Big, big plans.

Well, I might as well come out and say it...I drunk tweeted LeVar Burton on Saint Patty's day.

It's probably the coolest thing I'll ever tweed and you are likely the only persons to even care.
Know that feel, bro?
In other news, You might not have noticed   would have no reason to give'a, but I haven't taken a picture since December when my camera broke in the mail.
This is the last picture she took:

Kelly's Roast Beef. I regret nothing.

It's been hard,  seeing the people and not being able to preserve the smiles---cameras are a pretty lie about putting a stopper in a bottle labeled time. Warm days in the park, spilled drinks in the dark, I'll be lucky if I remember half of half of them.
Things are tranquil ici, I'm chilling with my feet up, getting around to my third shot of espresso, really happy that it doesn't feel like there's a few loose sham-rocks knocking around in my head. Saint Patrick's day isn't as huge in Paris as it is in many American cities but if you think that's not very popular, just wait around to hear the crickets on Cinco De Mayo...
But by goodness, the blue of the sky paints a little something extra in each of us, doesn't it?
Our belts are a little looser around the McCarthy-Roblin fire-pit,  we can go out and get a drink, even afford to eat dinner in a restaurant. I mean, holy frackin class privilege, Batman--it feels good to buy food.

I finally tried a cocktail who's principal ingredient is a liqueur called Get 27 (in french sounds like: Jet vaant-set) Yeah, they came up with it in the 1700's and they're still pretty crazy about it.   It's fine, if you're into peppermint schnaps. But when a person agrees with themselves to drink glass after glass on the rocks, one wonders how they refrain from doing shooters of listerine on the daily.

Oh, it's just for boys. Well, at least that's settled. 

Pi day was great. Sebastien and I made a tarte onion. The Ides of March wasn't so bad and recently my coloc has been hanging out a lot together. Little things, picnics, brunch--they've got me eating beans with my eggs, it's all down hill from here! But at least we've set up the spare bedroom with a huge projector screen for sunday mario parties.  I guess I haven't kept you too up to date on what's been going on with my colocation.
The abridged version:

JK, that's the full version.

TL;DR? I'm the only girl left.
A funny thing happen on the way to get my french green card, well--actually I was there getting it...You may have read Sweeney's PRE chest X-ray post where she is being chided in French for not speaking French while having her shirt off for a doctor--well, when I was asked to remove my shirt and retake my seat across from a doctor, it occurred to me that our situations were similar, but there are a few more steps for spouses while we're being "naturalized." Such as, I have to take a civics class and for another they'll give me free French classes. I leaned all of this after the short film me and the other conjoints were forced to watch. And I got cookies.
Have you read her post yet? Do it, now!

The amusing stuff started after about the third or forth time I was sorted into a smaller room.  I was sitting across from a woman answering questions.
We started our interview like any stable puff piece, her asking things like,"Had I ever studied French in school....No,  not here, but in the US......Not grade school, not middle school, not high school---not university? "
I kept repeating no, I hadn't...and the more surprised she was, the larger a glowing spot of pride grew and grew until she switched to English and asked me,
"So you never went to grade school? Not high school, not University?"
"Oh, I thought we were talking about, uh, French classes?"
"No, not here--in the US!" she proclaims with the utter exasperation of someone who talks to morons for a living.
 Sigh, all that about the shoe when it fits...
No, well, yes--yes, I did my studies at such and such university and so forth. I respond to her in French and so she switches back as well.
"Your French is...." she makes the international sign for so-so- "...not bad. But the State will pay for your classes. Right now they are provided by the Alliance Francies."

And I.....

They're only like the most expensive and renowned school for French language and culture acquisition. W00t. That solved, I went back to my former holding pen and waited to be called to the medical waiting room where I waited to be medicaled.  They administered the eye tests, height tests and weight tests and then I was sent into this smaller corral with a door on each side. The doctor spoke rapidly but I gathered that above all I should put my bag on the bench and lock the door really well. So I did those things and stood there just kind of getting the mesure of the walls and wondering if I had to pee. There wasn't much in the room, or was it a hallway, yes, it had two doors it was clearly a hallway or hallway affilate.
No.
An air lock.
Yes, I was standing in the airlock and I figured they wanted to secure the door to protect themselves from radiation. Gamma rays, likely. Maybe I'm about to be spaced.
Then I noticed the sign at eye level displaying several languages worth of information. I took some time to oggle the graffiti in arabic  and saw also scrawled in French,"Portugees" followed by a question mark. Thinking quickly, I quested for the English translation and upon finding it was informed that I should be standing there nude to the waist, waiting for the door to open.
Weirdest thing I did all week.
Get half naked, and wait for a stranger to open the door and then ask me repeatedly if I'm pregnant.


I'm hungry so I'm going to go lay in a park. (that makes sense, shut up.) Or maybe I'm just an artist and my mind doesn't work the way I want it to sometimes.




Sebastien and I put in our applications for the Peace Corps, wish us luck. :D

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