Archives: April 2005
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This activity train? It can slow down now. The "alone" time I have had to do silly things like check email and read headlines has been confined to: a) breakfast time or b) the space of time after I take my shower but I'm not fully dry yet, but prefer air-drying (as opposed to towel-drying) before putting on my clothes.
So, yes. Very busy. It's been great, but a bit of a whirlwind. Lots of shmoozing and running from a to b. I've been working every day and my feet are throbbing enough to prove it. One of these days, I'm going to study for the final I have in two weeks. The Madre is coming next Wednesday, and I am fully dedicating the days she is here to all-out mother-daughter time, so I'll be damned if I try to sneak in any studying while she's here. Gotta do it ahead of time, folks.
For right now, though, I don't have the time/energy/desire.
Instead, I will waste this moment (while the rice is cooking) to I leave you with a ridiculous meme found at Yvonne's that made me laugh despite myself. Do it yourself; it's fun.
Read more »My beautiful juicer - Harry - came last week. Harry has been soooo good to me over the last few days. I've been working up a variety of cocktails. My favorites include: apple-pear, carrot-celery, and orange-ginger juice. I feel like I have been mainlining vitamins directly into my bloodstream. I'm sure it's at least 75% psychological, but there is a definite energy boost involved, and nobody can tell me to the contrary, damnit.
I'm working my way up to the super green, super deluxe vitamin booster galore types like beet-garlic-broccoli-spinach-carrot-radish concoctions that Crazy Jay (Jay Kordich) thinks change people's lives. I just made that shit up, but I'm sure some juicer-crazed fool has given it a whirl. I'm just a few steps away.
Seriously, though, everybody needs a juicer. Tomorrow I'm going to make some homemade soy milk. Even though the juicer itself was a bit of an investment, I think it will pay back heftily in other ways. Example: I spend 75 cents on soy beans, do some ca-bang, ca-boom, and I've got myself a pretty severe supply of soymilk. Do you people know how expensive that shit normally is?
Non-juicer-related news:
Read more »So remember the Christmas Present I got from The Boy? The bracelet?
Yeah. I lost it.
And I lost it like, four weeks ago. But I sort of kept dreaming it would show up in my purse or my glasses container or SOMETHING, but it never did.
Today The Boy reminded me of it, and had the gall to tell me that the fucker cost 400 EUROS. I don't know if those of you in the normal world realize how much money 400 euros is, but that's like, an entire month's budget. That he spent on me. On a bracelet for me.
That I lost.
Just like that.
The guilt is so severe, I don't know what to do. I was already upset about losing the damn thing, now I feel even worse. 400 euros? Are you crazy?
Friday Night Fever is riding by my house, screaming and yelling and playing some bad disco music. It still doesn't bring back the fucking bracelet.
I just got back from the gynecologist's office. Yes, this was doctor week for me... physician Tuesday, physical therapy Wednesday, gynecologist Thursday. Good thing I'll be seeing lots of that money coming back to me in a few weeks.
Anyway, I was as happy as one can be about going to the gyno's because things have been getting better in that department. I was looking forward to simply renewing my pill and moving on with my day of intensive vegetable shopping at the cheap markets.
After discussing things with the good doctor, she said, "Well great, no sweat then. Let's just weigh you, take your blood pressure, and you'll be out in no time..."
Great! I thought.
So she weighed me. The last time I learned my weight was in her office a few months ago, and that had been the first time in several years. I don't intentionally make a habit of not weighing myself, but I don't have a scale and I don't really want to know anyway. Whatever my weight is, I'm five pounds less than what the screen says anyway, so what's the point of trying to maintain any sense of accuracy at all?
"Whoa," I said, when I saw the number. "I've gained a kilo since I was here in February." (1 kilo = 2.2 lbs)
"Yes you have," she responded, "Although that can just be fluctuating or because you just ate or something... did you just eat?"
"Yeah," I said, "But still, if anything I would have thought I had lost a kilo. Harumph." I was trying to make it as light-hearted and fun as possible, because nobody really ever enjoys hearing they gained a pound or two. I know as well as the next guy that a pound or two doesn't make the difference, though, so what's the worry?
"Actually," she said, walking over to her files, "You're four kilos heavier than you were the first time I saw you, back in 2000."
"Four KILOS?" I said, eyes popping out of my face. "Oh no!" (Four kilos= 8.8 lbs).
I'm not taking that news quite as well.
And ok, ok. I can make lots of excuses.
I know I'm not overweight. I generally feel ok about my weight, even though like every woman, I wouldn't mind losing some flab here and there. But really, I feel pretty good about where I'm at, so why worry about the numbers?
Excuse Number 1: When she weighed me in 2000, I was 19, and now I'm 25. So there's that.
Excuse Number 2: When she weighed me in 2000, I had just come from a two-week trip in which we ate at the cafeteria every day, and the only thing I could eat was salad. So I'm sure I was three or four pounds less than usual.
Excuse Number 3: I had just eaten, and haven't shat in two days. That must account for at least a kilo, right?
Excuses aside, I'm still hearing her voice repeating, "You're four kilos heavier... you're four kilos heavier... you're four kilos heavier..."
But the real mystery here is that everyone who knew me at 19 thinks that I am actually thinner now than I was back then. Numerous unrelated people have mentioned it. So... what's going on? I would like to chalk this all up to the muscle-is-heavier than fat phenomenon, but I'm not very muscular, except in my legs (once described as "burly" by a girl who did not know how traumatic I found that term). I would also like to say my doctor's scale is off, but I have nothing to compare it to. I would like to say that it's because I had eaten just 20 minutes before, but that doesn't account for four kilos.
The worst part? After discussing my weight, she had me lie on the table per usual. Looking at me, she said, "Did you maybe gain a little in your thighs, or your butt?"
Like, Jesus, Lady! You're twisting the knife. Just, stop. Please.
So that's two traumatic doctor visits in two days. Right-o.
The scene: I had waited for two hours to find out what I thought was an ear infection was actually just inflammation. "Aspirin" was the doctor's good advice. Great. However, as I have regular back problems due to what the French call a "strong chest" (I prefer the expression to American equivalents), I thought I would ask the doctor for a physical therapist recommendation. Physical therapy is far more common in France than in the States (Kinestherapy?)... essential what I wanted was a referral to the equivalent of a chiropractor.
Me: Oh, while I'm here, would it be possible to get a prescription to see a kine?
Doctor: Do you have back problems?
Me: Well, I don't have serious back pain, but I cannot sit straight for long periods of time due to my "strong chest." I would like to re-teach my back to sit up straight without pain.
Doctor: (staring at my boobs) What size are you?
Me: I don't know, in French terms. I've never found a bra that fit me in this country.
Doctor: So you're too big for the stores? (still staring)
Me: Yes.
Doctor: Ok, that's what I needed to know. (Glances down again). Yes, that is considered a health problem, from a strictly medical standpoint. You have two options.
Me: Yes?
Doctor: One, you can start swimming. You need to counteract the weight in front with muscles in your back. So you need to build up the muscles. A kine can help you learn which muscles to use, but you need to build them up.
Me: I hate swimming. What's the other option?
Doctor: Quite simply, you can have a breast reduction.
Me: No.
Doctor: It's a fairly easy procedure and is entirely covered by insurance. (Glances down again). You'd be a good candidate.
Me: I don't want surgery.
Doctor: Well, then start swimming.
The whole conversation made me feel a little guilty about having boobies. Still, I'm going to see what the kiné/chiropractor/PT says.
I started off today feeling pretty shitty, and have just gotten significantly more so progressively throughout the day. Isn't it the worst feeling when you're sorta kinda sick - enough so that you don't want to do anything - but not sick enough to feel that you can just sit in bed all day?
I spent the morning sitting in an administrative office. The woman who collected my paperwork was surprisingly nice, but she was also just the middlewoman. She told me that the People Behind the Metal Doors would determine my fate in a week. I'm so sick of all this bullshit that I just smiled and thanked her. At least she didn't bitch at me when I had to run across the street to get YET ANOTHER SASE. How many of those can a girl need to hand over to the government?
Afterwards, I went home to sleep for a few hours. My throat glands are really swollen and I'm a little achy all over. Nothing too serious, but I definetly needed more than the five hours of sleep I had gotten last night.
I woke up early afternoon because I am waiting on a delivery. DHL, I will just come out and say it, is one of the worst companies ever to exist. If there were an anti-DHL protest, I might just go out with my painted sign and yell in the streets. Over the years, DHL has lost several of my orders, and I have never ONCE had something delivered on time. DHL is in the delivery business. That's what they do. You would think they would know how to deliver.
Read more »The Frenchies cut me off of my job today. That's it. Finished. Contract over. This would be fine if it weren't denying me another month of work, and thus another month of salary. The reason for the "suspension" was that there were a few administrative kinks that were never worked out, and of course I'm to blame. Heaven forbid it be ANYBODY ELSE'S FAULT. Seriously? The whole thing was a big mess. I made one mistake, they made many, and now it turns out I have been working illegally all year without really knowing it. Oh, I love French bureaucracy.
I'm trying to have a zen-like sense of humor about the whole thing, but in all honesty, it's really fucked up. I mean, they really screwed me over, and, on top of that, they're blaming me for their own stupidity.
But, as I said: zen.
I'll tell the story of how these people have so clearly been sucked of both intelligence and anything resembling a human soul when I have more time, but for now I just need to sleep.
The Little Guy has come and gone. It's always sort of sad and empty in the house after he leaves. No more jumping on the bed, no more laughter at high volumes just because it's even funnier that way, no more making farting noises with your armpit. Nope. When the kid goes, it supposedly time to go back to being an adult.
Sometimes when The Little Guy is here, I get a little annoyed at The Boy. You have to understand that The Boy is a workaholic, and if he spends 15 minutes away from his computer, it's a freakin' miracle. So of course, after spending the day going to Belgium, picking up The Little Guy, missing the train, spending the night in Belgium, and then coming back the following morning, well... he really wanted to work. That's fine and all, I like hanging out with his son, but sometimes I think, "Why did you want to bring him here if you're not going to chill with him?" If we don't plan activities OUTSIDE of the house, The Boy is just going to stay glued to the machine.
So we went to go see "Robots" which was funny enough. Good for little kids, plus we got a cinematic version of the Happy Meal: popcorn, drink, and toy. It was a watch.
Last night, while The Boy was working, I started knitting. The Little Guy asked me if he could learn, too. We pulled out the dictionnaries and I started explaining. Within an hour, The Little Guy was knitting pretty well, much to The Boy's disdain. "Little Guy! That's for women!"
I just had to laugh and laugh at his machissimo.
He did make the valid point, "Have you ever seen a man knit?" Well, no, but that doesn't mean 8-year-old boys can't learn, right?
The Little Guy really took to the knitting, and he kept asking me to teach him more. So after he had done four solid rows of knitting, I taught him to perl. Then I taught him to add colors. Granted, his little hands had a hard time with the needles, so he improvised and did the whole thing with one needle between his knees... hey, it worked.
This morning, before the two of them headed out for their train, I showed him how to bind off and weave in ends. Then he started putting on his mini-scarf, and rubbing the soft wool on his neck.
Dad really did not approve, but I thought it was great. He was so proud of what he had done. I was pretty proud of him, too.
It's amazing how quickly kids pick things up. He learned how to do all the major knitting techniques in 24 hours. Just... boom! We set up a system where each stich required four steps, and so when he had a problem with one of them, he would say, "Problem! Three!" and I would see where he went wrong. It's great to see how we get around language barriers.
I think my previous Fantasyland list is getting to me.
Under the excuse of "I have to look for a song my students know," I spent at least an hour today getting hip to music again. I can't believe how easy it is to be so out of it without a television or a radio. It makes perfect sense, but I guess I figured I had just gotten music through osmosis. Actually, I probably did. I had more friends in high school than I do now (curious, I know) and we spent a lot more time singing at the top of our lungs in cars than I do now. No worries, I still sing at the top of my lungs alone in my bedroom. It's just not the same.
Anyway. My point is: MUSIC IS TERRIBLE nowadays. I know I sound like my parents (who, in all honesty, were too hip to bother saying that, they just nodded patiently and waited for me to stop talking), but I couldn't get through more than half of the songs on Billboard's Top 100 before spitting at my computer screen and stopping the song mid-play (on Rhapsody).
I did, however, fall slightly in love with AKON, so that's a bonus. I know, I'm pretty mystified by it myself.
The good news is that I found a song to do. I think the kids will really dig it because it's got all the important words - namely "ghetto" and "girls" - but the message is a good one and it's not all about violence. I considered taking the number one song, and vetoed it. Why? Well, the words of wisdom from 50 Cent just seemed a little too strong for 15-year-olds:
Of course, it goes on, but I think I turned it off after that (I so didn't).
The other way I implemented a little piece of Fantasyland was by making my first official loaf of gluten-free bread. 100% from scratch, yo. This has been something I have been semi-working on for awhile, trying to get the right flours and what not. My bread concoction came from Cooking Gluten Free! (their exclamation point, not mine), which is a pretty good book. I've already done a few recipes out of it, and they have all turned out somewhere between good and excellent. I'm down with that.
Today's bread required the following products which I have never used in my life prior to this week: tapioca starch, potato starch, brown rice flour, sweet rice flour, and xantham gum. You can imagine what a party it was finding this stuff in a French supermarket. The trick was to buy it all in the Asian markets. I found everything but the xantham gum there.
Anyway, woo-hoo, the bread was a success. I'm happy it wasn't a huge failure or I might have written off funky flours forever.
Tomorrow, The Boy is bringin The Little Guy from Belgium to stay with us over the weekend. I hope the rain lets up so we can all go to the park together.
I decided to make the "Bookworm" page its own mini-site. Don't mind me. I just felt like the books were spilling over the pages. So if you want to go look, you can, but don't be surprised that the pages look EXACTLY the same as the rest of the site for right now. I'm too busy to make it look different just yet, but I will, eventually.
Aside from being a good person, with a steady job and a booming social life, there are a few frivolous daydreams I regularly have about the type of person I want to be. For the embarassment of it (for some reason I like to keep record of these kinds of things), I will list them here in no particular order.
In Fantasyland, I am the type of person who...
Read more »Yesterday, I went to the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. For those who don't know it, I consider it to be a huge insult to architecture. I don't know anything about architecture, so I'm pretty sure it's all revered and shit, but I personally can't stand the place. It feels like Poland. Not that I've ever been there, either. There's just something very cold and communist about the BNF that sorta creeps me out.
Because I play with the big kids, I have been awarded a special research card that gives me special access to special rooms. But I had no idea just how special these rooms are.
DUUUUUUUUUDE. That library trip was CRAZY. When you get there, you have to hand over everything you own, and they give you a see-through briefcase to keep your stuff in. My theory is that this avoids a) stolen books and b) weapons, but it seems a little overboard. I mean, that's what all those metal detectors are for, right?
