Resistance is Futile.

Ah man, the last 2 weeks have been so jammed packed with everything and nothing at all. Does that make any sense? But the best and biggest news is: In September, with any luck, I will be spending the entire month studying French at La Sorbonne!

Yes, after 3 years of passive-aggressive (but mostly aggressive) refusal to continue my French language studies, I’ve decided to go all the way and assimiliate. And what better way to get froggy than to take an intensive 25 hour per week French language and culture class at the Mecca of French language and culture?

Also, what sucks about living in Paris for a month? Nothing, that's what! I'm looking forward to using the time to get to know Paris a bit better so that when FrenchBoy and I visit on weekends we can spend more time having fun and less time lost and wandering around in circles cursing the fact that there are no easily located street signs in this godforsaken country.

The only down side to all this is that FrenchBoy won't be coming with me. He'll only be visiting on weekends, so I'll be home alone like Macaulay Culkin. Also, I’m still in the process of looking for a short-term apartment rental and it will most likely cost la peau des fesses.* If any of you reading this have suggestions on agencies that can get me a short term studio, lord knows I’m open to them. Just last week I thought I'd found a perfect place through an agency that had a good website and a listing of amazing apartments---only to have the owner of said apartment "decline" to rent that month because he himself wanted to use it.

Sidebar: WTF? Can someone please explain to me the point of having your over-priced hipster apartment listed as available on an apartment rental website when in fact you have no damn intention of renting said over-priced hipster apartment? Dude, whatever.

In the meantime, I’m busy dusting off all my French language study books and preparing to be assimilated.

*coûter la peau des fesses – A fairly vulgar French expression which translates to "to cost the skin of my ass". Equivalent to the English expression: "cost an arm and a leg."

Happy Botox to me!

Well if you haven't noticed, I've changed the age in my profile because yesterday was my birthday. I am now 34. Thirty. Freakin'. Four. I say it like that not because I have some huge problem with aging, because I really really don't. I say it like that because I still feel like I'm 16 years old. How can I be 34 already? Life passes so fast. I'm having so much fun, and the years just keep zooming faster and faster. It's scary and beautiful at the same time.

Of course when I wake up first thing in the morning and look in the mirror I am reminded of how un-16 years old I am---mostly by the consecutive ridges of wrinkles that are slowly forming permanent horizontal bands into my ever-expressive forehead. (I can't help it. I make lots of faces. I've always been a bit theatrical that way.) And this is just the amount of worry lines I've amassed in 34 years. Can you imagine what my forhead will look like in 20 years?

Oh la la, Baby needs some birthday botox!

Good Food! Good Friday!

A few photos from our Good Friday Fancy Lunch last week in Nancy. I am well aware of the fact that I must look like a total dork while I'm taking photos of every course of my meal, but gosh darnit, having the photos helps me remember and re-enjoy the meal. Yuuuuuum!

Sidenote: Don't you love it when a restaurant gives you a surprise dessert AFTER your first dessert? *swoon*

This Just In...

How effed up is it that when I read this article about French forces capturing pirates off the coast of Kenya I immediately flashed upon the image of Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow? Am I the only one, or does this sound like a really good beginning to a French joke:

“Did you hear the one about the French sailors that captured a boatfull of pirates?”

Unfortunately I’m not clever enough to make that punchline.

Barbie Dream House vs. Baby: Round 1

I am pleased to report that not only did we truly enjoy having my friend Nat and her daughter Esmé for a weekend visit at the Barbie Dream House, but that everyone survived and nothing got broken. Before the visit, I was a bit worried. For two people who profess to eventually want so breed and make some little crumb-snatchers of our own, we somehow managed to pick out the most un-baby friendly décor possible for our new home. That said, our baby visitor took it in stride. Amazingly she managed to not poke her eye out on the razor sharp edges of our BoConcept entertainment center, and failed to give herself a concussion on the 200 kilo glass dining-room table.

Before this weekend FrenchBoy and I had joked about commissioning the Bouroullec brothers to design us baby cages for our kids, but now I am confident that our furniture probably won’t permanently disfigure our future-offspring.

Why I Heart France Reason #15: Drink Up For Jesus!

One of the things I love most about living in France is the fact that Frogs claim to be Catholic, but are really total heathens that will turn any religious holiday into an excuse to get ripped on really tasty wine.

I freakin’ love easter.

*hiccup*

And in my best effort to become more Frog-like I too took part in heathenous activities this weekend. (In fact, months ago we booked tickets to Paris not realising that this weekend was in fact easter weekend. Duh!) Gone are the days of shopping for the perfect outfit to wear for the church Easter recital on Easter Sunday. This year we skipped all that and just went shopping on Easter Sunday!

What are the odds that Jesus will bitch slap me straight to hell for celebrating his miraculous return from the dead with Korean Barbeque, 11 euro worth of FrenchFries, and Ferragamo loafers?