It’s 11 o’clock on a Friday evening and I’m curled up in bed with some sweet herbal tea, trying to fight off what remains of this horrific bug. It seems that everyone at work has caught some version of it. Some, like myself, were hit harder than others, but I’m confident that I will be fully better on Monday, after a complete weekend of rest.

One thing that will make this weekend more restful also makes me sad – S. is out of town for the next 10 days. He’s going on a pretty amazing trek with some friends for his spring break (which doesn’t align with mine whatsoever). That means I’m on my own. I have quite a few IEPs to write, so I’ll be up to my elbows in work and herbal tea all weekend.

It’s amazing what moments in life can strike you as being “wow” moments. This evening, as S. was packing, he told me that he’s not *excited* about this vacation, but more stressed about forcing himself to socialize, instead of relaxing, or seeing this as a true adventure. Here comes the moment – he said that it would be totally different if I was going. And he actually seemed like he meant it! Either he knows all the right things to say in the right way to make me believe it, or he really is as crazy about me as I am him. I have felt that way about every trip I’ve taken since meeting him. It’s okay, but not the same without him. It’s funny, we’ve been together three years, and we are so very happy and in love. But tonight, he just told me he loves me in the most convincing way possible, without even uttering those three words. And now he’s going to read this and think I’m insane. But really, I love him so very much and he makes my heart melt in silly, sappy ways.

Also, I’m sick – that makes me more emotional (Funny that I feel the need to apologize for emoting. I think that in itself says as much about me as the rest of this post combined).

So, I have tried do-it-yourself furniture from pretty much every store: Staples, Office Max, Office Depot, Target, Wal-Mart, and even Ikea. Some have been successful (I loved my bookcases from Office Depot), and some have been disasters (Ikea furniture falls apart as soon as you put it together, and Target makes the most ridiculous, poorly designed, dysfunctional dressers imaginable). I have been the route of designing and creating my own furniture from scratch (mush more successful when my father and his many power tools are involved, less so with cruddy power tools, and an apartment floor that is actually level). I am well-versed in buying furniture from traditional stores, and I have also spent much of my time on Craigslist and at second hand stores.

Now, without the option of self-creation, I am again faced with the question of “what is the best place to purchase transitional furniture that is the “best” (within my price category, most sturdy, and doesn’t look like crud)?

I recently bought a chaise off Craigslist, for a room that I only need to have decorated for another 8 months. After that, it can go in the trash, or if I want the effort, resold. It was only 50 bucks, has crayon that can be covered with throw pillows, but is quite comfortable and inexpensive! My current bed is nice – a floor model from a traditional furniture store, and it will sell for the same as I bought it from when I next move. I also bought an excellent desk chair as a fatwallet deal that retains great resale value.

But now, I need another bookcase. I loved the ones I had in my old place, but when I threw down 150 bucks each, I was hoping for more longevity, which my cross-country move did not allow, and I sold them a year later for only half the original price.

I know I am moving across town in September, and again 8 months later. The second will be cross-country, and I don’t know if any belongings, other than what fits in my car will go. And right now, I am poor.

So do I buy myself something icky and toss it, allowing myself to live the hobo lifestyle for a year or two, or do I suck it up and buy something that makes me feel nice, settled, adult and accomplished every time I see it, the way I felt about everything in my previous apartment, and feel about very little in my current?

It is strange. I am poor, but having nice things does bring a sense of pride and accomplishment (my mother would be appalled). Can I make it through two years of feeling unsettled and using cardboard boxes, if I know that better is coming? It is so hard to downgrade after living in comparative “luxury”!!

I suck.

So, because I know I should be writing Central America posts, and not posts about my current life, I am not posting at all. This is a problem. Today I decided that I am going to post whenever I feel like it, about whatever I feel like talking about – and when I do get around to writing about my most amazing trip, I will backdate the posts (so they’re all together), and make a comment in my current post to go glace back at it.

My last two months have been crazy, as life generally is for me. I have done lots of awesome things and lots of settling in things as well. Since I am bad at writing about past things, I will just tell you about this weekend.

S. and I were going to leave the city behind and go up to the White Mountains for an exciting adventure for the fun three day weekend. However, this was also the plans of a billion other people, and we couldn’t find anywhere to stay (I did receive some kind emails informing me that place have been booked for 6 months for this weekend). I guess there’s this phenomena called leaf-peeping that people who are not used to colorful trees drive long hours to partake in. Our weekend plan turned into a day trip plan. But that was also foiled after sitting in in traffic for about two and a half hours to go thirty miles. Our bailout plan was much better – Disc Golf! Somehow S. had anticipated this awfulness and had planned accordingly. We played for a while, then went on a search for books, coffee and a blanket to lay in the sun. After some driving around, that plan somehow changed into Starbucks and a tax free mall with a Target and pretzels. Again we tried to plan (movie up in NH), but we ended up driving back to the city and hiking around a resevoir. We did end up getting to a second run theater to see The Dark Night (oh… Heath Ledger was so good at being creepy!). All in all, it was completely different from anything we planned, but it was quite nice at the same time. Sometimes those days that wildly deviate from the plan are just as satisfying!

Yesterday we actually carried out our plan for the day. We gathered up the books we acquired the day before (well, S. had school reading, I had fun reading), and trekked downtown to the park. On the way we passed through an Oktoberfest parade, we walked half way around the city to find acceptable picnic food, and we had to stop in at Macy*s to buy a blanket. Each of these things added to the adventure of the day. Sometimes the city is a nice place to tromp around. Especially in the beautiful fall weather. We spent the evening giving a tour of my alma mater to some of S.’s extended family, and going out to our favorite dessert place with them. Again, a nice day!

Today we were much more low-key. We again had plans for great adventure (rock climbing), but S. wasn’t feeling well, it was cold, and we didn’t want to deal with traffic again! S. had a conference call in the AM, so I wandered around campus for a while, and ended up watching a live broadcast of a speech Mr. Bill Gates was giving in the next building over. Cool! I really loved hearing him speak about his new foundation – he made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It made me want to persue a business degree so I could combine the awesomeness of the mental health field with the awesomeness of business. Maybe I can someday join forces with S. on some cool business venture.  I could talk about this talk in much more detail, but since S. didn’t get to hear it, I already spent all of brunch telling him about how much I loved it, so I may have used up all of my enthusiasm about it. But I did like it – a LOT.

Here is the cutie on the big screen

So this post isn’t going to be too different from the previous: I am not content with my job/living situation, I am excited for Costa Rica, I love my iPhone.

My current position is that of a babysitter/personal assistant who doesn’t make a quarter of what she should be making, isn’t appreciated for her value (I am still thought of as the college girl who was hired as a babysitter, not a woman with an advanced degree in the field), and is basically doing a charity job for a friend, but the friend has no realization of that. I need to get out, but as of now, I have no housing options for the fall other than with this family – although that is leading to more menial, unappreciated tasks. (ex. on my weekends off I spend 6+ uncompensated hours doing work).

I have no problems taking constructive criticism from supervisors when I have a valid chance to defend my choices, but my employer has gone a little off the deep end and her unfounded criticism about people (which runs wild constantly because she thinks that every person who doesn’t devote his or her entire lives to her child is evil) turned toward me last night in a public setting, with no chance to defend myself. It was concerning a book which her child created that was left in a final version as the child had written, with pictures the child chose – not edited to copy my adult, stylized version. She does when she works with her, and as she did with her husband, the noble prize winning author as he was suffering from severe dementia. I will make no judgments about helping along an author who was once glorious in his decline (I think her “editing” in his final years was probably a large portion), but I do not find it appropriate for a young, special needs child. When I discover stories from my childhood, I am pleased to find silly writing styles, and interested by the decisions I made, and I am glad that they were not changed drastically from the original. (This books was edited for misspellings, major grammar, etc., just not COMPLETELY rewritten). </RANT>

Moving on… S. sent me a guide book for Costa Rica, and I am SO excited! Since moving, I have been feeling apathetic toward most things, trying to feign excitement because I know I should be excited, but I have been so stressed out that most emotions have been filtered for survival, including excitement. I’m afraid this colored much of my time in Paris, which is majorly disappointing. However, last night I finally felt truly excited about going. Not just excited to leave here, as has been my recent sentiment, but in reading about the places we may be staying and the things we may do, my fake excitement has turned a corner to genuine. It is quite refreshing (although I think some of my repressed frustration with other situations may be oozing out as well – but I am aware it’s not so healthy to keep it all pent up). I am also happy that I am going to be visiting someone this weekend who can always make me smile and I generally spend hours laughing with. I need it.

In the technological realm, I am happy again. Once the fiasco with transporting my computer was over, it was fixed and returned promptly (with no reformatting, thankfully)! Upon its return I remembered how much I love it. It is so fast, the keyboard is so lovely, and it is just such a wonderful machine. It helps that it’s set up just the way I like it and I don’t have to deal with other people’s junk cluttering it up or slowing it down. whooo!

So… the iPhone! I have to admit I haven’t had a lot of time to play with it or test it out because I have only had two days of being in a typical service area, and I didn’t have access to my computer to get it set up as I wanted during that time period. There are tons of things I love about it. I was concerned about typing without keys, but I have found that if I allow myself to trust the auto correct software, I can be even sloppy about my typing and it still gets it right. I love, love, LOVE the web browsing, my main gripe with my blackberry – it is actually easy to use, and fast!, and unlike my blackberry, I will actually use it on a regular basis. The Google maps is similar to the blackberry version. I haven’t had a chance to really use the gps, as I didn’t want to drive and test it simultaneously, but when I get back to civilization, I will test it out. Standing still, it seemed as accurate as the cell tower version, giving a pretty wide circle, but I may have had it in a mode where the GPS was disabled. I’ll have to play with it more. There are some features that I’m really surprised that it doesn’t have, as expressed by every other reviewer in the world – the lack of picture texting (what?!?), which my blackberry shared. It sends you a message asking you to log into a website from what I’ve been told. As long as all your contacts have phone email, this isn’t a problem, as emailed photos are easy, but still a weird thing to be left out. Another gripe is the lack of copy/paste which I used frequently on my blackberry. Also the lack of push email for Gmail, although I currently am signed up for a free trial of mobileme, from which I have created a hybrid forward, and I will switch it to Yahoo when the free trial is over. Although I expected there to be some sync with google calendar and such, which was also surprisingly left out. Overall though, I really do love it. I am very glad I waited for the second generation model, because the shortcomings now are few enough that the 3g and gps make up for it, but otherwise it would have been a questionable trade from my blackberry simply for better, but slower, browsing. Especially since I no longer have the majority of my friends in in-network calling (sorry guys!).

This entry took two days to write due to the annoyingness of my days, so I am not going to promise anything good in the near future. I will continue to whine up until my departure for C.R.

Oh yes – I am going to a fancy, fancy party this month at which Yo-Yo Ma is giving a private concert (he’s one of the many prominent guests), although “the help” (me) has to remove the child from the property for that section of the party as to not ruin it. Same for his rehearsal the day before. Although, the staff will be forced to cater to us as we are taking up the only two guest rooms on the grounds – because we are also guests of top priority (much to the chagrin of the staff, who recognizes we’re not as internationally known). Although I am excited to meet everyone, including the hostess who has had an interesting enough life to have published an autobiography and enough mula to toss around that she has started a 3 million dollar charitable foundation, and has donated at least triple that to a prominent university. Her other home (not in the sticks of the northeast), has an original Chegall and gardens that are supposed to be absolutely glorious, this property is supposed to be pretty nice as well. I am excited for this party.

I have so many things to say, but I have forgotten them, or am too lazy to present them as good stories. My pictures are in another forum, so if you know me, you can look there. But one thing I do want to talk about here is summer sales in Paris! This whole entry revolved around them, so skip if you’re not so interested in the subject.

Shops in Paris only have sales twice a year – in July and in January. They correlate with the end of seasons, and the sales are phenomenal. They are a huge deal – so much so, that the government dictates when they are going to be, and that’s the only time they are allowed to happen. This year they started on June 25th at 8am, and will go until August 3rd I believe – 6 weeks. I hit the first wave, when things are only discounted around 40-50% (at the end of the season, what little is left is slashed to 75% off)!

Instead of venturing out on the 25th, which is the Parisian equivalent of black Friday (I got the 26th off as my one REAL day off), I window shopped late that night, and ended up shopping the next day. First we explored two giant department stores, which housed great designers like Chanel, D&G, Chloe, and every other high end designer you can think of. Almost everything was 40-50% off. I tried on a couple things, but with prices being 4000 Euro and up, it was a little silly for me even to be looking. I did try on one bodysuit that looked like a tube top that I really liked the cut of, but the color didn’t match my skin tone at all – plus it was 200 Euro and I’m not sure if it was on sale. Shopping was draining! After perusing the designer sections, the other floors, which were nice, just couldn’t compare. Dior and Gucci make everything else look like WalMart purchases in comparison (the fabrics, the cut, the stitching – swoon!), but I can’t afford the nice stuff!

After going in to the department stores and seeing nothing more interesting than women fighting over 300 dollar shoes, we decided to stop and put some food in our tummies. We had the most delicious crepes I’ve ever had. We had one with Nutella and one with Caramel in this cute little place that had a second floor overlooking the street – perfect! After eating, we had enough strength to rejoin the fight for high fashion.

This time, we tried the boutiques. We walked along Saint-Honore, the most high priced, exquisite shopping that Paris has to offer. After popping into a few little stores and realizing that we couldn’t pay 500 Euro for a tank top (that was the half off price!), we were a little disheartened, but enjoying ourselves.

We walked past a store we had scoped the night before that had a turquoise ball gown in the window that was tres, tres magnifique. We decided we had to go in and see how much it was – because the night before we had been seriously lusting over it. It was only 7000 Euro. Once inside the store, we found that every piece in there was perfection. Most things were originals, with nothing being offered in different sizes (as is expected for Saint-Honore shops), and everything was drool worthy. We wandered into the upstairs portion where a few ready to wear pieces were offered, included more 3000 Euro shirts and skirts. We drooled over a shorter, poofier, more casual version of the dress downstairs (it didn’t have 2000 Euro worth of jewels stitched in, but instead could be worn to a mildly fancy event), as well as a long, black, draped gorgeous creation that was to die for. I convinced my friend that we had to try them on. The black dress had to be modeled, it couldn’t just hang limp and sad on a hanger – It was too pretty! Plus, there was no price, so I couldn’t be too sad when my body just wouldn’t work with it.

Now, typically, I won’t try anything on that I don’t have money in my bank account to pay for, just in case something goes terribly wrong (like a giant ripping sound as I pull it over my head), but since my bank account is nearly none, that would limit my choices to nothing more than socks, so I decided to go for it (8000 euro is the same as 800 when you have nothing). We asked for a dressing room, disrobed, and I slipped into the most luscious of fabrics. Silky, soft, smooth – perfection. And it fit like a glove (but not an ill-fitting glove, like one made from a mold of my hand)! It accentuated every curve, made my waist look magnificent, and glided over my bum and hips in the perfect way – not like cotton which lumps out when faced with my hips. I felt like I was going to a royal ball. That was my most perfect moment in Paris. High fashion in the best way.

My friend looked over and gasped, oohed with delight, and reached for the camera. She looked delightful as well, but her dress ballooned out a little much, and was far too wide around the waist for her petite figure. I giggled and danced around for a few moments, enjoying the moment on pure love, and I decided that I had to be foolish and figure out how much it was – so I could save every penny I had for the next 15 years to come back and get it. I walked out into the store, but no one was to be seen. Our sales attendant had walked away, no doubt convinced that the two silly American girls wearing jeans would not be able to afford anything within his lovely store(although, he was right), and after telling us about the 40% off left us. I walked back in, deciding I should take it off, so when I did get the news it wouldn’t be as painful, but after slipping on my jeans, I needed to twirl around a few more times.

The sales attendant was there, and I asked him about the price. He said “let me check” as I waited patiently and admired myself a few more times (totally self-absorbed, I know, but the dress was so amazing!). He returned and quoted a price that was only about 1.3 times my allotted shopping budget, which I had so gracefully given myself! Although, this budget was supposed to be big enough that I could buy 3 very nice things, or two very, very nice things. But, as mentioned earlier, my bank account is small, and I was already partially shopping on anticipated money, so the difference between a little borrowed money, and a little more really isn’t that huge (awful – I reminded myself of confessions of a shopaholic). It took about 4 minutes of calculating numbers in my head, and I decided it was worth it. It wasn’t in the thousands like I had fully expected, and I had been in dire need of a dress for formal, formal events. It was done. I had to buy it.

As he was ringing me up, I was desperately praying that I hadn’t heard him incorrectly, or that he hadn’t made a mistake in telling me the numbers in English, reducing by a factor of ten or something (100 and 1000 are hugely different). I stared at the slip he handed me to sign, and was baffled. It wasn’t what he had quoted me, IT WAS 40% LESS! He had told me the pre-sale price, not the discounted one! I took 6 deep breaths, turned to my friend and asked “this can’t possibly be right??” (she had been holding her breath with me, convinced that we were both completely wrong about this purchase price) – but she nodded silently with huge eyes, “YES!”. It was not only within my budget, it was well within (leaving 25% for accessories)!

The moment we walked out the store, and turned the corner (because this couldn’t be in site of the smug sales attendant, who acted like he was doing us a huge favor by letting me purchase this), we squealed delightedly. For ten minutes! I felt like I had just gotten away with robbing a bank or something. I felt the need to make a quick get-away. I still am going to be checking my bank statement as soon as it appears to make sure I am not dreaming. It was too perfect.
When we returned to the apartment I had a fashion show for all to see, and jaws dropped to the floor when they saw it.

I am seriously dreaming. I don’t even know how I came to own this magnificent dress. Pinch me!
So this all-too-long entry can be summed in one sentence – “Sales in Paris are the most beautiful thing in the entire world.”

I have never been forced to appreciate art from an academic standpoint. I haven’t had to take any classes to comment on “the way the light hits the tree” and write 6 page papers on it. I didn’t go to elementary school where kids have to take art classes and learn to paint properly. I suffered through art in middle school, managing to eke out one pathetic looking sleeping cat that was the motif through which I acquired passing grades. My parents did not appreciate art, and as a result, my love for it did not blossom. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate the arts, for music was a huge part of my life – but visual arts was not.

In high school I took some photography classes. And in college I worked my way into some photo classes that I wasn’t techinically allowed to be in (only visual arts majors were allowed to enroll), and my professor almost always picked my photos as the top two in the line up for the week (think reality shows, where they give the rose, or token to the best person first). It wasn’t a paintbrush and easel, but it was art.

I have had the discussion with S. about how we are so bombarded with images in this culture, and things are so easily accessible that “art” in the old sense is much more difficult to appreciate and come by – not a lot is novel anymore. Even seeing the “great works” is a little anticlimactic, because the images are so easily accessed in books, online, often even showing up in advertising.

The reason I write about this now is because – I’m in Paris (obviously), and I have had the opportunity to run into a few museums with an anxious 8 year old and see some of these famous things in person. Monet, Degas, Manet, Van Gogh – I saw works from them all yesterday. I should be impressed. I should be wowed. But it was sort of like “oh, okay, it’s the real thing. not that different from the recreations.” I didn’t appreciate them as I thought I should. So I guess this post is a little about guilt from not being wowed, but leading into some thoughts I had on taste in general.

I like patterns. I like order. I like things to be in their places. J. and I were having a discussion about art this morning (she still has the wow feeling, I haven’t been able to tell her I’m bored – it would truly change her view of me). She said that she was reading a book last night that said that art should make you appreciate the beauty in every day life. That seeing a beautiful table in a palace shouldn’t cause you to ache for an aristocratic life, but instead cause you to see what a table “could be” and see the beauty in your own life. I see beauty in simplicity. I see beauty in mystery. I see beauty in what could be.

J. is the type who will pick out a table cloth with 6 bright shade of yellow and orange with bright colored flowers all over it. She sees beauty in something that simply makes me want to vomit. After a small amount of thought, I think I appreciate art most when it falls into one of the following three categories: patterns, people, and adventure.

I love patterns. Simple, complex, patterns with light, but NOT patterns overwhelmed with color, or ones that don’t have order. There is a painting in J’s room that I adore. It is this :

It is too chaotic! It makes me feel ucky when I look at it! I just can’t explain it!

Anyway, I’ve been seeing lots of things I should be excited about, but I just can’t get myself to appreciate the beauty of it all. But I’ll also find myself staring up at the architecture and soaking in the wonder of it. Or I’ll find myself in a room full of photography and be amazed. Or looking at landscapes and think “I want to be there!” (instead of, oh.. this makes me better appreciate the beauty of my own small yard, without the glorious mountains and rivers and jungle…). So I according to J.’s view, I’m not appreciating it “right,” but I’m enjoying it in my own way just the same.

The last 3 days I have been doing lots and lots of walking.

R. walked to the Eiffel tower with me Sunday, Monday we visited the Jardin Des Tuileries, and today we visited Notre Dame! There has been lots of lovely sightseeing, and lots of walking (and complaining from the young one), and lots of missing my love as I see all these cute couples walking down the street (it really is EVERYWHERE!), and lots of staring at the beautiful fashions that walk by on the street.

I am usually a really great, patient kid person, but usually I’m in a place that I don’t care so much about, and I know I’m getting paid for it. My payment for being here is being here – so I want to enjoy it to the fullest, so R.’s complaining is starting to get me down, but I think the point is almost here where she’s realizing I’m simply not going to put up with it. I hope! She’s good when it’s just me, nut the moment any other person enters the pictures she tries to manipulate them to get out of the rules (mom will give her ice cream 4 times a day, and everything her little heart desires). Although J is starting to get exasperated as well. Before she left she said that her choice was very seriously check herself into a mental institute for a long “rest” or go through with this wonderful vacation. And I think she really meant it.

Oh! That reminds me. Parents. I don’t understand how parents (and grandparents) often think their children are the best things in the entire world and that they can do no wrong, and that everyone else should also think their children are God’s gift to the world. Ugh. I particularly think this tonight because I had to sit through 30 minutes of R plunking away on an out of tune piano in an awful way while her mother and grandparents sat there in adoration. All I could think was “Schedule! Bed time routine! The grocery will be closed by the time we get there! Shut up already!” It even got to a point where her grandparents were obviously done, but her mother sat there, absolutely enraptured. It was painful. Times like that make me miss having a friend here to make fun of things with. It a friend was here, we could go home and laugh about how horrible we really thought it was, and how we were lying through our teeth saying it was great.

J also has very questionable taste in what is beautiful. Yesterday we were walking down the street and she saw a blue flowered china plate in the window. She stopped and gazed at it and said “oh look, isn’t it SO beautiful?” I pretending to gently agree, although it was far too patterned, blue and over the top for my style. She then said “When you get married, I’ll buy it as a wedding present!” and inside I groaned, then laughed. I told her such a gift would be totally inappropriate for me, because I would break it in a minute, but what I really wanted to say was “J., you don’t know me at all, do you? I would certainly prefer more backpacking equipment, or a plane ticket somewhere exotic or even a weekend caving or some tech-y geeky equipment over this silly 2000 plate. Are you kidding?!?!” She often thinks things are so gorgeous and inside I groan and think “yuck, that’s hideous!” but instead pretend to agree, as to not insult her (because she would take it as an insult). Although, the other day she did say a jacket was beautiful and I said something like “j., do you want a young person’s opinion? It looks like something a 70 yr old woman would wear, insisting it’s still fashion. You are FAR TOO YOUNG for something like that.” I think she was only a little offended.

I miss my wonderfully sarcastic friends. I miss S., who will walk down the street with me insulting people’s outfits (quietly of course!). I miss having someone with a similar point of view on the world to take it all in with. It’s funny, I felt a little like this when I was in Eastern Europe too. Travel is most enjoyed in the company of like-minded, adventurous, wonderful people.

au revoir!

I have had a few interesting encounters with the French people and I can’t decide if I should write about them now, or if I should collect them all and just write about the best snippets.

I had the evening off, so I wandered around the city and “licked the windows” (as they say in French) of the fancy designer stores, indulged in a little piece of heaven at La Maison Du Chocolat, saw the Arc de Triomphe, hiked up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower (I didn’t go all the way to the top because the ticket booth to catch an elevator was closed and the machine wouldn’t take me card), and walked back through the streets of Paris. It was about a 10 mile walk, not including the 1000 or so stairs in the Eiffel.

I have decided that I do like this beautiful city. But it would be much more fun if I could do it all on my own schedule. And with S. And with money.

Okay, I guess I will devote a few minutes to interesting encounters.

The first is something that just sort of freaked me out – not an encounter at all. I was at the airport with a huge luggage cart, waiting for Janis to come back exchanging currency, when a women in full Muslim garb walked by me, ten paces behind her husband. The was wearing a black veil (no slit for her eyes or anything), she had on black gloves, black shoes, and was completely submissive. Her husband barked for her to wait somewhere for a minute with the stroller (she was pushing a little boy in western clothing), and she did without a sound. It reminded me very much of the bad guys in the Lord of the Rings. The ones that ride on horses. Or the death eaters from Harry and the Potters. Uck.

Last night I was walking back from the Hemmingway Bar in the Ritz around 1am, and despite my dear friend’s urgings to take a cab, I really wanted to walk through Paris at night. It was beautiful, so I’m glad I did, but as I was walking I was acutely aware of the warnings I had been given by friends about being an unfriendly city. I was walking down a well-lit street that wasn’t jammed-packed, but there were certainly other people on it, when I saw a guy leaning against the outside of a building. He smiled at me and flashed me a peace sign. France is a funny place where people think it’s okay to obviously look you up and down and “appreciate your beauty” – it’s not considered ogling or rude in any way. Well, I looked the other way and continued walking and this gentleman jumped in front of me and said “EEEHH! [lots of speaking in French the way a mother would gentle scold her children.]” I managed to blurt out the only sentence I know in French – “I don’t understand French” – and he laughed and said slowly “You are a beautiful woman.” I again said “I don’t understand” and shuffled off. I admit that when he jumped in front of me my hand grabbed for and wrapped around my keys in a way that would make them a good weapon. It was funny that he was just aggressively trying to hit on me.

There has been a significant police force in the city the last few days because George W. is here trying to win some favor in the eye of the world before he leaves office. Last night, shortly after I was approached by the above dude, I saw two police officers straddling the sidewalk, walking toward me. The one on my left had a giant kubotan, and the one on my right was holding a fairly large automatic rifle. I held my breath as I walked between them, although as I was doing it I realized that was probably more suspicious than walking calmly, but goodness, they freaked me out.

Okay, last one for today. On my adventures roaming the city today, I saw something shiny in the middle of the sidewalk, and a guy to my right swooped in front of me and picked it up (I had no intention of doing anything other than walking over it). He then tried to say something to me in French, presenting the object (what appeared to be a man’s wedding ring) to me. I again, recited my one mastered phrase “I don’t understand French” and he asked me “Eeeennnglish?” I said yes, and he grabbed onto my arm with one hand, put the ring in my other, kissed me on both cheeks and said it was a gift for me, a “magnificently beautiful woman.” I tried to refuse, but he absolutely would not let me. So I finally said “fine” just so he would let go, which worked. He then asked me something about coffee, which I also declined, then he tried to get me to give him money so HE could get some coffee! I was thinking this was a huge scam, so I tried to give back the ring and walk away, but again he grabbed my arm and gestured at my pocket. I pulled out ,70 euro (about a dollar), handed it to him, tried to give back the ring, and tried to get away. It didn’t work. He tried to get more money from me, gesturing that I must have more coins! I said it was for the Eiffel tower and tried to scoot away. He finally laughed and gave in, then went in for more cheek kisses, but at the last moment he turned and tried to kiss me on the lips! I turned my head faster than he could, and scooted out of there as quick as could be, as he waved goodbye to me – although the light hadn’t changed, so I stood uncomfortably there for a few seconds (there were people between us ). So, I got home and pulled out the ring, and it looks like it just might be real gold. It says “18k” on it, and it has the weight of gold. But it could just be a clever fake for his scam. Part of me hopes that it is a fake, because I wouldn’t want someone to have lost their wedding ring, but another part hopes it may be of some value to make up for that icky encounter. I could pay for part of an apartment deposit with it (I’m still a Global Nomad by the way). But why would he give it to me if it was worth something? He said “real gold” when he handed it to me. I didn’t see him plant it, and someone else would have picked it up before if he had put it there before me (he came from behind me). I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to bring it to a jeweler when I get back to the states and see if they laugh at me. J. thinks it may be real as well, so here’s hoping!

au revoir!

The last few weeks have been… exciting to say the least. I have successfully moved from Atlanta. Not really to anywhere, I’m homeless now – or as S. put it, a “citizen of the world.” It is a little bit frightening, but a lot exciting.

On the long, long drive from Atlanta to the Northeast, S and I stopped in at Myrtle Beach, DC, and Philly. I think I will take a couple seconds and write about each part, because each was thrilling.

The first portion was PACKING. Ugh. After weeks of selling furniture, giving away clothes to Goodwill, and pruning my belongings down to books, and what I really didn’t want to re-buy (I’m poor, remember?), I still couldn’t fit it all in my car. I put all of my books in S.’ parents’ basement, along with a couple other nonessential items that I most likely wouldn’t use over the summer (saxophone, etc). I thought I’d be able to fit it all, but after a trial pack, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up getting a car topper bag, and hoped that all of my stuff would make it. It was a very packed car in the end, including the stuffed bag on top, and a bike rack on the back, but it fit!

My car had been having brake issues, so I was still unsure that we would make it successfully (I had 4 lights on in my dash), but we did. The only eventful moment was when we were about 30 minutes away from my house and a car pulled up next to me honking. A woman mouthed to me emphatically “your bike!” and I of course, panicked and pulled over. My bike had come unattached and was floating, only half attached, behind me. Miraculously it doesn’t appear to have any damage! Later, a coworker, who followed me somewhere, told me that my front wheel still hit the road every time I went over a bump, so I took it off, and tied in on the bike as well. Other than those small things, no vehicle problems at all!!

I had never been to Myrtle Beach before, but S has been to North Myrtle many, many times. We stayed at the Sheraton, 4 blocks from the beach. It was very nice, but we didn’t have a lot of time to enjoy it, since we didn’t arrive until 10pm! We drove down the strip in search for our hotel, and S. and I agreed that it was very much like Gatlinburg, on the way out of the Smokies – tacky. But a pretty well done tacky. We checked into the hotel and decided to go for a late night walk on the beach. The water was pretty nice, and we stuck out feet in as we walked a few blocks down. It was so sweet and romantic – a great way to start our trip. We had hoped to find pizza on out walk, but the only place we found wasn’t accepting credit cards, so we went back to our room and after much to do, ordered pizza at 1am. We ate far too much of it, but it was very tasty!

The next morning we slept in, then went out to play some mini golf, which Myrtle Beach is known for, but my desire to not drive too far trumped our desire for cool and we ended up at a less than impressive place right near the hotel. It was still fun, but there weren’t as many fireworks as many other places. After Putt Putt (as S.’s family calls it), we grabbed breakfast (bagels and Starbucks) and wandered down to the beach and played in the water. It was amazing. The water was in the 70’s, the company was fabulous, and except for the looming million miles of driving, it was perfect.

The next stop on the trip was DC, to visit a friend who I was close to in high school, but hadn’t seen in two years. She works in the Eisenhower building doing super exciting presidential stuff, travelling around the world, being awesome. It was really exciting to see her. I have missed her so very much. It was also really neat because she has a real, grown-up job, and she gave us a private tour of the Eisenhower building. We had to give her our social security numbers and get clearance before we could get in. The color scheme in the unrenovated part was atrocious, in fact it matched the mauve of the telephone in the toilet room of our really fancy Hilton in Capitol Hill that we stayed in. (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the nice Crowne Plaza in West Richmond that we also stayed at – nice too!)

I had never been to DC, just driven through a bunch of times, so we did all the touristy stuff – the memorials, a few Smithsonian museums, local dining (although everything was closed Sunday night).

After DC we hopped into the car to visit S,’ sister, then stopped in Philly and went to the Mutter Museum, a museum of medical oddities. I could go into great detail about the experience, but it’s something that I would like to forget, because it left me feeling pretty ucky, so I don’t want to spend time writing about it.

Tuesday night we finally pulled into Boston, only to discover that the people I was planning to stay with had a full house, with only a super uncomfortable twin bed available. Like, this bed was made 40 years ago and pretty much touches the floor the second the get in it. An air mattress would be better. They could have shifted around guests (one was a solo guest, and we could have had the hard futon), but the nice bed topper we bought on our last visit was on a bed taken by summer guests (a family member of a close friend she couldn’t deny), which couldn’t be retrieved. They also have the entire top floor of the house for the whole summer, which is where I thought I was going to be all summer, and part of the fall. Instead I discovered that other people will be in and out all summer on the other futon, and I may be getting the old, smelly, uncomfortable twin bed. If I wasn’t so poor, I would take a sublet elsewhere, but I am worried I can’t even afford first and last for an apartment in the fall, so I may end up just dealing with it, or maybe bumming off other friends every once and a while to supplement my work home in VT. We’ll see. My stuff is currently still all packed in my car, with the exception of my Paris stuff, and my car topper which we lifted off and locked in a garage. Ugh. “Citizen of the World” <- much better way to look at it.

So, the resolution for last night is that S. tried half the night to find something on Priceline, which has consistently provided low cost, high caliber hotels, but came up dry. He also called every hotel within 10 miles of the place we were at and found nothing. He ended up using all of his points to get us a lovely hotel right near the airport (he had a morning flight out, I trekked back to J.’s house), and we were upgraded to an executive suite. It had a big conference table with 6 chairs, a sitting room, and free Milano cookies! I had been so stressed up to that point and I finally cracked. In the silly, ridiculous, can’t-stop-laughing way. It was a nice way to spend my last night of this entire 1500 trek with the man I love. I can’t believe S. used all his points for it. He takes such good care of me :]

After a morning of packing and rushing around, I am currently on a night flight to Paris. We left at 6:45pm and will arrive at 7:30am. J and R just fell asleep (4 hours in), but I had Starbucks in the airport, so I may just be really messed up and sleep deprived tomorrow. I have an aisle with nothing to lean against, so I don’t think I could even sleep without the caffeine. Instead I am typing, and watching 27 Dresses on the overhead TV. This flight isn’t bad, but I think to sleep properly you need someone to cuddle with, a window seat, or a business sleeper. J and R are curled up together near the window. Cute.

So, by the time I post this I will be on a wonderful working vacation in Paris. Whooo!

What is it with the blatant product placement that has been turned into a way for movies to make fun of themselves? It was funny once, now, it’s in every domestic film, and lost it’s charm. I really like 30 Rock, but there is seriously SO MUCH product promotion. stupid. stupid. I wonder why Tina Fey has allowed it – there’s a lot in Baby Mama too. Booooo.

Yesterday I spent my afternoon at Midas waiting for my car to be fixed, watching Bee Movie. I was hoping that it would be a good movie for me to bring on the plane with R., but really, it was just one big advertisement. Everything from Vibram soles for shoes to FTD flowers. Ugh. Not a good kids movie. I don’t know how it managed a 53% on Rotten Tomatoes. Blech. Lately movies advertised as “kids movies” have been catering to adults – with jokes that would be far above a 7 year-olds head. And they’re not always clean! That’s dumb. Growl. Watching it as an adult, the only character I liked was the really egotistical boyfriend. The girl was cute too – but I think her big doe eyes and her “let’s not kill things” demeanor was a little too similar to my own personality for me to appreciate the satire. But the things I liked about the movie were the adult moments, the one I wouldn’t want R. watching. Why can’t they make decent children’s movies any more? Like Beauty and the Beast… sigh.

Last night I watched The Simpsons Movie while I packed – and it wasn’t good, but it was able to sufficiently make fun of itself to be bearable. That’s really all I have to say about it.

Now I have to get back to my frantic packing and researching all the awesome things that I need to do in Paris. whooo.