How to B the Worst Kind of Guy

Today I was terrified to step out of the credit union and into the direct path of B. Considering that we live on the same street, it's a wonder that it doesn't happen more often, but, being that he's a hermit with psychological problems, I can usually come and go as I please from my rustic street without fearing horrible encounters such as these. 

I wasn't sure if he was soar that I'd at last deleted him from Facebook.. or if he'd even noticed. I didn't know what to expect. He was as slimy and as infused with cigarette smoke as ever and had been walking home with another, creepy looking guy. To my horror he introduced me as his ex, then insisted he go along with me to the bakery, where I was going on a daily baguette mission.

I was friendly and upbeat. He was a total slime ball. "You are looking good!" He tells me, "not fat or ugly." He asks me if I am still with the same man. I say yes and he is very surprised. "Have you been fidel?" I shoot him a shocked look. "No, you havent!" He says with a greasy smile. "I'm sure!"

I'm boiling inside but I shrug it off. Later he actually has the gaul to advice me to "take the pill" and to suggest that TMI is probably a chauvinist who wants me only for baby making. (dear god.) When I finally ditch him to duck into the bakery, he ices the cake by saying "call me if you want sex," and winking. How dare he? First off, what business is my private life of his and how could he possibly think it would be appropriate to talk to me in such a way when he knows I'm in a committed relationship? How could I resist but give him a horrified and disgusted expression before turning away. Quelle connard! 

Honestly how rude and crass. Ugh. Just ugh.

Stepping Out: Flower Shorts!

The heat has once again settled in to Dijon, and, though a year in France has rendered me way too fat to do so, I'm desperate to don shorts. And what luck, flower prints are in. I picked up these flowery little guys from HnM and am loving them. Now it's just time to do some.. I dunno, squats or something. 

Today I wore them with an embroidered tank top, a crochet fedora, and some white lace flats. 

Its been like, a year since I've done Steppin' Out Saturday. When I Fight for the Phoque went anonymous it made posting outfit photos difficult. But Polyvore more or less solves the problem :)

This Marks This, That Marks That

Today is a milestone in one or two ways. Importantly, today is the one year anniversary since I met TMI on a drunken rowdy night in the bar below my apartment. Now, one year later, he sits reclined in christmasy red boxers on the bed beside me studying for oenology exams. In one year his presence in my heart has spread like a drop of ink in a pool of water. I'm glad to love him and to be loved- but it hasn't been easy, and our obstacles aren't over yet. 

The two of us are going to Hawaii in July, (Hurray!) to meet my family and spend 5 weeks in my island paradise enjoying warm sand, soft kitties, and green mountains. yyyeeeeessssss. Then, I face two months away from my cozy as he returns to France and I stay in the pacific for my brother's wedding in October. Then I am plagued by a great internal debate.

To be blunt, I've thrown in the towel on this wrestling match with France. No work visa, no close friends, and no mobility has crippled my optimistic outlook and left me a depressed hermit. Two month aways from TMI will be really, really hard on me; (the last five weeks apart were like squirming on a bed of nails) and then I'm faced with the decision to stay in n the US, get a life,  and wash France and TMI out of my hair, or, return to the dreary existence here in Dijon for the sake of love. TMI has one more year of study, after which he will be free. But can I handle one more year of this? Seriously? Lets face it guys, I'm a wimp.

All this aside, tonight we're going out for wine and charcuterie and this morning I gifted him a watch. I thought it was the best thing ever, I spent months trying to pick the thing, but after all he doesn't like it and I have to return it.. Bearing the scarlet mark of a failed gift giver. 

Today was the day I also broke the ice into the first preliminary forays into my novel, a biographical work of my grandmother's life. It was strangely terrifying. My collection of her journals, tapes, and photographs have been perched on my bookshelf for months- and even though I've known it was time, a part of me has been curled up and cowering in my inner corners. I'm just a lost girl- and she's a giant. Confronting her is intimidating. But, I finally came to terms that I'd be damned if her story doesn't get told, and I'll wager she'd be right damned too. So that settled it.  

Now I need a shower. It's warm out there!

Please, Spice Up My Life

How weary I have grown of the mild cream and butter flavors of France! I'm desperate for cinnamon, turmeric, ginger, clove, basil, masala! Spices!!! I made the grave mistake today of daydreaming of a world of zesty veggies: Indian food- and I nearly went mad. My body is aching for zest. Burning for spice. Hungry for heat!! Citrus! Peppers! Uuugghhhh. A girl who found her earliest culinary loves in Thai and Indian cuisine should never have chosen French as her heart's lacking language. 

In desperation I sent a message to a friend and San Francisco dweller begging that she send me a flat rate of boxed Indian foods. Incomparable to restaurant quality of course, but oh so much better than nothing. 

Lately I've been facing a heightened awareness of the lack of flavor in my life. I went on a quest to not 1, not 2, but 3 super markets seeking jalapenos, a grocery store staple in the states, but couldn't find the elusive buggers anywhere. Here food is seasoned with butter, salt, oil, herbs; garlic occasionally, but the slightest pick to your tongue you are hard pressed to find. My desire for saucy spicy burritos; steaming coconut curries, and colorful vegetable stir fries has just about pushed me out the window and to an un-timely and overly dramatic death. 

And I wont even mention Kombucha. !!!

First person to mail me a spicy care package gets an authentic Eiffel tower key chain. who's in? Anyone?

A Chance for Escape

The new blogger layout is actually discouraging me from posting. Very unpleasant. 

The news of the month is that I am returning to my island paradise on the 4th of July and I'm taking the best part of France with me. That's right, thanks to my favorite student travel website, I'm finally living the dream and am taking TMI home with me to meet the parents and the tropical lieu of my naissance. 18 hours of flight time, but who's counting when your lover is there with you, right? 

On the downside, after the chimerical wonder of having my mate in my homeland has expired,I'm faced with the usual "where in the world am I supposed to be?" dilema. France is expensive, lonely, and lets face it, impractical for someone with roots on the opposite side of the globe. Not to mention unhealthy. I can't seem to stop gaining weight here and my boredom and loneliness are heavier each passing day. The signs all point to a more normal settling ground, which, thanks to my online studies could be just about anywhere, but the human I'm in love with happens to live here, in Dijn, France. Rats. 

Seriously about the getting fat, btw, I was 104 when I left the US a year and a 3 months ago, now I think I'm pushing about 112, roughly a pound a month in this butter cream haven. When I lived in Hawaii or on the West coast it was easy to be a vegetarian, and freedom of mobility as well an employment and same-denomination currency made gym memberships easily attainable. 

But still, I'm thrilled for the coming adventure. Between then and now I have 6 more weeks of Dijon, 3 of which TMI has an internship in the South, so I may get to spend some weekends away. meeeeeh.