We Hope You Have a Pleasant Flight

Welp. I've booked my flight back to Hawaii. But I'm determined to be back in France by the beginning of April, at the latest.

So here's the what kind of suffering I just paid several months of rent for: 6 am wake up in the dark cold. 30 min WALK in the dark dragging 50 pounds of luggage to train station over cobblestone, followed by 2 hour train ride to airport in Paris, then 1 1/2 hour plane to London, followed by an 11 hour flight with "student-fare seat." AKA, between two enormous farting fat people with babies. Then? My kitties? My Hawaii homeland? Um, no: a weeklong road trip with my dad on the West Coast. Then, and only then, may I embark on the 6 hour flight over the Pacific Ocean to get me home. The missing flights and dashing around frantically lost in airport nightmares started yesterday morning.

so close, yet so far away! ..actually, just really far away.

Pearlin' It

So yes, I'm still hunting accessories for the wine gala like a maniac and I'm as viciously indecisive as ever. What do you guys think of this Audrey Hepburn inspired Necklace from Lovett & Co?

Since I'll be a little underdressed in my Free People number, I want to make up for it wherever I can, so I'm going with bold statement jewelry. What's the word?

Doctors Confuse Me

About a week ago I was visiting my suspiciously eccentric doctor at the French version of Planned Parenthood to renew my prescription for oral contraceptives. I mentioned my UTI problems as this was before my embarrassing revelation of a few days ago. He wrote up my 3 month prescription and suggested that I go to the office "across the street," to another medical office, and get a test for some common vaginal infections and bacteria just in case they may be the cause. According to him, it would be free, quick and painless, and though it was likely to come up with nothing, it may dredge up a cause for my bout of urinary infections.

He wrote what I needed on a piece of paper to show to the doctor and told me to go next door and make an appointment. I did. Today, I went in, and was lead into an office... where I was pretty sure the same doctor was sitting. He acted like he'd never seen me before and, after all, I was in an entirely different building.. so I did the same. I handed him the piece of paper that I was pretty sure he wrote, describing what I needed and he read it again, like he'd never seen it before. The guy was really lookin' like the other guy.. and sounding like the other guy.. so while I nodded politely and explained all my personal details as though we just met I glanced at the name plate on his desk. Was it the same name??? I couldn't really remember. The minute he left his chair I dug around in my purse for any documentation from the first doctor that would say his name. Nothing.

When I got home I relayed my story of the duplicate doctor to TMI and we dug up an old contraceptive prescription. SAME NAME. Why did that guy write a letter to himself and tell me to take it to him? How exactly do you forget a Hawaiian in France with my terrible accent?

In conclusion the French medical system just confuses me.

Itchy but Intimate

OK so, this is going to gross the great majority of you out. So the squeamish and those of you who don't appreciate the more intimate details of this blog, turn back now. But I figure since I've been complaining about UTIs and their mysterious persistence and recurrence on and off, I aught to dish out some answers.. as embarrassing as they are. After intensive internet research and TMI and I both occasionally dealing with an itchy butt over the last few months, I finally put two and two together. Get ready, it's not pretty: pinworms.

Both my lover and I have them. But honestly, this was close to happy news: a common complication of pinworms in females are urinary tract infections, so I may have just figured out why I've been so plagued by the horrible painful things the last 5 months and never before. And thank goodness, the cause is curable. Also it explains the nightly itching in both me and my partner. So the treatment? Lots and LOTS of raw garlic; both orally, and well... yes, at night, when we should be kissing, whispering sweet nothings, dimming the lights and falling into the bed in passionate love making, we're helping each other apply raw garlic to one another's butts and then lying around moaning and groaning as we endure the subsequent burning. Romance at it's best.

Sun Up

It's darkest just before the sunrise. Whoever came up with that wasn't just trying to be poetic, in fact, I suspect they were probably in love with a European while saddled with a passport from the other side of the world watching in dismay as their visa was quickly running out. Mere weeks ago I was flailing in complete obscurity while the clock was ticking, and suddenly, now, new hope and solutions are appearing all around me like a buried city in a wind storm. And not a moment too soon!

I'm soon to be enrolled in an online masters program in Art Administration. I'll be free to be nomadic and spontaneous while at the same time doing something responsible and specifically designed for my dream career: owning my own art gallery. The MA opens up all sorts of internship possibilities with galleries and museums in France, allowing me to come back with my current visa, erasing all my previous angst about embassy visits on the West Coast, and even offering up a solution for participating in paid activity while abroad. TMI has given his notice on his apartment and will soon split the rent here with me and stick his name downstairs on the intercom. Not only is it heartwarming and financially alleviating, it means I get to keep this place when I leave and not worry about traveling with every last one of my possessions when I go back to Hawaii. And, finally, my favorite development: TMI has a 5 month internship starting in August of next year and going until December. He's been applying at vineyards on the West Coast, which means July with my family in Hawaii, six months on the west coast probably interning in fabulous galleries in San Fran while living with the man I love, and then traversing the Pacific ocean once again with him in tow for Christmas with my family. That's a sunny future! And it popped up just when things looked so bleak I was ready to give up.

In one of my favorite emails from my best friend, she told me "it will all work out in the end; and if it doesn't, it's probably not the end yet." And while "just before the sunrise" may seem like a lotta hooey when you're stumbling along in the dark, I know now to practice patience. All those times I was wishing future-me could show up and give me advice, I now know what I would say: Every situation, now matter how good or bad, will change. So chillax!

In final news check out this banner I made:

You may also wanna check out the fabulous blogger I'm doing it for, and my etsy store if you may want one for yourself ;)

Thanks for reading!

Smooth Road, Boring Drive

I can't help but notice the effects a perfect relationship with a gorgeous French man has on my blog. Without the changing sexual partners and scale of sexual quality to complain or boast about, the writing does tend to get a little... domestic.

Last night on Sex and the City, (go ahead, shoot me) someone was complaining about "mind blowing sex" intellectual connection, and the apparent impossibility to have both. I almost thought, with a kind of mild creative dismay, that I do have both: Everyday I have mind-blowing sex, ranging from intimate to dirty and dangerous, and at the same time I have daily affirmations of lasting love, intensive intimacy, and a seemingly infallible connection. That's all great for my well-being, but for my literary life it's been taking it's toll.

The sex is still averaging at 3 times a day, we order take out sushi and eat in front of reruns of Sex and the City and old French filcs, we read in a bed like an old couple and play video games together like a pair of adolescents. As though to damper my present bonheur, however, my mom sent me a bunch of affirmations for the New Year; one of them was "remember, no matter how good or bad a situation is, it will change." Good news for those who are suffering and simultaneously bad news for those having multiple orgasms. Do all good things come to an end? My blog is probably hoping so.

Out With a Bang

I don't think I ever gave an update on the Free People dress I splurged on... while it did make it in time for the Christmas party,the size 2 I'd been dieting for all month slipped right off of me and pooled in pile of too-expensive-shame at my feet. ..So I went in an old skirt and a tube top and all were too drunk with merriment to notice anyway.

The good news: Due to my efforts at the prefecture, I've extended by visa by three weeks: just long enough to be here for the annual gala for the masters students in wine studies. (I told the prefecture I needed to stay for language exams and embassy meetings, but really I was just trying to push it for this event.) TMI will be in a tux, the ladies in gowns, and my free people dress has one more chance to pack a punch.

So yesterday I found a seamstress who's at present sizing it down while I'm trying to dress it up. The dress is more cocktail than formal, so I'm looking for advice.

What do you think? Black shoes, or white shoes? The rhintestone bib? Messy up-do? I know this is all very vain but I'll be damned if I don't leave France with a bang.

Positive Plumbing

The toilet clogged in my tiny apartment, (I admit it, it was probably my fault: I've always thought that a toilet made a suitable substitute for a garbage disposal and had just a few days before tried to flush a bowl of spinach stems and kiwi skins,) and TMI and I faced an evening of plunging up all sorts of private unpleasant things that you normally don't want to share with your significant other. Tossing eloquence, I'll just say it: we were battling a seemingly endless onslaught of old turds. Just when we'd figure out how to deal with one, (secretly throwing it out the window, onto a neighbor's roof, running down stairs to put it in the trash, etc.) another would pop up to terrorize us.

I have to say despite the obvious unpleasantness it felt.. intimate. We weren't so embarrassed as we were disgusted and desperate; we were facing a domestic dilemma like two people truly in love. And for that I thought it was a valuable experience.

..Except that it's still broken and every time I have to go to the bathroom I have to either pee in the sink or run into town to find a place. And let me tell you, public toilets in France: basically non existent.

In other news positive plans are falling into place delicately and tentatively, like new snow: it's soft and clean and looks pretty good, but there's no telling if it will stick or not. I've started to apply for several online MA programs in Art History and/or Art Administration, which would allow my nomadic lifestyle while also continuing my studies. I was supposed to meet with a man today about a six month work contract, so that I could come back to France in March or April after my current visa expires in February, (but he didn't show up, so that's a little worrying) and TMI is working on getting an internship in a vineyard on the West Coast of the USA. All these efforts combined have made me feel like maybe he and I will find a way to stick together, but, like I said, the guy didn't show up today and there's no telling if the snow will stay or not. But I want to choose optimism. And I want to be with the man I love, so I'm devoted to the idea to make the choices that allow that.

Today I read: "Life is a choice. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness."

And despite my raging PMS this week, my usual worries, and my plumbing problems, I'm going to give it my best shot.

Weight Gain Complaining

The above image illustrates what 9 months in the land of butter and cheese can do to a person. The preceding photos are from two different modeling shoots from my hay day mere months before coming to France. The last is a horrible hit of reality which assaulted me from a pack of paparazzi new years eve photos. Dear God!

As I've mentioned, before France I was a valiant vegetarian and veggie-holic. Here my rabbit life style was seemingly impossible to support and I adapted meat, and, while often being fed by friends and family of the significant other, have also had to embrace a constant supply of "veut-tu un dessert?" "la fromage?" "Ce soir on va manger la raclette!" And other thin-killing assaults.

Looks like a slippery slope to me. Since I'm planning on living in France long term I'm gonna have to figure out how to stay healthy in the land of temptation and all that oozes and melts... and fast!

Banner Making

The latest banner from the phoque-supporting etsy store. Remember to think of me and expensive Euro living next time you need a new banner or button! $15 a pop :)

Train Pain

So on the way home from Sauzet and about to step onto the 4 hour train to Lyon, I was suddenly aggressed by a familiar terror. Burning tearing pain in that oh-so-sensitive of places. This is my fifth time around at this, let me remind you, so I knew immediately what was happening and burst into tears. Yet another UTI, despite all of my precautions. And, not arriving in Dijon until 7:30 that night, there would be no doctor until the next day and a whole night of searing pain to look forward to.

I told TMI we absolutely HAD to miss our connection in Lyon and go into the city and find me a doctor and anti-bitotics ASAP, and proceeded to convince him by crying into his lap the whole train ride. Dear God those things are painful, and each one over the past 5 months has been successively worse than the last.

TMI called home and had his dad find us a doctor's office near the train station and make us an appointment. Luck shone a bit here because we were able to get in early. I blurted in teary emotional French my tramendous streak of bad luck involving my vagina since coming to France. He asked what was different in my life since the infections started. The obvious answer was TMI, but since he was sitting right there in the office and being such a saint since the pain started I wasnt ready to to point fingers. So I beat around the bush a bit mentioning oral contraceptives, etc. The doctor eventually picked up on it and told me privately that intercourse, should I wish to keep it up under such circumstances, needed to happen after showers and be finsihed every time promptly by peeing and a glass of water. How romantic!

Anyway, the trauma ended with antibiotics and a blessedly comfortable train back to Dijon. TMI was so kind and loving and, I have to face it, drop dead gorgeous all afternoon and throughout my misery I couldn't help but feel all new heights of love for him. In fact my love seems to be steadily growing along with the adversity against our relationship. Still no visa solution.. and time running out!