Adventure time (Erin goes gorillas)


On December 2nd, two-thousand-and-ten Sebastien and I landed in Paris, at Charles de Gaulle airport, ready to write a new chapter in our lives...
As happy and sappy as it sounds--the lead up was a particular version of hard that we of the first world are permitted to call hell.
Let's take it back to the last day in November when Sebastien and I, with the help of our very best friend Brad, played a game of Tetris verse the back of a U-haul moving van. 
Brad and banana boxes, really couldn't have done it without ya.
The three of us went to sleep on the floor of our apartment once the game was over around 5 Am. Brad left for work around 8, we said our final good byes to him and Seba and I went to unload the van in a storage facility. That was really fun because everything on our bodies hurt! Once our 5 by 15 space was fuller than the Lestrange vault, we decided it was time to go to the airport. Auspiciously, there was a parking lot full of taxi cabs at our disposal.  We found an on-duty dude who spoke French--a small something I interoperated it as a good sign. Predictably, we encountered park-and-walk traffic, but that clean cab smell had me relaxed.  Or perhaps it was the reoccurring muscle spasms that were simply keeping me immobile. On either account, I stared fixedly out the window at the Beltway and focused on important things, like why I never feel obligated to fasten my seatbelt in a cab...
Well, anyway--we got to the airport and I dumped out my water bottle in the trash,  put everything I planned to own for awhile on a conveyer belt and walked slowly through a gate so that someone coud look at me all naked-like over some scanner and I could simultaneously prove I didn't put bomb parts up my bum. At least that's why I think they make us do that. Whatevs, I was through security, we were good.
Have you ever been sitting on your plane waiting to leave when the attendent says something like, "Is Person Mc Lastname and Other Macotherson on the plane?"
Or, "Will Donner party of five please check in at your gate, the plane is waiting."
When I hear this I'm either outraged or curious--it really depends how tired I am. Anyway, when we got to our gate to get on the plane they had apparently been doing that for us. We were five minutes away from missing our nonrefundable, one way, trans-Atlantic, international flight!
If you know me yet, you know I'm a bit of a spaz when it comes to traveling. Being on time is hardly adequate; having four hours with nothing to do, safely on the other side of security is how I like to roll. So, I'm really glad I read the tickets wrong and had no idea we were cutting it so close, because I would have been forced to murder one of us and I really didn't have the energy.

Other fun things happened. For instance, we met the weight allowances for Lufthansa, the german air carrier we purchased our ticket from, but not Delta, their american partner who would actually be providing our flight. So when we landed in Roissy,  we had  5 bags to navigate with instead of the 4 we had planned on, and I ripped my silk stockings.
That was basically the most fun ever.

But really that's where the horror stories stop.
We made it to our hotel and luxuriated in a hot tub, soothing our aches and scrapes and blocking out the Frenchness of the outside world. We walked around that night in a snow encrusted town with all the holiday lights poking through and cheering up the streets. We found a creperie and had  galette crepe with eggs and ham, sweet cider and desert crepe with whipped cream and chestnut butter. It's funny because a year ago, on that night, I would have been afraid to make crepe at home, now it's just something I whip together if we're hungry enough.
We spent the next two weeks with the best friend of Sebastien's father and his family while we looked for an apartment in Paris. I saw the seventh Harry Potter film with French subtitles.--which amused me to no end.
Harry left his backpack at the Burrow, giving Ginny full reign to rifle through it and sniff its contents: deleted scenes, disk five.
I learned so much about French cooking and table service. I tried fine wines and new foods and I got to meet David Sederis at a book signing he was doing at a small book shop. All in the first week!








We found a flat shortly after that with a a balcony, in a cute neighborhood.   And then I don't know, here we are, encore !
It's been quite a year. My level of French has jumped from non-verbal, non-comprehending infant to that of a fully formed toddler--one who's cute accent is sometimes intelligible by those who interact with me most. Sebastien and I have developed a sense of humor about our arguing that has helped mitigate or resolve conflicts more quickly. I've learned a lot about the strength of my partner's resolve and have found inspiration in his dedication to making our lives better--e.g getting up for work at seven, even if we've been partying till 5.  It's not that I'm not capable of that level of duty and responsibility, it's just that I would be crying the whole time.
Turn your judgey face right off!
That's a job for Judy.
OK?
I'm not joking when I say he sets a good example for the sort of  adult I want to be. I love Sebastien and value the time we've put aside in our marriage to explore commitment, the universe and everything else. It's also cool that I can use this blog as a tool to track the progress and watch the way we've both grown and changed. Sure we could be parents and home owners by now--if we had stayed in jobs we weren't happy in just for the money, doing what society expected of us. But instead we've seen more of the world together. We've eaten millions of new chips, experimented with common French meats and animal products in our kitchen here that would be luxury items priced way out of our  range back in the States. (And one time, last week, we even cooked Kangaroo steaks.)

So, to commemorate our one year anniversary with France, I hung out on tumblr and Sebastien played a russian remake of the 90's video game, Fantasy General. But that's just because we're humble people. 
After lunch we went for a long walk dans la bois de Boulogne, pictured above at sunset, and from there we walked to The Avenue des Champs-Élysées and took our first stroll around the Village de Noel, sharing a cup of mulled red wine and returning just in time to play a great board game with friends in the kitchen.  Milestone unlocked.
I tell ya, the internets, I've tried a bunch of stuff to get happy and stay happy and to be perfectly honest with you, all I've ever really been cut out for  [so far] is adventuring. I am grateful that I have partner who is skeptical of all my best ideas enough to help me make them even better. He's also good with map reading, exchange rates and other languages. Bref, without him, team awesome would only really be, team Erin...and that wouldn't be awesome at all. #foreveralone

I guess what I'm saying is, I love someone. He's the Jake to my Finn and it's totally Rhombus.

Twenty-ninth in the year of my tyranny

My last birthday party took place in the second grade. All the cool kids were there--Scott Thoms, Kenny Owens, Dave Kelty, and even some people I didn't have crushes on! We had pizza, cake, 3 liter bottles of soda and friggin' dixie cups (remember those?) Yeah, I would say it was going pretty smoothly until Rebecca Roy started crying in the middle of our ET screening and we had to switch activities.
Seriously Becca, you were kind of a baby for an 8 year old.
Undirected we may have done some jumping on the couch, freeze tag indoors sort of  activities, but nothing I wouldn't do at school if I was king for the day, which I was, btw. I had asked for a skateboard that year and my silly parents wrapped helmet separately and had me open it up first. (Last time I touched that thing)  Plus all my classmates gave me books and dolls and candy and cards and as an added perk, a bunch of that positive reenforcement crap everyone says is ruining Americans.
Anyway, they left and I went to the couch to gloat and index my loot. But my grandmother always used to say, if you laugh too much before you go to sleep, you end up crying. My mom usually reminded me of this while I was already crying and the relationship was clearly causality based at that point. I still don't know how it happened, but someone got footprints on her new wallpaper. And that, my  sweet internets, was the last birthday party ever. (For more first world problems, please scroll to the post below)
But the date that marked my 29th revolution around the sun took place last Saturday slash Sunday morning. Let me tell you, the makeup gods had blessed me that night. I looked like one of those bitches, you know what I mean?  I had on cute ankle boots, amazing, black thigh-high stockings and a short lavender dress--plus my silver danglie earings and this chunky green bracelet I always forget to wear. Trust and believe, the birthday girl had it wrapped up tight. My whole thing was about a 7 on the Ph scale--which is a hard achievement to unlock if you're trying to keep the Ass in class.
I've never actually seen the end of this movie because a Mariah Carey video was taped over it. Does it work out with the gay guy???
So many cool people showed up--some people who didn't even RSVP and some people who weren't even invited. All told we were about 50 at our peak. That's what I love about our parties, people were speaking, French, Italian, German, Russian, Japanese and English. I was just speaking loudly. Seriously though, Paris is such a beautiful smash-up of cultures, if someone would give in and plant some friggen trees on my street I'd buy the place. (I mean Paris, all of it. Totally using Francs, though.)
I just want to stress that I was really surprised to receive gifts. I mean, it was a party--if you brought your own drank, we're square. But my friends and even a few casual acquaintances gave me some thougthful presents. (I resisted the urge to take photos of them and list them here for you.)  Truly, there was enough handmade stuff to start an Etsy shop. I was even gifted a bottle of wine from 1998, a Bordeaux no less, and from his family's vineyard! I don't even know when I'll be fancy enough to be worthy of it.

It was a long night. A friend crashed on the couch and we had to kick one guy out at half-six--literally, he was actually kicked a bit. I woke up around 3pm, had some Advil for breakfast and realized someone wrote on my bedroom wall. A bunch of my roommate's food got eaten, whoops on that, and a bowl and a chair were both broken durring the 7 am cleanup process--but it was the best party I've ever thrown. YUP. My mom would have beat the life out of me. .....My grandma would have seen that coming.

Here are some photos!
Oh, play this song while you look at them. If you're too lazy to look up/translate the lyrics, he's just basically saying, life is hard, so we dance.


Did it tell you to watch it on Youtube? Then, be a doll and open it in another tab! Photos, aller!


































So yeah, excellent party. Sebastien got me a cake, the coloc all pitched in to make it awesome both food and guest wise and we even had a  featured apparence by Sweeney. (Did you see us in our second grade hats?) It's not like I'm growing up or anything, but I'm fairly certain I almost nothing embarrassing. Ok. I likened not getting a scarf to pedophilia somehow. I don't know. So maybe that..but otherwise, totally appropriate evening--I wasn't even afraid to look at the pictures the next day!

And now it's time to bring the recycling out...It's the walk of shame equivalent granted to you in your late twenties. It also gives you a chance to tone that upper body. Take that walk of shame!
So much tyranny left, it's gunna be awesome!

Have a wicked good birthday post? I'd love to link it.

My first world problems

Things are rough all over, Ponyboy. But I think we can all agree I've got it pretty bad...














But worst of all...
Sometimes I see an animated GIF and I can't even relate to it.

Smell ya later, internet. I've got a  birthday bash to shop for ;)

Like this post? Check out other first world problem posts, over at 
The Tsaritsa Sez