Certified Neck Romancer

Bless you, the French

I never told you this, but my first month in France was pretty miserable. It's true the internet, even with the sudden influx of completely chocolately cereals,  I cried virtually every day.
Now however, I feel comfortable moving freely around the metro system and am ok with making huge mistakes when I speak.  When someone has a lark at my expense I don't think of it as, "the French" because honestly, assholes be everywhere, and sometimes mistakes are fuckin hilarious.
Readers who've been with me for a few months will remember that I have long awaited proof that I should be allowed to stay in France by right of some legal means. (The Deets) It's been slow going, but my proverbial ship has just come in, because although my three month tourist visa will be up in two days (!!!) Sebastien and I are now in possession of our own Livret de Famille.  Honestly, it's barely step one, but now my children can be registered dual citizens and no one can make me GTFO.
So, although I cry less, it's still quite difficult to make my full intentions known in French. As a weakness this withers  me, for I am typically want to use my oneness with words to win or whatever. Ah well, no one ever died from crying...haven't seen the same figures for whining.
Atanyrate, I am attempting to find a cool comic book that can help me read. They're called Bande Dessiné or B.D. and the  visual aid helps me become less overwhelmed so quickly, also Sebastien sits with me as I painstakingly "read" one panel at a time. It puts me in mind of hanging out with my dad, uh, and being 5.
Speaking of Dads, my little brother just found his on Facebook.  The wonders of modern technology never cease to make my world more complicated.  He was a great stepdad though, and I was happy to see him doing well. Bringing it back to BD, in French it sounds like Bay Day, and moreover, I'm likewise on the market for a French cookbook.
Now, I don't want to call the whole  of Europe retarded, but they don't measure food stuffs by volume. More generally.... a base ten system, really? The only cool thing about kilometers is getting to refer to them as "clicks", and that really only happens in movies where people are sweating under pounds and pounds of gear. Punch yourself, the metric system, and feel every inch of that fist on your face!
I jest. Obviously a base ten system does have it's value. And so I shall take a step back from the matter and return to cook books. (But I firmly do so in yards.)
Any way you slice it, I need to use ingredients that are here, unlike my fine foreign friend peanut butter,  and also require no conversions to temperature or into weight. So I'm shopping for an awesome cook book with lots of picture and yummy thing that even Sebastien will eat.  Truly, I'm not saying he's a crybaby picky-eater who's default grimace alights when mushrooms, fish, fish products, cooked carrots, turkey, or lamb is on the projected menu, but I promise you I definitely would if he did't read this blog.

Curse you, the French

I've just finished reading (one of) my favorit book(s) again: Ender's Game.  It's the first in a series of apparently pro-Mormon texts. Mostly though, it's about a brilliant, young, and reluctant warrior. Oh, and a lot of it takes place in a null-g battle school!!!!!!!!11111!1one. I always related to the protagonist (whom lends his name to the title) because of his ability to puzzle out the way other people see things and use that information to better serve or lead them. I also went away to boarding school at a young age, and amongst the hazing and strange feelings of our other lives at home, I likewise had to fight my way up the ranks, albeit for a significantly different purpose. Thankfully, I've never been responsible for the fate of the world. Such a relief, that.
In case you are wondering, my classes are going smoothly. I have now four regular students. One of which is a tour guide.  It's pretty cool because she gave me and Séba a free tour of the Opéra house that Napoleon III commissioned. I didn't take any photos but the main entryway has 30 types of marble from all over the globe. It was astonishing to behold.
I forgot to tell you that I have sort of a band flirtation going on. Some friends of ma coloc Clément want to form up a band with me as their singer. I've played already with both the guitarists and may have even found us a keyboard player. She's Japanese, but speaking with a perfect american accent and currently attends a conservatory here in Paris. Her training is most interesting. Get this, she listens to orchestrations and transcribes them onto sheet music. Talk about complex, and she can improvise! Anyway, music is something I dearly love. I would be happy to make some just for fun. But I would be most happy to get another shot at being on the road with it. I'll keep you updated.

As for you my readers and friends...am I posting enough? Would you prefer to read an update just once a week, or more often? If you have a blog how often do you think is too often, generally? I'm curious because I sometimes stave off the urge to write in the fear of over-saturating you. Just let me know, I'm quite interested. Also, this is my new favorite song:

Please exit through the gift shop and do come again.

Mr. Underhill

If you click it, they will come.

I was talking a walk with Sébastien and one of our coloc yesterday evening and we started imagining what our ideal home would be. Don't worry internet, we're not having flat envy. It was just something to chatter about as we strolled around the canal.  -->
My trouble is that it is just as easy for me to imagine myself living in  Southern Vermont, South America or  the South of France as it is to see me on some island or back in DC.
Do I want an adobe courtyard, or do I want a lush garden?  Do I want a balcony or do I need a stream? Should I chase the suburban split level ranch dream or is a ground level apartment in gaye Paris la place pour nous?  These are the kinds of questions I waste my time on when I dream in Franglish.

The truth of it is, regardless of the place in the world where I am to hang my hat, and although I didn't go all gaga about micromanaging our wedding, I've wrapped my mind around a few specs that are firmly planted in the category of must:

1. My bedroom is a place for sex.     I will sleep there, sure. But it's purpose should be apparent as soon as one notes the color of the walls. Pastels, really? I'll punch every single pastel in it's stupid fuchsia face.  Are you a six year old girl, or did your balls fall off? My gametes wanna spy something red...with gold, black and or brown accents. Oh, plus silky softy everything... As well as a decent lock and one way baby monitors ( jusqu'à they're 30)
2. My bathroom comes first.  I'm sorry we can't afford summer camp this year kids, but you'll thank me once it's time to pull out your toy boats and fuckin dissolvable pill things that turn into cute colorful sponges. That tub is gunna be huge and at ground level so I can get in and out when I'm old. Look, if you fall in and drown, you weren't my kid to begin with.  No offspring of mine is allowed to suck at swimming. As for it coming first, Cállate you wiseacre, I can count. 
3. Skylights everywhere! Well, none in the sexodrome. But pretty much everywhere else. Ok, yes, expensive. Their father can teach them piano, fine. Maybe it's the superiority of my Elven eyesight, but I am so pro natural lighting I should be it's elected spokesperson. Think of how much money we'll save on daytime electricity usage. 
4. Fore planning: Clever through-draft alignments and south facing wall placement. I'm going to use my environment to my advantage. I'm not smart enough to do it yet, but I know it can be done. I may even bury a section of my house, just cuz I heard that's like a dutch oven for your home without all the farts. Or with, I mean, we'd have to properly ventilate it.
5. Nerd Room: Any home of mine will have a nerd room, or I will 20 sided die! Sometimes I imagine as a lofty cylindrical tower, sometimes it's exactly 10 by 10. (enough room for 4 orcs.) Atanyrate said chamber always hosts our host of Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, X-Files and Bandes Dessiné posters and prints. This is where the gaming tables will go and where I plan to set up the family reading nook. [[I have the craftiest idea to trick out a (possibly unnecessary) suport piller. I shall disguise it as a plush tree, with pillowed roots! ]]
6. Oh, right: This is getting long. Obviously, you gotta be rich to implement all of these  any of these great ideas, even if you are likely to collect a tax break for the skylights.  Not to mention I would hate to be disappointed by not eventually gaining access to a panoramic mountain view from the bubbly warmth of my roof deck hot tub, so best not to dream so vividly. 

Anyway, I'm curious as to what you would expect to find in your perfect home...I'm a little scared to ask you directly since you could leave me out in the comment-section-cold, alone and wanting with nary a snuggie in sight. (Snuggie is of course code for friend. Or backwards facing robe, whichever.)
Jay-kayin', tellz me! What would you want in a space? Where would you want it to be?  What are some of the neat features? A hudred spouts in your shower? A fireplace to suck all the warmth out of the rest of the house? Would you prefer an electric stove like my grandma, or a wood burning stove like my gramps? It's gas for me, play boy! And I'll be pissin in straight grey water atop my gold plated toilet. Bigger question: Is it too decadent to have a heated seat? Discuss.

Bad mouth, great head

If you had asked me two weeks ago, as a flatmate of mine did, what I would be doing for Valentines day, I would most likely have said "Nothing."  In fact, even though it is also our five year anniversary I would have really believed we were doing the big la nada.
Strangely enough, our anniversary/valentines/cynical blood diamond day started with pastries. Nice ones, and he used candy to write I love Erin along them. (Creative and tasty!) Next I made a secret mix tape list starting with Marvin Gaye's 'Too Busy Thinkin 'Bout My Baby' and ending with Carl Sagan's 'Glorious Dawn.' The entire list is 42 tracks long and covers all of our favorite artist who were goodly enough to write chilled-out love songs.  Then we got all shaved up and pretty and gathered the makings of a picnic by the river. Yes, it is February, yes, it was chilly, but the crazy part was, we loved it! We returned together, and when I got back online I saw that he had posted an original poem on my Facebook wall.

Hither from a distant land I hear a voice come singing,
"come with me into adversity, I find the sedentary disinteresting"
and heneforth I follow the siren's song, pursued by windmills,
my lance but rubber against their window sills,
my fey enchantress heedless of the peril,
for how can one fear board-wood with a heart so feral?
and so I follow my belove sprite
as the sun freezes and so comes the night
and wonder how her heart so thirsty for adventure
can but draw my staid limbs from their cozy endenture
Yet what would life be worth living
without my chaos beast to guide me capering
into the strange dark depths of the unknown,
her presence at my side fonder to me than any security

Well, yeah...since you asked, I do feel a little bit silly having it there on my page, but only silly enough that I saved my poetry for his ears and eyes alone. (My stanzas are like whoa.)  Honestly the internet, I don't think I've ever been so complimented in my life. That poem captures the exact aspect of my nature that I am most proud of as well as the reason why he is my most mated: like may dissolve like, but opposites attract. And on top of that, I knew he could write stupendously well, and even particularly artfully in the style of high fantasy, but this is poetry and I was muse. I tell ya, it feels pretty good to get a shot at muse. (For more of his writing, check out his blog)
Mid afternoon came and he left for a lesson. I cleaned our chamber, bought some candles and some tasties in secret, and we picked out a filet mignon ensemble. I was pretty scared spending 10£ on meat, to over cook it would be a near tragedy.
All and all, I can say this was my best Valentines day in the five years we've been together. Now, we've always cooked at home, and I go to extra lengths preparing several courses and obviously nothing there changed. But this year, I really relaxed about the oncoming event.
Normally I begin preparations many weeks in advance with a poetic card made by hand and sundry gifts piled on top of a thoughtful menu and the promise of sexual exploits sure to follow. But Sebastien was so horrible about getting me a wedding present (in August), a birthday present (in November) and even a christmas present (in Duh-cember) that I meant to stick to my teary eyed, "I am never getting you another gift ever mutha fuckin again!"  I didn't say mutha fuckin but I'm sure the rest of my soliloquy and subsequent arguments were at least that colorful.
Sebastien'll (I did that on purpose. I think it's neat) really wish he could defend himself here. So let me say for him that in an everyday way, when it comes to foot massages, oral sex, preparing food, doing the dishes and constantly telling me I'm beautiful, (not to mention putting up with my crazy bitch fits) he is amazing. He just usually gets me a gift for us, if he gets me one at all. I guess I'd rather have a stripper pole then a vacuum cleaner, if pressed. But still, I've been wanting a copy of Wild Zero for years. And I drop lots of hints around gift giving season. ($200 drawing tablet, how much do you love me...also new socks, I can forward my address..)
This year was different, I used the Sebastien method and did everything day of. The things that worked out did and the stuff that one would actually need to prepare for, didn't. I invested less so the chance of let down was diminished and by contrast the gains were doubled when things went right or worked to our favor.  It made me consider and evaluate, "it's the thought that counts" in a whole new light...
On to the photos!

I cut the beets into hearts, he made the dressing and the rest of the salad. 

I love tulips! Roses have really never been my thing...

This was meant as an apéritif, but we ate it after desert, instead

6o'clock on the swatch watch, gotta date, can't be late: the girl is gunna..

Lava cake with a dab of mint syrup and ice cream

He let me do our cheese course on the balcony. I wasn't such a big fan of the cookie crusted martinis. 

The take away here: relax, stop and smell the tulips. Also, please mail me socks, laundry day comes but once a week. And while I have your love muscles throbbing, check out some of my fave V-day Posts @Sara Swears A lot, and Late to the Party annnnnd Notes From the Underground. If you DON'T click them, you'll definitely get crotch lice...from me, in the mail...in exchange for socks(?)

Ring of death around the colar.

What up, chickadeez

It's time for the Karaoke blog ring again and this month I was drafted to host and post for Ash from ethony.blogspot.com She has a great voice and an even better song choice so I'm more than happy to have her. Before I let her get started with her whole grove thang, let me just invite you over to The Odd Duck to check out my rendition of Wonderwall. *Groan* I know..but I tried to do something different with it so check it out if you get a chance. In the meantime lets not keep Ash waiting, people. She's not going to just write you a love song simply because you've asked. You better deserve it! Take it away, Ash.

Hello all, this months theme for the Karaoke Blog Ring of Death was Love Songs or Anti Love Songs, it being the month where the Hallmark holiday of Valentines calls home and all. 

I was initially going to pick an Anti Love song cause I actually do not really buy into the whole Valentines Day thing but so many of them were too depressing and I really like the song that I chose. 

It took me eight takes to get the video, mostly because my kitten Steve decided to Video bomb me every time. There were some very explicit cat bum shots that I didn't really want in my video so I ditched all of those takes. But Steve managed to behave himself enough in the last take and even has a staring role. 

So here I am with Steve singing Sara Barellies 'Love Song'

Enjoy

PS, make sure you watch the rest of the blog ring videos, it will make you happy in the pants!

No doubt.

Thanks again to Sara from Sara Swears a lot for organizing the ring. You can head over to her page for a full list of all the posts for this month's  Karaoke ring of death. Do so, SVP. 

Faire la moonwalk

I'm not one to need the excuse of a new year to tempt me into changing who I am. But a blogger friend of mine brought up the concept of mantras and new beginnings (See full post. ) And it has me glancing and staring at a few things in my life. So here are some productive changes I feel compleled to attempt.

Your bat signal is staring at me

Be more rock and roll before 11 am. 

My colocs and I were at a great show for this group La Cafetera Roja and one of them (the spicy Italian) commented that I had on a short skirt and was lookin good. And I was like, um, I always dress this way. And my other coloc who is also funemployed said, you are not so rock and roll at 11 am.
The truth of it is, I'm rarely awake before 11 am. 

And I want to be.
Especially when the sky has been so blue and both the river and a hilly park are both so close. 

Let men chase me more

I'm often on the hunt. I have a type and I can usually snag them. But really, they like to hunt too and evasion tactics can be pretty fun as well. (I have to say, 'no you can't have it' is my favorite game in the world... but only after I've had it...) 

Frankly,  and lets be Frank here, Al, in all matters of the mattress I'm direct and playing the game otherwise is a contradiction of my nature. But why not shuffle the deck now and then, am I right?

And on the topic of the game, Betty...you just lost.

Speak French.

Ok, I do. Sometimes. Like with the kebab guy if Sebastien isn't there. Or with the bread guy, if Sebastien isn't there. Or with anyone if I'm nice and tipsy. Right. So, I can choose to be half-cocked around the clock or just practice more at home with my friends...and study on my own. Because I have the time.

Do more graffiti

I was really getting into it back in DC. I should produce some pieces that I can be proud of and paint this town red. Or, you know, which ever color is cheapest. 

Be more thrifty

I barely have money so I really need to be on my grind a little more. I just like sharing and I don't care that much for budgeting. We have about enough money to keep us here for 5 or 6 months. But if we don't worm our way into the social security system, get them to recognize our union, get Sebastien a stand up on the level job and get him through the 3 months trial period, we'll have to leave or give the French government 8 percent of what we made jointly last year to enjoy their socialist bennies. No spank you. 

Go to school...maybe..

I don't want to be a teacher for children. No listen, I really respect teachers and it's basically the most obvious thing for me to do with my work day and skill set. Thing is, come three thirty, I detest children. Why are you still talking? Go home!   But in 4 or 5 years, I plan on having a couple. I don't want to hate them and have no time for them and all of that. In a perfect world, I would finish with my work, fix them something fun and yummy for dinner, and pull out their learning standards and see if I can't tiger mom them into a higher social postion then myself. 

So I'm thinking, go back to school....but not for teaching. Maybe. Ok, thats more long term and has to be sussed out. 

Anyway, those are my goals, pretty much in the order of importance to me.  Right now though, this warm weather and I have a date. We're going to the park, but we may stand quietly and watch the river for a time. We might think about the transference of energy along waves, and think of sound waves and of ocean waves and the cold sting of the Atlantic back along the section of la mere that I called my own. Once at the park we might stare at the trees, fresh buds sure to loose to winter's next frost. Happy and green. Deep breaths in. The weather and I will look at what we've done and what we've seen and I dare say we will see so many different things.
But that's just my plan, and like all plans, it's a little romantic. Who can really say until it's come and gone.
I don't know. So here I go. That's my new mantra, the internet. (If new can be something you've only just now noticed.) Shrug. I don't know. So here I go, indeed.

We have met the enemy, and they are ours.

So sorry to have to tell you this in writing, my fellow fun-employers, but I've had a little something on the side for awhile now that, if he were feeling pissy about it, R Kelly might call English lessons. Yeah, I know, it's all very sudden. I just wanted you to hear it from me, first.
So that's it, then: I basically get paid 20 euros an hour to have coffee with a stranger and listen to them talk. I think it's a bit like being a therapist or newly in-love. "Tell me again what your favorite song is, Venanzio.." 
So far I have three students that I've been meeting with regularly. 
Student one is an Algerian French teacher who wants to move to Louisiana to help spread French culture. We practice interview questions and I've been schooling him on academic buzz words, *think, differentiated instruction.* He drew me a map and explained that he believes with organizations like the one he is working with leading the charge, it will only be a matter of time before French culture spills out of Louisiana and into the neighboring states. Don't worry people, I didn't even laugh at him. In fact in the nicest way posible I simply told him that will never happen. 
Student two is an Italian documentary film maker. He is working on a script for German and Italian television. He's been here in Paris for 20 years. His English is fine, but he has to read a lot of source materials written neither in Italian or German mais avec that lofty academic language we are so fuckin well known for in America. Ah, discorse. 
Student 3 is a young lady who hates English but has to learn it to pass her blah blab bah. She is the hardest to work with, and the one I need to lean over the table the most at. But she likes music, and can read fairly well in English. So we're talking about the lyrics of her favorite songs. You were born in the wrong era, kid, not to mention the wrong country.
You know, I think I would have always left my country. But I recognize if there had never been a Sebastien to love, this Erin would probably be lost somewhere in the Americas. We may still end up there, if ending up is really what you call another leg of our journey together. Cross that bridge when you get there, first socks, then shoes...water, water everywhere...Please watch for falling platitudes, at these latitudes, gents


We got the most adorable European coats. Sébastien had this leather jacket that he let get absolutely ratty. It was very soft at one time, but he broke the zipper last winter and it never did anything for his butt.  So now he has this really cute tight fitting gig. He's such a mec now. He may dart-off on his vespa at any time for the coast. 
People keep asking me if I'm English. Guys, do I look English? I'm from New England, granted.

Click to see if I'm English

 But we don't have very much respect for our funny talkin' cousins there.... They were too stupid to put on camo or duck when they heard sniper fire. (Read as musket fire) Plus lets be honest, the battle of Put-in-Bay, gave us mad victory points in the war of 1812. ....I didn't even look that up. Ok, I might have...if Sébastien wasn't here to fill in the deets...Don't you wish you had a Sébastien? (also, I found the é key...who's proud of me?)
We've belatedly been discovering our neighborhood. Refrain from hating me if you can, but we've mostly been shopping at super markets.  Mais, dans nous cartier,  we have four butchers, a fish market, six bakeries--that I've notices so far, five or so vegetable stands, and we just found a great place to buy cheese. All this and a coffee roaster. 
But you don't have to take my word for it. ...

Click to see if he's English

Lonely Planet has this to say about our neighborhood....
"Two sorts of foot traffic give the 10th arrondissement its distinctive feel. The banks of the Canal St-Martin draw leisurely strollers while travelers part (and are reunited) on the platforms of the Gare du Nord and Gare de l'Est. Outside, the cafés and brasseries do brisk trade, catering to travelers and locals. Nearby the Blvd Magenta rushes like a swollen river, the noisy, impatient crowd spreading through the adjoining streets and pouring out onto the place de la République.  
The Buzzy working class area around blvd de Strasbourg and rue du Faubourg St Denis, especially south of the blvd Magenta, is home to a large communities of Indians, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, West Indians, Africans, Turks and Kurds. Indeed, strolling through passage Brady is almost like stepping into a back alley in Mumbai or Dhaka."  I've never been to India or Senegal, but I have been to the passage Brandy... yesterday we even bought Séba a new hat there. Can you imagine writing fluff for guide books? I would punch myself every time I wondered into the semi-romantic...which, were I to write for Lonely Planet would seemily occure with a painful amount of frequency. It's strange, you think they might have at least mentioned the hookers. Boff, all's well that ends well. And sometimes it's better even before that. 
Well, I have to go pick out a love or anti-love song for the Febtober blog swap. It's hard to believe that come the 14th Sébastien and I will have been together 5 years... at the risk of sounding semi-romantic I'll say only, what a long strange trip it has been.