And The Oscar Goes To......

Are you effin' kidding me?

Seriously?

When I heard on the morning news that Jean Dujardin won an Oscar, I immediately had the following two thoughts in rapid fire succession:

1.  Oh snap! Someone must have slipped a some wacky drugs into my last batch of Nespresso capsules and I am now having a crazy, laced coffee-induced hallucination.

2.  Holy F*ck. I've had a mild stroke in the area of my brain that controls language because I could swear the TV lady said "Brice de Nice" won an Oscar.

As it turns out, I was neither drugged or stroking out.

Like George Clooney, I spent the next 24 hours in a bitter, hazy cloud of shock, disbelief, and disgust.  And then it dawned on me: Of course the Academy loves him. They don't have to suffer through his crappy french TV show and they've clearly never seen any of his other work.

I dare you to make it to the 5 minute mark without thinking to yourself: 

"This dude won a frickin' Oscar?  For realsies?"

End rant.

Let's fast forward to the part where I give you my 2013 Oscar picks.

My pick for Best Actor in a Leading Role:

Boooyah!

 

Five Years of Bloggy Wisdom.

Maybe my jetlag is making me all goofy and euphoric, or perhaps it’s just the absolute joy of waking up in my own bed for the first time in almost a month, but I feel absolutely celebratory.

Happy 5 year blog-aversary to me!

That's right. I've been whinging for 5 whole years now. Click here to read my first, very whingey post titled: "France: Not all it's cracked up to be."

My first blog post was just dripping with disappointement in regards to France. Five years later my feelings for France aren't nearly as dramatic. What I feel now can only be described as... a light-hearted indifference.

But like I said then: At least the food is good.

There is no French word for 'Happy Hour'.

One of the toughest parts of being an expat, or in my case an immigrant, is the reality of leaving your friends behind and jumping into a new location and trying to make new ones. Anyone who has ever moved to a new city or state knows how difficult it can be to jump ship and create a new social circle. Doing so in a foreign language is just that much more daunting a task. I think I’ve whined about making French friends on this blog before and I plan to do so again one last time and then I think it will beofficially out of my system:

I find Frenchmen lovely. So much so that I married one. French women on the other hand don’t really trip my trigger. For one, I think I intimidate them. That’s a nice way of saying I scare them off. If you’ve been reading this blog for any time now, you know I have a big personality, but to my credit I’m a bit more subdued in person….as long as I’m sober. Unfortunately most casual social situations or informal events in France do not include sobriety. After a few glasses of wine I have been known to do things that seem completely strange and obnoxious to French women, such as laughing. And trust me it's not just Parisienne women who enjoy looking down on fun people.

But I have to admit; If I didn’t live in the armpit of France I would definitely give this a try. The idea is so simple: It’s like a cocktail hour before work. Only the cocktail is coffee of course. Is this a great idea or is this a great idea? And wouldn't it just be a really cool way to start off your day?

If anyone has ever been to one of these events in Paris I would LOVE to hear how it went. Seriously please either e-mail me or post in comments.

Wait, wait, don’t tell me. A bunch of Anglophones showed up.

"What does it all mean?"

Thank you all for obliging the “mid-blog crisis” I’ve been going through for the last three months. After a few years of blogging you kind of start asking yourself some pretty deep existential questions about why the hell you show up to a blog twice a week to talk to complete strangers. I mean, I didn’t start doing this so I could get a book deal. And I only make $100 a year from Google Ad-sense. Nobody is getting rich chez moi, but still, I show up.

After three months of deliberation I’ve come up with more than a few explanations for why I keep doing this blog, ranging from: my mother didn’t breast feed me long enough, to iron deficiency and lack of sufficient REM sleep. Still, nothing quite adds up.

What I know for sure is that when something strikes me as funny, I feel the unyielding urge to write it down or at least tell a few people. I am a good story-teller. Oh, and I enjoy it. So, I make no promises, about how long I’ll keep doing this, but for as long as I keep enjoying it--- I’m back.

Public Service Announcement From Your Sponsor:

While I’m sitting here drinking my morning tea I would just like to take the opportunity to make a public service announcement:

*Ahem.*

I am not pregnant.

Ever since I made that damn post about quiting smoking, certain members of my entourage have been taking sideways glances at my midsection. People, I’m not knocked-up, I’m just fat….which is why I have also cut back on the drinkin’. Cuz as much as I love the booz, I’d still I’d rather eat my calories. It's a hard choice, but in the war of cakes vs. cocktails, cakes usually wins.

Please understand my sudden lifestyle changes have nothing to do with allowing a miniature human to reside in my uterus for the good part of a year. My reasons for giving up a few of my vices are shallow as a kiddie pool.

I wanna buy new fancy clothes and most designers only make fancy garments up to a size 10.

And Valentino sho'nuf don't make maternity wear so.....whatever to that.

Eeeeh, which ones?

I will never understand how those skinny Parisian bitches manage to click-clack around the cobblestone streets of Paris in those suicide stilettos. I for one am in need of a pair of sensible walking shoes. Not so sensible that I have granny feet, but sensible enough that I can wander around Paris aimlessly for a few hours without too much pain.

I already have a pair of StoneFly Fontana's:

But I'm also looking at these:

The No Name Akiko Jogger

The No Name Flyer Jogger

As much as I love the name Akiko, I'm leaning towards the Flyer because the leather and the square toe make it a bit less casual. Also the heel on the Flyer is one centimeter higher,which is always attractive to a girl who measures barely 5'3" on a good day. Oh one other important thing to note: I hate tennis shoes and sneakers of all sorts unless they are Chuck Taylor All Stars or unless the person wearing said sneaker is well under the age of 25.

Ok, Which of the above shoes do you hate the most and why?

In It To Win It!

My mom had a dream.

Not exactly one like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. , but important none the less. About a week ago my mom dreamt up some numbers. She said she woke up and the dream numbers were so clear in her head that she quickly grabbed a piece of paper so she could jot them down. Also today is me mum's birthday, so I figure if I play the Euromillions lotto on my mom's birthday with her dream numbers, somehow my chances will magically much better than the usual 1 in 76,275,360. Right?

So this is just a warning: If you don't hear from me for like a few months, it's likely that I've won the Euro millions jackpot in which case I will promptly start packing for a last-minute, extended beach vacation to the Maldives. We will be staying there while our next dream house is being constructed:

I mean, I suppose I could still blog from the Maldives when I'm not too busy swimming or napping.

Anyway, Happy Birthday mom. If we win you're welcome to come to the Maldives with us.

Not Exactly a blog-athon.

You may have noticed that I haven't been around lately. Uhm, thats mostly because I haven't really been up to much. OK, that's not exactly true, but unless y'all wanna hear about how much fun I had rearranging my bookshelves on Friday or how crappy I am at playing guitar, well, there isn't much to say except...

I love summer! Althought the weather here lately has been dreadful, it still feels like summer, and that means long lazy days. Aaah sooo good!

After the month of May where I was pretty much all over the place, hopping from country to country, June has been a month of total relaxation. I haven't been doing much. June has been all about spring cleaning, playing my guitar, and resting my brain so I can get ready to start making some new artwork within the next few weeks.

Normally, I'm one of those super organized control-freak types who sets up entire time-lines and agendas for even the smallest of tasks, but a few days of sunlight combined with a few cocktails and I've managed to completely short-circuit that system of thinking. At this very moment my life philosophy is "Eh, Whatever." I half-heartedly make my to-do lists knowing full well that I no longer feel beholden to them, and I never beat myself up when at the end of the day less than half of the tasks are completed. Two months ago this would have whipped me into a frenzy, but today---I can't be bothered.

But I did find this little gem to share with you:

We were at Castorama (French version of "Home Depot") Saturday and I wandered down an aisle and saw this. So my question is---since it's titled in English, did they do this as a joke?

Uhm, dude, what were they thinking?

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."

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.

L'hibernation.

For the past month or so I have been in full-on hibernation mode. The weather here has been a steady stream of grey and the rain just kept coming with a vengeance. Add to that the fact that I really had a boat-load of work to finish up in the studio, and you get no blog posts for a month!

But alas, this week I was forced out of my bear cave for an art opening, and then a movie, and then coffee, and then cocktails. I have officially re-rentered the land of the living. So, no need to put my face on a milk carton, I’ll be back to blogging in a day or so because God knows I never tire of blogging about Frog nonsense!

Les Plus Bas...Prix.

After lounging around the house for most of the morning, I finally decided what to do with me mum yesterday. After much deliberation, I took her shopping. At Tati.

Yes, Tati. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Tati, I have nothing but pity for you. Tati is the gold standard for trashy bargain basement shopping stores. Oh, and they have a bridal department! Need a pair of gloves for under 2 euros? Tati has it! Need discount hair gel from Mexico? Tati has that too! Need a pair of pin-stripe pants with lace sewn onto the back pockets? Have no fear, Tati has you covered!

I guess if I were going to compare it to a store in the US it would be comparable to an “odd Lots”, or a “Family Dollar” store. (Do those even exist anymore?) But let me remind you, they have a bridal department.

Anyway, going to Tati has kinda become our classic mom/daughter shopping tradition for when she’s in France. You see, my mom and I are absolute psycho bargain hunters. In my youth we spent entire weekends at garage sales, yard sales, the Salvation Army, Goodwill….the list goes on and on.

Anyway, check out the booty we scored yesterday:

1 pair of grey Yoga pants.
1 bucket of my favorite conditioner.
1 leave-in conditioner that smells like almonds and coconuts
1 mini zen garden
3 “designer” winter scarves
2 pairs of “shorty” underwear
1 pair of blue legwarmers
1 extra-warm wool undershirt

Total price 38.51 euros SCORE!

Feel free to share your Tati love stories and bargain scores in comments.

Tag, you're it!: "25 Random Things About Me."

OK, this TAG has been spreading around the interweb and Facebook quicker than the clap in a college dorm, so I’ll just get it over with and post mine already:

1. I have entire conversations with the voices in my head---aloud. So loud in fact, that my FrenchBoy can hear me from all the way downstairs and often interjects: “Who the hell are you talking to this time?”

2. I’m really bad with numbers, and simple math of any kind.

3. When I’m drifting off to sleep I yell weird sentences like someone who has tourette’s syndrome. Last night I yelled something like: “It's coming in under the f*cking door!”

4. I have 3 brothers but I only know 2 of them.

5. I have the names for my first 5 kids already picked out, but I'm too busy to actually make some.

6. I’m only 5’3” but with my hair I’m at least 5’7”. That is mad rockstar.

7. I had a tracheotomy when I was 11.

8. I'm a nice person, but after too many drinks, I am pure Id.

9. I have no armpit hair.

10. I believe the space between my two front teeth makes me lucky. Also, I can fly.

11. I hate tomatoes, pudding, custard, apple sauce, grits, bananas, jello, or any soft food that feels weird in my mouth. Seriously, I will hurl.

12. I was blonde for 3 years.

13. I’m 6 chapters into my first novel. (I figure, if Dan Brown can do it, how hard can it be?) It’s a murder mystery, yet the main character is psychic.

14. When I was 16 I punched a drunk guy at an L7 concert. "BRICKS ARE HEAVY B*TCH!"

15. I have 8-10 tubes of chapstick that I use simultaneously. There are 2 sticks hidden in every room of my house just in case I have a dry lip emergency.

16. I haven’t left my house in 2 days. I hate leaving my house. It’s effin’ nice in here.

17. I haven’t had a “real job/day job/9-5 job” in 7 years.

18. I miss my husband the very second he leaves the house. Sometimes I wish we were siamese twins, but not the kind connected at the head because that would suck.

19. I can eat an entire cake in one sitting without breaking a sweat.

20. I kinda hated grad school.

21. I can drink you under the table. (Especially if I have just eaten an entire cake in one sitting.)

22. Every night I have dreams in which I fight people and win. But once this freak bit off all my fingers. That sucked.

23. My mom is an ordained minister.

24. I'm hopelessly addicted to coke. Coke Zero.

25. I firmly believe that cleanliness IS godliness.

"Hey! That's Me Mum!"

OK, OK, I didn't see my mom on any of the CNN coverage, but she was kind enough to send this photo via her cell phone:

This is my mom, Mamma K if you will, freezing her inaugural balls off in DC yesterday.

Look how happy she looks!

I was happy that she was able to be in DC for the event. This was a big day for her. My mom volunteered and campaigned for Obama in the waaaaay back before he’d even secured the Democratic party nomination. Yep. That's me mum: the eternal optimist. She’s always had high hopes.

From being a Black girl growing up in Iowa in the 1950’s, learning about the world by immersing herself in writings by James Cone, Malcolm X, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr.; to eventually participating in the Black Panther Party morning breakfast programs, I imagine she has always had the hope that this day would be possible. In an article she was working on in 2006 she wrote:

“Hope for the enslaved African was a subversive power that enabled them to survive the cruelties of slavery. And hope remains a subversive power that calls us to live a defiant life that questions the status quo, as it did with our ancestors.”

So yeah, this is a big day for her. A big day for a little tiny woman who has always had a big heart and even bigger hopes.

I know I'm on this diet...

...and I'm not supposed to have even one ounce of alcohol, but I do believe that some sort of champagne celebration is in order.

Right?

I figure I can have one or two "coups" since I know in my heart that at this very moment my dear Granny Myrtle is somewhere in heaven gettin' her drink on with Rosa Parks.

Right?

Update: Instead of champagne I had Coke Zero. Also, Granny Myrtle and Rosa are now doing the electric slide to Kool & The Gang's "Celebration".

So Long Eartha Mae.

R.I.P. Eartha Kitt

January 17, 1927 – December 25, 2008.

My 100 Things.

I love these little getting to know you posts so I stole this one right off the pages of my artist pal's blog. The idea is to highlight the stuff you've done.

1. Started your own blog. (I have 3 or 4 actually.)

2. Slept under the stars.


3. Played in a band (I played clarinette until I was 15 years old.)


4. Visited Hawaii. (No, but I had a friend who was on teh 'Real World' Hawaii.)


5. Watched a meteor shower.


6. Given more than you can afford to charity.

7. Been to Disneyland

8. Climbed a mountain ( FrenchBoy forced me to send 2 days hiking around the volcanoes around Puy de Dôme and I'm glad he did. On the way up we got caught in a swarmed by a flock of sheep wearing cowbell necklaces which filled the entire side of the mountain with windchime music, at the lip of the dome I saw a dude wearing an 'Iowa State' sweatshirt, and then we hiked down into the crater where huge boulders of lava rock only weight 5 kilos. It was mad cool!)

9. Held a praying mantis. (Not gonna happen. Ever.)

10. Sang a solo.

11. Bungee jumped.

12. Visited Paris.

13. Watched a lightning storm at sea.

14. Taught yourself an art from scratch.

15. Adopted a child.

16. Had food poisoning

17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty. (Does ridign past it 10 times a week for 2 years on the Staten Island Ferry count?)

18. Grown your own vegetables.

19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France.

20. Slept on an overnight train.

21. Had a pillow fight. ( I have 2 younger brothers who I used to beat the crap out of on a regular basis. I'm sure at one point pillow abuse was involved.)

22. Hitch hiked. (Shhh, don't tell my mom.)

23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill.

24. Built a snow fort. (Dude, I grew up in Iowa. I can build you damn near anything in snow. Forts are for ameteurs.)

25. Held a lamb. (but I've eaten many.)

26. Gone skinny dipping. (Never. And I'm not just saying this because I know my mom is reading.)

27. Run a Marathon

28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice (150 euros an hour? No thanks.)

29. Seen a total eclipse

30. Watched a sunrise or sunset.

31. Hit a home run.

32. Been on a cruise. (From New York to Bermuda. It was Awesome.)

33. Seen Niagara Falls in person.

34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors. (Which ancestors? There are so many?)

35. Seen an Amish community. (Again, I'm from Iowa so that's a big yes. I even ate dinner once at the Amana Colonies. Is it just me or is it funny when Amish people have websites?)

36. Taught yourself a new language. (No , but I'm thinking of creating my own.)

37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied.

38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person

39. Gone rock climbing

40. Seen Michelangelo's David (totally hot!)

41. Sung karoke. (Yeah. I vaguely remember singing one line of a Melissa Etheridge song in a bar in the West Village before being dragged out and thrown into a cab.)

42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt. (I'm not going all the way to Yellow Stne National Park to see hot water shoot out of a hoel in teh ground. Bite me.)


43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant.

44. Visited Africa. (I went to Tunisia and hated it. But technically it's Africa , so yeah.)

45. Walked on a beach by moonlight

46. Been transported in an ambulance (But I was just tagging along with someone else.)

47. Had your portrait painted

48. Gone deep sea fishing

49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person

50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris

51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling (Snorkeling. And I saw a sea monster and nearly had a heart attack. Really!)

52. Kissed in the rain

53. Played in the mud

54. Gone to a drive-in theater

55. Been in a movie

56. Visited the Great Wall of China

57. Started a business (several.)

58. Taken a martial arts class

59. Visited Russia

60. Served at a soup kitchen

61. Sold Girl Scout cookies ( I think I was a registered girlscout until I was like 18.)

62. Gone whale dolphin watching. (Taking a private Dolphin watching kyaking lesson is WAY cooler than being on a big ass boat with a bunch of people and hoping to see a whale rom afar. Also, Dolphins are smaller, but scary as hell!)

63. Got flowers for no reason (I used to buy a bunch of flowers every Sunday mornign and then I got bored with it. Also, once my mom had a bouquet of flowers delivered to me at school for no apparent reason. It was very cool.)

64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma

65. Gone sky diving

66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp

67. Bounced a check

68. Flown in a helicopter

69. Saved a favorite childhood toy. (I had my Barbie Dream House until I was in highschool I think.)

70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial (Very lame Jr. Highschool trip.)

71. Eaten Caviar

72. Pieced a quilt

73. Stood in Times Square (....everyday for almost 3 years. My gradschool art studio was on 41st street, so naturally I spent alot of time at the 42nd street Times Square subway station.)

74. Toured the Everglades

75. Been fired from a job

76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London. (Not so impressive)

77. Broken a bone

78. Been on a speeding motorcycle. (My mom's boyfriend once took me to school on his motorcycle when I was in 2nd grade. I was both terrified and embarrassed.)

79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person

80. Published a book

81. Visited the Vatican

82. Bought a brand new car (see this post)

83. Walked in Jerusalem

84. Had your picture in the newspaper (Just last week in fact.)

85. Read the entire Bible

86. Visited the White House

87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating

88. Had chickenpox

89. Saved someone’s life

90. Sat on a jury

91. Met someone famous (Like every New Yorker, I met Kevin Bacon TWICE in Central Park while he was walking his dog.)

92. Joined a book club

93. Lost a loved one

94. Had a baby

95. Seen the Alamo in person

96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake

97. Been involved in a lawsuit

98. Owned a cell phone

99. Been stung by a bee

100. Read an entire book in one day



Ok, you're turn.

Twins of the Lamb.

I think one of the reasons I was so freaked out by yesterday’s “de-ringing” incident was that, I really really love my wedding ring. I mean adore it. I have more costume jewelry than you can shake a stick at, but the thing I love most is the huge ball-buster hunk of titanium that is my wedding band.

Long story short, when we were shopping for wedding bands I couldn’t find one that didn’t suck, so while FrenchBoy was getting fitted for his ring, I stuck my finger out and said, “Just give me the same one.” The salesdude was a bit baffled at first, but with a bit of coaxing we got him to order two identical rings for us. We ordered engraving on the inside of each band, but the metal was too hard. The engravings didn’t really take. And years of wearing them has left the so-called engravings rubbed so shallow and faint that now only one of those hi-tech microscopes that the scientists on CSI Miami could detect that they were ever there. Tant pis.

I love wearing a men’s wedding band. Although I can girlie-it-up with the best of proper French ladies, I’m also the kind of “lady” that enjoys wearing Harley-Davidson motorcycle boots. That’s just the kind of girlie-girl I am. And on a practical note, a big chunky titanium band is heaven for people like me who work with their hands. Paint and India ink wipe right off it. It’s perfectly indestructible. And most importantly, whenever I look at it, I think about how FrenchBoy is wearing the exact same ring.

In fact, we do this thing. It’s a stupid inside joke that began with one of many incidents where I made a French language pronunciation mistake. You see, years ago I didn’t know the difference between the French word anneau -which means ring, and the word agneau - which means lamb.

(Dude, go listen to the sound clips. They sound almost the same.)

So one day, I was just looking at my wedding band I looked over at FrenchBoy and I tried to say "We’re ring twins!” But instead I blirted out “Nous sommes des jumeaux des agneau!”, which kinda means “We’re Lamb Twins!” I still thank God we were home alone when I made this mistake. (To my credit, at least I never used the verb baiser when I meant to use the verb s’embrasser!) Ever since that one first slip up, which resulted in laughter so hard that it inspired tears, FrenchBoy and I have been “Lamb Twins” and to this day I refuse to correctly pronounce the word anneau.

So now, every now and then I look down at my ring and then turn to FrenchBoy and ask: “On es encore les jumeaux des agneau?” (“Are we still the Lamb Twins?”) In response he wordlessly raises his ringed hand in the air, palm facing towards me. Then I run at him and give him a really hard high five. With any luck, on the first try, our wedding bands collide making a dull, metallic clicking sound as we collapse into laughter and cheers. On the rare occasion that my aim is a little wonky and I miss, and our rings don’t touch, I just keep smacking the hellout his hand over and over again until our rings finally make contact and then …we collapse into laughter and cheers.

The One Where I Chuck It.

The weirdest thing happened to me yesterday morning.

I woke up an hour before my alarm went off rather disoriented. I had been having one of my familiar dreams where either I’m chasing someone, or someone is chasing me, and the whole thing culminates in one final apocalyptic battle scene in which I either win, or get bored and choose to wake-up. (I’m a semi-lucid dreamer.)

I opened my eyes at about 6 AM and our bedroom was pitch black due to the fact that sun doesn’t rise these days until about noon these days. I went into the bathroom and went about my regular morning grooming routine, but my feet were cold so I walked back into the bedroom to get a pair of socks. As soon as I entered the bedroom, I saw a small dark object sitting on my side of the unmade bed.

It was my wedding band.

At some time during the night, I had taken off my wedding band...and just chucked it.

This just completely freaked me out. I couldn’t have been more shocked if I had woken up downstairs on the sofa wearing nothing but my sleeping cap. (Yes I wear a sleeping cap.)

I ran downstairs and told FrenchBoy what had happened. His response. “Were you fighting people in your dream again?” At that very second a tiny tid-bit of the dream came back to me. I remember that in the dream I was fighting someone and that my finger hurt so I took off my ring. (“Hold up. Lemme take off my jurry right quick.”) But that’s all I could remember. Anyway, I freaked out a bit more and then we both had a really good laugh about it.

Then a few hours later I’m sitting at my computer, typing another blog entry and WHAM it hit me.

ONE WEEK AGO TODAY WAS OUR FIVE YEAR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY!

Now, how on earth does one go about forgetting something like that? Part of it could be that we’re so wrapped up in Holiday and Birthday preparations (Why was everyone we know born in December?!) that it just slipped our minds. But FIVE years is kind of a big deal, not just because its this many *holding up hand like a 5 year old* but because at FIVE years of marriage I am now officially, no matter what, eligible to become a French citizen!

That’s right. Last Monday morning I could have walked into the Prefecture and asked for a citizenship application. Sure, it’ll prolly take 2 years, and who am I kidding, there’s no WAY the prefecture is open on a Monday morning, but still, it’s pretty cool.

If I want to, I can now become a frog.

I would blog more right now...

But 10 minutes ago I finished my first round of dancing around my living room in my shabby Ikea bathrobe, and after I eat breakfast I need to go work on round two. In fact I may not be done dancing for days!

I'm convinced I look only slightly less goofy that Colin Powell doing the Yahoozee.

But whatever, WE WINNNNNED!