What time is it?

Just to let you all know all the times of my posts are totally wrong. I just realized it as I glanced at my last post. For some reason the time was set on like, Pacific coast time or something crazy like that. Really, I wish it had only been 10:45 am as I sat around contemplating my own stench, but honestly it was like 7:30 pm - gross, I know, but there it is.

Confessions of a recluse blogger

Ok, I have a confession to make. Some of you may already know this, but for those of you out there who don't know yet, here it is...I LOVE, love, looooove Dancing With the Stars. Sick, I know, but I can't help it. I am a complete addict. The difficulty is I can't watch it here on Monday nights. We don't even own a TV for christ sake, not that we could get American shows on it if we did have one, and then DWTS would be on at hmmm... it's on at 8:00pm so that would make it 2:00am here! So, I have resorted to skulking on a Torrent site where you can download TV shows and the like. It drives me nuts when the newest Dancing with the Stars episode isn't posted right away. I have been checking that damn site nearly every 30 minutes ALL day today in the hopes that it will suddenly appear. Alas, it's still not there and I just KNOW that tonight's results show will get posted up there before Monday nights show and I'll break down by Thursday and go look at the DWTS website and ruin it for myself, again. Yeah, that's what I did last week and found out that oh, big surprise, Mark Cuban was booted. But even more than that I saw clips of Marie Osmond fainting. Man, it totally ruined the surprise value of that one when I finally watched the actual episode. If only I had been of stronger will then I too could have gasped with shock and dismay at the fantastic fainting Osmond, but I have no will power and thus it was not to be.
So, I'm going to be strong this week. I will not go to the website under any circumstances. If you've ever been to the website then you also know that you are constantly subjected to these stupid Huggies commercials. I get it, Huggies are not made for bricks, but for real human babies. I pass the tip along to my sister-in-law, whose preggers. Did you get that Jenn? Huggies are for human babies, not bricks, just in case you missed that salient point during your last pregnancy. If you happen to pop out an adorable little brick (hey stranger things have happened in the Moss family!) then DO NOT use Huggies.
Ok, enough about Huggies. Back to DWTS. I've gotten just a tad bit obsessed with it and even found myself reading some of the posts. People are nuts. I'm just saying, I might be out of my mind, but I don't broadcast it to the whole world by posting ridiculous things on the DWTS website. Hmmm...wait a minute...do I smell a hypocrite blogger, here. sniff, sniff, sniff...
Whoa mama, I don't know if it's hypocrisy I'm smelling or just my rank ol' self. Seriously folks, I'm ashamed to admit this, but my personal hygiene is going straight down the toilet. I know, I know it's very European to not wear deodorant and smell like b.o. ,but not really. Yikes, not only do I stanck, with a capital S, but I can't even remember if I brushed my teeth or washed my face this morning, I know I didn't shower, one whiff and you'd know too. Man, not having a job while sounding great and all can be detrimental to your personal well-being. I'm sitting here marinating in my stink and I'm not even moved to go and shower - I don't have to. I'm a recluse who doesn't leave the apartment what's the point? Granted, I do have an urge to go brush my teeth. Think of the future dentist bills if I don't. I keep telling myself, "surely, Melanie, you brushed your teeth this morning. That's what normal people do, they get up, eat breakfast drink some coffee, maybe read the newspaper (not me we don't get any newspapers and they'd all be in French anyways) then they brush their teeth, wash up, get dressed...yeah, but normal people also shower and you didn't, so what makes you think you brushed your teeth?" Hmm, good point self.
Hey, it's not that abnormal to talk to yourself! Get off my back, I'm home alone all day with 2 dogs, either I talk to myself or I talk to them. Well, you got me, I do both. But I still feel confidant that when I talk to myself I am still talking to the smartest being in the room. I dare you to deny it.
so, yeah. Me + hygiene = not so great friends right now. Thank god I have a loving husband who doesn't notice such little things like morning breath at 7:00 at night or the smell of my unwashed body. Really, who is he to complain. I don't go play soccer for 2 hours then come home and sit around drenched in sweat, stinkin' to high heaven for an hour before I'm "ready" to shower. I mean, please, it's not like it's been that long since I've showered....er...what day is it again?
Now that I think about it I better go and brush my teeth...

Arise sleeping beauty...

Ugh, this weekend has not been my best. I think I had the beginnings of something, the flu, a cold, something. I didn't feel terrible, just achy all over and tired. Oh so tired. Friday night I was exhausted but I could not fall asleep. Every time I would lie down and close my eyes I just felt so uncomfortable. My head throbbed, my muscles hurt, you get the picture. I popped some ibuprofen and that, at least, helped the headache go away. I was miserable and poor Josh had to put up with it. He's really quite sweet when I don't feel well. He'll let me lie with my head on his lap and he'll gently stroke my hair or rub my back. He's definitely a keeper.
Needless to say, I spent most of the weekend curled up on the couch snuggled down in lots of blankets sleeping. It was very weird. I'd wake up from a nap feeling better and then I'd get up and do something for about 10 minutes and suddenly I was ready for another nap. I'd say, I'm just going to sit down for a few minutes and I was out!
It was a shame too because this weekend was beautiful out. It was in the mid to high 60's - just a gorgeous Fall day. During one of my periods of wakefulness I insisted that we should go out and enjoy the day. I mean c'mon, we live in France and we've hardly been anywhere to see anything. Even if all we do is drive to some cute little French village and walk around it would be better than making excuses and hanging around the house like the homebodies we are. So, Josh, Ally, and I piled into our trusty little Ford Fiesta and drove about 30 minutes ( I don't really know how long it took us, but not long) to Fort L'Ecluse - if you click here it will take you to a French website about the Fort. If you don't speak French you can either use an on-line translator, such as babelfish or you can click (or cliquer, en francais) on the phototeque link and look at cool pictures of the fort. Josh and I did take some pictures but he has the camera at work, so I'll have to post them later....back to our adventure. Well, it wasn't much of an adventure really. The place was closed, no tours - Ally probably wouldn't have been allowed on the tour anyways. We did discovered a path leading up into the hills that would take you to le fort supérieur. Ah, I guess I should mention the Fort is on this cleft in the mountainside and there is the fort inférieur at road level, which you can take tours of when opened, the the fort supérieur at the top of the mountain which is closed for some mysterious security reason. You can reach the upper (or superior) fort a few ways, by climbing 1,143 steps which are inside the inferior fort; climbing up the mountains cliff - there are signs all over the place saying do NOT try this unless you are an experienced rock climber. In my opinion, you'd be crazy or just plain suicidal to try without previous experience, but that's just me! The last option is to cross the highway and if you've done that without forfeiting your life you can then hike up a rock strewn trail to the top of the mountain. According to the sign it should take you about 30 minutes. I was all for hiking up. We headed up the trail. Ally was in high spirits, it was a beautiful day, but my legs felt as though they were made of lead, and the damned trail seemed to be going straight up. No nice meandering path weaving its way up the hillside. Nope, just a straight line up full of rocks which dislodged with the slightest touch forcing you to try and keep your balance with every step. It was just too much for me. We hadn't been at it more than a few minutes when I was pooped. Ally and Josh were well ahead and I called out, "Just keep going, I'm going to rest for a minute." Josh gave me a penetrating look and said, "Why don't we go home. You need to rest."
Me: "No, no. I'm fine. I just need to sit for a minute."
Josh: "Mel, really let's just go."
Me: "Seriously, I'm fine. I'm just tired. I can't figure out why I'm so tired. I mean I took a 2 hour nap this morning!"
Josh: "You're sick you idiot. That's why your tired. C'mon we're going home."
Me: "But, this is such a beautiful day! What if we miss our chance to see the fort on a day like this, with the valley full of Fall colors?"
Josh: " We live here, we'll come back and see it another time. This isn't the last nice day ever."

So, I agreed and we headed back home. Good thing Josh was driving because I fell asleep almost the minute I sat down in the car! That was Saturday. Yesterday I barely even attempted to get off the couch and do anything. I took Ally for her morning walk and then went back to bed. Got up around 9:30am and ate breakfast - took a nap on the couch. Woke up, brushed my teeth, took a shower, cut up vegetables for a stew and then took another nap. Josh had to go into work so I laid on the couch and watched Rosemary's Baby. It was alright. I'd never seen it before. I didn't find it all that suspenseful of horrifying, but it was decent. Mia Farrow's portrayal of Rosemary really annoyed the piss out of me at first, I mean she seemed like such a push-over wimp. Maybe that's why the devil chose her; she was easy to manipulate. Anyways, Josh got home we ate some delicious Winter Vegetable Stew: I love my Betty Crocker cookbook. Simple and easy dishes, that's what I like. Josh put on the Steeler's game and I promptly fell asleep. This was maybe 7:30 pm. I had hazy moments of wakefulness when I would mumble at Josh "who won the game?" and then drop back off to sleep. This continued till about 11pm when I decided to stumble to bed for good. I didn't get out of bed till 8:30 am this morning! I slept for, like, 13 hours! Crazy. But I do feel better.
I checked the webmd this morning and discovered my mild symptoms could be any number of crazy things. I bet doctors love that their patients can consult the webmd and come up with all sorts of bizarre illnesses for their symptoms. By entering body aches and pains, fatigue, and headache I could have anything from PMS or a tension headache to Fibromyalgia, Lime disease, or multiple sclerosis! Who knew just a little fatigue and body aches could mean so much!! Before I had added headache in there were a number of venereal diseases I could have had, too! How exciting. What a hoot. Can you just picture people going to their doctor and explaining their symptoms saying, "Well, Doctor, I think I either have PMS or Multiple Sclerosis, what do you think?"
It reminds of that TV show House, anyone else watch that? Josh and I love it. I love the clinic patients. They seem like the type that would us webmd to diagnose themselves and get themselves all worked up when all they have is a cold. I especially love the episode where a young woman comes in thinking perhaps she's allergic to the jelly she's using as contraceptive. Her boyfriend doesn't like how condoms feel during sex, so she decided to use jelly, she brought it along in case the doctor wanted to see it, and she whips out a jar of strawberry jelly! I'm snorting with laughter just thinking about it! Sadly, there are people in this world who would actually do that - I've worked with some of them.
Well, enough of that little digression. I must not be completely over my PMS/Multiple Sclerosis/tension headache, because I feel the need for a little napski coming on.
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwnnnnn..........

Baby it's cold outside

An unceremonious thump in my chest and the familiar weight of our 80 pound dog fell against my body as Ally carried out her morning ritual. Through bleary eyes I make out the red digits on the alarm clock-7:20am. We never set the alarm clock because we have Ally. She's not quite as consistent as one might wish but she wakes anywhere between 5:45 and 7:30, I'm always thankful when it's closer to 7:30, especially as I no longer have a job to rush off to. Ally snuggles in close for her morning pets and my heavy hands find her weak spots, rubbing as vigorously as a half asleep zombie can around her ears and neck. She lets out a deep sigh of contentment as I rub her face. My head sinks further into the softness of my pillow and my leaden eyelids slide shut. A minute later a cold nose is pressed into my face to remind me that I have not finished giving out the obligatory morning caresses. When she's had a enough she sits at the end of the bed majestically staring at me and giving a low whine of discontent. I can almost hear her thinking, "Get out of bed you lazy bastard and let's go for a walk." As I grumble, " ok, ok," and heave myself up she nimbly jumps off the bed and heads to the front door.
I glance over at the sleeping form of my husband who has obliviously slept through Ally's morning ritual. Even though we take turns walking her every morning it's me she comes to for her morning snuggle. Sometimes I think the house could be falling down around his head and Josh would sleep through it. Some mornings I have to forcibly kick him out of bed so I can lie undisturbed by pitiful whining!
But, this morning is my day to walk the dog. For the past couple of weeks I have been trying to get myself in better shape and a better frame of mind by taking Ally for a morning jog instead of a mere walk. I look at my warm-ups knowing I should jog this morning too, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Josh and I went to a Tango session last (we're taking classes at the CERN Dancing club) and my body is sore from trying to hold the proper Tango position while wearing heels. So, instead I throw on my jeans, t-shirt, and boots; there will be no jogging this morning.
I open the front door and remember it's getting closer and closer to winter. This morning isn't so terribly cold, but the hours of sunlight are already getting shorter. Gone are the mornings when I opened the door to see the sky streaked in rosy hues as the sun rose slowly over the Alps in the east. Now I open the door to find the sky still wrapped in velvety darkness. Thank god there are street lights everywhere especially considering all I own for a winter coat is a black ski jacket - doesn't really stand out in the dark.
I grudgingly clip on Ally's leash and say, "Well let's go," as she bounds happily to the gate. And to think just a couple weeks ago I had reveled in the beauty and stillness of our morning autumnal walks. Today that lovely cool, crisp breeze I had loved so much has a bite to it. It's not a comfortable chill that requires jeans and a sweatshirt it's starting to take on that chill where after 10 minutes your realize your an idiot for not bringing along some light gloves and your fingertips are starting to yearn for a steaming hot mug of coffee to be clasped between them.
I watch as the wind blows through the trees making them rattle and whisper as the gold, red, and orange leaves of autumn are lifted off their branches and swirled to the ground waiting to be trod upon with a satisfying crunch.
As I huddle deeper in my coat watching the sky lighten from the velvety darkness of night to the gray dawn of morning I curse Ally. These are mornings she loves. Her boundless energy pulls me along as her excited breath puffs in white clouds before her. She doesn't seem to feel any coldness, just the joy of our quiet morning together. hmmm....that's pretty sentimental. I doubt she cares about being with me, she just loves getting out of the yard. This is her time of freedom and exploration - a retractable leash. The French might let their dogs run amok but I don't trust Ally to not run out in front of a car in desperate pursuit of a squirrel or cat.
This morning I'm tired and I relent a little. When we get to the little semi-enclosed park around the corner I let her off her leash to run around a bit. She doesn't do much running but immediately finds a place to dig and contents herself with pawing up the earth while I watch from a nearby bench.
When I feel she's had enough digging time I collect her, she's way too adorable with dirt spattered across her nose. It's time to get warm again. That hot coffee is calling to me...if only Josh has gotten his lazy butt out of bed and made me some. Nope, that's too much to ask for. Aw well, maybe another day.

Going to the dogs!

It is official. I have found a job...er...well...sort of. I have become the babysitter of that massive pile of drool, Picasso. Yep, you heard me right. I now spend my days in the company of two dogs. It's not so bad really I don't have to alter my daily slacking too much to accommodate our upstairs neighbors dog and I get 50€ a week to boot, not too shabby if you ask me.
Granted its not all sunshine and lying around on the couch it takes a bit of work- well, ok, lying around on the couch is a big part of dog sitting, but I do some stuff. I had to break up a fight over Picasso's monster bone today. If you think it's fun coming between a Boxer, whose jaws once clamped shut are not opening, and a lab mix growling and bristling over whose got bigger cojones (can you believe I actually had to look up how to spell that and found it!) it's not fun. Try it some time. Picasso definitely came out the winner in that little skirmish. When it comes to cojones Picasso wins hands down, figuratively and literally!
So, other than our little bouts of dominance, things seem to be going smoothly. Ally is a little pissy with me but I'm hopeful that she will soon get over it. It's about time our little princess learned to share a little. G-whiz. I mean, seriously, is it hurting her to have Picasso sleep at one end of the couch while she sprawls across the other? Picasso is relegated to a blanket on the couch due to his excessive drooling problem and Ally has first choice of where she wants to sleep so I don't see why this should cause any problems. But try explaining that to a 4 year old lab mix whose life, thus far, has been to be the center of attention. Yes, we know that it's sick but we can't help ourselves. At least we recognize that we're slightly nuts, unlike some others (whom shall remain nameless) who think it's perfectly normal to refer to their dogs as kids and to even send cards to "grandma and grandpa" detailing their exploits! Now even we don't do that. And although we treat her like the spoiled brat she is we are NOT her mommy and daddy - we're Mel and Josh.
So, as I was saying, princess Ally has her panties in a bit of a twist but I'm hoping she'll get over it in a few days. And if she doesn't then I'll just play with Picasso - he doesn't sulk.
That's only so much you can write about animals that spend half their days snoring loudly on the couch...which reminds me I better start tracking down some more Febreeze, I have a feeling we're going to need a lot of it if we're going to counteract the prevalent doggie odor, which is going to start accumulating rapidly.
Keeping the house in semi-normal order is key considering Josh was rather skeptical about the whole Picasso situation. He doesn't want us to end up with another dog - or, at least, not one named Picasso. Marion and Beat, though very nice, don't seem to be the best dog owners. Beat refuses to allow Picasso into their apartment (see above noted drooling problem) therefore he is stuck in his backyard all day and in his cave (pronounced with a French accent - cah-ve) all night. Now that the weather is getting colder Picasso really can't stay outside all the time. Granted, he does have a cozy little house with straw on the floor and a tarp wrapped around it for extra protection, but he's getting old for a Boxer. He's 9, which apparently is ancient for a Boxer (Josh claims Marion said he was 13 or 14 but I'm pretty sure he's wrong - shhh, don't tell: let him think he's right). Poor Picasso's on meds and he starts to shake if out in the cold too long. How could I not agree to watch him, besides I could really use the 50€ a week- at least now I feel like I contributing something more than our waistbands getting tighter!
C'mon, I know you would feel the same way. Josh's family would have already adopted Picasso if they were living here! I just can't stand to see a neglected animal. I mean it's not inhumane how they treat him, it's just not like a family member. That's how our dogs always were to us, part of the family. It breaks my heart to hear him in his cave whining while I'm in the kitchen getting my morning coffee together or sitting here at the kitchen table typing when all he wants is to be with people, not alone in a dark room.
Enough of this soft-heartedness; if I keep going on I'll work myself up and let him into the apartment all the time and I really don't want to deal with drool 24/7. Perhaps tomorrow will bring something more interesting to write about than dogs asleep on the couch!


p.s. a cave is basically a storage room. The one Picasso sleeps in has two small rooms: one with a fridge, his bed, his food and water, and some boxes; the other, our heating system. It's really not bad, it's just that he loves being with people so much.

Martha Stewart of France

Yep, just call me Martha Mosslins please. Since I have discovered all this free time on my hands - granted it's free time I should be putting to better use, like finding a job, volunteering, or learning French - I have gotten the baking bug. Scary, I know. As many of you know my skills in the kitchen are dubious, at best. But, I do seem to have a knack for baking, thanks mom. I'm sure these talents with a pastry fork were past while in the womb from my mother - the world's best baker. Then again, I did spend a year working in a bakery in Williamsburg, Virginia so that might have something to do with it as well. Who knows? The point is, I have become a fanatic about baking. I like to try out something new each week. Josh, naturally, wants the same things over and over: chocolate snack cake, for example, but that's just not much fun.
Today I was feeling adventurous so I went on a mission into the neighbors yard to steal some apples. After fending off their massive boxer, Picasso...ok, really all I had to worry about was being slobbered on. He's so nice and all he wants is company. The only danger I was in was drowning in his drool as he jumped all over me when I entered the gate. I brought Ally along as a distraction but she's all but worthless. Our pretty, pretty princess puppy does not care to be drooled on, has no desire to run around and play with the much bigger Picasso, and was merely glad to be able to roll around in the grass. So, to get on with the apple stealing. I scrambled up the small, ivy entangled apple tree, which guards Picasso's dog house and started pulling off the best looking apples. Having not thought ahead I am now stuck with my hands full of apples and no good way to get down. I think about dropping them but they'd probably land on the dogs, who are now standing there watching my every move. They probably think I'm getting these juicy apples as a treat for them. As I'm thinking this Picasso lifts his leg and gently pees on the base of the apple tree - is he trying to encourage me to remain up in the tree forever, or is this his way of saying "good luck"? Thanks buddy.
A bit of juggling and the use of my shirt as a basket and I safely find my two feet planted solidly on the ground with the prized apples in possession. Time to start the baking.
After a quick, get away from Picasso. Throw a ball in one direction and run in the other; works every time. Ally heads to the couch for her daily nap - stealing apples is hard work- and I head to the kitchen to start my first attempt at a pie crust. The goal of today's baking is to end up with a Country Apple Tart. I put on Saturday's Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me and get busy making the pastry.
Yep, I even wear an apron. My baking has gotten better but the floury mess I make has not. As you can see I was successful in putting all the ingredients together and getting not only my tart crust, but the filling made as well. Let's here it for Martha Mosslins!!! wooohooo.
Check out that lovely, unbaked Apple tart. It's just begging to be put in that hot, 475 degree F (which is like 246 degree C) oven. Actually, the conversions get me all the time so I had my fingers crossed that I actually had it at the right temperature et voila, after about 30 minutes out it comes.
Hey, hey not too shabby, huh? Alright, you can see a few places got a little singed. It's my first try I'm hopeful that it will be prettier next time, but I have no doubts it'll taste fabulous. I'll have to give you the report after we try some out tonight with Vanilla ice cream. Can you believe that I didn't even taste it when it was hot out of the oven? No, I can't believe it either. Married life sure has changed me. To think just a few months ago I would have eaten it all myself, but now that I'm married I think of my hubby first... Ha! who am I kidding? I just didn't have any vanilla ice cream - Josh is going to get some on his way home!
Well, thanks for sharing in my exciting baking adventures. Now I'm off to do a little knitting. what, did you think I'd do something productive like clean the house or look for jobs? I did that this morning. Maybe I'll go straighten my underwear drawer - just kidding, even I'm not that Martha Stewartish!
Well, this is Martha Mosslins saying Bon Appetite!

Aaahh Paris...

Paris in the springtime might be beautiful, but Paris in the Fall during the Rugby World Cup Semi-finals can't be beat. Ok, ok, I don't know diddly squat about Rugby; it's nearly impossible for me to careless about that sport. I mean, I can barely grasp what makes American football so appealing to masses of rowdy men in the United States much less what makes humongous men with out helmets or pads pummeling each other fighting for an oval leather ball appealing to the rest of the world. Regardless, it does make Paris a happening and interesting place.
For those who don't the Rugby World Cup is currently being held here in France this year (it's held every 4 years - just like World Cup Soccer and the Olympics). This past weekend they were playing the semi-finals France vs. England and South Africa vs. Argentina at the Stade de France in Paris. Saturday evening was France vs. England the game started at 9:00pm and, as you can guess, the Parisians were geared up to cheer their team along. Oh and so were the throngs of Englishmen (and women) who swarmed across the channel to be in the city where this momentous match was taking place.
All day long as we (seriously, I don't get blogger. Why can't I put text around my picture instead of only at the very bottom? Seems ridiculous to me...or I'm just an idiot and there's a very simple way to do it I'm just too dense to figure it out!) ...so where was I after that random tangent? ah yes, the Rugby fans! They are a hoot. Men, women, old young walking around with afro puff wigs on their heads in the colors of their flag. Faces, chests, bosoms painted in the team colors and or insignias. Fabulous. Granted, there are other events which inspire such mania in people, I'm just not usually around it.
As we walked our way through the city of lights and love sampling all the must see tourist attractions our day was enhanced by these fanatic hooligans. As we tramped our weary way towards the Eiffel Tower we were grabbed by a gentlemen and his friends rollicking outside a bar, which by the looks of them the had been at for the majority of the day, we were hailed with "Who do you support?" Thinking perhaps he was British we said England. That seemed to satisfy him, though we discovered he was from South Africa. He announced to us that he was "The Love Doctor" and he was at our disposal if we had any needs while we were in the city of love. Very touching really. After we pried ourselves away from the self proclaimed love doctor we made it to la Tour Eiffel.

(I did start this post a few days ago, but then fell asleep writing it, so I figured I'd just finish it up today)
We reach the crowning glory of Paris and, low and behold, it's swarming with Rugby fans. There is a huge blown up Rugby ball (pictured above with Josh and Drew) advertising the next Rubgy World Cup - 2011 in Australia. Inside this rugby ball is a bar, we did not venture into the chaos of that delightfully tacky ball!
To top things off, not only were there fans camped out in front of the huge screens reveling in pre-game drinking there was a blow-up rugby ball hanging from the struts of the Eiffel tower and large flat screen televisions hanging from either side showing highlights and rugby commercials. This city LOVES their rugby.

There's tons more to write about Paris. I mean, we did see more than just rugby, but I'll save that for another post. If I don't stop writing soon this post will never end...and then who's going to want to read it? then again, who really wanted to read it anyways.

Happy Birthday to Me

Well, today is a day to celebrate, the day of my birth. Whoohooo! surprisingly, I pretty much forgot that it was my birthday this week until I received a card from my grandmother. Good ol' grandma. I usually really enjoy birthdays and try to make the most out of them, but this year...I just don't really care that much. Kinda sad, really.
I'm not upset or depressed about being a year older, I mean 28 isn't a bad age. The thing that is depressing or upsetting to me is where I am in my life related to where I imagined I would be. I didn't think that I'd have no career, no job, and no idea what the hell I wanted to do when I turned 28, but guess what? That's exactly where I am: no career, no job, no clue. Wow, I feel great.
Things aren't all that bad, it just seems like these little milestones - such as birthdays - make you reevaluate your life. Sometimes that's not much fun. Granted I have many things that I am happy and thankful about. I have a wonderful, loving husband (we got married September 01, 2007; but have been together 10 years, don't ask), I have a fabulous black lab mix, and I live in the beautiful country side of France. Yeah, I've got lots of things going for me...I just can't seem to shake off this nagging feeling of I should be doing more. More of what? Who knows, but definitely something....
...well, this is getting too deep for my emotional fragility on my 28th birthday. So, I'm going to give it a rest, have a nice glass of wine, and curl up on the couch with Ally, my dog. I would be doing something more active with my husband but he's off playing soccer (or football to the rest of the world). It's the only night of the week that he plays so I can't begrudge him that and he did offer to skip it tonight since it was my birthday...but we're going to Paris this weekend and I figured we'll have lots of togetherness there. No need to deprive him of his love - soccer- just because it's the day I was born.

Canadian Thanksgiving

So, apparently, Canada celebrates their day of Thanks in October. I am informed that yesterday was, in fact, the Canadian Thanksgiving. How ridiculous is it that I grew up 2 hours from Canada and I never even knew that they celebrated Thanksgiving until I moved to France? I feel like such an ignoramus. Ah well, learning late is better than never learning at all right? Sure, that sounds good to me. Why am I writing about Canadian Thanksgiving? I don't know, not much else is going on Sergy at the moment.
Sunday night we had a lovely Thanksgiving dinner with our upstairs neighbors, one of them being Canadian; thus how we discovered that Canadians do indeed celebrate Thanksgiving.
Now, seeing as we're in France we had no luck finding a Turkey; instead we had duck. I have never really had duck so this was a new experience for me. It was quite tasty. I love that Marion, our neighbor, got it at a chicken farm down the road. Yeah, who knew? You can walk down the road say, "I want a duck...that one looks good." They chop off the head, pluck the feathers and voila you have a duck: or a chicken and apparently occasionally you can get Turkey's there as well.
I have seen this chicken farm and had deciphered the sign enough to know that you could buy chickens there but I have been hesitant to attempt it. First off, my French is crap so I'd probably end up asking for a 3 kg police officer (a slang word for the police is poule - very close to poulet...or maybe it really is poulet, I can't remember) anywhoo I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach that it'd be a disaster. Yeah, I know I'm a big wuss. Second, I was afraid that I'd end up with a dead chicken that I'd have to pluck and clean and all that disgusting stuff. I'm up for trying new things, but that's a little too much for me. Now that I know that I wouldn't have to go through that perhaps I will buck up and attempt to buy a chicken there. If I doI'll let you know how it goes.
So, back to Thanksgiving dinner. It was very nice. We met some of our neighbors friends, which is great because we don't really have any of our own- friends that is! We started off the evening with a beer and chat standing around the kitchen. When we were nearly done with our beers we moved to the dining room to start dinner. I don't know about you, but at Thanksgiving we just sit down and dig into the Turkey, stuffing, potatoes and gravy. But no, we had appetizers! Smokes salmon. mmmm... delicious; along with some white wine.
They crack open the bottle pour everyone some, without actually asking if you wanted any or not, and started in on the smoked salmon. I'm sitting there with half a beer, a glass of white wine, and my plate full of appetizers thinking, "hmmm...what is etiquette here? Do I keep drinking my beer? Do I abandon the beer and start on the wine? Do I drink both at the same time?" I felt a bit lost. I glanced around to see what everyone else was doing and they seemed to all have finished their beers. Everyone except my husband and I, naturally. So, we give each other a look, a quick shrug of the shoulders and try and finish up our beer without guzzling it and without dripping it all down our shirtfronts. I mean, it' s not like this is a college keger - this is a sophisticated Thanksgiving dinner. With people who work at the UN and other international organizations. We don't want to look like the idiot Americans!
We finish up our beer as we finish up appetizers and as I start to think, "Let's see, I'll drink some water then I'll be good to go on the white wine." No sooner does this thought enter my head when it is announced that it is time for red wine with dinner - or red juice as our neighbor, Beat (he's from Austria), so pithily says.
Good lord, what is with these people? Beer, white wine, red wine, what's next? Are we going to drink our way through every alcoholic beverage in existence? Alright, so we start on dinner, which was excellent. Despite not having a Turkey it was very "Thanksgivingy". Mashed potatoes, yams, fantastic gravy, rolls, peas and carrots, squash, etc. A huge and satisfying feast. Followed up by a dessert of pumpkin pie with whipped gruyere cheese (instead of whipped cream - come on there had to be something European about it!) Of course, no sooner are we digging into our pie when it's time for Single Malt Whiskey: or Mingle Salts as that witty Austrian likes to call it.
I say, " I don't really care for Mingle Salts, but thank you very much. " It is insisted upon that I just haven't had the right kind of whiskey after I have been cross examined as to what exactly I have tasted in the past. "This," Beat says grabbing up one bottle from the collection of 10 he's pulled out for our tasting pleasure, "is a very good whiskey for women. You'll like it." Trying to be a polite guest I say, "Well, ok. I'll try just a little bit please."
He splashes it into the glass for me. We toast, for the hundredth time, and I splash it down my throat attempting not to gag or make rude faces at it burns down my throat. Nope, I don't like this lovely mingle salts "for women" either. Surprise, surprise.
As the evening progresses more wine comes out and thankfully about 11:30pm we stumble our way downstairs to our apartment and crash. Thank god we only had to navigate the stairs to get home or we would have been in trouble.
I don't know about you, but my family Thanksgivings were never like that. Those Canadians really know how to celebrate!
I would have written this yesterday,but seeing as I overindulged trying to be a polite guest I spent the majority of Monday curled on the couch with my dog nursing a pounding headache.
Yep, Happy Thanksgiving.