Saturday, February 25, 2012


February 27th. Four days (but technically five since France is ten hours ahead) since I've cuddled with the man of my life. Roughly 1/9th of the way, and my body is freaking out. I'm desperate for the deep comfort that comes from being pressed up against his warm body; my face in his neck; his smells, his sounds, his breath. The loving sentiments expressed just from his hands on my shoulders or hips as we dose off together. Sometimes I suspect habitual physical intimacy is among the world's most difficult addictions to come down from, and the withdrawals are kicking my ass.

Four weeks! We're only young and hot and this sex crazed for a short period of our lives. I hate to be wasting even these weeks of what could be a sexual/cuddle & nuzzle marathon. And let me tell you, I think there are teenage boys currently thinking about sex less times in a day than I am.

I'm exhibiting all the symptoms of withdrawals: scratching, teeth grinding, irritability, nail biting.. Bottom line, I'm physically addicted to my boyfriend.

And, throughout all of this, I'm getting dad time. Yes, yes, family before all else. But in my case "dad time" means a constant but futile attempt to escape his flatulent blast radius in a too small ski-resort lodging, changing in the bathroom, igniting arguments, and sleepless snore-interrupted nights.

Tough times.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Oh Voyage Merciless

Well, I got up at 6, I caught my train at 7:15, I flew to London on a 2 hour flight, then I caught my plane to San Francisco and somehow stayed alive for 11 hours till landing. Then, I got in an old mountain man camper car and suffered in the front seat while dad had us lost on surrounding San Francisco freeways for 4 hours before we found a hotel and I passed out. I'd been awake and suffering in a trans-global voyage for 27 hours. I'd puked twice, cried sporadically throughout the whole trip, ate some very lame British airline food, and didn't sleep a wink until I hit the motel bed a day and two hours later. Today I've got a head cold, not surprisingly.

All in all it was very hard not to regret the small fortune I spent on airfare. Why was I leaving the man I love to suffer in an airplane smashed against a snotty coughing hacking stinky old guy for 11 hours again? I tried to curl into my seat and instinctively my left hand would reach out as if to rest over TMI's chest. Oh man, intimacy withdrawals are merciless in times of great discomfort.

So the West Coast plan is this: Hopefully my crazy itchy snotty sneezing death attack will dissipate shortly and dad and I will snowboard for a few days. My flight home to Hawaii is the 1st of March, adding another 6 hours and ocean to my great passage. Ugh.. feeling increasingly watery swollen and woozy.. Time to roll around and moan for a while.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Still Standing

I'm really a criminal for not updating the blog on the gala after so much build-up to the main event. But, if any of you know me at all, you'll know that unless somethings gone wrong, I'm apt to keep my mouth shut. Also, I'm making the great global traverse tomorrow morning, first across the Atlantic and then across the Pacific, so I've had my hands full mentally and physically preparing. Japanese noodles: check. Supply of tea bags: check.

The gala went perfectly, in spite of all of my premature despairing. Earlier in the day, admittedly, I got my heart rate up when, in the hair salon chair and with the clock ticking, the stylist couldn't manage to do the updo that I'd brought her a photo of. I got a little choked up as I came to think that I wasn't going to look and feel the way I wanted to on the big night. Thankfully, however, after mentioning that I was wearing an Audrey Hepburn inspired pearl necklace, the stylist decided last minute to give me a "Holly Golightly" look. It wasn't.. terrible, but I felt a bit like I was wearing a rat's nest on my head- a fastidious, fashionable rat, but a rat's nest all the same.

TMI raised my spirits when I walked through the door by telling me he loved it, and continued to do so with every outfit item that I added to the ensemble as we hurried to leave. From the moment we left to the hour we returned, (6am, I might add,) I was showered with compliments. ..And that's all a girl really wants, right? There was a lot of eating, drinking, some long wine lectures, and then hours of dancing. At the end a guy friend approached TMI to say that I was "la femme la plus belle a la soiree," which naturally won the night for me.

Now back to packing. 6 am wake up call tomorrow, TMI and I both expect tears on the train station platform.

Friday, February 17, 2012

All Night Armor level 45

Welp, tomorrow's the big night: just like prisoners on death row or sailors trapped in sinking boats, (so I've heard) the fear has melted into mild acceptance and curiosity for what lies in the aftermath. TMI tried his tux on for me last night; he looks like a million bucks and no one is going to be able to say otherwise. Despite my best efforts to dress up my little party dress, I still look underdressed next to him. He also gave me a hard time about not liking my shoes, shrug, or coat, which didn't make me feel any better about it.

Here's the final wardrobe, aka, my armor until 4 am tomorrow night:




Lets hope the Keira updo gives me the final push from formal to very formal. May the force be with me.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Self Sabotage

I have a perfect relationship, and it deserves care and a lot of optimism. HOWEVER: there is an insecure and ugly side of me that likes to pop up out of the blue and completely incapacitate me with negativity and a seemingly hell bent goal to kill my prefect relationship. I can convince myself that I'm a total waste of space. I feel jealous. I fight myself in an effort to believe that I don't love him. I shrug away when he touches me. It's like I'm so exhausted from living under the fear of loosing him I'd rather just pull the plug and get it over with. Like choosing suicide instead of waiting for an unavoidable death asteroid or planet collision. (which, just for the record, I would TOTALLY wait for.)

Last night we were out late at a friend's and I was in such an inexplicable CHOKE HOLD of depression that I was struggling to not cry in front of all of his friends and was trying to pass off watery eyes as a result of laughing. TMI of course was totally aware of this and when we got home I cried because I was both embarrassed and bewildered by my body's chemical crazyness and my inability to control it. I wanted TMI to understand that it wasn't him, but in these episodes, especially when exacerbated by alcohol, I can't manage to communicate anything rational. His response was slaying me with guilt by crying and insisting that he tries so hard,(which he does: telling me 100 times plus every day that I'm the world's most beautiful woman, that he loves me more than anything, that he wants to spend his life with me, etc: more than anyone really deserves and certainly enough to keep someone secure in a relationship)and that he still can't seem to make me happy and comfortable. He was understandably exhausted. I know my happiness is not his responsibility; and frankly I think my unhappiness has nothing to do with him.

It's wickedly selfish, especially since I'm hurting the man I love by being so self involved; even if the self involved thoughts are intensely unflattering ones. It would break my heart if I lost him. He's perfect for me; he's the one, but the same part of me that wants to tell me that I'm inadequate also wants to be cruel to him and persuade him to leave me.

I've read other people complaining about similar relationship dysfunctions and even know someone who's infamous for driving away partners with self sabotage. I have no respect for it and TMI doesn't deserve to be a victim of it.

Monday, February 13, 2012

The Handsome Hero

So I cut TMI's hair yesterday. -Which was HUGE MISTAKE because I did a weirdly fabulous job and now he's too handsome to look at with out being intimidated out of the room and under the bed covers.

That evening, I took my scarily handsome guy to Lazer-tag with some of my coworkers at the cafe. It was my first time and I was the only girl of like, 20 big burly guys; rolling around in a very dangerous plywood playground in pitch black, sliding, jumping, and bashing head-on into walls with a plastic lazer gun. I was run over a few times and even hit in the face by someone's gun at some point. While for the other players it was a game, for me it was 4 hours of straight-up survival. I'm small and delicate and can only handle getting smacked down by big sweaty guys so many times. I came up at the bottom of the score board each round with TMI always gracing the top, SOMEHOW. I was, thankfully, mildly rad at the hide and seek round, as a big guy can scarcely hide and escape into the shadows like a little lady.

All the same at the end of the whole shebang my feet were hurting, my back was hurting, MY FACE was hurting, and I was convinced I was, and am, an old lady on the arm of a drop-dead gorgeous Lazer-tag hero. Blah.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Chocolate Chili

After many an experiment, the world's best veggie chili has been created in my tiny French kitchen. So good, in fact, that I can't not share what I've learned with the world. If you're in the mood for a dark, thick, zesty and healthy chili that will frankly blow your socks off, follow these simple instructions:

1) chop your veggies: half a zucchini, 1 large tomato, 1 yellow onion, a pile of mushrooms, 1/2 red bell pepper and 1/2 green bell pepper, 2 cloves garlic

2) toss em all in a big pan or wok with olive oil and saute till cooked.

3) pile them into a big pot with a can of kidney beans + juice from the can

4) if you want meat, (totally not necessary) save some veggies in the pan and saute some ground beef with em- then add to pot.

5) THE SECRET INGREDIENTS: add a heaping table spoon of unsweetened cacao and a can of beer to the pot. (seriously)

6) Half a can of tomato puree

7) Spices: a butt-load of cumin and oregeno, a pinch of paprika, pepper, shallot, a dash of red cayenne pepper, and half a cube of beef bouillon.

8) Now stir it up, then let it simmer for 45 min to 1 hour.

9) Impress the heck out of your friends and family.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Subconscious Sabotage

Horror of horrors. Apparently the writers of bad soap operas do get their material from somewhere.

Yesterday morning I awoke to the usual ritual of TMI's warm cozy embrace and a groggy "je t'aime." Still 95% asleep and only partially in control of my motor skills, I responded, hold your breath now: "and I loooove yooouu (x-boyfriend's name.)" The moment the words were out of my mouth I face-palmed in sincere horror. I hadn't been thinking about the guy nearly ever save for the occasional moments of distate once or twice a month, and I certainly hadn't been dreaming about him. But of course all of this couldn't be communicated in the moment; I think I probably just groaned in disbelief as TMI tossed off the blankets, hurtled out of bed, and proclaimed coldly "I'm going to class." He was out the door before I fully knew if I was dreaming it or not.

I cried, totally confused and feeling very wronged by forces greater than I. My x? Really?? You mean the one I'm sincerely distressed by the meere distasteful memory of? Blurted in a loving phrase to the man I love more than life it's self? Haha, very funny, universe.

My friends asked if TMI actually knew of the guy so I couldn't pass it off as a Star Wars name or something. But alas. Things seem relatively patched up now, but I'm honestly scared of my own mouth now. From now on early morning "I love you's" will be communicated strictly with actions.. and with words only after a cup of tea.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Save the Receipt

So I finally got my dress back from the seamstress; it seems to fit well enough. And now the really big question: do all the items I bought separately and mostly for more than I can afford go well together? The necklace is breathtaking and I LOVE IT.. but I'm unconvinced it goes perfectly with the dress. And the shoes.. well, ahem. uh, the shoes...

Lets just be glad I got them on sale. Soft leather, platform black ankle boots, totally gorgeous, but totally wrong with the dress. ..Sexually inspirational, however. I modeled them for TMI while scantily clad which, naturally, lead to love making in a dangerous standing position which in turn lead to, ... .. well, some stains on the shoes that despite my best efforts I don't think would get them accepted at the returns counter. It's so very ironic I think I laughed and cried at the same time.

In other news I triumphantly went to the prefecture today for what I thought would be the last time to get a temporary carte de sejour while they process my renewal. I waited around the office all morning, as is customary, drowning in multi-ethnic screaming children. I got the receipt and started home.. only to discover that my mother's last name was spelt wrong. I rushed back only to find I was too late to take another number.

Looks like that adventure still has some nuts and bolts to sort out.

The moral of the story: save the receipt and the sex until after you've tried on the whole outfit. Oh, and double check all spelling of important names.

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