Since the last post (1,000 years ago) quite a bit has happened.  I don’t have enough time to dribble on about everything.  However, here’s a bullet point list of the highlights of my life since we last spoke:

• Finished second semester of French grammar hell (with a pretty good grade – 15,8/20!  I know it seems like a fairly mediocre grade to all my Americans out there but let me assure you that in the critically acclaimed French academic system anything about a 13 is pretty good).
• Spent May and June studying for the TCF (Test de Connaissance de Francias), writing grad school application letters, translating my CV into French, etc…
• Yelled, “PEACE OUT!!” to Europe and escaped stateside for about a month.  DJ and I completed a whirlwind tour of the USA (friends, why do you all have to live in different states?! Seriously).  Spent some time with the parents in CO before driving to Las Vegas and back.  Then, on to my best friend’s place in New Orleans, to my sister’s apartment in DC, a bus ride to the other best friend in NYC, back to CO to see the rest of the fam, and finally back to the City of Lights.  Whew!  I’m still tired…
• Found out I didn’t get into any of the grad programs I applied to and had to scramble to find a language program in order to renew that precious visa.
• Had a MASSIVE problem with the prefecture (their fault!) and was nearly deported.  Pithy was ready to egg the French embassy in DC for me!  Good friends, I have. Good friends.

And that brings us just about up to the present.  Biggest failure of the summer was without a doubt missing seeing everyone at Coffee’s barbecue.   Damn it AirTran.  I hope you read this!

Everything else is great.  Work is fine.  Lots of it!  Friends are fine.  Lots of big news lately (babies and weddings and whatnot).  DJ’s birthday was yesterday.  We celebrated today by trying to assemble balcony furniture together (=fight, per usual).  As always, tomorrow should be better.

That is it!  I miss you all!

Until the next time…

In my dream, I was with all my old Lanham people, partying in my parents’ house.  We had cleared away all the furniture from the center of all the rooms (presumably to make a dance floor) but were just sitting on the couches in the living room.  The lighting was really strange. Spot lights, I think. I was unusually hyper. Coffeeontwowheels had a mustache and a goatee. Flipflopsintherain hid a concoction of hot chocolate and beer under the cabinets in my parents’ kitchen and made me go look for it.  She also put it in a white, Styrofoam cup.   Everyone from the west coast office was there but I only remember The Mexican because he was being too sarcastic and made me sad. Pithy was just sitting on the couch next to Flipflops, not saying anything.  For some reason, my mother and I were fighting like we used to when I was a teenager.  My sister wasn’t there, neither was DJ. I wanted everyone to dance but no one was dancing. The end.

This morning was an odd one; I started work 45 minutes later than usual, which meant that DJ and I left at the same time. While sauntering to the bus stop together, he mentioned kickboxing.  I don’t remember why he brought it up but I immediately started kickboxing the air as best I could.  I even tried the kicks and added fight sound effects. I thought it would be cute.

Low and behold, I got a sharp jerk on the arm and a whisper-scream from DJ, “Arrrreeeettttteee!!!” (Which means,“Stoooooopppppp“).

Completely shocked by his reaction, I momentarily obeyed.  Then a few seconds later, obviously, I started hysterically kicking and punching an imaginary adversary just because he told me not to.  Stiff-armed and completely straight faced, he started crushing my hand and yanking on my arm, “Not in public! You look like you’re doing ballet kickboxing. Just not in public!”

Hi-larious. And now we’re even.  DJ has this old man dance where he pretends to swing a pocket watch or cane or something while swishing his knees all around and snapping.  It makes me laugh like crazy every time he does it in the house, but mortifies me if he even shakes his leg the wrong way in public.

Sometimes he winks at me and threatens to do his old man dance when we’re out with friends. Next time I will retaliate.  I have the feeling this could get out of control.

Don’t mind me, I’m just tired…

*Things being material as well as immaterial

Despite the warming spring weather, I find I’m still a hostage of the Winter Blues.  I would love nothing more than to shed this ridiculously ill-fitting funk that I’ve been in for the past four or five months, but therein lies the problem…identifying the problem? Seriously. What exactly is my problem?

I have an exciting new-ish life in Paris, a boyfriend with whom I am the most happy I’ve ever been, a job (no adjective needed; in these days and times, just having a job is reason enough to rejoice), I’m learning French at le Sorbonne, I have amazingly wonderful family and friends, and above all else I am as healthy as a horse.

So, why then can’t I stop this incessant fretting over the things I don’t have? Is my priority gauge completely out of whack? How does one go about resetting this internal gauge? Is that what religion is for? Family…? Am I in need of a shock treatment?

It’s been said that the people we allow to enter our close circle serve as a mirror through which our values, ambitions, selves are reflected.  Unfortunately, my “mirrors” live an ocean away. But should I be able to – on my own – take a good, hard look at myself? Maybe not. Maybe I need my friends and family more than I thought.  Maybe I need a good, strong slap in the face. Cue best friend, sister, and mother…

Or should I give in? Is the constant internal nagging what spurs us to achieve more? If I’m unsatisfied with what I have am I ungrateful or ambitious? Unappreciative or motivated?

My dad refers to these moods of mine as “stress bubbles.” So, with no one but myself inflating my stress bubble, where am I to find an industrial-sized needle?

I’ve decided to usher in spring by doing nothing…not even getting dressed. I slept until 10 am, bought myself a purse online, chatted with friends back in the states, went back to bed, and have been wallowing around the apartment since.  I’ve briefly paused between SATC episodes to marvel at the beautiful, sunny day happening just outside my window.

DJ is on the Riviera for a week of forced vacation – before the end of May, he is obligated to use the nearly 15 days of vacation that remain of his requisite five weeks per year…yes, this is France.  It recently dawned on me that tonight will be the first in almost nine months that I’ve spent alone. Snif, snif…

I’ve eaten a hearty mix of Easter chocolate and pasta today, throwing in a yogurt for good measure.

Since Monday is a holiday, I plan to do much of the same tomorrow…Happy Easter, all!

PS: I hope no one is expecting anything for Christmas other than a festive card and charmingly belated macaroons, I just blew my holiday “budget” on the above mentioned crap items*

*Fatty fatso sweater that will never again be worn and busted-zipper jeans that cannot be refunded because I live in France i.e. “The land void of customer service.”

Book splurge, on the other hand = public transportation bliss.

Happy Wednesday!

I have three French grammar final exams tomorrow.  They’re apparently biggies.  I partitioned this entire day off to devote myself solely to study.  Here’s what I’ve actually done today:

8:30 am: dragged myself out of bed

8:30 am – 9 am: started watching last week’s episode of The Office

9 am: unexpectedly scared sh!tless when two non-French/English/Spanish-speaking construction workers walked through D.J.’s door to find me in my flimsy pyjamas, eating pesto pasta from last night and frozen chocolate.

Apparently there was a miniscule hole in the tiling of the bathroom wall that needed to be fixed at once.  Sigh.

9:30 am – 10 am: watched last episode of 30 Rock, Parks and Recreation, not to mention an old episode of The Office

10 am – 10:30 am: took a ridiculously long shower.  Showers always become much longer when I haul my laptop into the bathroom with me to listen to dancehall music…can’t. stop. dancing.

10:30 am – 11:30 am: decided that I should  blow dry and press my hair.  This also becomes an unnecessarily long process when I involve music

11:30 am – noon: decided laundry should be done and bed linens should be changed

noon – 1 pm: ate lunch (despite the fact that I had been eating between every previously mentioned activity).

1 pm – 2 pm: tried to study but the computer was glaring at me, silently screaming, “you have mail” or “FaceBook is the most fascinating thing in your world!”

2 pm – 3 pm: traded emails with friends in the US who were beginning their work days

3 pm – 3:15 pm: took three practice grammar tests…mixed results

3:15 pm – 4:30 pm: drank about five coffees, polished off the half bag of chips in the cabinet, and the rest of the frozen chocolate D.J. bought for me the other day

4:30 pm – present: blogged

Activities not mentioned: painted nails…twice, downloaded pictures of last weekend’s trip to Nice, vacuumed the house, polished all the shiny bathroom fixtures, de-soapscummed the shower wall, gchatted with old friend from high school, ate the majority of a box of raspberry pastry things I bought for D.J.

So, good luck to me on my exams tomorrow.

Since it’s been quite a while since we’ve seen D.J.’s Connected Friend, yesterday evening we bundled up and traversed Paris for an intimate dinner party at Connected Friend’s beautiful Montmartre apartment.  As usual, the meal was wonderful, conversation was lively, and wine was pleeeentiful.  Side note: dinner parties and impromptu coffee dates with D.J.’s French friends are becoming increasingly more enjoyable as my French improves.  Grossly abbreviated English translations are no longer needed (although at one point during the evening a guest pulled up an apparently hi-larious Sponge Bob Squarepants parody on YouTube in what amounted to “ghetto French” that had everyone – except me – literally crying with laughter.  I was provided a one-liner translation of about 10 minutes of video: “They [Patrick the Starfish and Spongebob] are selling shit…” I wonder if one day I’ll be able to understand the Parisian equivalent of Ebonics).

Anyway, we caught the very last metro home at about 1:45 am, arriving at the Mairie d’Issy station at 2:20 am.  Surprisingly, public transportation in Paris stops at about 2 am, leaving us with a slight dilemma; D.J.’s new condo is a short bus ride (and long walk) from the metro station.  Unless he’s totally exhausted, D.J. tends to be a little hyper at night and was ready to make the hike from the station to our place.  He’s also quite tall and has long legs and walks stupid fast – great for him; not so great for high-heeled Vagabondventures.  Walking home with D.J. in -30 degree weather (possible exaggeration in temperature) was not a nice sounding option.

Like most major European cities (and even a few American ones), Paris has an incredibly practical public bike system.  D.J., in his best attempt to accommodate me (read: keep me from whining about walking home in the freezing cold), proposed riding bikes.  Great! Bikes are much faster than walking.  It costs, like, one Euro to rent a bike for 30 minutes but you have to use a bank card.  D.J. whipped out his bank card, pushed a few buttons on the bike kiosk screen and grabbed his bike.  (Before I write this next statement, please remember how quickly…or slowly…my mind works when I’m both tired and cold.) I mimicked D.J., pushing buttons and following electronic prompts until it came time to insert my bank card.  Just like D.J., I whipped my card out of my wallet and shoved it into the machine, after which I immediately forgot my pin code.  I stared blankly at the screen for a few good, long seconds before D.J. asked me what the problem was.  He was already holding his bike, ready to mount and peddle off towards home.  I keyed in what I thought was my pin code only to receive a “code faux” message.  I tried once more, changing the order of the numbers slightly.  “Code faux.”   Before I could make a third attempt, D.J. stopped me by reminding me that the third strike locks me out of my bank account. D’oh!

After floundering around for a few minutes, apologizing to D.J., and cursing myself for somehow forgetting the stupid pin code I use every SINGLE day, I was prepared to make the miserable hike home. The clever Parisian he is, D.J. grabbed my public transport card from me, took out his own bank card again, and somehow managed to rent himself two bikes.  Yay!

Elated, D.J. handed me my bike, jumped on his, and started peddling off.  Ever since D.J. mentioned the “riding bikes” option, I had been silently trying to remind myself what it felt like to ride a bike.  It’s been 10+ years since I even thought about riding a bike.  Wanting to stay close to D.J., I also jumped on my bike and started going.  However, not actually remembering how to ride a bike quickly put a stop to that.  It only took about five seconds for me to realize that I didn’t quiiiite remember what riding a bike was like. Well, it was more the braking that I didn’t remember how to do.  After I nearly smashed myself into a parked car, I leaped clear off the bike because I forgot how to use the stupid hand brake.  D.J. was ahead of me but had stopped riding and was watching me with a look of complete disbelief on his face.

After a quick verbal lesson from D.J., we were off and riding.  I made sure to stay well behind him so he couldn’t see my swerves and shakes.  At some point, I had wanted to roll my coat sleeves down and took just one hand off the handlebars to do so…disasterous. Screams were involved.

Despite it all, I arrived in one piece.  And I even had fun! I forgot how much fun riding a bike is.  Maybe I’ll do it again soon.  Maybe not.  This morning when I went out to buy croissantes for breakfast (I’m so French now, pssssssshhhh), I wrote my pincode on my hand.  Turns out I had all the correct numbers but the order was all kinds ‘a messed up.  Ah well.  Another week in Paris-dise.

Peace out!