I don't wanna talk about it.

I read somewhere that moving into a new home is fairly near the top of the list of life's most stressful experiences. Yeah. No shit kidding. I cannot bring myself to talk about the staircase situation without flames shooting out of my mouth, so instead I bring you.

Photo dump-Random stuff on my camera:

Potée Lorraine: a stew of smoked meats and sausages, with cabbage and root vegetables. I never thought I would say this but,Yum!

I knew all that Art School training would come in handy eventually. Here I present to you a lovely etcha-sketch drawing I did of a castle for Seb and Sandrine's son Mathis.

See mom, the 60Gs I spent on college was a solid investment.

Tabako restaurant in Luxembourg City.

Decent sushi thats almost worth the second mortgage you have to take out on your home to pay for it.

The "Mac Do" across the street from our house. You can't really see because the photo is too dark, but the McDrive is packed with cars. Non-stop. Everyday.

So feel free to whip this little piece of ammunition out of your snappy come-back arsenal the next time a snotty Frog makes a joke about Americans and McDonalds. The Truth: The French are Happy Meal Whores.

About 8 million years ago we went to see "Death Proof". We loved it. We laughed so hard our tummies hurt, although no one else in the theatre seemed to understand why.

No construction site is complete without at least one injury. Last month French Father-in-law dropped a heavy ass floor tile on the back of his ankle. Four stitches. Yeah, I know it's blurry. Now shuddup.

And equally as gross as blurry stitches-- A bucket of pickled eggs. In May, David and I got lost driving around Lake Champlain in Vermont, I think. We had to stop and ask directions in this store and on their counter they sold pickled eggs....and pickled mystery meat. I asked if people actually bought them and two cashiers said "yeah!". I have only seen pickled eggs in movies so I just had to take a photo.

Now, I can honestly say, I have officially seen it all.

Le Divorce.

I cannot tell you how many times I've posted photos on my blog of male friends and family members only to receive e-mails about whether or not they are single. It happens often enough that I've begun to joke about starting a International match making service for women who are looking for French husbands. So without further ado...



Introducing our first available bachelor:

Profile # 2135 "Mr. S".

A gentleman aged 45 - 57 years, French and Hungarian background. Non-smoker with no young dependent children. Mr. S is an attractive, charasmatic, and well-travelled Parisian. He seeks a lady who makes excellent company and enjoys being in the spotlight.

Occupation: Government/ Public Service.

Likes: Jogging, cycling, and airbrushing.

Dislikes: Former Fashion models, "voyous" and "racaille".

Ladies, could this be the man for you? For futher details please contact The Palais de l' Elysée, Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

Barbie Dream House Update #12

8 days to "Jour J" and to summarize: Sh*t is late.

But as French construction projects go, we've been lucky. Saturday FrenchBoy had a conversation with our downstairs neighbors, and to say the least they weren't so lucky. They had more than a few mishaps including pipes being intalled on the outside of walls, and one bathroom being completely tiled with someone else's tiles!

The wife said they had no choice but to move into their unfinished apartment, and for the first two weeks lived with crews of 10 or more dirty construction workers walking in and out of their home all day.

So, I hardly feel like I have the right to complain.

We were scheduled to move last weekend, but that was impossible for two main reasons. One, we have no heat or hot water due to the fact that we forgot to call and schedule it to be turned on. And two, witness the huge gaping hole, where our staircase should be.

I cannot go into the stair fiasco without punching people, so I will just skip ahead to the good stuff.

The Star trek kitchen just got more sci-fi with the addition of the coveted Space-ship oven hood.

Which looks even more sci-fi at night:

Thursday the one missing door, and the stainless steel backsplash arrives and then it will be completely finished. I think.

The guest bathroom:

I don't mean to brag, but the guest bathroom is nicer than the bathroom at the Montreal Sofitel. We basically stole all their design ideas and then improved upon them. Our guests are in for a real treat!

I may have to convince David to switch it and make it our bathroom after all.

So that's that. The stairs are coming Wednesday. And then 2 days worth of cleaning to get the layer of dust & construction grime off of everything.



You can call me a Princess if you want to, but I'm telling you right now. I will not be the one cleaning whatever the hell that is off those windows.

Hair Inspiration!

I have nothing interesting to post because I'm tired of hearing myself talk about the Barbie Dream House. (More on that this weekend.) My brain hurts when I think about it, so instead I bring you these lovely photos of Jill Scott with the most glorious head of hair I've seen in ages.

Who can resist hair that naturally defies gravity!? She's so beautiful it makes my eyes hurt. Now, will someone please tell me what products she uses on her hair so I can see if they ship internationally?

Why I heart France: Reason #10

Tomorrow morning I'm going to the Dr.'s office. I'm going to walk in without an appointment, sit in the waiting room for 10 minutes then I'm going to go into his office and demand shampoo.

Why? Because my favorite shampoo for my seasonably cranky scalp is free if my Dr. gives me a perscription for it. Before I leave I will pay him 20 euros. At the Pharmacy I will pay 4 Euros for two months worth of shampoo. A week later the French Social Security office will send my 24 euros back in the form of a check.

I heart France.

And now...for some Dave Sedaris "Bend Over and Say "Ah":

Barbie Dream House Update #11

Dear Bath-tub God,

Thank you for sending me the bath-tub. I am very greatful to have it eventhough it is 3 weeks late and is most certainly not the model I ordered.

Although it was very kind of you to permanently install it before I could correct your mistake, I have ultimately decided to just keep it rather than risk you f*cking up anymore sh*t in my bathroom.

Best wishes,

Madame K.

p.s. Please understand that we will not be paying your invoice. I consider it asshole tax.

Those Crazy Frogs #1

I’m starting a new post category here on MSCL in France. I would like to name it “Those Crazy Frogs”. Under this category you will find all things related to French pop-culture, French celebrities, French current events, or any manner of French nonsense.

Shall we begin?

I’m not much of a morning person, but my Frenchboy watches Telematin each morning while munching on his breakfast biscuits. Telematin is pretty much the French version of The Today Show, complete with interviews and segments on all sorts of nonsense. So imagine Frenchboy’s surprise when he tuned in to see the regular host and the show’s producer William Leymergie, had been replaced.

"I'm gonna git you sucka!"

The story goes, that Mr. Leymergie got into an altercation with Jean-Philippe Viaud, the theatre correspondent, in which he got so pissed off, that he jumped Viaud and strangled him until he lost conciousness. Or as Chris Tucker would so eloquently say: "He passed the f*ck out!"

Jean-Philippe Viaud aka "The Chokee"

Apparently the whole thing was quite serious, with Viaud being rushed off to the hospital in an ambulance. As a response, the channel France 2 suspended Leymergie for 15 days as punishment. For choking a dude. Until he passed out. And had to be taken to the hospital.

My comments on this matter:

1. William Leymergie is a grumpy old French bastard who condescends to everyone, especially the women on the program. I despise him. I think as punishment for choking Viaud, I should be able to choke Leymergie.

2. Dear Mr. Viaud, Please spend less time at the theater and more time at the gym. Seriously, you just caught a beat-down from a 60 year old French dude? If you had even gotten in one weak punch you would have sent him scurrying for his dentures. Sissy.

Ok, whatever moving on…

French President Nick Sarkozy got busted carrying a hand-written “love letter” under his arm as he left a ministerial meeting. Apparently some photographer enlarged the photographs of the page Sarko was carrying.

A few lines from the letter:

"I feel like I haven’t seen you for an eternity and I miss you. "On Thursday, we're leaving for a jaunt to Essaouira [Morocco] for my …But I would love to manage to see you in the week or next weekend. Millions of Besitos [Spanish for small kisses]”

My comments on this matter:

1. Isabelle Balkany, the vice-president of the local council in the Hauts-de-Seine, takes credit for writing the letter. She and Sarkozy have been friends for years. I actually believe her, but that doesn't change the fact that Sarko is a Playa with a capital P. Just look at him!

2. What’s up with this sudden (American-like) obsession with Sarko’s love life? I liked it better when the French press ignored all that and just waited for their illegitimate adult children to finally appear. It’s just more fun that way! Like a mystery novel!

Ok that’s all I got.

Where Have all the Gypsies Gone?

Well, it's official. It's fall. It's October! And that can mean only one thing: all the Gypsies will be leaving soon.

Now, I am somewhat uncomfortable using the word gypsy considering the source. The French are known to be a generally xenophobic bunch, so I don't know if this is even a word that folks use in polite conversation. But whoever they are they come every summer.

The very first summer I spent in France I noticed that on the outskirts of town, or in commercial districts, people would just park their camping cars and set up camp---complete with clothes lines, pirated electricity, satellite dishes, and picnic tables. I found it to be quite strange, but never gave it any thought until the year French Father-in-law's business was burglarized and he and the police agreed that perhaps a "band of gypsies" was responsible.
uhm, what? What? Gypsies?

I consider myself a fairly worldy person, I even know alot of useless crap, but I will admit I didn't know Gypsies actually still existed. I thought it was an outdated word somewhat akin to the use of the word"carpetbagger" for example.

Now everytime I see a "gypsy camp" set up somewhere I know summer has officially begun and when they leave I know it's over. Aside from the glaring eye-sore that these camps become, or the fact that their arrival often coincides with a sudden spike in crime in the vicinity, I greet these folks with a bit of curiosity. I mean...they just set-up camp in the city!

One particular camp that set up not too far from our house this year included an enormously over-weight man who was always shirtless and who slept on the flat bead of a truck most days. Everytime I would drive by the camp I would rubber-neck to see if he was there. Although at his size I don't imagine he was very mobile.

Anyway, all I know is that summer is over. The fat lady (or should I say man) has sung.

Special thanks to Jericlynx on Flickr for lending me his photos from Knott's Berry Farm circa 1971 to 1974. This post wouldn't be the same without them.

Wandering Around Metz

One of the best parts of moving to a new city is finding new stuff! Saturday Mademoiselle R and I spent the good part of the afternoon wandering around Metz Centreville looking for an English bookstore. Luckily for us the weather was tolerable, because we never did find that darned bookstore and we walked in circles for what seemed like hours in spite of the fact that we had a map!

Of course in the process of not finding the mythological English bookstore, we did manage to find some other really cool stuff in Metz, including quite a few rare book shops, and 5 or 6 artists studios! Very cool!

Towards the end of our exploratory expedition we stumbled upon this lovely place.

It appears to be a faux military supply and attire shop complete with fake assault rifles and US flags and army gear. I stood and examined the window for a bit trying to decide if this was for real or if it was a joke, or if maybe it was some kind of anti-war political statement. I never did figure it out.

But my favorite thing about this shop is that it is located in an old butcher's shop. Which somehow makes the nature of their business amazingly appropriate.