It's been a week since Hell hit Paris, and those French flag profile pics on social media are already starting to go away. They won't vanish as swiftly as they appeared. They'll decrease in number, little by little, just like those rainbows from a few months ago. Those rainbows made me happy. I enjoyed opening up my timeline and seeing the burst of color. We'd fought for equality and won. This is how we shout things from the rooftops, now. This was our happiness, translated to small, digital images.Of course, seeing some people ranting about the greatness of the Confederate flag from a rainbow profile made it clear that many didn't give a shit about (or comprehend) equality as much as they do following the photo filter herd while screeching about what they want.Yeah, I got cynical. I forced myself to focus on those I knew were genuinely shouting with pure joy, and I felt better.When the French flag filter...
Our little house in the French countryside sits somewhere between Paris and Chartres. Barely visible from the road, it hides in the middle of several tall pine trees where squirrels, pheasants and frogs bounce around doing things that busy animals do. Upstairs, in the attic of our house and in my husband Olivier's home office are several tall stacks of newspapers.Newspapers that look like this:When I moved to Paris in 2006, Olivier had these papers stacked all around our tiny apartment in Montmarte. "What's up with these?" I'd wondered. He told me they were a satirical newspaper, which didn't surprise me at all because he and I met through our mutual love of The Onion. One of the reasons we ended up as a married couple in the first place was due to our love of mockery and funny shit.As time went on, I realized he wasn't just a fan of the newspaper. He was fucking bonkers about it. He...
Earlier this year, a French doctor announced that women are better off without bras. Now, I know some women are quite fond of their bras, or feel the need for a bra. Cool. Keep on rockin' the harness, ladies.However, I read the article and said, "Well, no shit. Bras are stupid."I have always hated bras. I feel stiff and restrained. Tied down. Strapped. Saddled. Shackled. I scratch and claw, twisting and reaching, trying to bite at it - much like my cat when someone is foolish enough to put a collar around her neck.That said, I'm going to tell you that there is one benefit to binding your boobs.When you move to France, there's a whole laundry list of things that a person must do in order to obtain their carte de séjour (their residency card). One of those things is to get a chest x-ray to make sure you don't have tuberculosis. So, back in 2006 when I was...
I admit it. I'm a TV junkie. Okay, well... that's not accurate. I detest TV, but am addicted to various TV series. I've been this way ever since the first time I saw this:httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoILzi5thYgDon't even get me started on my movie problem.Now, it's worse. TV has become so much better. The writing is tighter. The production value is higher. Many of the actors are more skilled. There's more networks. Even with handful of channels, there's probably something on. Reruns of an old sitcom. News. A documentary. A ridiculously censored version of an otherwise great movie.When I lived in the States, there was something on at any time of day. Maybe not something I felt like watching, but there was always something.But, now... now I live in France. And French TV sucks. Here's why: 1. IT'S FULL OF CANCELLED SHOWS (THAT WERE CANCELLED FOR SUCKING)French networks can cheaply acquire forgotten TV shows. So, they do. The result is several lousy shows on...
Before I even get started, let me warn you that if you get squeamish when it comes to chatter about doctors poking around in lady bits, then this post will not interest, amuse or inform you in any way. You'll likely be too preoccupied with all of your squeamishing to to focus on reading, so... off you go while the rest of us talk.Like a great many people, I've never cared much for going to the doctor. Any doctor. For anything. I'm not afraid of doctors, but in the past, I usually had to feel as though I were at risk of coughing up my aorta, or maybe shitting out a spleen or several yards of intestines. Even when I had broken bones, I was reluctant. I didn't mind carrying my broken wrist with my good arm if the alternative was sitting in the emergency room. A busted eye socket... well, I didn't even go to the hospital. Luckily, I...
“Spring is the time of plans and projects.” - Leo Tolstoy"Blah, blah, blah." - Iggy Pop◊It's been a while since I wrote one of those blogs posts that say, "I did this. I'm gonna do some of that. Right now I'm doing blah, blah, blargedy blah." You know, just a blah, blah blog post.It's just hard for me to get into. It's difficult for me yammer on about the boring little details of our life here in our tiny but perfect little corner of France. I like to keep a lot of things private. You may not think so with my nonsense and chatter on the Internet, but it's true. Like, a few months ago, when I ate that bad sandwich and almost pooped myself in the Aldi, I didn't say a word to you about that. Private.However, it's sometimes necessary to say, "I did this. I'm gonna do some of that. Right now I'm doing blah, blah, blargedy blah."Little...
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