"What's that?!" asked the H with alarm, pointing to a small brown spot on the back of my left hand. "That is called a beauty mark. Or a mole. Whatever," I'd said unconcerned. "Whoa, it's totally sketch. It's like, a weird shape and everything," he said. "You should get it examined. Maybe when you get back to New York this weekend you can make an appointment." "But it will cost a zillion dollars because I don't have health insurance in the US right now," I'd protested. "Ah," said the H. "Perhaps you should make an appointment this week before you leave with a dermatologist." "But I don't know any dermatologist!" I'd responded.
Turns out I did know one. I'd saved the info from back when I was a student in Paris and I had gone to see a dermatologist. So I'd called her up and made an appointment for Tuesday at 9.
The thing is, I've always found French doctors' offices to be no-frills compared to the New York doctors. The NY doctors all have very fancy offices and everything is computerized. There is always a nurse who handles all the basics before turning you over to the doctor. But here in France, everything is still done old-school - charts are written by hand, and a lot of doctors still use those old school wood file cabinets to keep their charts. Also, oftentimes there is no nurse.
The French dermatologist was no exception. She asked me my maiden name and proceeded to thumb through some wooden file cabinet that must have been built in the 40's, and pulled out a teeny index card with what was apparently all my information. She then proceeded to do a complete examination and concluded it would be best to remove the sketchy mole. Except she wanted to send me to some plastic surgeon to get it done. "But can't you do it yourself?" I'd asked. As a matter of fact, I had had the procedure done a few times before when I was in NY. It was a very quick in-office procedure - usually the dermatologist would remove the offending mole right then and there in a matter of minutes. It was all very efficient. But no, not in France!
"Hmmm, well, I guess I could do it myself. Because you see, the surgeon charges 400 euros, 60 euros of which are reimbursed by the sécu. So I guess I could do it myself, seeing as the surgeon won't be able to fit you in this week, since you are leaving on Saturday. Okay, well, why don't you come back on Thursday?" babbled the dermatologist. "Why do I have to come back on Thursday? Why can't you do it now? It takes like, 2 minutes," I said. This prompted the dermatologist to take out all her supplies and show me how she would be doing the procedure. "See," she said, showing me a scalpel, "I use this to remove the mole. Then I put it in this little jar. And then I send it to the laboratory to have a biopsy done." "What?" I asked, thoroughly confused. "Now, that will be 65 euros for the visit, and I will squeeze you in at 5:30 pm on Thursday," she said.
So this afternoon I headed back and she fussed around, setting up her equipment. She proceeded to cover me with a napkin/sheet thingy and then set up her tools on my stomach. "So, I will give you some anesthesia, and then I will remove the mole," she said, smiling. "Hmmmm," she said to herself, "now, what is the best way to go about this? I could cut it this way, or else I could cut it this way..." This went on for an agonizing 10 minutes, with me biting my lip to keep from hollering "JUST CUT THE BLOODY THING OUT NOW! I HAVE A DINNER PARTY TONIGHT AND I HAVE TO GO TO THE SUPERMARKET!" She FINALLY got down to work and then decided to give me stitches, and then informed me how to take out my stitches myself (?!). "Ah, yes," she said, flustering about, "and I will give you a prescription for an antibiotic cream. To put over the scar. You can use it with the stitches in." "Um, actually, I think I have everything I need because I had a skin biopsy done in NY not that long ago and I had to have stitches too," I said. "Hmmm," the dermatologist frowned. "Well, to be safe, I think you should buy the cream here. I mean, I really don't think they will have this cream in the US," she clucked.
It took another 10 minutes for her to clean up and fill out the paperwork, and then she had me write a check not only for the visit, but for the laboratory as well. She told me to put the lab check into the envelope, which I did. She then sealed the envelope containing the check plus my mole in a jar and told me "so, you should send this off via the post office. Get a "lettre recommandé". So you have proof in case they lose it. You know the French post office. Not very efficient. You should go tomorrow, but you can go tonight, if you are not too traumatized. Goodbye." I stood there for a second holding the envelope, as it was the first time in my life a doctor had told ME to mail off my own samples to the lab.
I then headed over to Inno to get groceries for the dinner tonight. H and I decided it would be best to serve mussels, so I went to the poissonier and asked for 3 packets of mussels. The girl sighed, grabbed three packets, then asked me, "Oh, could you please prepare the bags for me?" "Say what?" I asked, surprised. "You know," she said, looking at me like I was stupid. "Grab one of the plastic bags there for me." (I should point out that this is not common practice; usually the poissonier will prepare your packages for you, and it was the first time someone asked me to prepare my own package at the supermarket. It would be like if you ordered some beef from Whole Foods and they asked you to rip off the butcher paper and wrap it up yourself). "Um....okay...." I said, baffled, and ripped off a plastic bag and handed it to her, after making a big spectacle of putting down my shopping basket. "No!" she screeched, rolling her eyes. "You have to open the bag for me!" It was all very surreal, and I wanted to shout at her, "Hey, lady! You're the freaking poissonière! YOU do it!" But alas, some guy who was apparently also a poissonier came up and printed out the stickers and stuck the onto the bags for me, while he and the girl proceeded to have an argument over how best to package up mussels.
All in all, a very strange day. Anyway, must go and prepare mussels now.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
"Casse-toi, pauvre con"
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Sarko insulted some guy at the Salon de l'Agriculture last week.
The video is way too funny!
Sarko is such a jerk! Instead of spending his time out and about, he should start working! He already gave himself a salary hike - now let's see some less talk and more action! (Or at least some Botox shots - Bush isn't exactly Brad Pitt in the looks department, but still, he is way less ugly than Sarko. I mean, Bush is totally the Aragorn to Sarko's Gollum).
In other Sarko news, the H was on the métro this morning and overheard some rowdy teenagers telling this joke:
Pourquoi Sarko n'a pas les cheveux blancs? Parce que Carla Bruni!
Sarko insulted some guy at the Salon de l'Agriculture last week.
The video is way too funny!
Sarko is such a jerk! Instead of spending his time out and about, he should start working! He already gave himself a salary hike - now let's see some less talk and more action! (Or at least some Botox shots - Bush isn't exactly Brad Pitt in the looks department, but still, he is way less ugly than Sarko. I mean, Bush is totally the Aragorn to Sarko's Gollum).
In other Sarko news, the H was on the métro this morning and overheard some rowdy teenagers telling this joke:
Pourquoi Sarko n'a pas les cheveux blancs? Parce que Carla Bruni!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Your Unfriendly Neighborhood Shopkeepers
A big part of life is interacting with the shopkeepers, especially here in France.
So you'd think that after three years, the guy at the tabac would recognize me by now.
Seriously, for the past three years, every 10 - 12 days, I go to the tabac and I order an entire CARTON of Marlboro Lights. How many other Asian-American girls go into his tabac every 10 days to buy a carton of Marlboro Lights? I mean, it's absolutely stunning the way he stares at me gruffly every single time as if he has never seen me in his entire life. And I always pay for my carton with my credit card, so you'd think he'd at least have the little terminal thingy ready for me, but instead he always sighs inwardly and stumbles around looking for the machine, like it's a huge inconvenience. The worst part is that two years ago, I said to myself, "Well, I've been coming here for a year, and I always order a carton of Marlboros, so surely he must recognize me by now. Maybe if I make the first move and I'm friendly and ask him how he's doing, he'll recognize me and not be so mean." Ha! What happened was, I walked in, he looked at me blankly, and said, "Oui?" in gruff manner. "Bonjour! Comment ça va?" I'd asked, only to have him stare at me blankly with a look on his face that clearly said "Who the hell are you and what do you care?" So, after an awkward minute of complete silence, I was all, "Er....une cartouche de Marlboro Lights, s'il vous plaît."
Anyway, I happen to know for a fact that the French are not immune to this either. My French best friend Simon had been living at the same apartment in the 7th arr. for about 5 years now. He explained that more or less every other day for the past 5 years, he would go to the same bakery and order a loaf of bread. Every time he went, the baker would ask, "Do you want the bread sliced?" and he would say no. For FIVE YEARS. Finally, the day before he moved, he went to the bakery and when the baker asked if wanted his bread sliced, he spoke up. "Well, I've been coming here every other day for 5 years now and I never have my bread sliced," he said. "Pppppphhhhht! It gets busy in here! How am I supposed to recognize every single customer who comes in? Huh?" huffed the baker defensively. At this point, Simon just let it drop and was all, "Yes, I know it gets busy. I was just kidding," to which the baker responded, "Hmmmmmmph! I mean, really, how I am supposed to keep track of what people order?" "So you see," said Simon, trying to comfort me when I complained about the tabac, "it happens to French people too."
I suppose if I tried hard enough I could maybe feel a little bit of empathy, but I have worked as a waitress and as a cashier in a bookstore, and I was able to recognize the regular customers. So I really think it's not THAT hard.
Although, to be fair, a couple of people at Inno, where I do my food shopping, recognize me. One is the French-Asian female cashier who wears tons of blue eyeshadow and has a deep voice. She is actually very nice, always says hello and asks how I'm doing, and even lets me double bag my groceries. The only other person who recognizes me is the butcher at Inno, but I'm not sure I really appreciate it because whenever he sees me he launches (very loudly, I might add) into some weird French song about the "little Chinese girl with the slanted eyes" or something to that effect.
So you'd think that after three years, the guy at the tabac would recognize me by now.
Seriously, for the past three years, every 10 - 12 days, I go to the tabac and I order an entire CARTON of Marlboro Lights. How many other Asian-American girls go into his tabac every 10 days to buy a carton of Marlboro Lights? I mean, it's absolutely stunning the way he stares at me gruffly every single time as if he has never seen me in his entire life. And I always pay for my carton with my credit card, so you'd think he'd at least have the little terminal thingy ready for me, but instead he always sighs inwardly and stumbles around looking for the machine, like it's a huge inconvenience. The worst part is that two years ago, I said to myself, "Well, I've been coming here for a year, and I always order a carton of Marlboros, so surely he must recognize me by now. Maybe if I make the first move and I'm friendly and ask him how he's doing, he'll recognize me and not be so mean." Ha! What happened was, I walked in, he looked at me blankly, and said, "Oui?" in gruff manner. "Bonjour! Comment ça va?" I'd asked, only to have him stare at me blankly with a look on his face that clearly said "Who the hell are you and what do you care?" So, after an awkward minute of complete silence, I was all, "Er....une cartouche de Marlboro Lights, s'il vous plaît."
Anyway, I happen to know for a fact that the French are not immune to this either. My French best friend Simon had been living at the same apartment in the 7th arr. for about 5 years now. He explained that more or less every other day for the past 5 years, he would go to the same bakery and order a loaf of bread. Every time he went, the baker would ask, "Do you want the bread sliced?" and he would say no. For FIVE YEARS. Finally, the day before he moved, he went to the bakery and when the baker asked if wanted his bread sliced, he spoke up. "Well, I've been coming here every other day for 5 years now and I never have my bread sliced," he said. "Pppppphhhhht! It gets busy in here! How am I supposed to recognize every single customer who comes in? Huh?" huffed the baker defensively. At this point, Simon just let it drop and was all, "Yes, I know it gets busy. I was just kidding," to which the baker responded, "Hmmmmmmph! I mean, really, how I am supposed to keep track of what people order?" "So you see," said Simon, trying to comfort me when I complained about the tabac, "it happens to French people too."
I suppose if I tried hard enough I could maybe feel a little bit of empathy, but I have worked as a waitress and as a cashier in a bookstore, and I was able to recognize the regular customers. So I really think it's not THAT hard.
Although, to be fair, a couple of people at Inno, where I do my food shopping, recognize me. One is the French-Asian female cashier who wears tons of blue eyeshadow and has a deep voice. She is actually very nice, always says hello and asks how I'm doing, and even lets me double bag my groceries. The only other person who recognizes me is the butcher at Inno, but I'm not sure I really appreciate it because whenever he sees me he launches (very loudly, I might add) into some weird French song about the "little Chinese girl with the slanted eyes" or something to that effect.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
A Fabulous Weekend....
Those of you who know me know that I am definitely not a morning person. Never have been, and never will be! Which is why I had timed my return to Paris just in time for a big weekend in London.
On Saturday morning, the H and I got up at 5 AM in order to catch our 7:43 AM train to London. It has been at least 6 years since I last took the Eurostar and things have changed - there are now 2 immigration checkpoints and 2 security checkpoints to go through at the Gare du Nord. And yes, it was quite embarrassing, when at the second checkpoint, the guards decided they needed to go through our suitcase - and proceeded to take out all the clothes that I had carefully packed, rendering me into a state of annoyance ("Argh! Be careful with the suit and the shirt! I like, JUST ironed it!") Luckily, I had packed all of our underwear into Ziploc baggies, so it wasn't very obvious when the guard pulled those out in front of a zillion people.
Anyway, the H was an excellent sport this weekend as I pretty much took him on a forced tour of Tudor England sites. We started with Westminster Abbey (with a hefty 10 pound entrance fee!) where I visited the tomb of Elizabeth I. I was SO excited about it that I made the H go all the way around Westminster Abbey a second time so I could visit her tomb again. "Oh my gosh!" I gushed to the H. "Elizabeth I is like, my all-time favorite queen EVER!" We also saw Mary Stuart's (Queen of Scots) tomb, which was infinitely less exciting as I think she is my least favorite Tudor. There were also the tombs of Henry Carey and Catherine Knollys, cousins of Queen Elizabeth (and the children of her aunt, Mary Boleyn). Also very exciting was seeing the tomb of Anne of Cleves, Henry VIII's fourth wife, although her tomb was infinitely less grand than the other Tudors.
Then we went to the Tower of London, which I had visited before, but it is something I never tire of seeing. We started off at the White Tower, which is where all the armor and weapons are kept. The best part ever was seeing Henry VIII's armor, which had many people laughing:
And here is a full-frontal view (this was a photo that they have in the Tower for the weapons exhibition):
The codpiece is actually quite impressive in person, which had many people, including the H, exclaiming things like, "Good God! He certainly thought highly of himself!"
Of course, I also made sure to stop by Traitor's Gate, where Elizabeth I passed through when she was imprisoned in the Tower by her half-sister, Mary I.
Sunday was the wedding, which was EXCELLENT! It started in the afternoon with the ceremony at the synagogue. The bride and groom had rented double decker buses which took us to the reception. There was even a caricaturist and a magician! The dinner was excellent - I was in heaven as I had a gluten-free, dairy-free meal (The groom has Celiac disease the bride is lactose intolerant). Here was my gluten free entrée: avocado with asparagus:
The rest of the non-food-allergy guests had a poached egg with salmon and asparagus and a Hollandaise sauce:
Dessert was a pavlova, which I regretted not being able to have, as it looked so delicious (I was served some yummy rice crackers with a fresh fruit salad and olives).:
After all of that, there was a buffet of (gluten free) Asian food, with Vietnamese spring rolls, samosas, chicken satay, etc, plus a huge dessert table with ice cream, cakes, cookies, fruit, etc. The cake was chocolate (and was apparently delicious), whereas I was able to partake in the lovely gluten-free cake, shaped in the form of a Blackberry:
Finally, there was this really cool chocolate tower thingy that rotated, where you took a piece of pastry and dipped it in chocolate:
H and I headed back to the hotel and were in bed by 1 AM...only to have to wake up at 5 AM for our 7:30 train back to Paris. (As you can imagine, yesterday was pretty rough going; the H rather regretted not having taken yesterday off from work).
All in all, it was a perfect weekend, with a perfect wedding and being able to visit the Tudor sites. In fact, it was so perfect that I am rather grumpy about being back in Paris, but the one good thing is that it's not as cold here as it was in London.
On Saturday morning, the H and I got up at 5 AM in order to catch our 7:43 AM train to London. It has been at least 6 years since I last took the Eurostar and things have changed - there are now 2 immigration checkpoints and 2 security checkpoints to go through at the Gare du Nord. And yes, it was quite embarrassing, when at the second checkpoint, the guards decided they needed to go through our suitcase - and proceeded to take out all the clothes that I had carefully packed, rendering me into a state of annoyance ("Argh! Be careful with the suit and the shirt! I like, JUST ironed it!") Luckily, I had packed all of our underwear into Ziploc baggies, so it wasn't very obvious when the guard pulled those out in front of a zillion people.
Anyway, the H was an excellent sport this weekend as I pretty much took him on a forced tour of Tudor England sites. We started with Westminster Abbey (with a hefty 10 pound entrance fee!) where I visited the tomb of Elizabeth I. I was SO excited about it that I made the H go all the way around Westminster Abbey a second time so I could visit her tomb again. "Oh my gosh!" I gushed to the H. "Elizabeth I is like, my all-time favorite queen EVER!" We also saw Mary Stuart's (Queen of Scots) tomb, which was infinitely less exciting as I think she is my least favorite Tudor. There were also the tombs of Henry Carey and Catherine Knollys, cousins of Queen Elizabeth (and the children of her aunt, Mary Boleyn). Also very exciting was seeing the tomb of Anne of Cleves, Henry VIII's fourth wife, although her tomb was infinitely less grand than the other Tudors.
Then we went to the Tower of London, which I had visited before, but it is something I never tire of seeing. We started off at the White Tower, which is where all the armor and weapons are kept. The best part ever was seeing Henry VIII's armor, which had many people laughing:
And here is a full-frontal view (this was a photo that they have in the Tower for the weapons exhibition):
The codpiece is actually quite impressive in person, which had many people, including the H, exclaiming things like, "Good God! He certainly thought highly of himself!"
Of course, I also made sure to stop by Traitor's Gate, where Elizabeth I passed through when she was imprisoned in the Tower by her half-sister, Mary I.
Sunday was the wedding, which was EXCELLENT! It started in the afternoon with the ceremony at the synagogue. The bride and groom had rented double decker buses which took us to the reception. There was even a caricaturist and a magician! The dinner was excellent - I was in heaven as I had a gluten-free, dairy-free meal (The groom has Celiac disease the bride is lactose intolerant). Here was my gluten free entrée: avocado with asparagus:
The rest of the non-food-allergy guests had a poached egg with salmon and asparagus and a Hollandaise sauce:
Dessert was a pavlova, which I regretted not being able to have, as it looked so delicious (I was served some yummy rice crackers with a fresh fruit salad and olives).:
After all of that, there was a buffet of (gluten free) Asian food, with Vietnamese spring rolls, samosas, chicken satay, etc, plus a huge dessert table with ice cream, cakes, cookies, fruit, etc. The cake was chocolate (and was apparently delicious), whereas I was able to partake in the lovely gluten-free cake, shaped in the form of a Blackberry:
Finally, there was this really cool chocolate tower thingy that rotated, where you took a piece of pastry and dipped it in chocolate:
H and I headed back to the hotel and were in bed by 1 AM...only to have to wake up at 5 AM for our 7:30 train back to Paris. (As you can imagine, yesterday was pretty rough going; the H rather regretted not having taken yesterday off from work).
All in all, it was a perfect weekend, with a perfect wedding and being able to visit the Tudor sites. In fact, it was so perfect that I am rather grumpy about being back in Paris, but the one good thing is that it's not as cold here as it was in London.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Back in Paris
So, last night I flew back to Paris with Continental Airlines again.
It was really weird because I went ahead and checked myself in online. That was kinda cool. It's just that when I arrived at the Elite Access checkpoint, I waited a really long time in line only to end up at the self check-in kiosk, which was a little complicated, though maybe because the baggage person standing near me was all mean and menacing (and she bore quite a resemblance to Dr. Torres of Grey's Anatomy). So I scanned in my barcode, and put in my ticket number and all these forms just started printing and spewing out of the kiosk. The only major problem I had was that Dr. Torres Baggage Lady did NOT put the priority luggage tags on my bags (I was too scared to tell her she forgot them for fear she would eat me alive; also she had already put the bags onto the conveyor belt by the time I noticed).
The flight was only slightly delayed and the oddest thing was that I ran into a Frenchie acquaintance at Newark, on my way to the gate. She was on the same flight, and it turned out that her seat was just a few rows behind mine! It was totally weird to run into someone I hadn't seen in about 3 years, and at Newark Airport, no less!
Everything was relatively smooth on the flight, except when I was served my breakfast - it was a gluten free meal I had special ordered, so it consisted of a fruit salad and a gluten free macaroon, except that the flight attendant and put a croissant right on top of my food! (because the regular meals were also fruit salads, but everyone got a croissant instead of a macaroon). I was completely panicked as I didn't even want to touch the croissant, so when one of the attendants was coming around with the beverage cart, I said, "May I?" and helped myself to some napkins on his cart, with which I proceeded to pick up the offending pastry and held it out at arm's length towards the flight attendant. "Erm, I so cannot eat this," I said, wrinkling my face. "What? You can't eat that?" asked the FA. "No. It's a croissant. I have a gluten free meal. I will get seriously sick if I eat this." "Oh," said the FA. "Well, let me take care of that for you," and he took the croissant from me and headed up to the Business Class galley where I assume he threw it out. I then proceeded to unwrap my napkin and carefully open the container of fruit salad (as there were crumbs all over the top of the container) and ate the few limp pieces of melon.
Anyway, I'm back in the apartment now. I was going to take a picture of the dress I will be wearing to the wedding this weekend along with the belt that I whipped up, but my dress form appears to have been requisitioned by SIL, so it will have to wait. I'm off to take a nap now - I only dozed for about 15 minutes on the plane (literally). The rest of the time was spent reading Le Point, listening to Damien Rice on my iPod, and vaguely watching Bee Movie.
Oh, and totally off-topic: last week the H told me about how Sarko had sent an SMS to Cecilia saying, "If you come back, I'll cancel my wedding." Ha! How funny is that! I bet Carla was pissed about it (wouldn't YOU be pissed if your fiancé did that? And like, a day before your wedding?!)...and yet, she still married him. I'm telling you, something is really weird about this coupling. I smell a contract signed in blood....
It was really weird because I went ahead and checked myself in online. That was kinda cool. It's just that when I arrived at the Elite Access checkpoint, I waited a really long time in line only to end up at the self check-in kiosk, which was a little complicated, though maybe because the baggage person standing near me was all mean and menacing (and she bore quite a resemblance to Dr. Torres of Grey's Anatomy). So I scanned in my barcode, and put in my ticket number and all these forms just started printing and spewing out of the kiosk. The only major problem I had was that Dr. Torres Baggage Lady did NOT put the priority luggage tags on my bags (I was too scared to tell her she forgot them for fear she would eat me alive; also she had already put the bags onto the conveyor belt by the time I noticed).
The flight was only slightly delayed and the oddest thing was that I ran into a Frenchie acquaintance at Newark, on my way to the gate. She was on the same flight, and it turned out that her seat was just a few rows behind mine! It was totally weird to run into someone I hadn't seen in about 3 years, and at Newark Airport, no less!
Everything was relatively smooth on the flight, except when I was served my breakfast - it was a gluten free meal I had special ordered, so it consisted of a fruit salad and a gluten free macaroon, except that the flight attendant and put a croissant right on top of my food! (because the regular meals were also fruit salads, but everyone got a croissant instead of a macaroon). I was completely panicked as I didn't even want to touch the croissant, so when one of the attendants was coming around with the beverage cart, I said, "May I?" and helped myself to some napkins on his cart, with which I proceeded to pick up the offending pastry and held it out at arm's length towards the flight attendant. "Erm, I so cannot eat this," I said, wrinkling my face. "What? You can't eat that?" asked the FA. "No. It's a croissant. I have a gluten free meal. I will get seriously sick if I eat this." "Oh," said the FA. "Well, let me take care of that for you," and he took the croissant from me and headed up to the Business Class galley where I assume he threw it out. I then proceeded to unwrap my napkin and carefully open the container of fruit salad (as there were crumbs all over the top of the container) and ate the few limp pieces of melon.
Anyway, I'm back in the apartment now. I was going to take a picture of the dress I will be wearing to the wedding this weekend along with the belt that I whipped up, but my dress form appears to have been requisitioned by SIL, so it will have to wait. I'm off to take a nap now - I only dozed for about 15 minutes on the plane (literally). The rest of the time was spent reading Le Point, listening to Damien Rice on my iPod, and vaguely watching Bee Movie.
Oh, and totally off-topic: last week the H told me about how Sarko had sent an SMS to Cecilia saying, "If you come back, I'll cancel my wedding." Ha! How funny is that! I bet Carla was pissed about it (wouldn't YOU be pissed if your fiancé did that? And like, a day before your wedding?!)...and yet, she still married him. I'm telling you, something is really weird about this coupling. I smell a contract signed in blood....
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Birthdays
Here's something funny - when I was a kid, no one had a birthday in February. Now that I'm older, I've discovered that EVERYONE has a birthday in February.
My birthday was fun. Calm, but fun. I had a "girl date" with my best friend. We had dinner at Risotteria and I indulged myself with a tapenade gluten free pizza with goat cheese, arugula, and garlic, then a slice of gluten free carrot cake. It was nice to have a girl date as this is something I miss living in France - as the H never ceases to point out, "In France, all girls hate each other and see other girls as their competition". In short, there is no concept of sisterhood over there.
Saturday night I met up with my 2 best friends and their significant others and we had sushi and then hit up a bunch of birthday parties. I wound up all the way in Brooklyn (I know) for the birthday party of A's friend, who just so happens to share the same birthday as me. I slept over at A's place in Brooklyn, and then on Sunday, we went out for brunch at Bubby's. It was interesting because we decided to try Bubby's in Dumbo, Brooklyn, as the one in TriBeCa is always mad crowded and you have to wait forever for a table. The Bubby's in Brooklyn is HUGE and you don't have to wait very long at all (in fact, we got a table right away). I had the Huevos Rancheros (though I was very upset as I used to always get the Eggs Benedict) and there were two really old French tourists sitting next to us. I thought they were kind of cute; they were both guys who were at least in their 70's and they ordered these giant hamburgers and even managed to eat them with their hands. They were reading their Guide Routarde of New York and discussing the history of the Brooklyn Bridge.
On Wednesday I fly back out to Paris, so I arrive there on Thursday afternoon. I'm a little apprehensive as there is supposed to be a strike by the air traffic controllers, so there is a chance that my flight might be late. Then on Saturday morning, the H and I are off to London for Politico's wedding, so that will be fun. I've finally decided to wear my black jersey Viktor & Rolf for H&M dress rather than my black DVF dress or the pink dress from the Place Where I Used To Work. The H&M dress is quite nice, though I just need a belt for it (as the belt that came with the dress is a piece of hideous shit) so I am currently in the midst of sewing up a white satin belt. Except I only just realized that I don't have enough interfacing to fuse both sides, so we'll see how it turns out. I'll try to post pics when I get back to Paris.
My birthday was fun. Calm, but fun. I had a "girl date" with my best friend. We had dinner at Risotteria and I indulged myself with a tapenade gluten free pizza with goat cheese, arugula, and garlic, then a slice of gluten free carrot cake. It was nice to have a girl date as this is something I miss living in France - as the H never ceases to point out, "In France, all girls hate each other and see other girls as their competition". In short, there is no concept of sisterhood over there.
Saturday night I met up with my 2 best friends and their significant others and we had sushi and then hit up a bunch of birthday parties. I wound up all the way in Brooklyn (I know) for the birthday party of A's friend, who just so happens to share the same birthday as me. I slept over at A's place in Brooklyn, and then on Sunday, we went out for brunch at Bubby's. It was interesting because we decided to try Bubby's in Dumbo, Brooklyn, as the one in TriBeCa is always mad crowded and you have to wait forever for a table. The Bubby's in Brooklyn is HUGE and you don't have to wait very long at all (in fact, we got a table right away). I had the Huevos Rancheros (though I was very upset as I used to always get the Eggs Benedict) and there were two really old French tourists sitting next to us. I thought they were kind of cute; they were both guys who were at least in their 70's and they ordered these giant hamburgers and even managed to eat them with their hands. They were reading their Guide Routarde of New York and discussing the history of the Brooklyn Bridge.
On Wednesday I fly back out to Paris, so I arrive there on Thursday afternoon. I'm a little apprehensive as there is supposed to be a strike by the air traffic controllers, so there is a chance that my flight might be late. Then on Saturday morning, the H and I are off to London for Politico's wedding, so that will be fun. I've finally decided to wear my black jersey Viktor & Rolf for H&M dress rather than my black DVF dress or the pink dress from the Place Where I Used To Work. The H&M dress is quite nice, though I just need a belt for it (as the belt that came with the dress is a piece of hideous shit) so I am currently in the midst of sewing up a white satin belt. Except I only just realized that I don't have enough interfacing to fuse both sides, so we'll see how it turns out. I'll try to post pics when I get back to Paris.
Monday, February 4, 2008
The Wedding
So, here's the blurb in the NY Times about Sarko and Carla finally getting married.
The best part is the picture:
I can think of two possible scenarios when this picture was taken:
Sarko: Heh heh heh heh heh (evil laugh)! Awwwww yeeeeaaaah! I got me a trophy wife! Tom Cruise is the man! I mean, really, it is brilliant to make Carla sign a contract in blood...just like how Tom made Katie Holmes do it. What a brilliant move on my part! Now I can continue to take over the world! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! And they said I couldn't be president....OR have a hot wife! Now, where are my Ray-Bans? Oh, note to self: must get Botox shots...
Carla:..............?...............Do I get to go to India now?............
Or:
Carla: ....and I can totally redecorate the Elysée! I can have a music room, where I can work on my songs! And I will of course only get really good reviews on my albums, because I managed to marry this little Sarko person, and he's "friends" with all the important media moguls. Ha ha ha ha ha! My plan for world domination is complete! Everyone will look at Sarko and then look at me and realize that I am so much prettier! I shall be the new Hillary Clinton, only much better looking and with much better style! And now I will get full use of the National Credit Card with which I will promptly go and get Botox shots! Ha ha ha ha ha! (evil laugh) Now, let's see...I'm thinking...red satin for the Elysée, and...tax breaks for the wealthy...oh, and I need some more couture gowns...
Sarko: Oh, Carla. You're so pretty.
Carla: Sarko! I said, don't touch me!
Plus, there was this great quote in the article from the mayor of the 8th arrondisement, who married Sarko and Carla:
"Clearly enjoying his sudden celebrity, Mr. Lebel added: “The bride was in white. She was ravishing as usual. But the bridegroom wasn’t bad either.”"
Translation: "Carla looked totally hot. She's so pretty. Sarko wore a Dior suit and made sure to put lifts in his Prada shoes, and also had a professional make-up artist try to cover up all those wrinkles and minimize the huge schnoz. But you know....there's only so much one can do."
Anyway, also in the New York Times Magazine this week is an interesting article about Bernard Kouchner.
The best part is the picture:
I can think of two possible scenarios when this picture was taken:
Sarko: Heh heh heh heh heh (evil laugh)! Awwwww yeeeeaaaah! I got me a trophy wife! Tom Cruise is the man! I mean, really, it is brilliant to make Carla sign a contract in blood...just like how Tom made Katie Holmes do it. What a brilliant move on my part! Now I can continue to take over the world! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! And they said I couldn't be president....OR have a hot wife! Now, where are my Ray-Bans? Oh, note to self: must get Botox shots...
Carla:..............?...............Do I get to go to India now?............
Or:
Carla: ....and I can totally redecorate the Elysée! I can have a music room, where I can work on my songs! And I will of course only get really good reviews on my albums, because I managed to marry this little Sarko person, and he's "friends" with all the important media moguls. Ha ha ha ha ha! My plan for world domination is complete! Everyone will look at Sarko and then look at me and realize that I am so much prettier! I shall be the new Hillary Clinton, only much better looking and with much better style! And now I will get full use of the National Credit Card with which I will promptly go and get Botox shots! Ha ha ha ha ha! (evil laugh) Now, let's see...I'm thinking...red satin for the Elysée, and...tax breaks for the wealthy...oh, and I need some more couture gowns...
Sarko: Oh, Carla. You're so pretty.
Carla: Sarko! I said, don't touch me!
Plus, there was this great quote in the article from the mayor of the 8th arrondisement, who married Sarko and Carla:
"Clearly enjoying his sudden celebrity, Mr. Lebel added: “The bride was in white. She was ravishing as usual. But the bridegroom wasn’t bad either.”"
Translation: "Carla looked totally hot. She's so pretty. Sarko wore a Dior suit and made sure to put lifts in his Prada shoes, and also had a professional make-up artist try to cover up all those wrinkles and minimize the huge schnoz. But you know....there's only so much one can do."
Anyway, also in the New York Times Magazine this week is an interesting article about Bernard Kouchner.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
A Functionary in the Family
Some time last year, FSIL landed a new job, working for the "Conseil Generale de Seine et Marne". I have no idea what that is, but it's some sort of government job in the Seine and Marne region (where the in-laws live).
Several times, we all asked FSIL what her new job was, exactly, as no one really understood:
Everyone: So, what is your job again?
FSIL: I work at the Conseil Generale de Seine et Marne.
H: You're a functionary!
FSIL: (haughty) No, I am not a functionary, I am a "juriste".
Me: What's that?
FSIL: I work in the legal department.
Me: So...are you like...a paralegal? 'Cause didn't you like...not pass the bar exam? Which means that like...you are NOT a lawyer?
FSIL: I guess. But I work for the government.
H: Ha! You are totally a functionary!
FSIL: (snooty) No, I am not sitting at the desks dealing with the general public. I work in the legal department.
H: Whatever.
Me: Oooh. So, what do you do in the legal department?
FSIL: You know. Legal stuff that has to do with the regional administration blah blah blah blah blah.
Everyone: (nodding along, trying not to look confused) Oh. Sounds....interesting.
Seeing as FSIL has been at her job for about a year, she can now count on job security for life. Most companies will put you on a CDD contract that lasts 3 months, after which they will put you onto a permanent contract, or they let you go. But when you work for the government, you have a one year temporary contract, after which they keep you or let you go. FSIL is lucky in that she gets to keep her job and from now on, she will never be fired. EVER.
Now, H has a thing about people who work for the government - in that he can't stand them. I guess it all started when I made him come with me to get my carte de séjour renewed, and when we arrived at the police station, we were greeted by the sight of 6 government workers sitting at the front desk reading newspapers and doing crossword puzzles. We had arrived at around 11 am, and waited in line for about an hour. At noon, all 6 people reading their newspapers simultaneously got up and went outside for a cigarette, came back inside, folded their newspapers, and then left for a 2 hour lunch. H was outraged at the sight of how his tax euros were being spent and kept whispering loudly, "Did you SEE those people sitting at the front reading newspapers??? If they would get off their asses and work, we wouldn't have had to wait for an hour! I can't BELIEVE this is how they spend our tax money!"
Anyway, to get back to FSIL: a typical conversation whenever we go to the in-laws is this:
H: Where are BIL and FSIL?
MIL: Oh, they went away for the weekend.
H: (incredulously): AGAIN??????!!!!
MIL: Yes.
H: Where are they now?
MIL: They went to Turkey this weekend. Oh! Next weekend they are going to the Alps!
H: What??? AGAIN???
MIL: Yes. FSIL had a four day weekend 2 weeks ago, last week she had Friday off, and this weekend she has Monday off, and then next weekend she has a week vacation.
H: (outraged): What the HELL? Why is FSIL always going on vacation? Better yet, why does she have so many freaking RTT's? (paid days off: apparently FSIL gets 1 RTT every other week) She JUST GOT BACK from the Reunion Islands like...3 weeks ago, where, might I point out, she was on vacation for 2 WHOLE WEEKS.
MIL: (defensively) FSIL works for the government. She gets RTT's every other week AND she gets a minimum of 6 weeks paid vacation a year. Isn't that great? She's got such a GREAT JOB!!!! (beaming proudly)
H: (scowling furiously): This is an outrage! I can't BELIEVE she gets all that time off!
MIL: Oh, and when they send her to Dunkerque for paid training, she gets extra RTT's.
H: WHAT?!!?!?!?!?! Ugh! This is disgusting! I can't BELIEVE she has all that PAID vacation time! Those are OUR TAXES!!!!
MIL: (very annoyed): You're just JEALOUS of FSIL because she has a GREAT JOB working for the GOVERNMENT. You know, instead of complaining and whining and being jealous of her, you should work for the government too. Did you know, when FSIL got hired, she got a welcome bonus?
H: NO! I don't want to work for the stupid government!
MIL: Well, then you should stop being jealous of FSIL.
H: I'm not jealous of her! I just don't think she should be getting all that time off. I mean, she JUST started like, a year ago. And she's already had like, 6 months worth of vacation time. I just think it's not a good way of spending our tax money.
MIL (huffy): Well, I don't understand why you're so upset! I mean, it's SO beneficial for FSIL. You know, she wants to have children soon...
H: Yes, we know, she wants to get married, buy a house, and have kids with BIL like, RIGHT NOW. I don't think he's so into the idea.
Me: Yeah. It's like, way too much at once for BIL. She needs to chill out and take it one at a time.
MIL: (huffy): Well, I don't blame FSIL for being so impatient. BIL is a commitment-phobe! She's got an EXCELLENT JOB FOR LIFE, so now she can finally settle down, not to mention she's 30 now and she SHOULD be settling down and having babies. (looking pointedly at me) Do you realize, when I was first pregnant, I was 25??? I already had TWO CHILDREN by the time I was FSIL's age. And when she has children, this job is just IDEAL because she will have SO MUCH FREE TIME to spend with her kids! I mean, look at you and Parisian New Yorker. Parisian New Yorker wants to hire a nanny when she has kids! We all know how barbaric that would be!
Me: Dude, whatever! Nannies are SO necessary. I mean, I would like to SLEEP once in awhile once I have kids. If there's no nanny, that means I get NO SLEEP. Besides, it's like, human nature to have help for the kids. I mean, did you know, back in the Middle Ages, the aristocrats weren't allowed to raise their own children, and they had to ship them off to their own castles and stuff and the princes and princesses had to be formally educated? Like, in the 16th century, Henry VIII's first wife Catherine of Aragon gave birth to Princess Mary Tudor, who eventually came to be known as Bloody Mary during her reign...
FIL (interrupting my lecture on Tudor England): Well, you have to admit, FSIL DOES have an awful lot of vacation time.
H: THANK YOU! I don't think she deserves all that free time. Do you know what she does all day at work? She reads catalogs and feeds that stupid goldfish she keeps on her desk.
MIL: (huffy) She doesn't do JUST that. She has WORK, you know. I mean, she works in the LEGAL DEPARTMENT.
H: Yeah, and that's why whenever we ask her how work is going, she tells us her fish is doing very well.
Me: Ooh! Yesterday I went to the mairie to get a copy of our marriage certificate for H's US visa, and the functionary was reading catalogs! He had one from Leroy Merlin and one from Brico-whatever. Bricoland? Bricorama? Bricomaison? I bet he's redecorating!
H: Ha! That is SOOOOOOOOO typical.
Grandma: Eh. FSIL works for the government. She gets a LOT of paid vacation. H isn't jealous.
Janine (Grandma's Best Friend): (shaking her head): Hmmmmph! FSIL gets an awful lot of vacation time. It IS outrageous!
H: I know, right? She like, JUST STARTED.
Janine: (nodding in agreement). Yes. And she is ALWAYS away on vacation every weekend. I think she spends more time on vacation than she does in her office.
H: I KNOW!
MIL: Well, I still think you are just jealous. You should get a job as a functionary, then I bet you wouldn't be complaining about all that free vacation time!
Several times, we all asked FSIL what her new job was, exactly, as no one really understood:
Everyone: So, what is your job again?
FSIL: I work at the Conseil Generale de Seine et Marne.
H: You're a functionary!
FSIL: (haughty) No, I am not a functionary, I am a "juriste".
Me: What's that?
FSIL: I work in the legal department.
Me: So...are you like...a paralegal? 'Cause didn't you like...not pass the bar exam? Which means that like...you are NOT a lawyer?
FSIL: I guess. But I work for the government.
H: Ha! You are totally a functionary!
FSIL: (snooty) No, I am not sitting at the desks dealing with the general public. I work in the legal department.
H: Whatever.
Me: Oooh. So, what do you do in the legal department?
FSIL: You know. Legal stuff that has to do with the regional administration blah blah blah blah blah.
Everyone: (nodding along, trying not to look confused) Oh. Sounds....interesting.
Seeing as FSIL has been at her job for about a year, she can now count on job security for life. Most companies will put you on a CDD contract that lasts 3 months, after which they will put you onto a permanent contract, or they let you go. But when you work for the government, you have a one year temporary contract, after which they keep you or let you go. FSIL is lucky in that she gets to keep her job and from now on, she will never be fired. EVER.
Now, H has a thing about people who work for the government - in that he can't stand them. I guess it all started when I made him come with me to get my carte de séjour renewed, and when we arrived at the police station, we were greeted by the sight of 6 government workers sitting at the front desk reading newspapers and doing crossword puzzles. We had arrived at around 11 am, and waited in line for about an hour. At noon, all 6 people reading their newspapers simultaneously got up and went outside for a cigarette, came back inside, folded their newspapers, and then left for a 2 hour lunch. H was outraged at the sight of how his tax euros were being spent and kept whispering loudly, "Did you SEE those people sitting at the front reading newspapers??? If they would get off their asses and work, we wouldn't have had to wait for an hour! I can't BELIEVE this is how they spend our tax money!"
Anyway, to get back to FSIL: a typical conversation whenever we go to the in-laws is this:
H: Where are BIL and FSIL?
MIL: Oh, they went away for the weekend.
H: (incredulously): AGAIN??????!!!!
MIL: Yes.
H: Where are they now?
MIL: They went to Turkey this weekend. Oh! Next weekend they are going to the Alps!
H: What??? AGAIN???
MIL: Yes. FSIL had a four day weekend 2 weeks ago, last week she had Friday off, and this weekend she has Monday off, and then next weekend she has a week vacation.
H: (outraged): What the HELL? Why is FSIL always going on vacation? Better yet, why does she have so many freaking RTT's? (paid days off: apparently FSIL gets 1 RTT every other week) She JUST GOT BACK from the Reunion Islands like...3 weeks ago, where, might I point out, she was on vacation for 2 WHOLE WEEKS.
MIL: (defensively) FSIL works for the government. She gets RTT's every other week AND she gets a minimum of 6 weeks paid vacation a year. Isn't that great? She's got such a GREAT JOB!!!! (beaming proudly)
H: (scowling furiously): This is an outrage! I can't BELIEVE she gets all that time off!
MIL: Oh, and when they send her to Dunkerque for paid training, she gets extra RTT's.
H: WHAT?!!?!?!?!?! Ugh! This is disgusting! I can't BELIEVE she has all that PAID vacation time! Those are OUR TAXES!!!!
MIL: (very annoyed): You're just JEALOUS of FSIL because she has a GREAT JOB working for the GOVERNMENT. You know, instead of complaining and whining and being jealous of her, you should work for the government too. Did you know, when FSIL got hired, she got a welcome bonus?
H: NO! I don't want to work for the stupid government!
MIL: Well, then you should stop being jealous of FSIL.
H: I'm not jealous of her! I just don't think she should be getting all that time off. I mean, she JUST started like, a year ago. And she's already had like, 6 months worth of vacation time. I just think it's not a good way of spending our tax money.
MIL (huffy): Well, I don't understand why you're so upset! I mean, it's SO beneficial for FSIL. You know, she wants to have children soon...
H: Yes, we know, she wants to get married, buy a house, and have kids with BIL like, RIGHT NOW. I don't think he's so into the idea.
Me: Yeah. It's like, way too much at once for BIL. She needs to chill out and take it one at a time.
MIL: (huffy): Well, I don't blame FSIL for being so impatient. BIL is a commitment-phobe! She's got an EXCELLENT JOB FOR LIFE, so now she can finally settle down, not to mention she's 30 now and she SHOULD be settling down and having babies. (looking pointedly at me) Do you realize, when I was first pregnant, I was 25??? I already had TWO CHILDREN by the time I was FSIL's age. And when she has children, this job is just IDEAL because she will have SO MUCH FREE TIME to spend with her kids! I mean, look at you and Parisian New Yorker. Parisian New Yorker wants to hire a nanny when she has kids! We all know how barbaric that would be!
Me: Dude, whatever! Nannies are SO necessary. I mean, I would like to SLEEP once in awhile once I have kids. If there's no nanny, that means I get NO SLEEP. Besides, it's like, human nature to have help for the kids. I mean, did you know, back in the Middle Ages, the aristocrats weren't allowed to raise their own children, and they had to ship them off to their own castles and stuff and the princes and princesses had to be formally educated? Like, in the 16th century, Henry VIII's first wife Catherine of Aragon gave birth to Princess Mary Tudor, who eventually came to be known as Bloody Mary during her reign...
FIL (interrupting my lecture on Tudor England): Well, you have to admit, FSIL DOES have an awful lot of vacation time.
H: THANK YOU! I don't think she deserves all that free time. Do you know what she does all day at work? She reads catalogs and feeds that stupid goldfish she keeps on her desk.
MIL: (huffy) She doesn't do JUST that. She has WORK, you know. I mean, she works in the LEGAL DEPARTMENT.
H: Yeah, and that's why whenever we ask her how work is going, she tells us her fish is doing very well.
Me: Ooh! Yesterday I went to the mairie to get a copy of our marriage certificate for H's US visa, and the functionary was reading catalogs! He had one from Leroy Merlin and one from Brico-whatever. Bricoland? Bricorama? Bricomaison? I bet he's redecorating!
H: Ha! That is SOOOOOOOOO typical.
Grandma: Eh. FSIL works for the government. She gets a LOT of paid vacation. H isn't jealous.
Janine (Grandma's Best Friend): (shaking her head): Hmmmmph! FSIL gets an awful lot of vacation time. It IS outrageous!
H: I know, right? She like, JUST STARTED.
Janine: (nodding in agreement). Yes. And she is ALWAYS away on vacation every weekend. I think she spends more time on vacation than she does in her office.
H: I KNOW!
MIL: Well, I still think you are just jealous. You should get a job as a functionary, then I bet you wouldn't be complaining about all that free vacation time!
Friday, February 1, 2008
Reflections
Well, it's February, which, as far as I'm concerned, means that my birthday is just around the corner.
I'm turning 30 this year, and am sort of excited about it. Like, 90% excited, and 10% freaked out.
I think 30 is a big age. To me, I think it means that you're an adult! It's hard to believe that I'm married...for some reason, I guess being a late bloomer, I always thought I'd be married much later in life. Yet, the whole being married thing makes me feel very adult-like.
Anyway, I'm mostly just rambling, but it's nevertheless very exciting. I think I've accomplished a lot in my life in many ways, although in other areas, I'm a bit lacking (i.e. career!). But, as the H always says, "Chacun sa barque" so I don't sweat the small stuff, and I don't think it's such a HUGE deal that I have never really had a "real job".
I guess that this year that I turn 30 has lots of exciting things in store - the H and I moving back to the US, for one. I'm excited and scared at the same time, because things are really going to change for us. I'm a little worried for the H about his moving to the US - he's never really traveled a lot (sorry, but traveling with your school, or going to one of those Club Med resort things with a whole bunch of French people and then never leaving the resort does not count as traveling in my book), so this is a big step for him, and will most likely be a huge shock for the guy. I'm afraid it will be very hard for him at first, but I'm hoping he will be able to hang in there and stick it out. At first, I thought MIL was being all negative about the move, what with being depressed that her second child was moving so far away, and all her panicking and worries about him being in a country so barbaric that it doesn't provide all those basic socialist government services, but she seems to have calmed down a lot. I can tell that she's sad, but I think she's also realized that it's a great opportunity, and even though it will be hard at first, moving abroad adds so much to your life experience and your character. She also is starting to understand that I desperately need a change, and that health-wise, I'm suffering a lot by being in France, and I think she's also realizing that America is not such a bad country. (MIL has been spending her days on Wikipedia, reading up about New York and its history, and also about celiac disease and gluten intolerance). I saw the in-laws before I left last week, and MIL was talking to me about the move - she had tears in her eyes, but I could tell she had calmed down and made her peace with us moving, so it was all very touching. She wants to plan an evening with us all together before I head out permanently in March, which is fine, as I have come up with an excellent plan to avoid the whole glutening problem - I cook my own food before I leave Paris and bring it to their house, where I heat everything up in the microwave. It cuts out a lot of stress and negative energy, and lets me relax about my fears of being glutened. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner!
So yeah, lots of changes heading my way in this year that I turn 30...least of which we will probably know who the Presidential candidates will be on the day of my birthday! Exciting, isn't it?
I'm turning 30 this year, and am sort of excited about it. Like, 90% excited, and 10% freaked out.
I think 30 is a big age. To me, I think it means that you're an adult! It's hard to believe that I'm married...for some reason, I guess being a late bloomer, I always thought I'd be married much later in life. Yet, the whole being married thing makes me feel very adult-like.
Anyway, I'm mostly just rambling, but it's nevertheless very exciting. I think I've accomplished a lot in my life in many ways, although in other areas, I'm a bit lacking (i.e. career!). But, as the H always says, "Chacun sa barque" so I don't sweat the small stuff, and I don't think it's such a HUGE deal that I have never really had a "real job".
I guess that this year that I turn 30 has lots of exciting things in store - the H and I moving back to the US, for one. I'm excited and scared at the same time, because things are really going to change for us. I'm a little worried for the H about his moving to the US - he's never really traveled a lot (sorry, but traveling with your school, or going to one of those Club Med resort things with a whole bunch of French people and then never leaving the resort does not count as traveling in my book), so this is a big step for him, and will most likely be a huge shock for the guy. I'm afraid it will be very hard for him at first, but I'm hoping he will be able to hang in there and stick it out. At first, I thought MIL was being all negative about the move, what with being depressed that her second child was moving so far away, and all her panicking and worries about him being in a country so barbaric that it doesn't provide all those basic socialist government services, but she seems to have calmed down a lot. I can tell that she's sad, but I think she's also realized that it's a great opportunity, and even though it will be hard at first, moving abroad adds so much to your life experience and your character. She also is starting to understand that I desperately need a change, and that health-wise, I'm suffering a lot by being in France, and I think she's also realizing that America is not such a bad country. (MIL has been spending her days on Wikipedia, reading up about New York and its history, and also about celiac disease and gluten intolerance). I saw the in-laws before I left last week, and MIL was talking to me about the move - she had tears in her eyes, but I could tell she had calmed down and made her peace with us moving, so it was all very touching. She wants to plan an evening with us all together before I head out permanently in March, which is fine, as I have come up with an excellent plan to avoid the whole glutening problem - I cook my own food before I leave Paris and bring it to their house, where I heat everything up in the microwave. It cuts out a lot of stress and negative energy, and lets me relax about my fears of being glutened. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner!
So yeah, lots of changes heading my way in this year that I turn 30...least of which we will probably know who the Presidential candidates will be on the day of my birthday! Exciting, isn't it?
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