Archives: August 2005
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I had a seven hour layover in Heathrow. I was dreading it, but I went into the Business Class lounge (because I flew back in style, too, yo) and curled up in a chair and slept for six straight hours, waking only when an elderly woman getting out of her wheelchair whacked my head with her cane. I was so tired that I just mumbled a "It's fine, you didn't hurt me..." as she apologized profusely.
Upon my return to Paris, I found The Boy sleeping in bed. Yes, he was asleep at 19.00 (he had gone to bed at 6 am and has been sick for the last three days), and when I bent over to kiss him hello, he didn't make a move. Then, ten seconds later, like a freaked-out cat, he jumped up. He thought there was an intruder in the house, and smiled a big sleepy smile when he realized it was just me. I snuggled into him and he slowly woke up; it felt so nice to be in our bed and sleepy. I think I also just needed the physical closeness for a bit.
Things got really rough towards the end of my trip, and there was one point where I was ready to just get a taxi and go to the airport. I stuck around, however, and no matter how awkward and uncomfortable that got at moments, I'm glad I did. Although I'm still hurt and confused, I think the air has cleared a bit... or something. Honestly, I don't know what to think anymore.
I don't know. So much sadness. But I can't dwell. I've got too much to do.
Sometimes web sites - no matter how little they are read - are too public of a forum. I cannot write about what's on my mind because I promised myself that I would not write things that could potentially hurt others' feelings. I am not too sure why I bother concerning myself with a certain other's feelings, when this person has little regard for mine, but so be it.
I have cried a lot the last few days, gotten in an unnecessary argument with The Boy because I was emotional and he was his usual overly-critical self, and had a miniature panic attack at 10.32 pm last night. I am at another rough patch in life, and digesting the problems in front of me has been a little overwhelming. Although difficult, I'm going forward.
Doing so is taking 90% of my energy, and that is why I am not writing here.
My mom was supposed to teach me to sew yesterday, but when we went downstairs, we began talking about the basement layout instead. This turned into an all-day project, reorganizing furniture and demantling and reassembling the desk. It looks better, and was sorta fun. The theme of this vacation, apparently, is that new houses can be a really enjoyable experience.
Here I am, for example, in New Mexico, staying at the house of the boyfriend of my best friend from high school. He bought the place, and that makes me sort of sick because he's my age and has a house that comes equipped with two adorable Huskies. They are literally the sweetest balls of fur on Earth... all soft squishiness and snuggledom.
So THAT'S the second part of the trip: dogs. In my dog-starved normal life, petting a canine is an event. Here in the States, it's the norm. And a beautiful one at that.
I've decided to extend my trip by a few days. It seemed too short, anyway, and my mom still has to teach me to sew. I discovered the shit ton of various gluten-free flours available at Whole Foods, and I have already baked some convincing chocolate chip cookies - but I need to try some other recipes. The sweater I am knitting is half-finished, so I need some more hours in front of the television with my yarn. These are the things on my agenda for the upcoming week.
When I go back to Paris, I will have to whip out the 100-page thesis I have yet to begin writing. Can you blame me for wanting to stay on this side of the ocean a little longer?
I am using a dinosaur to type this entry. Not only do my parents still have dial-up (Hello Patience! I rediscovered you today!), but their keyboard is also American (wha...) and I keep messing up my letters.
So this will be short.
Briefly: being home is nice, as always. I am reading and jogging - two things I generally like to do but seem never to have enough free time to do them in my everyday life. Portland was beautiful, and it was even more beautiful to see my beautiful sister so happy. She seems she's at a good place in her life, and it's so great to be a part of that for a few days. Plus, I love her dog and her house, and I ate some vegan cornmeal pancakes that were damn tasty. She keeps pushing Portland on me (and my parents, I think), but as I said in the ride to the airport, the city pretty much sells itself. The vegan pancakes are just a bonus.
Now I am back in Michigan and the weather is beautiful. I have spent most of this vacation getting up early, going for jogs, having a coffee then SHOPPING. Then I come home, walk to the dog, read some, do a crossword, play Jeopardy! and putz around until bedtime. Which is, you know, somewhere around 10:00.
I could get used to this.
Oh! And? First-class? REEEEAAALLLLLY nice. They served smoked salmon, people. It was lovely (say that with a British accent, cause I was on British Air). It was especially nice because I missed the airline strike by 24ish hours. I don't think my first-class travels would have been so glamorous if they had been accompanied by a days' wait at the airport.
Next, it's on to Alberquerque. No idea how to spell that, to be honest. Maybe I'll find out when I get there?
I'm off tomorrow to fly (first class!) to Detroit to see my parents. I'm excited because I am going to sit in a comfortable chair (first class!) and watch movies (in first class!) for several hours.
This is probably the first time I have actually looked forward to the FLYING part of travel. It might have something to do with sitting in MASSAGING, RECLINING chairs with on-demand videos an arm's reach away. That's first class (!) for you.
Not that I'm excited or anything. I'm totally, ahem... um... used to first class travel. Yeah. This is totally not a big deal to me. At all.
In fact, last time I flew home, I got bumped up. I tried to play cool - I fly first class all the time and what have you - but when I couldn't figure out how to operate the damn chair, I gave myself away to the guy next to me. By the end of the flight, he was teaching me about getting an extra helping of sorbet, which was rockin'. THEY FEED YOU SORBET IN FIRST CLASS, PEOPLE. Not ice cream sandwiches. SOR. BET. Mango flavored, too.
This time, I'm just going to kick back. If I have to ask the damn stewardess to show me how to use the chair, so be it. Hopefully she'll give me a manicure, too. You never know what's possible beyond that curtain.
I don't want to sleep on this trip. Too much first-classness to be enjoyed. Ironically, I know this is going to be the one trip I'll sleep like a baby on. I can feel it. Those fully-reclining chairs are like that for a reason.
It's gonna be tough.
While opening the store today, I had the following conversation:
Man: (in Spanish) Hello. Do you by any chance speak Spanish?
Me: Yes, a little.
Man: Do you know where the GLKSNDOGINSDG MARAY is?
Me: Do you mean the Marais?
Man: Yes, the GLKSNDOGINSDG MARAY.
Me: (Um... I don't know what a GLKSNDOGINSDG is... but is he askaing for the Marais? The neighborhood? Like, the 'Marais section'? That would make sense, but...) Well, go straight down this street and when you see the store BHV, turn down the street on your left. It's called rue Vielle du Temple.
Man: Ok, that's easy. No problem...What GLKSNDOGINSDG are we in now?
Me: What what?
Man: What GLKSNDOGINSDG?
Me: (shit, he totally knows that I don't know what a GLKSNDOGINSDG is) It's called Chatelet.
Man: (seeming satisfied): Oh, ok. Is the GLKSNDOGINSDG MARAY far from here?
Me: No. Five minutes, maybe ten.
Man: There is an old cafe there, a really old one, where TOINSG used to go?
Me: A café?
Man: Yes, an old one, really famous. TOINSG, you know?
Me: (Shrugs)
Man: (Laughs) Thank you (and a genuine pat on the shoulder towards me)
I hope he was just asking where the Marais quarter was. Spanish varies so much that I think it was just some other word for 'hood in whatever type of Spanish he spoke (Argentine? Chilean? No idea... definetly not from Spain, though)
Overall: way better than last year's conversation in Spanish in the Luxembourg gardens where I said, "There will be an exit, and then a street, and then you will see your building." Not so helpful, really but that was all I could say. And then "Left" or "Right". Still, I don't know what the man today was exactly talking about, and I sincerely hope he was looking for the Marais, or I was totally off.
Right now, there are lots of Spaniards in town. I have practised my Spanish three times this week alone, and I even used it to talk to some Portuguese people interested in Russian ballet. Also, a French woman came in today with a Japanese woman, and spoke in Japenese to her about Chinese art, while an Italian guy looked at architecture books in English. I felt like Spanish should have been useful there, too, but no. Not really.
The French have a thing with washcloths. The kind to be used in the shower, I mean. I'll never get it. My theory on soap is: soap is clean. I don't mind sharing soap with you. Yes, even you, Dirty Homeless Woman, Washing Your Feet in the Public Restrooms. If I really feel like your dirty self destroyed the precious soap in some way, and I can't stand it, I'll rinse the soap. And then, boom! Whaddya know? Clean soap.
For a time, The Boy and I used liquid Palmolive soap. I was recently informed that this is the ghetto soap in France (I forget who intimated that to me, but it came as quite a blow), in much the way White Rain has ever been imprinted as crappy shampoo in my mind (am I the only one? And who gave me that idea? Television?).
I stuck to the Palmolive because it was cheap and could be bought in earth-friendly tubes that refilled the plastic dispenser bottle. I still don't understand how people can justify continuously buying their soaps in bottles when refills are RIGHT BELOW. Cheaper, too.
One day, I was at the natural foods store and I decided to pick up some Sweet Almond Oil soap. I don't know exactly what came over me, maybe the fact that it was on sale, or that it smelled like scrumtious baby headness, or that I knew it was made of all natural ingredients. Maybe it was my newfound obsession with Almond Oil. Or maybe I just needed to get my total to over ten euros so that I could use my card to buy the stuff in my basket. Regardless, I splurged and spent almost two whole euros on three whole bars of soap.
Read more »Sadly, I don't think anything sums up Who I Am as well as the search phrases that got people here (Obviously I'm kidding, please God, tell me you knew I was kidding). It's lame to post search phrases, but they give a nice, well-rounded representation of me. A small selection:
lack of concentration shivers
barack obama address democratic full video
difference between skank ho and slut
bedbug bites recovery time
nympho librarian
my-boobs breast-reduction 2005
eriq la salle soul glo
i hate argentinians
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It is amazing how not having a fever can be so liberating.
I woke up after 13 hours of sleep and wanted to do jumping jacks. Still a little crampy, sure, but damnit, the fog had lifted!
I pondered what I could do with my hour before work. Knit? Read? Write a letter? I opted for the age-old dishes-and-mild-cleaning bit, although it was slightly greater than usual because of a 24-hour gap in services from the day prior.
But man. Dynamite. It feels so great to feel so normal.
Plus: 13 hours of sleep? Makes a huge difference. Every time I do this whole "sleeping" thing, I'm reminded of what a good idea it really is. It's on my Things to Investigate When I Have the Time list. Right between numbers 22 and 24, snake-raising and homemade hair cutting techniques, respectively.
Yesterday, I fell down the stairs at work while trying to get a book for a customer. The stairs are out of view (thank God) but it caused such a shock that I accidentally gave the man a ten euro discount. This is the second time I have fallen down the stairs at the store, but this time was even more painful than the last. I have an enormous bruise on my back (where I again broke the fall) and another on my thigh (where I ran into a brick holding up a pile of books that subsequently fell on me). The Boy is starting to wonder what the hell kind of work I'm exactly doing.
After work, three of us went out to dinner. I had a good time, but came home early because I was very tired. By one am, I was already dreaming. By four am, however, I was running for the toilet, where I spent the next six hours. It is amazing how difficult it is to stay awake while expelling food from your body. I think the fatigue mixed with the pain mixed with the disgust lead to the shaking and crying that eventually overwhelmed me, and I know I certainly had a fever at some point. After a few hours, I went back to bed, only to get back up again two or three times. Emptied of much of my energy, I tried once more to go back to bed, but I was so frazzled by everything that I started panicking. When this happens, I try counting down from 100 and concentrate on breathing, sending good energy to where my pain is. Sometime around 50, I fell asleep. Three phone calls woke me up, as well as a delivery man at nine. At ten, when things seemed to calm down a bit, I called Vegas and told him he would have to open the store at noon instead of me... I was afraid of leaving the bathroom and my body was aching all over. More than anything, I needed sleep.
I'm not sure what pushed off this round of illness. I ate Japanese the night before, and I ate soy sauce even though I know it has gluten. I have yet to eat Japanese - ever, in my life - without getting at least mildly sick. So maybe that's it. It has never made me sick like this before; I seriously considered going to the hospital around 3 am. Regardless, I think I am going to stear clear of the Japanese for a while and I'm going to not let myself "cheat" on the gluten thing. Really, I just had a teeny-weeny bit of sauce...
The Boy was cute; although he slept through the whole thing, he listened with a worried face throughout my telling of the terrible tale that was my night. Then he offered to go buy my BRAT foods (I'm just opting for bananas and applesauce, though) and some medicine. I'm heading in to work - achy and grumpy and feeling a little inside-out - within the hour.
