice, Why Less is More by Barry Schwartz, which is basically about exactly what it's titled. Given to me as a gift by a lovely blog reader (Hi Mathieu!!) I find myself totally sucked into this concept and what I can do about it.

The book itself is worth reading, although admittedly Schwartz goes on for about a hundred pages too many repeating the premise when I what I really wanted to know was how to change this pattern.

The idea, of course, being that in today's very affluent societies we have SO many choices (from brands of cereal to face wash to cars, careers and relationships) that the plethora of choices has begun to force the average human into a sort of catatonic state wherein we either choose NOTHING or are never ever under any circumstances completely satisfied with our choices.

Take, oh let's say buying a lipstick. Me, personally, I have been searching for that perfect shade of subtle pink that makes my lips look flush but doesn't actually look like I'm wearing lipstick for over a decade. Yeah, I KNOW. Anyhow, I have searched high and low for this color. When I was in highschool I could go to the local drug store / Walmart, try a couple of shades on and take one home for a cool five dollars. I tried matttes and glossies and browns and pinks, but nothing really satisfied. It didn't really matter, though, I had only lost five dollars. And then the makeup companies caught on to me and they started sealing the lipsticks closed.

This would be FINE - I mean I don't want some ghetto girl's Hep C from Walmart lipstick! - but you can't tell ANYTHING about the color from the little paper indicator on the end of it. (Boys, I know you don't know what I'm talking about, but bear with me.) And there are no longer testers?? But WHY? So I gave up on cheap lipstick.

I moved to the makeup counters at the fancy department stores. This upped the anty big time. Now I wasn't just choosing a color of lipstick, I was making an investment. But lo! There it was one day, just like I had always dreamed - twenty dollars of perfect lip color. I bought it and never looked back.

Oh and then I ran out. And they discontinued my shade, because that is how these assholes fuck with us women who are suckers enough to keep coming back. My shade was discontinued and now I had to choose a new one from three dozen nearly identical shades of pink? Just cruel.

Of course my head exploded. I had the color I wanted in my hand but they didn't make it anymore! And there was this snotty french counter girl wearing too much make up trying to rush me into making her sale so she could go smoke a cigarette. I walked away and made it almost to the door without crying.

The point IS - remember when there were only five shades of lip color?? NO, YOU DON'T because unless you're ninety we never experienced such a thing. But if we HAD it would have been so simple. We would have gone with red, dark red, pink, brown or pink brown. And if we didn't like the way those colors looked on us we would have said "Oh well, I just won't wear lipstick, I don't want to look like a tart anyway!" And that would be that.

You get the picture? The more choices we have, the more opportunities for us to think about how there might be something just perfect out there for us that isn't this right in front of us thus giving us more reasons for our heads to explode.

By the time I left the store, smoked a cigarette and was sufficiently talked down by C, I realized that I had spent the money and that I would have to just be FINE with the color, no matter how orange I thought it was. Of course, the irony is that it is nearly the exact shade I was replacing, not even remotely orange, but because I had seen so many other various shades of pink I felt so unsure. (I got home and decided I liked it, by the way.)

Unfortunately, as I mentioned, Schwartz only spends a tenth of the book discussing the way to change our outlook on choices and how to not be completely overwhelmed by every single one, but what I've decided is that it really boils down to Lower Expectations.

That and xanax. I mean, the world is ending, right? We're all gonna need some of that.

A Prisoner of French Bureaucracy

What's really funny is that now everyone who googles "French Bureaucracy" or maybe "French Prisoners" will probably come across this post. They will stop and say to themselves "No! What injustice has befallen this poor American blogger because of France???"

And then they will read on and be sorely disappointed. I'm just a blogger living in France who likes to bitch. Sorry!

But I do feel like a prisoner in a way. See, because of the visa process I'm currently going through I can't make any plans to leave town. To some this may seem like a trivial problem, and you would be right!!! But now that I am no longer looking for a job and I have this window of about a month before I start working full time I WANT to leave town. It would be perfect!! I finally feel like I am really on vacation from my life but I can't take a proper one.

Not that I have any money but I'm crafty! I could certainly find a way to get to Munich to visit my friend Ames while she has vacation from her job. We could bike around and hang out with her OCD sheepdog!

And SURELY the boy wouldn't mind having me for the week in Nantes at his badass hotel. We could have amazing room service and hang out by the pool when he gets off of work and __________ (fill in the blank) OF COURSE. I mean - of course not THAT. Never outside of marriage.... Not to mention we'd be damn close to the ocean and together.

Or maybe I could (with my hypothetical money) plan a weekend getaway in Sweden for the two of us at a place like THIS - but, you know with more electricity maybe? Or not!! We could cuddle by the woodstove and tromp around the fairy like woods and pick mushrooms and flowers and look for Moomintrolls.

But NO. No, I have to stay in cold, dark, windy Paris*. I have to stay because in a few weeks the ANAEM is going to send a certified letter to my house and I don't know WHEN EXACTLY but I have to be there, and then I will have to spend approximately a million dollars to fly back home to get my visa from Houston** just so I can fly right back. Because they couldn't possibly look at the fact that I am already living in France and transfer over my visa. Nooooooo, that would be easy. And everyone who knows the French Administration knows they don't like to do things the easy way. Never.

Anyway, all that to say I am staying in Paris until my job starts. But I really really really wish I was leavin' on a jet plane.

* If we had a proper spring with summer on the way going on right now it's doubtful that I would be complaining about wanting to leave Paris. Spring and summer are the best times to be in Paris! But alas, it's crappy and miserable. You all can stop going "But you live in PARIS why would you want to LEAVE??? now.


** And not that getting to go home for even a QUICK little visit isn't going to be awesome. I will get to see my mommy!! And my cats!! And be in the sun where it is warm!! I honestly can't wait. I just know it will be too short.

You Know When

Sometimes I am sitting in my apartment, listening to Paul Simon, mending clothes that have holes in them, happy to be doing laundry and drinking coffee and I think "Oh My God I have become my mother."

And then I shuffle to the kitchen to scrape the burnt part off the toast and cuss in Spanish. Just to complete the image.

It's inevitable, I guess.

Dear April, Where'd You Go?

April was a shitty month for blogging, okay, I give it that. May will be better. Here are the reasons why:

Reason number one: Today The Boy left for his new six month job in Nantes (i.e. NOT NEAR PARIS). Even though we'll see each other almost every weekend I've gotten used to him being with me all the time. We've spent nearly every day together for the last month and we've already formed habits and rituals that are comfortable and good.

Some could argue that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but I kinda feel like distance just makes my bed too big. I know I'm being a big baby about it. I know that six months will FLY by and that soon he'll be back and I'll be all "Oh remember when I had all that extra time to blog and cuddle with my cat, awww, I miss that," but right now it just SUCKS big sweaty hairy donkey balls. For reals.

Reason number two: I am still waiting to hear back on my visa. This means that I am still not working. Well, I mean, technically I am still an au pair, but I think everyone around this house can attest to my current usefulness. To say that I "work" for the family is a long stretch, almost as long as saying that Host Mom still wants me here (which she doesn't at all not even one little bit).

Which is to say I currently still have A LOT of time on my hands.

Reason number three: IT'S STILL COLD OUT. People I am not just talking about the low sixties, springtime cold. I'm talking forty-six degrees, people are bringing back out their winter clothes cold. It's making me miserable. Today I decided that the only thing that could ever make me leave Paris would be the weather. I grew up with sunshine. I've never before lived in a place that didn't offer at least three hundred days of sun per year and even if the winters were cold the sun always promised a definite end to this.

But oh, not here, not this year. No spring for Paris, no summer in sight. Save the dozen days of warm weather we've had, it's still pretty much winter. Okay, perhaps this is a slight exaggeration, but before moving here I lived in Texas where forty degrees IS winter. It's December and January, not MAY. Right now Texans are experiencing highs of NINETY, they are grilling every evening and taking dips in the pool before bed. They are sweating. And I am jealous.

See? May has all the makings of a perfectly whiney, boring month, doesn't it? I'll be able to keep you posted with all my indoor non happenings every single day. And I know you are excited for that. Why wouldn't you be?