The Tired is just an integral part of my life these days. I am always active -- always -- until I collapse around 9:30 or 10:00. These last few nights it has been later than that, as the excitement of the new nephew has naturally become a priority. At any moment, I can think about at least five things that I "need" to do. Currently? Get my tire fixed. Send in the fax for Teo's health records. Pay the day care reservation slot. Figure out my childcare reimbursements. Take out the recycling and garbage (this is more of a pain than it should be, as they are around the block from the house). Unpack the last two boxes. Put my clothes in my new dresser. Find bookshelves for the living room. Mop. Buy some bigger pajamas for Mateo. Make some homemade baby food.

Oh wait. Did I say five things? That was definitely more than five.

So with this crazy lifestyle that I am currently living, I suppose I should not be surprised by the piece of mail I received today: a note, from the electric company. With a check. That I wrote. For the gas company. The note said, "We cannot cash your check." Well... yeeeeaaaahhhhh...

I wonder when I will get my check back from the gas company. That I wrote for the electric company.

Two positive things after my last depressing post:

1) I have befriended the girl who works the deli at the grocery store near me. She is just sweetness, all the time, and she loves Mateo. We go through a little routine where he waves at her and smiles and of course she doesn't like that at all. This last time when we went, though, she said, "Can I also just say something? You look great. I would have never known you had a baby -- let alone such a young one."

2) These are my calming evenings after work nowadays. Yes, I have a hole in my sock.

A relaxing evening from odessa on Vimeo.

Today I went to pick up Mateo from his day care and was overwhelmed with sadness. Teo's day care is great, he was ecstatic to see me, all was well on that front. He is, for the record, feeling like dynamite. I realized just how rotten he must have been feeling the last 5 weeks or so because he is suddenly the smiley, enthusiastic dude he has always been. He has done nothing but smile and giggle for two straight days. It is wonderful.

And greatly needed. I have been going through a bit of a dip. I know these will come and go, and it isn't anything for people to start calling me or sending me concerned emails. But I did have a moment today while picking up the babe. There were all these fathers around. Good God, the place was crawling with them. They were so cute, with their bottles in their hands and their obvious excitement to pick up their children. Their eyes danced when they saw their babies squirm with happiness upon arrival. Some parents came to get their kids together. And it just mad me so, so sad. I can't even put into words how tough it is for me to see how awesome some dads are, and how both Mateo and I are missing out on having that huge - HUGE - presence in both of our lives.

I am happy for everybody I know who is in a deep and fulfilling relationship, and especially happy for those with children in such a situation. But damn if it's not hard to be the only one -- really, the only one -- I know who is doing this on her own. I honestly do not believe that anyone can even come close to understanding what it is like without living it. The daily part of it is difficult but manageable. I don't let myself think about The Big Picture too much or I will fully flip out. But even more challenging is dealing with the constant feeling of... disdain? Concern? Judgement?... I get from others when they find out I am on my own. I know that most of you who read the blog don't feel that way -- most of you are super supportive and well, downright awesome. But for each person who is saying, "Oh, you're so badass!" (and thank you for your emails, by the way), there is somebody who gives an overly sympathetic sigh or someone else who says too much with a cutting look and no more. Getting questioned at the doctor's office, at work, at the FREAKIN car dealership about my marital status and having to say, in as few words as possible, that it's just Mateo and me. A single woman without a child does not have to go around talking about her single-dom, but a single mom has to regularly discuss it with people. It is odd. And annoying.

Now I know that everybody goes down their own path, and that we all have our demons to struggle with. I get that. My current demon is just accepting that this is our situation and that Mateo is not at some crazy disadvantage - dad or no dad. But right now Mateo just woke up after falling asleep at 8:30. It is 10:45 and I am in my pajamas, ready to go to bed. He is crying in his room. I spent all night trying to figure out with the morons on Comcast how to get my other computer hooked up to the internet. I finally gave up and opted to take a shower and get a good night's sleep. I cleaned everything, put away the dishes to my admittedly rather forlon meal, prepped Teo's bottles for tomorrow, placed his toys where they belong, packed up my work bag, and took a shower. As I was hanging up my towel and dreaming of sweet, sweet slumber, his loud cry came from the bedroom. Just when I thought I could finally cash in for the night.

I am struggling with the question of when to go to him. He needs to learn to get himself to go back to sleep some time. Occasionally, he does, but most of the time he just gets himself into a tizzy. I have nobody here to help me with this decision, and I am exhausted after a day of work, a trip to the grocery, an evening of trying to get some work done (without any success) and now a crying baby. Sometimes, you don't even so much want the relief of dealing with things, you want the comfort of going through it with someone else.

While I was at work today, we went through these sales training courses that the VP had bought. They were pretty good, and one of the guys on the discs said "When you go home from the course today, what are you going to say about it when you walk in the door?" I was struck by the sad thought that I wasn't going to say anything at all. I have nobody to say it to. Yes, Mateo is here. And yes, he helps enormously. But I can't exactly tell him how my day went. I miss having someone to do that with.

I also miss my friends. I miss them so, so much. I talk to my good friends regularly, and am in email contact with those that I can't call. But it's not the particulars that bother me so much as the big picture. In Paris, I had a nice little circle of friends and was honestly never lonely. It never really occurred to me to be so. Occasionally, I would get bored, but never, ever lonely. I saw my friends regularly, kept a busy lifestyle, and had The Boy. It might just now be hitting me what a big, enormous hole I have in my life when both my friends and my significant other are no longer a part of it. I spend all day with people I hardly know, and that is pretty tiring by the time Friday rolls around.

Anyway, like I said, I know life has ups and downs and that this is all a part of that. I am not worried, but I did want to document this feeling so that in six months, a year, whatever, I can look back and remember how much ADJUSTING I do on a daily basis and how exhausting and lonely it can be sometimes. I also wanted to add that Teo keeps me smiling 95% of the time, so my sadness is usually fleeting. But it is there, and should be recognized. Especially so that one day I can look back and see how far I have come.

Mateo had his nine-month check up. He is in the 80th percentile for height and the 50th for weight -- a huge drop from his six month visit. The doctor said she is not concerned as long as he still has a happy and healthy appetite, as she can sometimes see weight go down significantly once a baby gets mobile. Um... yeah. This dude is on the move in a big way.

It was a bit of a tricky visit, however, as we found out that he has an ear infection. He has had a cold/cough for over a month, and I have been to the doctor three times to be sure it wasn't developing into something more serious. This third visit revealed that the cold/cough that should just disappear on its own instead turned infectious, and he is being treated with antibiotics. It has been two days and he still has a serious cough, and I am nervous about him not getting better by the time we fly. I pray we see improvement tomorrow.

Meanwhile, we also learned that he is slightly anemic, so he is being put on iron supplements. Poor baby.

So overall, not the best visit, what with the poking and the prodding and the testing of the blood. But, developmentally he is doing everything he should be and then some, so the doctor says he is doing great. The poor guy's mouth is just exploding in teeth, which can't help the coughing situation any. The drolling and the jaw ache and then the sore throat -- ugh. It's a miracle he is still his usual cheery self.

Today was my last day at the BCS and I will admit to being a lazy, lazy worker. At one point I just straight up started shopping. About a half hour before I went home, my supervisor called everyone into the office. We have never had a big meeting like this but so it went. I dilly-dallied as per usual and then walked in to find they had a huge cake with "Good luck, Lee Ann!" etched into the frosting. It was so sweet and I was really touched... seeing a store full of people gather around to bid me farewell. I have only known them a few months but there are a few I will truly miss.

In the meantime, we are at 48 hours and counting. I have so much to do between now and then that I hired a babysitter to give me a hand with Mateo tomorrow so that I can get to packing. He will spend his last Friday at day care and then we will leave in the wee hours of Saturday morning.

And then, the insanity will begin.

I always try to talk about things other than Mateo, but my professional situation is under wraps right now so there's no news on that front. I live with my parents, so my social life is not all that thrilling. And even if it had the possibility of being excited, I am on such an early-to-bed, early-to-rise schedule that I pretty much have zero chance of not being in my pajamas by 9:30. So: Mateo it is.

In the space of about 10 days, he learned to stand up in his crib and to crawl. His tooth is also now openly visible and reasonably painful when he decides to chew your finger. He is now official My Big Boy.

In non-Mateo news, I am having a hard time with The Next Step. I spent so much of my time in France agonizing over the "Should I live in France of the US?" question that I thought things would become much more simple once Stateside. Finally, I could let that question drop. But of course, now the question has become "Where should I go in the States?" And also, "Can I get a job?" Most people tell me give it six months, so I am trying not to stress myself out too much. I only really started thinking about this as of 2008. Big Life Decisions are not easy.

I am working a lot this week and we are doing grueling, physical work as we set up and open a new store. I laugh at the little girls on the staff who don't carry around 20-pound wiggle worms all day. My days are from 8:30 to 6:00, so free time will be minimal. Also, we are looking into day care possibilities for the babe, maybe two or three days per week. PRICEY is the main adjective that comes to mind when I consider that possibility, so we shall see. There is no point in working just to pay for his day care...

A coworker of mine accidently said that word "managerize" yesterday, and I sort of love it. I don't just need to manage things, I need to MANAGERIZE! It makes it sound like cardio. Which, given all the big decisions and organization and so forth needed in the coming months, might not be so far off the mark.

See? I managerized to talk about something else for three whole paragraphs.

I am not sure where the time is going. Every day just zips by -- I can't even say how or what it is exactly that we are doing. But here we are, January 10, and I still feel like it's 2007.

So here is a quick update:

1. Mateo is learning to crawl. He has managed to take a few semi-accurate steps, which leads everyone to believe that he will be going to kindergarten tomorrow.

2. We also have the appearance of a toof! A new toof! This meant one very bad night of no sleeping, followed by last night -- which was spent entirely in bed with me, but with much more sleeping. So we will see how night three post-toof goes. That thing is SHARP. Makes me think of puppy teeth.

3. I am getting serious about the job search now. I had applied to a few places before the holidays, but basically felt there was no point in trying. Now, as my efforts become more intense, I am filled with all of those angst-ridden questions typical of the job applicant: how long should I wait before contacting them again? Do I stand a chance at X, Y, or Z company? How much money should I ask for? What is realistic?

Fun times.

4. A young attractive guy hit on me at work the other day. This was fun because I am always amazed at how dating seemst to work in this country. In France, men are pretty open about the fact that they are interested in you. There is no blurring of the friend-or-date lines, a system I think lends to more clarity for both parties' involved. Here, not so much. I have no idea how to go about the dating thing around these parts. So it was sort of nice to have someone just show outright interest. This is a style I am much more familiar with. Of course, it didn't go anywhere -- which is actually part B of the equation, but it was good for the ego if nothing else.

5. I am taking Mateo to Baby and Me swim classes this afternoon. We signed up at the Y and I am sort of in love with the facility. I am already gearing up for the cuteness festival that will be had in the shallow end of the pool today.

6. My manager told me that I have been "absolutely phenomenal" on the job. I love America and its positive reinforcement. We need to export that goodness overseas.

My parents have started watching Teo whenever I go to my new job at the BigChainStore. I am happy with my BCS part-time gig thus far, but I am even happier that the babysitting thing seems to be working out. The first time I left Mateo alone with them, I was all worked up and my stomach was in knots. Never thought I would be that mom, but what do you know? There are lots of things you don't know about yourself until you are forced to discover them.

Mainly, Grandma and Grandpa have been successful at getting Teo to sleep and to eat -- the two biggest concerns of any parent. The other night, however, was apparently a bit tricky. While Teo was crying and crying, I am told that the dog went and picked up one of his toys (a stuffed rabbit) and brought it towards the baby. We think the dog was trying to comfort him. The cuteness is just too much for me.

Happy Thanksgiving to everybody. We are playing it mellow and I couldn't be happier about that. I feel like I have been non-stop for the last few days (10 or so) and I am looking forward to a calm day of food, dad's "projects" and repeating stories to my grandma. For when it gets to be too much, we are all going to watch "Hairspray" together. I've heard it's good...

First, a discaimer: I owe so many people emails and updates that it *almost* keeps me up at night. My goal for this week is to set up the wireless connection at my parents' so that I can start using my own computer again. Photos will be uploaded then, too. I haven't had much success getting everything hooked up to date, and it's sort of disturbing how much activity will be put on hold until then. So for now, a small update.

Our weekend away was wonderful but exhausting. I think Teo and I will be happy to avoid planes for a bit, and to get a chance to establish some sort of schedule. The poor baby was tossed around from time zone to time zone, person to person, and bed to bed. He held up remarkably well, and I was so happy everyone got a chance to meet him. I especially loved seeing my sister and brother-in-law with him; they are going to be great parents.

After the wedding, I spent two days at L's house. It was a perfect visit and I wish it could have lasted longer. I realized at some point that L and I have been friends for almost 20 years, and that is both wonderful and terrifying. Twenty years! Feels like the blink of an eye. We hung out with L's dogs (two sweet and gentle Siberian huskies) and her hilarious boyfriend, eating good food and giggling. We also got to spend the afternoon with her parents, who have known me since I was a little girl. The whole visit was low-key and filled with positive energy. We also discovered Teo's love of drums -- I don't think anything else has ever fascinated him for so long.

Our return flights were exhausting as Mateo cried during both landings. I think his ears might have been bothering him. We made it, though, and then managed to pick up the dog from the kennel just in time. Then we drove to the house, ate dinner, and collapsed for a 12-hour night.

We have already been back for two full days and I am already surprised at how quickly time flies around here. Getting both boys -- Mateo and our dog, Rocky -- out for four daily walks is an enormous task in and of itself. Otherwise I have just been doing some basic things like going to the grocery and so forth. I might become dreadfully bored before my parents' return in just over a week, but for now it is sort of nice to have some down time.

My other daily activity is packing up Teo and driving to my grandmother's "assisted living" center for a visit. Grandma is losing her memory and is pretty confused much of the time, and she is clearly still reeling from the death of her husband of 68 years. Understandably, of course. Dementia is an interesting demon. Grandma spoke to me of the dancing she used to do (and teach) when she was in her 20's in Minneapolis with crystal clear precision, yet she struggles to remember how old Mateo is and asks me several times each visit. Yesterday, I mentioned that this is my first Halloween home in eight years, and she grew deeply concerned about the trick-or-treaters who would stop by her house in Duluth. I told her we would talk to the neighbor about putting a bowl of candy out for them, but she was really worried and repeatedly brought it up. It's strange how important some details are to her.

Last week, my parents and I had gone to Family NIght at the home, which basically consisted of a bunch of women in wheelchairs sitting around listening to a DJ playing tame, familiar hits. There was a sort of emcee running the party who semi-danced with the seated residents, and I was super impressed by the enthusiasm of two of the more "with it" residents who were excitedly waving their pom poms through the air. It was a strange party indeed, but Teo proved to be a superstar by singing along, much to everyone's delight.

When we stopped by yesterday, there was an a capella men's quartet performing in the parlor, so we sat downstairs for awhile and listened. Teo stood, wrapt in attention, and he occasionally joimed in (slightly off-key) the singing. It was a hoot, and I don't think I have seen grandma laugh so hard in years. All of the residents in the home like to say hello to him, and there are two or three who seem especially enamored with him. Grandma sometimes pipes in, "And I'm his great grandma!"

He's portable entertainment.

We made it Stateside in one piece, but I am still adjusting to the keyboards so this will be short. The goodbyes in Paris were painful enough that I don't want to relieve them here anyway, so that cuts down the story significantly. I cried saying goodbye to my friends, cried in the cab, cried at the airport with The Boy, cried going through security, cried getting on the plane. Then I cried again the next day while remembering all of that crying.

But now it's two days later and those memories aren't quite as biting. I have managed to go to Target three times since being home (don't ask) and my parents have gotten in snuggle time with Mateo. They set up an adorable nursery for him, and he managed to almost sleep through the night in his new crib. I have been slow on the unpacking because we have been busy doing other things, but it's coming along. We have been out to see Mateo's great-grandmother twice since arriving and, while it's a hard thing to do at times, it feels good to put a smile on her face. We are adjusting well enough, all things considered.

However, tomorrow morning we are boarding a plane for New Mexico, and we will spend five days there with family and friends. I feel like I just stepped out of one crazy storm and am walking straight into another.

So posts will be sporadic at best, nonexistant at worst.

The good news is that I bought a new camera (with my Target gift card, thankyouverymuch) and will be documenting Mateo's first days in America to the best of my ability. Stay tuned.

Oh -- and just a moment of bragging: Teo was so good on the plane that he got lots of compliments. I couldn't have asked for better behavior, he really was a doll.

I have been so busy that I actually lost my to-do list. I don't normally make to-do lists, but there are so many details to straighten out that it seemed like a good idea. Clearly, not. It was very long and I am convinced there were things on it that I have just outright forgotten.

Yesterday was my 28th birthday. The birthday came and went without fanfare and that is just the way I like it. When I look back on where I was last birthday versus where I am today, I am just amazed at how much a year can do. I am positively drained or I would delve more into that, unfortunately my brain is having a hard time even creating cohesive sentences at the moment.

Anyway, I spent most of my birthday day packing and chilling with Mateo, and in the evening, a few girlfriends came over and we had a wonderful dinner. It was low-key but entertaining, and I was so happy to have spent the night just talking and giggling with them. I went to bed a happy 28-year-old.

I am, for the most part, packed. I have managed to squeeze everything down to four suitcases, two of which were taken back by the LongIslander after her wonderful week-long visit and two of which I am taking with me on Sunday. I am also shipping back three boxes. I am pretty impressed with how ruthless I have been in the packing department. I am maybe not a true minimalist, but I have definetly learned to part with a lot of things in recent days. It's probably really liberating, but I am too fried to even think about it right now. I feel I have been non-stop, and I can tell it is not going to get any calmer in the coming days.

My long lost to-do list includes the remaining:
- bring up stuff from cellar
- make appointment to throw away big objects (people come around to pick up things like dead computers and old mattresses)
- make wireless headset work
- go back to post office FOR THE THIRD TIME in hopes of finally retrieving my package
- go to bank to pick up checkbook and transfer money
- go to embassy for official copy of Teo's birth certificate
- send off clothes sold on Ebay
- pack all but final clothes for last few days
- double check bassinet reservation
- empty fridge
- clean entire house for Saturday's inspection
- take down 5 (and possibly more) bags of garbage
- go to work to reroute mail and explain software stuff to coworker
- scan The Boy's baby photos
- pick up some copies of French books
- social security mail and reimbursements

Every day, I have a few social visits as well, which I think is necessary to my sanity. Still, it is sort of hard to see how everything will fit in somewhere, but it will. I finally feel that I am starting to get a grip on things, and I can see that I am going to make it out of here in a reasonably orderly manner.

So for now, bed time. These next three days are going to be action packed.

New pics on flickr, by the way.

Super busy but doing ok. Will update soon.

Also: Teo rolled over today. Twice. And then just didn't feel like doing it again for any witnesses other than me.

Doing well but busy here. I have a bunch of things to say but no energy to say them in any sort of reflected way. So I will just say that:

1) I have a lot of stuff. Not as much as lots of people I know, but more than I thought I had. Eight years of stuff.
2) My bed collapsed the day after The Boy's final departure. That seemed fitting somehow. Also: it broke on "his" side.
3) Mateo looks like a little boy now. New photos on the flickr page will prove it.
4) He is a really, really good baby. I think I got lucky. It just keeps getting better. (Experienced moms: please don't burst my bubble by saying, "Just wait til he starts (fill in the blank)."). He is trying to figure out how to make a vibrating noise with his lips. It's the cutest thing ever.
5) Anybody in Paris looking for some furniture? I'll be selling a desk, two chairs, a decent-sized rug, A coffee table and a crib. Dishware, too. And other things. All the furniture -- every last piece of it -- is from Ikea.
6) I have a semi-official flight date for my return to the US. This is insane. It's in something like 42 days, but who's counting?
7) Family members: I will now be attending the October wedding. Yay! Looking forward to seeing you then.
8) Jay and Gail: Dino is officially Teo's favorite toy. I have video to prove it. Just no time to tinker with it to get it online. Someday.
9) Boss: I feel really bad about telling you I'm not coming back. Please go easy on me.

I've gotten lots of calls and emails since my last big announcement, and if I haven't thanked you personally yet -- well, thanks. I'm touched by all the people who care. Of course, my friends Stateside discuss the whole topic far more enthusiastically than those who are here in France, but that is to be expected. My parents called me three times in the three days following my post, once or twice to talk "logistics." I think they just want to get me over there quickly before I change my mind.

I won't.

I talked to Vegas today and told him my plans, and there was a bit of an awkward silence on the other end while he absorbed the news (he is a bit dramatic, I might add). Oddly, he told me that he had just been speaking to somebody else, and that somebody else had just spoken to my boss that morning. I guess my boss was raving about me to this guy, and so word got through that I am really the bee's knees. Vegas said, "So I am sure that he'd be willing to do whatever he needs to in order for you to stay..." It sort of hit me just then that, even if it were possible, I wouldn't want to go for it. I am tired of climbing uphill unnecessarily. Now that I have made my decision to leave, I am just done - DONE! - dealing with French administrative bullshit. It's as if the steam just came right out of me, and I can no longer muster the enthusiasm needed to make it even sort of work here. And man oh man, what a relief it is to recognize that I don't have to deal with the administration again. I mean, I'll still have things to do around here and I'm sure I'll run into some paperwork disaster at some point, but at least the weightiness of having to go through so much year after year has been lifted right up off my shoulders. And damn if that doesn't feel awesome.

As for me and The Boy, things are going well. He's still at the apartment; at some point I'll either have to kick him out or set a deadline. I'm just kidding. Sort of. For right now he is spending time with Teo and I think that's his right, but I do think we need to make the separation complete at some point down the road. All things considered, we did this in the best way possible. We still love one another and will remain friends, and we're clearly forever bonded by our son. But I think we both just know it isn't working out between the two of us as a couple, and, now that we have admitted that to ourselves, it's like we can suddenly live easy and get along like normal people should. That feels good and right.

A lot of people are worrying about me and reaching out to me, and for that, I am truly grateful. I am also happy to report that, for right now, I am doing great. I know things are going to be pretty rough at some point down the line, but I feel good about my decisions and am actually getting excited about this next step in my (and Teo's) life.

It's a biggie.

Good thing I can bring my little ninja along for the ride.

The Good:

J & G have come and gone, but their visit was wonderful. It was just great -- very relaxed and low-key. They went off and did their own thing sometimes, but also got in lots of time with their nephew. It was a great balance. I am so happy they could meet him when he is so small, observing such seemingly uninteresting milestones (to everybody but the baby's parents) like learning to touch/grab things with fascination. My brother is a real pro with Teo -- I told him at one point that I wanted to keep him in my closet so I could pull him out when necessary - ie when the little man is crying and needs someone to spin him (Mr T digs the spinning in a major way, and Uncle Jay rocks at it).

Equally as amazing as seeing my brother interact with my son was seeing him with his wife. I love my sister-in-law and couldn't be happier she is a pârt of our family, and I especially love seeing how happy they make one another. It's so sweet, and they are going to make awesome parents. The whole scene just gives me warm fuzzies all around.

The bad:

Mateo had to get some shots and is just not up to snuff today. The doctor gave me some baby tylenol in liquid form, but Teo has learned to spit out more and more with each attempt to give him some. First try (last night), I think he swallowed about 75% of his dose. Second try left about 50% on his shirt. This morning, I think he swallowed about 20%. The vaccine can cause fevers so I am watching out for that, otherwise I get the feeling he's going to spend most of the day sleeping in my arms. I have tried to set him down three times and he is not having it... so he'll just stay close while I type one-handed.

The ugly:

This is a bit of a doozie.

The Boy and I are separating. There are all kinds of details I could hash out here, but they're not important. We're both a little torn up over the decision, but I think we have just hit a point where we can't try to make it work anymore. He's been moving out slowly and we are both adjusting day by day.

On Wednesday we decided to split, and I know the decision is the right one, albeit painful. The blow has been lessened by how rocky things have been lately -- I have already semi-adjusted to the possibilty of a break-up. In some ways, I feel a sense of relief -- now I can open the door to somebody who can love me the way I deserve, the way The Boy loved me for so many years before he decided (and outright told me) that his web site is more important to him than me or his son. In other ways, his departure is terrifying -- eight years of having somebody sleep next to you every night, of having someone to talk to about your day, of knowing he'll come home even when I am already in bed... those things created a presence that kept me from feeling alone, even when he was not home. Just being used to planning your day, week, month, year with another human being becomes a habit, and a pretty comfortable one at that. Dumb shit -- like going to the grocery -- upsets me because suddenly I catch myself buying him oatmeal when there's no longer any need to. It's a big adjustment, and a hard one to make while still getting the hang of being a mama.

Meanwhile, I found out that my boss no longer wants to hire me full-time, as we had planned before I left on my maternity leave. "Things have changed," he said, "I can't promise you anything..." I know it's not wise to talk about your job on your web site, so I'll just leave the story at this: I was counting on him for both money and paperwork, and both aspects have fallen through.

And THEN, if you recall, I have to move out of my apartment by December 31.

Trying to find an apartment, in Paris, working part time, with a baby? Not seeing it happen.

And the end result of all of this is that I am planning on packing my bags. Without a home, or the job I was counting on, or a relationship to fight for, staying in France does not seem reasonable. I have Little Teo to think about and I want to provide him with the best life possible. Now that his dad has officially jumped ship, I think the two of us should make our way across the ocean where I can (hopefully) make a decent living. I have talked this over with The Boy and he agrees that it is the smart move.

I have no idea where or when we'll go, but I assume it will be before Christmas. This decision has been a long time coming, and in a weird way I am glad to have it out of the way. It makes me cry to think of leaving, and I am terrified of sinking into some sort of horrible depression in the coming months, but I am going to do my best to keep my head above the water.

I never thought that I would find myself a single mom at 27, without a real job and soon without a home. On paper, this whole situation is such a mess. But I'm going to do my best to enjoy these months in Paris, to get to know my amazing son while I still have the luxury of being at home with him and watching him grow. I'll work on the monstrous task of closing up shop here while trying to lay the foundation for a better life elsewhere. Wish me luck.

I have made it a rule not to get obsessed with losing the weight I put on during pregnancy. Nine months up and nine months down, they say, and here I am 1.5 months out with somewhere between 10 and 15 lbs to lose. As a mixed blessing, my scale is either broken or seriously psychotic, as I can gain and lose 4 kilos in the space of a day, so I have given up on weighing myself. Instead, I judge progress by the way clothes fit.

This is not necessarily a good system, of course, because I am still wearing my maternity pants while hoping to get my old figure back (or a modified version of it). This means that everything is baggy, so hey! I've lost tons of weight, according to my clothes. Not really but the maternity pants let me think so.

Yet. Yet. I have one pair of pants that are not maternity pants but that have always been a little loose. I tried them on upon returning from the hospital and nearly cried -- I could hardly get them over my hips! Then I tried them on again three weeks later and could get them up but nowhere near buttoned.

But today, today my friends, I got them up, buttoned, and zipped. And honestly, they look like they fit. I mean, close enough anyway. They're not comfortable like they used to be, but that will come with time. Still -- I am happy to see progress in a concrete way.

Maybe this means that in another 6.5 weeks, I'll be able to wear something other than the two pairs of (maternity) pants I have in rotation. First, I feel gross still wearing the same clothes I felt like such a whale in just a few weeks ago. But second, with a newborn, clothes get pretty gross awfully quickly, and it's been tough to have so few things that fit.

Old wardrobe, here I come!

Ok, I need your help. For the last few days, we have had a problem around here. When we leave a light on and the window open at night, hundreds of bugs come in. They look sort of like gnats, but they are not attracted to fruit or garbage -- just the light. We also have some moths and ladybugs, but those I can deal with. It's these crazy gnat-like things! They're driving me mad. They gather along the ceiling, or more precisely along the corners where the ceiling meets the wall. Then they die and fall into my clean dishes, my sink, on my floor, everywhere. For the last four mornings, I have had to vacuum my entire house -- as well as the ceilings!

What ARE these creatures and how do I get rid of them? We tried just leaving the windows closed but it got way, way too hot in here. Leaving the lights off all night is not an option either. What do we do? Is there some sort of product I can buy?

I feel like I am going crazy -- not a pleasant thing to wake up to! Any ideas?

Today was not a good day. And it's only four o'clock.

1) Mateo woke up at five and did not even consider going back to sleep until 11 -- and that was after getting up three times in the night. He had a very upset tummy, so most of that time was spent either feeding him or soothing him or changing his diaper. Poor baby. He's doing much better now but he was Fussy McFusserson for several hours there.

2) I got a note from the French government telling me that if I don't pay them the almost 300 euros I owe on my taxes from last year, that they are going to come to my house and seize my furniture (they even included a clause about how they will break the lock -- at my charge -- if necessary) on August 1st. For those who aren't aware, that's in less than two weeks. This means I have to solve the situation sometime... oh... now-ish. I don't have 300 spare euros. Bah. Time to go to the taxes people and set up a payment plan, and then I have to call the "huissiers" and notify them of the arrangement. It's going to be fun. Looking forward to tomorrow with the French tax people!

3) I went to the post office to pick up a package and a certified letter that I had gotten notices for in my mailbox. I knew the certified letter would be bad news (they always are) but I was looking forward to picking up the package. Of course, they couldn't find the package and are going to call me when they do. I highly doubt that will ever happen so I am going to have to stop by again in a few days to see what comes of it.

Meanwhile, the letter was from my landlord, informing me that he is going to sell my current appartment as of 2008, so my lease will end on December 31, 2007. The timing is crappy, and as I honestly don't know what I'm doing with my life, it sort of puts on the pressure to make a decision. I have been wavering on the stay-in-France vs go-back-home question for years now, and it has been further amplified by the birth of Teo and the problems with The Boy. My main goal this year was to go back to work for six months and then decide. I think I owe it to my employers to do at least that much, and plus I would like to stick it out there for my own reasons. However, there are all kinds of thoughts and details and issues I don't get into on this site that are involved in this sort of life-changing, should-I-stay-or-should-I-go decision, and finding out my apartment will no longer be available somehow turned the spotlight on all of them in a major way.

So now I'll only be back at work for two months before I have to make a move of some sort, and a part of me thinks that if I'm leaning towards moving to the US at that point, I might as well do it then. But what if I don't know? What if I am still in the limbo I feel now? Where the hell could I find a reasonable apartment again, need be? I guess I was just happy to not have to make any sort of decision just yet -- to just work and take care of Teo and see where things take me. But now I feel pressure to Figure Things Out. Plus, I am super sad about having to leave this place, as it's a major steal and I really love living here. Sadness, all around.

So yay! Poor and homeless as of 2008! Awesome.

Then, while in line at the post office, I also had this dreadful conversation:

Lady in line: Oh! What an adorable baby! Not even a month old!
Me: He just turned one month last week, actually, so just over a month...
LiL: Oh! Just over a month. How precious. :::: turning to talk directly to sleeping Mateo in his sling (thank God, too, because if he had been in his stroller I think she would have touched him) ::::: You were born into a terrible, terrible world.
Me: (trying to make a joke of it) Shh... he'll hear you! He's trying to have pleasant dreams, not nightmares!
LiL: ::: gives me a cold, hard stare and then turns back to Teo ::: Yes, my dear baby... a horrible world. Your generation is doomed.
Me: ....
LiL: My generation had it all, but you are just unfortunate to be born at this time in history. ::: turning to me ::: And you're from the generation between the two. You guys could have made it out ok, but my generation didn't listen to you enough. Now there is no turning back. There was a time when we could have turned it all around, but I'm afraid we didn't react quickly enough. So now these poor souls in the next generation... they are being born into such a terrible place.

Then she went to the window to pick up her package. Thanks for the pick-me-up, lady!

UPDATE: I just complained to The Boy about my problems. His response was, "There are people who don't have enough money to eat, people who are dying on the street." Seriously? I know that my problems are not the end of the world, and that they'll work out, and that it could always be worse. But could you maybe just listen for a minute? Offer some support, some words of advice, anything? Key-riste.

My computer just died. It won't turn on -- it is just completely fried. It was a crappy computer assembled using used parts and The Boy's insane ability to build computers, and it lasted me six years. It was time to say goodbye. But still, what am I going to do now? I am using The Boy's laptop for now, but this is not going to fly as a long-term solution, and I just can't up and buy a new computer any time soon. This really, really sucks.

Second, I baked a loaf of bread last night and then was too tired to put the second loaf in the oven (takes an hour to bake) so I saved the second half of batter to be cooked today. This morning at seven, I thought, "Nice warm bread would be delish," so I popped the remaining batter in the oven and set the timer. I forgot, however, to set the oven's temp and I burned the CRAP out of it. Hence why you should not bake bread at seven in the morning, contrary to what all the Parisian bakeries would have you believe.

The house is still in a bit of a state right now -- I put together the chair and crib and so forth, did some laundry, etc. But I've got more to do today, so that's my plan. Plus, ever notice how doing these sorts of projects makes you realize how many other projects need to be done? Just moving furniture reveals entire universes of dust that you might not have known existed.

So we rented the car and did The Ikea Thing today, which is exhausting in every way possible. It was great, grand even. When The Boy and I went to Ikea a few months back, we made the terrible mistake of going on a Sunday. May I just say, for the record, that I will never again go on a weekend. The place was empty today, and just so much more pleasant. But: exhausting. However, I got away with a few good things and didn't completely bust my pocketbook, so all is well.

That said, I will not get out of bed for the rest of the evening. I will also not, I repeat NOT, attempt to assemble anything until tomorrow. My body is just wrecked from the day, no matter how much I enjoyed it.

Here's my thing, though: Ikea provides a delivery service, which I thought would be worth the 50 euros because I am eight months pregnant, and they delivery the next day. I live up four flights of stairs which, granted, are far better than my previous six flights, but still... I didn't want to be carrying heavy objects up all those stairs.

Kathypath came with me for the adventure and I began wavering on the delivery issue while we were in line. Could I lure her into helping me carry things with the promise of fresh-baked zucchini bread? She is one of the kindest people on Earth, so of course she would have helped me - and smiled while doing it - but still I felt it was a lot to ask. I mean, she already made the whole trek out there with me and everything, why add manual labor the equation? She's my friend and I would like her to remain my friend.

Eventually, I gave up and decided to opt for the delivery, mainly because we were seriously behind schedule and were worried about making it home in time with all of our purchases. Having to add in several trips up and down stairs with the clunkier objects would slow us down even more. So I stood in line, then set up the delivery info, and just a few steps before payment, the Ikea employee says to me, "However, we don't carry items up stairs. We will leave them in your downstairs hallway."

And with that, we left.

Once there was no choice in the matter, we saw that saving the 50 euros was the better option, but still. What good would it do to leave those things in my hallway?

Poor Kathypath was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, thinking she would have to carry the crib up the four flights to my house (yes, bought the cheap-o crib which, oddly, was my favorite crib in the place. I guess I'm cheap.). But then, THEN! My neighbor opened his door and said, "Do you girls need help? She shouldn't be carrying things," (looking at me) and the dear sweet man carried up all of the heavy boxes himself. That left us to carry a few light but bulky items (crib mattress, etc).

50 euros saved and eternal love to the Neighbor Man! What an angel. I might just bake him cookies. We couldn't stop saying, "You're so nice! Thank you! This is really nice of you!"

So tomorrow is going to be a great day. After running around for so many days in a row, tomorrow is my day to "nest," no matter how much I hate the term. I'm going to start setting things up, and run some laundry so that Romulus will have some clean and sparkly new clothes waiting for him. I'm also going to pack my hospital bag, as the midwife has asked me about my bag at my last two appointments and I have semi-lied in saying that it's mostly ready to go (I still have to go get the actual bag out of storage, much less pack it). I'm going to re-wire my computer and TV set up to make room for my new chair, and then I am going to go on an organizational extravaganza with my clear plastic bin goodness picked up from Ikea today.

I've intentionally saved up tons of talk radio programs, so and NPR and This American Life marathon is ready to roll. I feel like this is my first true day off in a long time, and I can't wait to spend it setting up shop around here.

Kdogg has come and gone, hence my lack of updates. I wouldn't say we were uber-busy, but just having somebody else around meant that computer time was limited. We did a lot of lazing around in the mornings, and then by mid- or late-afternoon we would usually start in on some activity (generally involving a lot of walking) which would tide us over to dinner. Of course, I had to go to work or school a few times, but she was able to entertain herself when that was the case (and I had worked around my schedule so that I had Friday afternoon off, so it wasn't too bad). It was a very laid-back visit and the week just flew by. She left this morning and I am spending the day catching up on a variety of tasks, the next of which will be a thorough cleaning of the house.

Kdogg also taught me to sew a little, and we made the cutest little BRIGHT ORANGE outfit for little Romulus. It's not perfect, but I am pretty happy with how it turned out. It's a fleece ensemble with little mitten hands and a itty bitty hat (from the red pattern -- without all those appliqués -- at the bottom of this page). So cute! Plus, it's the first real thing I've managed to sew, and we whipped it up pretty quickly. It's definetly given me more confidence for the future. I've got a second pattern I would like to tackle in the coming weeks, but I am having a bit of a hard time finding the right material. It seems all I can find around town is deco material -- it's hard to find sweatshirt, terry cloth, etc. Any Parisians have a good address?

Otherwise, I went to the doctor last week. Besides gaining a little too much weight, everything looks perfect. I'm still feeling great, and have been able to maintain my activity levels without too much difficulty. I can feel that I am a little heavy on my feet -- my only complaint is that my legs are a little sore where they attach to my pelvis, but the doctor says it's normal and is most likely due to the baby's position. The more active I am, the better they feel, usually feeling the worst when I first start moving for the day. I'm still sleeping through the night, my back is doing fine, and I am able to concentrate and keep with it without any troubles. It's awesome. At this point, I am still enjoying the pregnancy and, from what I gather, it's a bit unusual to still feel so good, so I am counting my blessings.

The Boy has had a bit of a miserable week, however, as he got some sort of toe infection and his big toe ballooned to about three times its normal size. It was completely disgusting, but, mysteriously, despite going to the ER, a doctor's, and a clinic, he was not able to get it treated. At each place, he waited 4 - 6 hours to see someone, only to be told "Sorry, we can't help you." Yesterday, somebody finally had mercy on him and did a sort of mini-operation -- now his foot is all bandaged up and he's hopped up on painkillers. Thank God, too, because he is much more pleasant than he was on the extra-strength aspirin the hospital originally prescribed.

Oh! And! I'm super amazed because I went to the social security office and the woman was REALLY friendly and incredibly competent, and I was able to get all of my paperwork taken care of in one visit. It was totally shocking, and Kdogg said afterwards, "I don't see why you complain so much about French administration, that seemed really smooth..." and I said, stupefied, "Yeah, it was. What was that about?" Fortunately, we went to the post office a few days later and she was able to witness French incompetence at its finest, so she knows I am not making this stuff up. But STILL, I'm so happy that the dreaded social security visit went ok and everything seems to be en route for my maternity leave pay. ALRIGHT!

Can I also say that hot weather + coconut sorbet = deliciousness.

This morning I woke up against my own will at 6 o'clock. I am not into this early morning trend I have developed, but perhaps it is my body's way of preparing me for months and months of sleep deprivation (years?).

But my energy levels have been all over the place lately, and the last 24 hours, I have been brimming with enthusiasm for life. Saturday, that was absolutely NOT the case, and I watched three back-to-back episodes of "House" to prove it. I simply could not get motivated and I felt downright lazy. Sunday, however, I woke up at 7 and reorganized my closet, did three hours of web design, and then three hours of Arabic. By then, The Boy was up and I could vacuum, so I did so and then mopped the floors. I figured I might as well clean the bathroom, too. Then I went back to web design for a few hours and then turned on the TV to watch the election results while cooking chili. When I looked back on everything I had done during the day, I felt accomplished.

This morning, I caught up on some emailing and then went to listen to the RFI broadcast in Arabic (online). This is something I used to do all the time -- figuring listening to Arabic programming couldn't exactly hurt my Arabic skills, even if its benefit is questionable. Any way you slice it, it's additional exposure to the language.

While eating my breakfast, I sort of half listened to the program, and started being able to pick out a few words here and there. Gathering bits and pieces, I was sort of astounded to realize that I recognized a good portion of the words they were saying, although I couldn't get entire phrases to save my life. But once I started putting the puzzle together, I thought, "Oh my God, they're talking about the Virginia Tech massacre!" I ran over to the computer to check which report I was listening to, and sure enough, that's what it was. Granted, it just took understanding the words "college" and "death" and "kill" and "America" and so forth, but DUDE! I was so proud.

Baby steps.

Anyway, it was a great way to start the day. I'm hoping today will be as productive as yesterday, I'm off to birthing classes again now (I showered this time...)

I would like to say, for the record, that I would very much like to stop waking up at 7 am on Saturdays. I feel I only have so much time left where I will be in control of my own sleeping schedule, why does my body not want to cooperate with my brain?

Thank you.

I rediscovered television after seven long years sans. I have already mentioned a slight obsession with "Grey's Anatomy," and I am afraid I followed a good friend's advice and took a liking to "Prison Break" over the past few days. What is it about that Scofield character that I love so much? Anyway, I'm only on Season 1 episode 4 but I can tell I am in this for the long haul.

Sometimes I have a slight problem with the (totally illegal, I'm sure) Chinese web site that has uploaded all of these episodes. I'm not downloading a thing, but I watch on their little player. It's like YouTube, if you will, but with Chinese subtitles.

Occasionally, the site just can't handle its own traffic, I think, and I have to pause the show and walk away for a half hour, twenty minutes, and see if the show is ready to be watched or not. This can be a painful experience after a particularly dramatic moment, and "Prison Break" is full of 'em.

This happened recently in the middle of episode 4. To ease the tension, I thought, "Why not watch a goofy show in the meantime?" See? I am helping my TV troubles with further TV. It's genius.

So I watched an episode of "Scrubs" to kill time. Any "Scrubs" fans would know that J.D. passes out whenever he poops, but I was thrilled to the bones to find out that all of this is due to repeated vasovagal syncope. I got sort of freakishly excited when he was given his diagnosis, because that was actually a medical condition I knew a little something about. I myself was diagnosed with it in 2002, after a year in which I fainted five times for seemingly unrelated reasons. And no, it was not while on the toilet. Turns out, my heart occasionally thinks I'm dying so it starts pumping like crazy, and it sends too much blood to the brain. It's pretty neat, actually, because I get about three minutes' warning before going down for the count. Apparently, I just need to drink more water, which I have been doing for five years and haven't fainted since.

BUT! I got a little aggravated at the "Scrubs" team beause J.D. was diagnosed after Dr. Cox took a blood sample. According to Wikipedia, you can't be diagnosed with vasovagal syncope by blood. You've got five options: a tilt table, a loop recorder (?), a Holter moniter, an EKG, or an electrophysiology study. I know that I had the good fortune of doing a tilt table test, in which the nurses tried out a variety of things that *might* make me faint while strapped to a table. They kept trying and trying until they found something. And that was pretty awesome, especially when I had to interrupt their conversation about paint colors to let them know that I was pretty much destined to go down. The creepy thing about the tilt table is that they don't actually give you the satisfaction of fainting, they just spin the table to a horizontal position so that you never actually fall. I guess that's the safer bet, but it made things worse to feel like fainting and then get spun around 90°.

So anyway. Can you believe it? A little inaccuracy by the "Scrubs" writers, and I caught it. Hard to think such a credible, medical show would be so sloppy.

I have been absent for a variety of reasons. Things have been a little up and down here, but, on a positive note, at least I can officially declare that God decided to skip winter this year entirely. Every year, I feel March is the great disappointment. You feel like it should be spring already, but usually March spends its time clinging to February's cold weather while throwing in unending rain. But here we are, March 5 and it has been sunny and beautiful since late February.

I haven't even been up to much of anything, besides working and then working and then doing some more work. I am finally getting towards the end of the web project for my job. It's tough because it requires some pretty tricky stuff, and I don't really have anybody I can turn to for instruction or help besides The Boy. Luckily, he has been an absolute angel about it. Secretly, I think he enjoys being able to strut his stuff (in php). So it will be finished soon, and I will have a whole slew of new web design tidbits in my brain that weren't there a few months ago. Not a bad thing. It was slow-going, but the end is in sight.

I also got a new crappy sewing machine to replace the sewing machine I fried. It's nothing fancy, but it works. On Saturday, I learned how to thread it and sew my first few stitches using the terribly confusing owner's manuel. It is a French course and a sewing course in one! "Presser foot" and "spool" -- both words I did not know before. Also, the manuel is very poorly translated from German, so there are a few points where the syntax is just a little off. I am going to try to buy some material this week and work on a very simple pattern my mom bought me a few months ago. I'll post the results, however catastrophic they may be.

Finances are super tight right now because my old landlord owes me a significant chunk of money and has yet to pay me back. I was sort of depending on that cash, but she technically has until the end of the month to give it to me. Once she does, I am thinking of enrolling in a 60-euro sewing class I found that's right around the corner from my work. It's a 3-hour class where they give you all the materials and everything, and at the end of the class you walk away with either a baby dress or a baby button-down shirt. A little guidance, plus the satisfaction of having successfully made something (anything) seems worthwhile to me.

Otherwise, I am going to self-teach my way through the sewing in the same way as I did with all this web stuff. It's good to have a new hobby. I remember when I first started learning web design, I felt totally overwhelmed and confused, but I also felt a very calm sense of determination. If I just picked one thing, I would start to dissect it and see where it led me. I spent hours and hours learning .css -- it was so confusing at the beginning. But it was very rewarding to see where concentration, time, and effort could get me, and six years later it's pretty crazy where I've ended up. So I am hoping to employ a similar technique to learning to sew. Pretty soon, I'll have plenty of time on my hands, too...

I met with a midwife last week who I pray will NOT be delivering Romulus. It's not that she was mean or cruel or anything, but she just rubbed me the wrong way. I like hippies as much as the next guy, but there's a certain type of hippie -- the kind that talks with that overly-"soothing" voice -- that I have a difficult time with.

Granted, I was a little edgy going into the office. I was absolutely exhausted as the appointment was at six and I had spent the morning running a bunch of errands and the afternoon at work. I kept drifting off in the waiting room, so I had a bit of a time getting oriented once in her office.

But what really bothered me was that she asked me to take off my shoes so she could weigh me (yay! weight is on track now!) and then, without thinking, I started putting my shoes back on. She had said something about how she was going to examine me, but she had told me to keep my clothes on, and I guess I just put the shoes on as a reflex. As she saw me doing it, she said, "No, I said you need to get on the table. Keep your clothes, but you need to not have your shoes on..."

A little flustered, I said, "Sorry, I don't know why I was putting them back on."

And she walked over to me, put a "supportive" hand on my shoulders and said, "We're just going to take a deep breath. Is everything ok? Slllooooooowwwww down. Am I talking too fast for you, maybe?"

I can't explain why it aggravated me so much. Maybe because I was tired and just didn't think about the shoes, and I didn't appreciate her making me feel like I was a stress basket who needed to take deep breaths. Maybe it was because I really didn't want her to be "comforting" me when really I just hadn't thought about what I was doing. Or maybe it was because, although I had just spent 20 minutes telling her my life story in French, she seemed to think I couldn't understand the language. Not sure.

Anyway. I see a different midwife in a few weeks and let's hope we get along.

So that's it. A very calm week spent mostly working with an occasional foray into the wild world of sewing. Clearly, things are out of control around here.

I didn't watch the Oscars, haven't in years. But I am waiting on a phone call this morning so I am stuck in the house for a bit, and I figured I might as well check out Oscar dresses while sipping my morning coffee. My thoughts are:

1. Props to any woman who wears pants to the Oscars. I think it can be very classy, and so rarely done.

2. I was happy to note the presence of a few ladies who weren't rail thin. But then Gwyneth Paltrow made up for that by wearing a dress that drew ALL attention to her stomach and STILL looking itty-bitty.

3. Eddie Murphy has not aged. That is not normal.

4. Call me crazy, but I sort of liked Celine Dion's dress. It was a little 70's throwback-ish, which is always good in my book, and it was just wacky enough to stand out from the rest (it's green!) but still simple. She's not doing much for the lack of waif-ishness, though.

5. Maggie Gyllenhaal and Kirsten Dunst both always look like they're smirking in an inside-joke sort of way. I love the former and the latter makes me uncomfortable.

6. I've always found Djimon Hounsou to be extraordinarily sexy. Just -- oooo, the sexiness. I didn't realize until I actually thought about it that it might be because he resembles The Boy. Am I the only one who sees it?

I've always thought that if I were a right-wing blogger and I needed a place to get out my ideas, I would buy the domain name elefrants.com or elephrants.com. They're still available, if anybody wants to steal my idea.

And a question for you: what's your favorite animal? I'm serious, I want to know.

I'll start: koala.

I realize this is mean but I can't dish out any news about the baby just yet. I would like to tell a few friends and family "in person" before doing so here, so you might just have to wait a day or two more. I feel sort of scummy doing that -- and I wasn't even going to update were it not for another rather urgent situation (see below) -- so please forgive me for the cruelty. However, the doctor said that the baby is healthy and that I'm/we're growing right on track, which is the most important part, right? Right! It was an excellent doctor's visit and I really love my OB/GYN. I think we have the same sort of attitude towards life, and the two of us get along great. Plus, he's hilarious. I was going to have my next appointment with someone else, but he did some fancy footwork and got me in to see him again. So anyway, just sit tight for a bit, I'll update on the little junebug as soon as I can.

In the meantime, I would like to ask your advice.

My mom bought me a Singer sewing machine as a Christmas present, and I was thrilled, thrilled, thrilled at the idea of becoming a domestic goddess. She also got me a few awesome baby patterns, and I even thought a few of them looked feasible for a semi-beginner like myself. I've been dying to get this apartment set up so that I could give the machine a whirl, as it was just not possible in my former 25m2 closet of an apartment.

Mom bought me an American Singer, as they are far cheaper than their French equivalents (plus: she lives there), and then she contacted Singer about conversion information. Reading it over, I double-checked the converter I had, and all looked good. This morning, inspired by the new square meter of space I have cleared away on my table, I decided to test out the new machine. When I turned it on, all looked good, but then I heard a loud POP and the machine turned off. Clearly, I blew a fuse or something. It's fried.

Freaking out, I called the Singer France store located in the 13th. They are both a store and a repair shop, so I figured they would be able to help me. But apparently they can't - or they won't. Take your pick, as it's hard to tell with the Frenchies sometimes. The lady mentioned something about the warranty not working in France, the fact that the French machines are totally different than American ones so they wouldn't know how to repair them anyway, the issue of course in that even if they DID manage to repair it, they wouldn't be able to test it or know if it was working for conversion reasons, and then to just tie a nice bow around the whole deal she hinted at the possibility that I am a complete idiot. It was exactly the kind of customer service experience that makes me long for my homeland. I am still reeling a little bit from our conversation. I mean, I just broke my sewing machine, lady. Be gentle.

So, my question is: what would you do? Should I bring it in to the Singer store even though they more or less said that the case is hopeless? Does anybody know of some kick ass gadget type in Paris who could have a look at it for me? Is there something I am missing when it comes to conversions? Did I need to get an extra adapter or something (the email from Singer did not mention one)? Do you think - in your expert opinion - that this machine is salvageable? Or should I just spend another good chunk of my rapidly dwindling Christmas bonus on a new machine (keep in mind that my computer is dying a slow but steady death as well... and that I have a baby growing in my belly that is going to want to sleep somewhere at some point)?

I know that a sewing machine could save me a lot of money in the long run, hence why I am sort of anxious to get this problem settled. Plus, I have a friend who is going to India who is going to come back with cheap textiles galore for me, and I can't wait to get my grubby hands on thtem. Baby patterns await! Help!

I consider myself fortunate in that I don't have a lot of habits. I don't smoke, I don't drink excessively (and at the moment, not at all), hell, I even kicked the caffeine.

But lately, I've developed a full-scale addiction. It appears that after seven years sans television, I have discovered the beauty of "24." I might have just watched 19 of the first 24 hours sometime over the last 72 hours. That is way, way too many hours of "24" hours.

Yet every time I swear it's going to be the last episode I watch for a day or two, they stick on that cliffhanger ending. And damn if I don't catch myself watching the next one. I always watch them around 10 at night, when I am too tired to do anything else but not yet tired enough for sleep. But you know, since I watch them on my computer, I have to watch them sitting up, and eventually I get so nervous and wound up that I don't even get in bed until sometime past midnight. That's enough room for 2, possibly 3 (commercial-free) episodes.

So I am sorry for those of you living in 2007, apparently I am still in 2001, season 1. Can I just ask you: Why can't the Serbian brothers just speak in their own language, as opposed to fake-accented English? And also, when are Rick and Kim going to get it on? And finally, is Jack ever going to eat?

I hear the show goes downhill at some point. I really hope it does, because I've got four more seasons stretching out before me like the great beyond. And frankly, that's scary. Somebody tell me I can rest after these first 24 hours are over and done with.

Man oh man, my house is such a mess.

I just talked to my landlord and asked her about renting the place out to the next tenant. The deal back in September was: I give her a month's notice, she's ok with it. Of course, now she's not ok with it because she's not around for the rest of this month, so how can she find somebody for next month? Mainly because I want to both avoid paying another month's rent AND I would like to get my security deposit back by January 31st, I suggested I handle the visits and she can deal with signing the papers on February 2nd or 3rd. This deal worked out well -- we will end our contract in good terms and I will also get out of extra rent.

So today I had to prepare some pics to show my apartment, and it's just ridiculous. I've never felt so pathetic. Just doing my very best to even make the place visible was quite a task, as my own stuff crowded throughout the rooms. For the time being, all of my crap is everywhere and in piles and piles on the floor. The Boy's crap hasn't even budged.

I have to start getting on the move in a serious way, but I also have exams next week (again) and have tons of stuff to do for my job. Naturally, this is when my professor schedules a 3-hour make-up session for a missed class. It's also when I opted to go to the three-hour get-to-know-the-hospital meeting at the birthing center.

I had thought I would move little by little into the new place, but now I'm seeing that might not work. How does one carry a 7-foot plant and a stereo system through the metro? In the end, I am most likely going to rent a small van in a week or two in order to make the new homeowner's (or renter's, in my case) pilgrimmage to Ikea. And as long as I'm renting the van for such an outing, I might as well use it for moving. Or for directing other people while they move things for me.

Remember? I'm not supposed to lift more than 20 lbs. ::: bats eyelashes :::

THAT, by the way, is such a joke. I carry that much every time I come back from the grocery store. However, apparently Monoprix (and maybe others) offer free delivery to pregnant women, so as soon as I don't feel like they're eyeing me suspiciously at the delivery services counter, I'm going to start taking advantage of that. I'm also considering getting my groceries online occasionally. This feels weird -- even to me -- but I figure it's a good plan for things like milk and water.

So anyway, yes. It will be complete chaos around here until van rental day. I'm usually a bit of a neatfreak, but I have just completely given up. It's sort of depressing me and I might have to break down and clean. But how?

I have been MIA because a significant portion of my family was in town, and we were a busy group. My parents, brother, and sister-in-law were able to make it to Paris this Christmas, and then the five of us headed to Amsterdam for two days on Thursday. Sadly, my sister and brother-in-law couldn't be here this year -- we'll have to come up with a way to make up for it next year. Maybe I will spend the entire 2007 holiday fake-speaking in Dutch, because we apparently find that highly amusing. And really, it doesn't get annoying at all.

I loved loved loved seeing my family, and was sad to see them go. The week with them just flew by, and considering how difficult it can sometimes be to travel to foreign lands in large groups, I am happy to say that we managed to not kill one another. In fact, my homicidal tendencies only surfaced when thinking about the biting cold. We did a lot of walking this week (cold!), and it felt good to get out and about (freezing!). It also felt good to take a break from everything and just spend some time with people I love and laugh with constantly.

Also, on Christmas Day, on the way to the airport, I felt genuine kicks for the first time. My mom has just asked me the day before if I had had any movement, and I said I had felt some little flutters and pokings but nothing too concrete. However, at 9am, alone in the train, I got several little jabs that were distinctly different from everything else I had been feeling. Since then, I feel them sporadically throughout the day. This baby must like trains though, because I have felt them on nearly every train or metro I have ridden since Christmas. For now, it's not uncomfortable or anything, it just makes me smile. But I get the feeling that this junebug is a bit of a wiggle worm, so I think I could be in for some seriously dangerous kicks shortly. I am not complaining, though... I love it.

I was also spoiled rotten this Christmas in other ways. I had told my mom that finding maternity clothes here was going to be a challenge, especially for my long-legged self for whom pants are already difficult. Mom picked me up several great ensembles, and after trying them on, I have seen the light. I am 4,000 times more comfortable in maternity pants than I am in normal pants at this point, so her purchases could not have arrived at a better time. I still don't think I'm officially "showing" or anything, but I look and feel as if I have just eaten a big meal at all times.

The other really wonderful thing that happened this week is that I found a new appartment. I didn't want to discuss it here because I am supersticious despite myself; I was afraid I would jinx it. Last week, I went to visit an apartment that I had seen advertised, and the place was absolutely perfect. It's a little far out (towards the edge of the city, near the Bois de Vincennes) but I think that with a baby that will probably be advantageous rather then problematic. It is on a direct metro line to work and to my best friend's house, a direct bus line to school, and another direct bus to the birthing center. It is twice the size of my current place, bright and airy, with tons and tons of light and a generally open feel. It is completely silent inside as well, you would never know you're in a big city when the windows are closed. More importantly, it has a REAL kitchen. A full fridge (a luxury in Paris), a four-burner stove, a real oven, a dishwasher, and a washer/dryer. My current kitchen comes equipped with: a half-sized fridge, a two-burner electric hotplate, and a mini electric oven. This is a huge, huge step up. Also, for the first time in seven years, I will have a kitchen table to eat at.

As soon as I walked into the appartment, I knew I wanted it. It is cozy while still being big. It has everything I was hoping for from an apartment, and then some. And most importantly, I know that I will have enough room for a little crib and some baby stuff when the time comes. Plus, with the delicate nature of baby sleep, I am ecstatic to be somewhere so quiet. And just steps away from the park!

I talked with the landlord and explained my situation to him in detail. My case is a tough one to sell, but I decided I would rather be totally honest with him than anything else. There is no way I would be able to hide the pregnancy at some point, and it would be even more difficult to hide the actual baby. Plus, I told him that I am not sure if I am staying or going, so I did not want to take out a full-year lease. I think this combo is actually what made him choose me: he wants to put the place on the market in December of 2007, so he would ideally need somebody to be out by November 1 at the latest. Also, he doesn't want any smokers or anybody who is going to be throwing wild parties, as he wants to sell the place as-is without having to do any touch-ups. Clearly, a pregnant lady and a chick with a newborn are a reasonably safe (although, unfortunately not always so) choice in that regard.

I am really excited to get the keys, to start the move-in process, to get on with the next step in this adventure. But, I would be lying if I didn't mention a profound sense of sadness somewhere. I have been living on Odessa Street for over five years, and I love this neighborhood and the people in it. Also, I have no idea how this change is going to upset the delicate balance in my relationship with The Boy. He is happy and relieved to know that I have found this place, what is less clear is if he is coming along with me. He has already agreed to pay some of the rent, because he is more worried about my physical comfort than I am. But as I do not know exactly what this move will do to our communal living situation, I can't help but be a little sad about shutting the door on this chapter of our lives. When I told him my fears, he said, "Don't worry. We'll make an effort and see what happens. I'm not going to disappear." In the end, I know that it is better to go towards change and let things develop as they may, and I also know that this move is a positive one. It's just a little hard. I guess I knew there would be huge changes, but this is the first real biggie and I am having a bit of a difficult time of it.

For now, I am not going to dwell on the Big Questions. I am instead going to fully freak out about how much crap I have managed to squeeze into my current closet of an appartment. It's a little frustrating that all of this is falling on New Year's Eve and Day, as I am already getting all pumped about going to give some clothes away and to sell my books. I have no idea how we are going to work this move, but fortunately we have a month to get everything packed up and schlepped across the city. Plus, I don't really have any furniture, so the task is far less complicated than it could be.

So for all of my friends Stateside reading this: you now have a comfortable place to stay, and I have a brand new fold out couch with your name on it. Come visit me!

Here it is. The last day of 2006. Every year, I say, "I get the feeling this year is going to be full of changes. A big year, in lots of ways." This year, however, I have no need to say it. I just know it. 2007 is going to be huge.

I sort of hate today. First, I woke up with a swollen throat and ears that itched so badly I wanted to stick pipe cleaners down my ear canals. "It might not be so bad, just a cold," I thought to myself, but when I sat up in bed, my head greeted the morning grayness by pounding and pounding and pounding. "Great. Sick. Wonderful."

So I lollygagged getting ready for the day, and I had that sick-in-the-clouds thing going on. What was I trying to get out of the fridge again? Did I already grab my keys? Etc.

I skipped class because I couldn't stand the thought of spending 2 hours in a hot, crowded room. I swear we suffocate every time we have class. I'm not surprised I got sick, sharing germs in such close proximity with 50 other people. I wasn't in the mood to be coughing, sniffling girl in the second row, though, so I just avoided the whole debacle altogether.

Instead, I went to work in the late afternoon and, realizing I had lollygagged a bit too much, I suddenly found myself in a mad dash to get all of my paperwork together for a 17.00 rendez-vous for an apartment. My boss said he would be my garant, this weird tradition the French have of requiring somebody write a letter saying they will pay your rent if you won't. He was cool, he offered to do it before I could even ask, but then getting him to write the letter and so forth was a little time-consuming. But it got done, and I made photocopies, typed up another letter, and suddenly saw that I had to be at the RDV in 40-something minutes.

As I dashed out the door, I got a text message on my phone:

Awesome. I received the message at 16.23, and the appointment was at 17.00. Can't beat that.

I went home in a bit of a fury, and angrily did my grocery shopping. But I got to help not one, but TWO shorties get something down off the upper shelves today, and that always puts a smile on my face.

So then I got back home and suddenly started feeling even sicker than I had earlier in the day. I made dinner and let it simmer on the stove, and got in bed. I think I had a slight fever because I certainly had the chills, and before I knew it I had fallen asleep for two hours. Luckily, The Boy had turned down the heat and dinner didn't boil over.

Once I woke up (at nine pm) I was starving, so I ate and sat down to begin my apartment search anew. It dawned on me that I was getting the beginning stages of a cold sore, further proving that I really had had (still have?) a slight fever. Knowing that cold sores can be stopped cold (hah!) in their tracks if you use a product available at my local pharmacy, I creaked my way down the six flights of stairs at 10.15 -- only to realize that the pharmacy I thought was open until midnight actually closes at 10.00.

So here I am: feeling dejected by apartment blues, with a swollen throat and itchy ears, slightly fevery, and festering a might cold sore.

AND? To top it all off? I get to go to the Prefecture tomorrow to work on PAPERWORK. Which is always my favorite way to pass the day... I have to go an hour outside of the city to pick up something that says I am a good student, and then I have to come back to Paris for my 14.00 appointment. Which I will undoubtedly spend sitting around for 3 hours. Sniffling and wanting to scratch my ears.

I hate, with a burning burning passion, that CBS allows you to watch episodes of their shows online... but ONLY IF YOU'RE IN THE US.

Duh. If you're in the US, you have a television for that sort of thing. Even better, you might have TIVO. If you're not in the US, any program you might want to watch has a 60% chance of being on TV, and even then, it's gonna be freakin' dubbed.

They're just FORCING me to find myself some copies elsewhere...

I've been off the map all month. I'll be getting back on it, there's just some weird commotion over here. In the meantime, happy almost-Halloween. They don't really celebrate it here (the Frenchies still think it's a little too commercial and American for their taste, although it IS catching on. Mostly the works of the under-12 bunch who are more than happy to spend a day gathering and eating candy, I imagine) but I would gladly use the excuse to eat a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. I don't think I've had one of those since I was a teenager.

Things have been a little difficult since my return to France. First, there are some tricky personal problems that I can't get into here, but that I will eventually discuss once designated as discuss-able. Second, my request for paperwork from the French government has been refused -- we are now in the process of a "rebuttal," which is sure to drag out for months. Third, we are financially in some pretty dire straights, and it makes coming home to beans and rice even less romantic than one would think. In positive news, The Boy has started a new job this month, which is absolutely wonderful and makes me so happy I could burst, but a good portion of his first month's salary is going towards money he owes the bank -- and he won't even get paid until the 31st. So we're not doing so well.

Today is my 27th birthday, and I can't help but do a sort of personal checklist to see if I'm where I would like to be in my life. It's a little depressing that the answer is more-or-less "No" -- I am not complaining, but I am being realistic. I know I don't have any specific place TO be - but maybe not living off of 25 euros a week is a start. Or maybe it's the job thing more than anything, as it really was a low blow to find out France STILL doesn't want me to work full-time. My boss is irate about it, though, and is doing his utmost to take care of it. As always, "We'll see..." is all I can say, and I'm sort of sick of living year-to-year like that. Perhaps my parents will be happy to know this, but I am coming to the end of my rope with this making-it-work in France thing.

Last night I went to Kathypath's for dinner and a movie, and for my birthday she gave me a vase that she made (she does ceramics) and a huge bouquet of flowers. The whole ensemble was beautiful, and I really appreciated that she gave me something hand-made. As I am not looking to celebrate my birthday in a any way this year, it was great to just spend the night eating dinner and watching movies at her house; I came home early and was in bed before midnight.

When I walked through the door of my apartment, The Boy said, "Oh, so you're buying yourself flowers now?" upon seeing the Dahlias. "No," I said, "Kathy got them for me..." and he just nodded.

After a moment, I said, "She made me this vase, too. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's nice," he responded, and went back to working on the computer.

I turned to him and asked, "Can you think of any reason why she might have bought me flowers? Any reason at all?"

"No, not particularly," he said, thus confirming that he has forgotten, for the sixth year in a row, my birthday.

Awesome.

Update:

Now it's later in the day and The Boy and I got in a very big, very sad fight. Not about my birthday, though -- I eventually told him about what a moron he is and we both had a pretty good laugh. No, we aren't angry with one another, just a little confused about things right now, and that makes it far more depressing than it would be just to be pissed off. I think our issues, coupled with my paperwork problems, added to my birthday reflections -- well, the whole ensemble was a recipe for disaster.

I got a little depressed (ok, a lot) in the middle of the day, and spent a few hours just resting in bed and reading. The Boy came around and was sad with me a bit, and then my best friend from junior high and high school called and we talked for three hours. It was so nice and refreshing to talk to someone who knew me when I was so young, and I was so glad that we have maintained a solid friendship over all the years and miles. Talking to her really helped me through the day.

For awhile, I thought my parents had also forgotten about my birthday, but they snuck in a call at 11:58 pm. Close one. That would have been a first.

Overall, a very depressing birthday and I am so glad tomorrow is October 9. I wish birthdays could always be as fun as they were when you would bring cupcakes to class for everybody, but I guess some years just have to be a little harder than others. Let's hope 28 is better.

I've been working my tail off for the last few days, getting up early and dealing with administrative crap in the morning and then putting in a full 8-hour day in the afternoon at work. I managed to get a sudden, inexplicable burst of energy this week, and I have been like those multi-tasker types I admire so much.

Besides the work and the banking and the school enrollment (nightmare) and the rest, I have also gone apeshit on the fall cleaning of my home. For some reason, I freaked out over the weekend and absolutely had to make my house less cluttered. If I had any sort of storage whatsoever, I would have locked all my stuff away and turned my house into a minimalist space. But no, I have no storage, so it became a "Do I want this, really?" party and I managed to keep it real and convince myself to let go of a few totally unecessary items.

I even managed to say goodbye to books. This is always hard for me. But two days ago, I gathered up a fair amount and then asked myself, "Why is this still on your bookshelf? Are ever considering reading it again or giving it to someone else to read?" If the answer was no, I brought them to the secondhand store for sale. I had lots of them. They were HEAVY and I carried two bags of them, along with a backpack full of stuff for Vegas that I was also getting rid of. Walking to the store at 10 am, I took a bad turn, and ended up walking for a good ten minutes in the wrong direction. That was awesome, because I had to turn around and go right back the way I came from, and by the time I got to the store, I was postively dripping sweat and had lost circulation in my hands. But hey, 70 euros is 70 euros.

I pretty much destroyed my back and shoulder muscles with that little adventure, and then I managed to further hurt myself by doing some serious heavy lifting at work. I spend a lot of my time carrying piles of books up and down stairs. Anybody who thinks that all that booksellers do is sit around and read has clearly never worked in a bookshop.

On top of the books, I have managed to do almost all of Paris on foot over the last few days. Montparnasse to Chatelet, check. Bourse to Odeon? Check. Les Halles to Gobelins? Check. I walk a lot in my normal life but this is really insane.

And THEN, I also had to enroll in school - a 3-day process. So I have been standing in line a lot.

What all of this comes down to is this: my legs are about to fall off. They HURT. So I have clearly been far too active recently. Time for me to just sit in front of a television for awhile.

And the timing couldn't be better, as I am flying to the US in a few hours. I can't wait to go home this time around; I am freakishly uber excited about this trip. I can't even exactly put my finger on why or how this time is even more thrilling than usual, but I don't care. Border's, here I come. I am also taking a mini-trip within my trip, out to see my sister and brother-in-law on the other side of the country. I love that. It was totally unexpected and thrown together last minute, but I'm absolutely game for that sort of random happiness being thrown my way.

So overall -- this bursting happiness thing is weird and100% appreciated. I've got a few fun things up on the horizon, and I am mentally in a space where I have very little stress and am able to just enjoy the goodness. I'm looking forward to the next two weeks.

Here's the really strange part, and the only drawback to going to the States (besides having to leave The Boy behind, who is, by the way, the sweetest and awesomest boy in the Universe at the moment, but that's a story for another day): I'm going to miss my job. Can you believe that? I am sad about leaving work to go on my vacation. What is wrong with me? Yesterday, I never wanted to leave work. Pinch me, because, damn, I'm lucky to be able to say that. My boss is awesome, the job itself is awesome, and my photo classes are going to start when I get back to Paris in October - so that's awesome. I don't want to discuss my job too much for fear of getting dooced or something, but the good part is that I have only said positive things. And I mean them. How weird is that?

Ok, I'm out. Next time I type, the q's and a's will be in the wrong spots.

So yeah. I'm going to India. In 4 days. Holy shit.

The past five days have been absolutely insane. I hardly slept for four nights, and was finally able recuperate last night -- damn, sleep is a good thing. I haven't been updating here because stringing two sentences together was proving to be more than I could handle.

Highlights from the past week include:

1) A seven-hour wait at the Indian embassy, followed by a mini-revolution executed by 68 pissed off Frenchmen, one angry Brit, and a confused and frustrated American. The Indian solution? Everybody can just put their money and passports in an envelope and hand it over to the embassy personnel, in hopes of getting our visa requests processed. I'm very comfortable with giving them that sort of thing with no proof of said transaction whatsoever.

2) A calm-evening-turned-insane with the fomer bookstore quartet in which I thought we would eat dinner and go home around 11, but instead we stayed up until 4 am putting make-up on one another and having a photo shoot. Frighteningly enough, the boys looked better in the make-up than the girls did, and they were also the last to wash it off. I HAVE EVIDENCE.

3) A 7 am wake-up following the 4 am photo extravaganza

4) A 9 am meeting with the French authorities to request my working papers. After handing in my file, I realized I had given the nice lady at the desk my CV from 2005, which, naturally, did not include the job that I am requesting paperwork for. I zoomed back to my house, added my new job to my CV (since March 2006) and booked it back to her office. I said, "Hi, I just realized while organizing my paperwork that I hadn't given you the right CV..." because that sounds a lot more professional than, "Hi, I stayed out last night until 4 am playing dress-up and forgot to update my CV while I was reviewing it at 5 am. I know the spelling looks great, because of course I checked for that, but I'm sorta missing the most important piece of information..."

5) Renting "Finding Neverland" at 11 am and eating taco salad with Kathypath while getting teary-eyed.

6) Having dinner with my very pregnant friend, and spending a good 60-90 minutes looking at all the baby gear she's gotten in the last few weeks. ELEANOR, GET BACK IN YOUR TRUNK.

7) Thinking I would go to work for 2-3 hours but quickly discovering that it would be more like 6-7. Also, I apparently enjoy going to the post office and back several times in one day, preferably carrying heavy books. Bonus points for doing the whole thing on 2.5 hours of sleep.

8) Returning to the Indian embassy to pick up my visa, and being pleasantly surprised that the envelope method worked! Plus, I got hit on my some rich Indian dude, who wanted to pay a portion of my visa fee for me. He pulled out his wallet and everything...

9) Coming back to the casa and falling sleep after three days of exhaustion. Waking up and going out to dinner with The Boy and The Little Guy, feeling finally that all was right in the world after a good nap.

10) Playing endless rounds of "Flying Hamster" online with The Little Guy, and celebrating when we achieved a new high score. Also? Knowing The Boy was doing the dishes while we were playing. Tag-team parenting is for rock stars.

So between now and Wednesday I have to: fill out my prescriptions, get a shot, pick up my tickets, pick up a book or two, copy my Arabic stuff for the plane, finish EVERYTHING at work, hang out with The Little Guy and get some snuggle time in with The Boy.

I should try to pack sometime, too.

We have a fridge! It is new, and shiny, and white! And we get to plug it in tomorrow! And store water in it! Cold water!!! I am so excited about the new fridge that I might even take the work camera home and take pictures of it! And you all would be like, "Yeah, so... um... that's a fridge..." in acompletely deadpan, unimpressed voice, and I would answer, "I KNOW!!!" followed by an elated giggle and then maybe some more exclamation points!!

And to the rest of the world, I know this isn't exciting, but guess what else? Just guess. Ok, ok, I'll tell you, but only because I know you're dying of suspense: the fridge has a freezer compartment! A FREEZER, people. I have gone five years without a freezer and I am just all a-flutter at the idea of having ice cubes. And sorbet. And fruit smoothies (hello, combo juicer/freezer/food processer... I am going to work that magic!). And best of all....

Margharitas!

In unrelated news: I also just found out that a boy I have had a fourth-grade crush on for-EVER happens to collect musicals. Does this not alarm anybody else? I'm thinking I should stop jabbering on like an idiot and doing "that nervous talking thing" when I am around him because, hello, he collects musicals. They don't call themselves sisters of Dorothy for nothing. Other elements of his person that are suddenly suspect: 1) very close to his mom 2) dresses well 3) is sweet and caring and sensitive 4) laughs easily and openly 5) liked "Marie Antoinette" and urged me to see it asap and 6) is an artist and 7) COLLECTS MUSICALS. He collects them. Musicals. Has a collection. Of musicals.

So what does the jury think? Too hot to be true? I think so.

But I will hook him up with a good friend of mine who happens to know all the words to "The Sound of Music." I hope he likes the tall, skinny, clean-shaven type.

Goddamnit. We are on day 5 sans frigo and I just made a big mistake. Desperate for cold beverage at 10:30 at night, I couldn't resist the lure of the Diet Coke The Boy had bought me to accompany our fifth takeout meal of the week. Oh, don't get me wrong: I knew the dangers of the late-night caffeine. But until you haven't lived without a fridge in 90 degree heat, I don't think you're really well-positioned to judge me.

So yes, I did it. I drank the Diet Coke just before 11 pm.

Now it's 2.30 am and I still have that signature shaking-leg move that results from caffeine overkill. Damn you Diet Coke! Damn you takeout joint with cold beverages!

The worst part, of course, is that I knew I'd regret it. Even as I opened the can, I thought, "Oh, this is a baaad idea." It's not the first time a little voice has said one thing while the rest of me has done the complete opposite. In my defense, I was thirsty as hell and had had enough of the lukewarm tap water.

I find this all fairly amusing, naturally, as tomorrow is the first day in a long while that I actually HAVE to get up early. This was totally well-planned on my part.

As long as I'm over-caffeinated, can I just get something off my chest? Thanks. I have this one pet peeve, and I have been noticing it more and more lately: "I should of" or "I could of" or any variation on that theme. What are people thinking? I know that's what we SAY, but please just write the "have" anyway. I think the very frequency with which I have been spotting this phenomenon around the internet is indicative of my need to spend less time online. We all know that nobody pays attention to what they write on "The Internets" -- myself included. But that's just one grammatical error I cannot let slide.

Another thing? If you're going to spend a good portion of your day riding around in a big truck, don't wear a skirt. Trucks are really hard to get into without flashing somebody. I like to think the guy in that Mercedes was a minister. We were right near all the government buildings after all.

Our refridgerator, which is one of those half-sized kinds that generally suck in all ways possible, broke. Just, boom. One night, we went to bed, the next morning, we woke up and there was brown goo oozing out of the freezer section that never actually worked in the first place. The brown goo gave off fumes that made me think of petrol, but more like rotten petrol that had been hanging out in a sewer for a few weeks.

Naturally, I had just gone to Tang Frères (big Asian supermarket) that day and had stocked up on all the veggies that I can't get in the supermarkets near me. My plan was to make a big Thai dinner, complete with the spring rolls that The Boy eats in terrifying quantities. SURPRISE! Nobody likes eating spring rolls with brown petrol sauce.

So that was something like 20 euros worth of groceries that had to be thrown away.

But wait, it gets better. My apartment is furnished and I dislike my landlord with the sort of simmering hatred one has for somebody who is cheaper than cheap. You all might remember the couch incident (we still, of course, have no couch) as an illustration of her cheapness. Now, however, get this: the landlord is on vacation this week, and she left on Thursday morning. She gets back on Wednesday. I called her to tell her about the fridge, and she first said, "Have you checked to see if it's plugged in correctly?"

Hello, dumbass. Brown petrol goo dripping from your refridgerator's ceiling means the machine is broken, plugged in or not. But to be polite, I said, "The light still works, but the fridge is not cold."

"Ok, well, can you just wait for me to get something when I come back? I know of a few cheap places where we can buy something."

Sure. I can wait a week. A week of not eating food from my own house, a week of not having cold beverages even though it's the middle of summer. A week of waking up in the morning and walking down six flights of stairs to buy myself a yogurt for breakfast. No problem.

Regardless, we're going out on Saturday and we're probably going to buy something. If she doesn't want to reimburse us for it because "it has to be under 140 euros" then she can shove it.

I can't wait to live in a real apartment.

1. I am obsessed with the World Cup and am currently in withdrawal. I know the players need to rest (two days? Aren't they professionals?) but I NEED MY FIX.

1.a. Wasn't the France-Spain game beautiful?
1.b. I can't believe Beckham played for 90 mins and then puked his brains out. I feel like a wuss now. If I even feel remotely nauseous I am in bed and bitching.

2. Reason #4,278 that I love my job: my boss has decided that I need to learn how to become a professional photographer. I'm not sure why he wants ME to be the professional photographer (as opposed to, say, a professional photographer being the professional photographer) but he's all set on it, and it there's one thing I've learned at this job it is that the boss decides things and THAT'S IT. No arguing. He's The Decider, if you will.

So he's decided that I am going to become a professional photographer and that he's going to not only PAY FOR MY CLASSES but also PAY ME WHILE I GO TO THEM. Sweet Jesus, pay me to go to school? For photography? Golden.

Classes start in two weeks, and I will take them for a few sessions in the mornings (before work) and then the professor is going to come back with me to work and help me set up "The Studio." It will be as if I had my own little Sears photo scene, but I'll be taking pictures of lithographs instead of gurgling babies.

3. Often at work I walk a certain stretch that gets a lot of pedestrian traffic. I walk to and from three doors that all correspond to our store. There's a lot of back-and-forth, and I spy a lot of interesting people during my mini-commute.

Somebody caught my eye today, an attractive young man who was obviously there on some sort of construction job-related task. Paint-splattered pants and a typical blue suit gave him away. We made eye contact, and I thought nothing of it, but then I thought that I might have maybe caught him pointing me out to his friend...

Hours later, I was going from door 1 to door 3 (up half a flight of stairs) when I saw him standing next to do the door. The following conversation ensued:

Him: Is this your office?
Me: No... I wish. Are you waiting for her?
Him: Yeah, I was told she would be here, but she's not. She's the only person who has the key to the door up there (motioning three flights up) and I need to get on the roof.
Me: Oh, well... um... normally she's here. We can ask at the store where she might be, they usually know.
Him: What store?
Me: Follow me.

We go down into the hallway and he leans over and says,
"You have the body of a gazelle. Did you know that?"

In certain circles, this is a compliment. And usually I get severely creeped out when people do this kind of thing, but I actually found it very endearing - probably 70% of that was related to the fact that he used the word "gazelle." Plus, I felt gross and was sweating and just overall crusty, so this was a particularly odd moment for me to be on the receiving end of his attention. And? I had already decided he was sort of hot, so the whole exchange was appreciated.

My answer, "Yeah, I've been told that before."

This is a technically bitchy response, but it was absolutely necessary as the conversation could not continue on this train as I walked into the store. I don't think this guy had figured out that we were entering my place of employment, because my boss said, "Can I help you sir?"

And his response was, "Oh, I'm with her."

I clarified the situation and he ended up getting taken care of by the boss, but it was sort of funny for him to come to realize that I worked there. He had been "tutoi-ing" me for the whole previous exchange, and then suddenly he changed (with a bit of a smirk, I might add) to the more formal "vous."

We were both sort of in on the joke, and it was all quite goofy and silly and flirtatious, but fun.

I can only be comfortable in those sorts of situations for a maximum of five minutes before I start to panic and blush, so I eventually beelined out of the store in search of other tasks.

Later, we crossed each other in the hallway as I was leaving work and he was carrying large pieces of heavy metal somewhere (yum...muscles...). "Done for the day?" he said, and I just smiled and said, "Oui, bye bye!"

4. On that same note, I mentioned this interaction to The Boy today and I added that at least three-quarters of the men that hit on me are black (the above not being an exception). This was a phenomenon I had already noticed in the US, but that has postively exploded since I have been in France.

Regardless, I told The Boy that somewhere I think that everybody has a general "type" of person who is attracted to them. Some people I know, for example, attract musicians and artists. Others attract fashionable hipster types. I apparently attract Africans (and to a lesser extent African-Americans).

This lead us to discussing various cultures' ideals of beauty. I like this conversation because The Boy makes it VERY clear that he is not into skinny chicks, which is cool for me because I'm never gonna be one. "You probably just attract Africans because you're round where women are supposed to be round -- nobody's going to mistake your for matchstick."

I sort of got gloomy about the prospects of never being a matchstick (you would think I would have fully accepted this by now), when The Boy turned to me and said, "Africans want their women to have merchandise. No merchandise means no interest."

I'm qualifying "merchandise" as the equivalent as "junk in their trunk" -- and for the rest of the evening he kept saying, "There goes the merchandise!" whenever I walked by.

I think I'm kind of in love with that expression. Because, really, I've got some merchandise. And it's really empowering to think of your ass as your merchandise, let me just tell you that right now.

And then lter, he said, "The