Surrogate Brain Washing

The scene: In the car. The mother is driving while her two children are happily bickering in the back seat. Suddenly, the eldest child pipes up.

Kilian: "Maman?"

Me: "Yes?"

Kilian: "Why does the sun rise in the east and set in the west?"

Me: "... if I told you Solar Winds, would you believe me?"

Kilian: [thinking] ... "That's exactly what Calvin's Dad said, but then Calvin's Mom got mad, so that must not be it."

Har. My secret for developing a nimble and sarcastic sense of humour?

A tiger and a vertically challenged six year old.

If it was good enough for me.... well....



Bless you, Mr. Watterson

Though I have to admit that their absolute favourite comic of the C&H bunch so far is the one with the swallow songbird belting out "On Top of Spaghetti....!"

The French translation of that one is pretty damn good.

Chasing One's Tail

I just made an appointment with a "psy".

My voice shook a little during the call. My new "confidante" was very kind, answered my questions, and since this is the first time I've even gotten this far with acknowledging my problems (due to an over-excess of pride no doubt), she explained to me that yes, she was trained in helping people like me.

When I put the phone down, I burst into tears.

I have come to a point where I don't recognise myself anymore. I have lost the brave woman who travelled around Europe by herself. That chick who used to make decisions and work towards them.

I want her back.

I may talk tough here (or at least, I used to), but in real life, I have descended into a spiral of lack of motivation, lack of foresight, lack of standing up for myself in the real world, lack of everything a responsable adult needs in order to survive in this world that scares me a bit. When I see hobos in the street, I can't help thinking that if I let this thin thread of tarnished silver unravel further, I might become one of them.

This downward spiral has been ten years in the making. Ever since I landed here. I won't say that it's France's fault. What I will say is that my life as I know it today has been worn down by the cares and woes of simultaneously learning how to be an adult while living in a country that wasn't the one that I was brought up in. Learning a language, having children, learning social mores, working the day job and dealing with all the technical details that that entails while all the time trying to figure out my creative, yet frustrated, artsy side... has (or had?) ground me down, encouraged inertia, has been making me bitter and a very difficult person to live with.

And as such, I have embittered the person that I live with, perhaps to a point of no return.

Sigh. The marriage? About two inches above a scrap heap. Our arguments are becoming more and more down and dirty (and they were already impressive to begin with: alas, our turrible tempers). Our friends are barraged by too much transparency of where things are heading, dismaying them and promoting awkwardness... and no, it is not myself who engages in this activity and I'm not sure what is to be gained by this... unless... the saying of the words mean that that is where things will definitely go. Prophetic-like. How powerful are words when circulated and does saying the words aloud to all and sundry indicate that the point of no return has already been reached?

For my part, and perhaps foolishly, I do not intend to go down without fighting because, for what it's worth, I love my husband deeply. An irony that I can appreciate is that while I'm told that one of the reasons for an eventual separation is my lack of assertiveness, the fact that I intend to "fake it 'til we make" is cause for much annoyance. Though I realise that if I do truly love him, maybe I just need to let him go. No matter how much that scares me. Maybe it really is for the best.

Whatever the outcome, I want to gain my old spirit back. I want to feel confident again.

I want to become a better person. Hell, it's high time I stopped navel gazing. It is time to step back to take stock and figure out how to move forward.

If nothing else, working out the knots in my brain will make me a better parent.

I can't keep chasing my tail forever. I can't keep dwelling on the difficulties of the past.

The time has come.

Argumentative

After a raging argument the night before (where we both got all crazy ass nutso), ask the kids to make a "For Sale" sign with the home phone number on it and pin it to the fence when I'm not looking.

Get all "Tough Guy" with a bit of "You want a piece of me" attitude when I take it down: "We never agree on anything! Why continue the farce?"

"Um... Because that isn't true? You only seem to remember the bad shit. Marriage means compromise and give and take and neither one of us can have our way all the time no matter how much righteous Napoleon Bonaparte either one of us is channelling on any given day. This isn't a military dictatorship ruled by either one of us, it's a family. You cannot make arbitrary decisions that affect all of us like this. It's cruel and it's dumb."

Compound the annoyance after having received a phone call at 8 am the next morning from someone in LYON who is asking about the house that is for sale by racing around the house naked with "I've got a nibble, I've got a nibble! You'll have your share and I'll have mine."

Sigh.

Why do I torture myself with this eejit? It is impossible to argue with him without some sneakiness coming up and biting me on the ass...

It totally fecks with my brain, you know?... Especially when I haven't been awake that long yet nor had my morning coffee.

The strangest thing is, is that it is born out of compulsiveness and curiosity rather than out-and-out cruelty.

Dude says that he won't sell for a penny under half a million. About 100.000 Euros above what it may be currently worth.

...

Now, all of a sudden, I have this burning need to scour ebay for furniture.

Because I have come to this realisation that we've been living in a shell of a house because we haven't been sure what we want to do with our lives. Like we're at a crossroads only we aren't on Harley Davidsons and there isn't a warm gust of wind laced with promises blowing on our faces.

Lately, that wind has been hocking us loogeys actually.

Nevertheless, we have practically no furniture and what we do have is mostly busted. Living among broken things does in your head. Also? unfinished walls.

I figured this out Sunday after we had finally finished installing the kitchen. Holy Lord above it feels good to be able to put stuff away! And have a kitchen with no yuckey walls or asylum white tiles.

You have no idea how much.

So... does anyone have some tips on judging whether a couch is comfortable from pictures?

I'm off to Ebay.

Adobe Brain Teaser

So I have been tossing around the idea of buying Adobe Creative Suite.

Because I am, ostensibly, Creative and Sweet.

Ahem.

However. There is something I do not understand.

At all.

For example, when I go on the Adobe site and say that I want to buy a CS3 design pack, I'm told that, for US or Canadian residents, this special package costs 1,799 USD.

However, if I say that I'm a French resident, this same package costs 2,630 Euros.

Ahem... According to today's exchange rate, 2,630 Euros makes 4,060 USD.

...

For, like, the exact same item.

...

Dudes, does this seem right to anyone else? And how clever is Adobe? If I were to purchase this and have it sent to my mom, could I use it on a computer with a European IP address?...

Argh.

RATP Spells L.O.V.E.

I was all dressed up for a meeting when I wandered into the métro stop "Château Landon" the other day. Not really knowing where I needed to make my connection, I walked up to the "light up" map of the Paris Métro system. My thoughts rolled around whether I dared trying it out (ie, would I look like a complete tool when I found out that the thing didn't work?) and was just about to attempt it when I heard, "Yoo hoo! Hello! Hi!"

I turned around. Is that an RATP (métro) employee waving at me from the glass cubicle? This same RATP employee, incidentally, a large black man, sensed that he had my attention (as if he could be missed) and yelled out to me, "Are you lost? Do you need directions? CAN I HELP YOU?"

WTF?

Had a I wandered into a different dimension? RATP métro employees do not normally take this much interest in the people they actually interact with day after day. My curiosity was piqued so I wandered over.

"Where are you going? Please! Can I help you?"

"I'm going to Miromesnil. I know where it is, I'm just not sure where to make my connection."

"What luck! That station is on line 9. That's the line I usually work for! If that's the métro that you take, then there's a good chance that I'll see you again. Ahem... If I may say so, by the way, you are the prettiest creature to have walked through the station today."

Talk about your moral booster! I love this suit! Wearing it makes me feel awesome! And though the heels are pinching my feet a bit, I can suddenly barely feel that. I feel smart and businessy.

"Thank you."

"Yessirree bob... You must let me take you out for a drink. Do you work over by Mironesnil?"

"Um... no. It's just for a meeting. That's why I'm all dressed up."

"Well then, it is quite extraordinary that we crossed paths. You know... I bring good luck to people! That's because I'm from the French Antilles."

"You don't say." I hadn't heard this one before, but thought that RATP Man's "picking up chicks" style to be pretty good.

"You know, you're quite a change from the Parisians we usually get going through here." He notices my train ticket, "Why! You don't live in Paris at all! How about that! No wonder! Parisians are always in so much of a hurry. Even if they have no place in particular to be. It's just rush rush rush."

"Yes, I've noticed."

"So if you aren't a Parisian, where are you from?"

"I'm from Canada."

"WHAT?! You are kidding me! You can't be from Canada! Your accent is nothing like Céline Dion's!"

"Well, I learned French here."

"You're kidding me! You're an anglophone? That still doesn't explain the fact that you don't have an accent. Amazing."

RATP Man is a good sweet talker... which is unsurprising since he is from the Antilles.... I'm feeling pretty chuffed but I need to go or I'll be late. I'm also not a little aware that black men tend to try their moves out on white chicks because we're reportedly "easier" to pick up than our black sistahs. BTW: Don't blame me for this stereotype! I have a male cousin whose skin is a wonderful choco colour who actually told me this.

I continued the banter to its close, "So I make the connection at "Chaussée d'Antin"?"

"Yes. Here. I'll just circle it on the map. As well... I want your meeting to go really well, so I'm going to put down some magic numbers. You've heard of magic numbers before, right?"

"Umm... like the lottery?"

"EXACTLY!" He scribbles something down and hands me the métro map. Then he buzzes me through the métro turnstile.

I was just turning to thank him, when I see that he's come out of his glass cubby hole. His green suit is awesomely terrible: an overgrown leprechaun. It reminds me of the uniforms I had to wear when I worked at the grocery store back in Canada... "You keep in touch now, you hear?" he bellowed out. "And for your meeting, remember.... You are a KILLAH!"

And I swear to god, he did a couple of those Arsenio Hall air pump things.

Thank you very much, RATP Man, for your kind words and your "magic numbers".

Even though I won't be calling, you made my day and probably, my meeting.

Hell, you probably did bring me luck. Only time will tell.

Thank you.

....

Mrs C tells Mr C about it later on.

Mr C shook his head, smiled and said, "This stuff ONLY HAPPENS TO YOU!"

"Why do you suppose that is?" Mrs C mused... "Do I have "naive" or something written on my forehead?"

"I don't know."

Mrs C though, prefers to think that she simply has a good vibe going....

And good karma.

Fingers crossed that it stays good.

No. I Didn't.

On days where I have to drop off the kids but don't have anyplace to be myself on that particular morning (usually Saturday mornings because they have school), I generally roll myself out of bed, slip on a dress, put on some shoes, grab my car keys and head out the door.

Last time, Brenna stopped me with a look and said "Wait a minute".

I froze. Her eagle eyes dropped down to my legs and then swooped up to my eyes.

Then she asked, "You put on underwear, right?"

DAMN THAT KID!