tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63300990455241811442024-03-13T10:00:14.313-07:00I Fight for the Phoque.The adventures of a young woman in France: often in love, usually in trouble, and always in support of the phoque.Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.comBlogger196125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-55508373732159540342019-05-15T15:36:00.001-07:002019-05-15T15:36:13.883-07:00Love, Leis, & AVAs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Though IFFTP is no longer updated, I'm continuing to write about our life in Oregon's Wine Country at <i>Love, Leis, & AVAs</i> at <a href="http://www.leagillette.com/"><span style="color: #ea9999;">www.leagillette.com</span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Merci for joining us on our adventure!</span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-80650990151854000382013-08-12T13:44:00.001-07:002014-08-16T09:55:35.641-07:00Post the Last<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">After a summer spent with the new in-laws on the Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts of France, my new husband and I are in the throws of preparing for an international move. <span style="color: #e06666;">After 3 years in France, I'm finally packing up and saying good bye as we prepare for a one-way flight to Portland on the 19th.</span> "A" will be working on a vineyard in the Willamette valley and I shall be feathering a new nest somewhere within the city, basking in the ease of being surrounded by English, burritos, and price tags written in the same currency as my bank account. <span style="color: #e06666;">So, with my love affair with France coming to an end in a mere 7 days, I figured IFFTP deserved some closing words. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I've ardently loved this blog and the ability to put my adventure, which started as a chronicle of a single and somewhat sex crazed swinger in a foreign city and ended as some startling steps into adulthood, into words.I regretted the anonymous nature getting a little lose and my parents and husband discovering it, which of course lead to censorship and long hiatuses, but those of you who stuck around from my lonely Paris wanderings through my heartbreaks and on to my eventual departure made it worth the while. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Browsing through the posts from year one I'm left with a surprising but pleasant discovery that <span style="color: #e06666;">I did manage to learn something,</span> and the most I can hope for having started this blog is that some readers shared that with me along the way. The first thing is to <span style="color: #e06666;">never underestimate the value of cashing in on your courage</span>- especially on something that may seem small or at the time, not worth it. I was terrified to come to France alone, even for a short time. It would have been so easy to back out and wouldn't have seemed like a great loss. But, here I am three years later still abroad, with an unexpected graduate's degree and a new family. All those motivational pamphlets and speakers and cheesy commercials saying "take the plunge!" -They're right.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The second thing is <span style="color: #e06666;">never take your plans too seriously.</span> Miss a train, let your miles expire, make changes and sacrifices when everyone tells you it's a bad idea. Mistakes are just another kind of path to the same peak. Your old plan can wait, or change, or just get scrapped all together. I abandoned everything, (apartment, long term relationship, university,) and 6 months after I thought I was completely lost, I saw my future husband across a crowded room and was suddenly found. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Everywhere in the world there is someone waiting to meet you.</span> I'm so glad to find this to be true. If anything, that lesson was worth each and every challenge. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Au revoir</i> la France - and to anyone out there considering doing something out of the ordinary, <i>go get em</i>, and write a terrific blog. </span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-594686046357144972013-06-14T08:13:00.002-07:002013-06-16T03:44:03.707-07:00The Wedding <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">As some of you may remember, <span style="color: #e06666;">this wedding was planned to be absolutely underwhelming.</span> The original idea was just to sign the papers - but, as weddings often do, sentimentality was stirred in several hearts and before we knew it, our guest list had grown a bit. A's parents drove up with his sister and her boyfriend, my dad flew from Hawaii, our friends, the newly-wed French and American showed up for moral support, <span style="color: #e06666;">and good-ole Jonas,</span> who'll you'll remember from the Turbulent <span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/search/label/Harry" target="_blank">Harry Saga</a>,</span> showed up with tears in his eyes and pleased as punch that he'd been there on the night that <span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2011/06/this-is-getting-harry-pt-2.html" target="_blank">A and I had met</a>.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It was a little nerve racking because we had no idea what to expect. We'd never gotten a briefing on where to stand, what to say, etc. The parents got dressed in their hotel, A and I put on our suit and dress together in our apartment, (his mom also bought me a GORGEOUS bouquet of white and green carnations and pink roses,) and we all wandered over to the city hall. (The <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=dijon+palais+de+duc&bav=on.2,or.r_qf.&bvm=bv.47883778,d.ZG4&biw=1060&bih=551&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hl=en&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi&ei=6Ki7UYfaAoaHhQfgzIHICQ" target="_blank"><span style="color: #741b47;">Palais de Duc</span></a>, here in Dijon.) We followed signs to the "marriage waiting room." <span style="color: #e06666;">I had heard rumors that in France, instead of saying "I do," you say, "<i>oui, je le veux</i>." </span>I wasn't sure about this though and I was getting nervous for the moment when I'd be asked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There was obviously a big marriage ahead of us as we could hear them clapping and cheering, and it took them a while to file out of the room. Eventually we were called in, the family were seated, and A and I stood before the <i>mairie</i>, where we were read a long missive about the laws of matrimony in France. It got a little tedious, though my heart was racing and I was clutching my bouquet with nervous white knuckles.<span style="color: #e06666;"> Finally I was being addressed and I knew I was supposed to say something.</span> I sort of mumbled, "oui.." and then tentatively "j-je le veux." "We can't hear you!" The <i>mairie </i>insisted<i>.</i> "OUI!" I shouted then, more or less terrified. Before I knew it A had done the same, we'd kissed, cheered, and then were busy signing the papers. I tried to invent a new, more elegant signature for the moment, but mostly defiled our marriage document with a scribble. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then we exited out the back where our friends threw rice at us and the heavens threw.. hail at us. -But no problem, honestly, I was surprisingly overcome with joy. So was everybody, seemingly, and we laughed and kissed and smiled and took a whole bunch of photos and, <span style="color: #e06666;">before we had realized it was happening, our "fake," "no frills" marriage had become the real thing. </span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We drank champagne back in our apartment and went out for dinner in the evening. It felt amazing to finally have gotten over the hump and passed from girlfriend to wife. I thought it would feel old and strange, I<span style="color: #e06666;"> thought it would feel old and strange all the way up to the moment I was standing in the city hall clutching my bouquet,</span> but as soon the words were said and the deed was done, there was only elation, and a whole lot of gratitude. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the first time my face has <span style="color: #e06666;">ever appeared</span> on IFFTP</span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-38645860529638423892013-06-03T03:41:00.000-07:002013-06-03T13:00:43.346-07:00May 25th 2013, I Got Married. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Well, on May 25th I got married.</span> I'm deeply in love, happy, and all around moved by the occasion, but I do feel a bit like I'm standing in front of a dark window trying to see out. The skepticism about love and relationships I've cultivated all my life in order to be a practical and realistic adult some day, (an absurd notion, I know) has me trained to feel that a marriage between two people so young is bound to.. <i>deflate</i>. <span style="color: #e06666;">I sort of doubt my husband and I know each other half as well as we've even come to know ourselves, which is probably not at all.</span> Are we even <i>people</i> yet in our twenties? There's no question we both have a lot of growing to do, and it seems reasonable that we will outgrow one another. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I think a lot of people expect their wedding to be one of the <span style="color: #e06666;">"happiest days of their life"</span> and plan on it to such an extant that all the expectation washes over the love and sincerity of the occasion and all they get are a bunch of plates covered in cake crumbs and scads of posed photographs. (Not to mention a huge wedding tab.) It's interesting: A and I had such little expectation, and such a small ceremony, I think both of us were surprised by how happy we were. Several times since then I've thought <i>it was</i> one of the happiest days of my life. Who knew?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Here in France they say, "marriage pleveuse, marriage heureuse."</span> A rainy marriage is a happy marriage. Well, on the day we got hitched, it rained, hailed, thundered, and blue sky and perfect sunshine appeared sporadically throughout. It was bizarre. Does anyone know the appropriate proverb? As everyone keeps telling me- everybody goes into this sort of thing the same way: knowing nothing, but hoping for the best. In other words, while we have a lot of growing to do, <span style="color: #e06666;">I may as well count on us growing <i>into</i> our relationship, rather than us growing out of it.</span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">..and, <span style="color: #e06666;">yes</span>, before anyone blows a gasket, there will be photos and details to follow</span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-20786206576220903292013-05-01T03:45:00.001-07:002013-05-01T03:45:29.751-07:00The Frenzied Five<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Busy busy busy.</span> If wedding planning for a throbbing, frenzied guest count of 5 is this much work I shudder to think what a ceremony of any "normal" size might be. Housing the parents, choosing/booking the wine bar, hair appointment, mini wedding dress, the future mother-in-law has now talked me into a mini wedding <i>bouquet,</i> (for those interested I'm going with green and white carnations,) - not to mention travel documents, international paperwork, uh... city hall parking permit? Geez. Dijon also has a requirement that all weddings, no matter how small and lacking in hullabaloo, are published in <i>Le Bon, </i>the silly local news paper. So that as well requires effort and attention. Oh lets not forget, translations, international prenuptial agreements, and lots, and I mean <i>lots,</i> of visa related paperwork. <span style="color: #e06666;">Those of you doing the real thing, you have my sympathy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">In other news my dad arrives undoubtedly bewildered in Paris tomorrow morning</span>, having come all the way from the Hawaiian islands. Im going up first light the day after via train to meet him and take him around for a day. I managed to get him a hotel up there and another on our little street here in Dijon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I still have a heated bar fight I'm itching to recount to the online community, featuring my intended in the streets <i>vers</i> 4am with blood on his fist all because I got my hair pulled in a club - but that's a story for the next post. -not fit for wedding banter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>a bientot!</i></span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-68784918515467804562013-04-19T01:32:00.002-07:002013-04-20T02:22:52.855-07:00Discount Waxing is Not a Good Idea<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Today I learned that finding a salon which advertises a brazilian wax for 15 euros isn't <i>always</i> a find worth celebrating.</span> Now, sitting delicately on the couch of my future parents-in-law's apartment, I'm slowly coming to mental terms with having lost <i>at least</i> as much skin as hair and how I'm going to face the next weeks of life with a butchered bush. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The waxing took place on the top floor of an eclectic old world building where I was met by an INSANE frizzy haired gypsy French woman who lead me into a room divided by a standing screen. On one side she was apparently in the middle of doing another woman's nails. The other side had a table for waxing. She told me to take of my pants while she returned to her nail painting. I stood feeling nervous for a bit and then called, "..should I cover myself with something.. er??" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"No no!" She called back, already back in idle chat with her other customer. Things were already looking a bit sketchy, but I did as she said. Next to me and on the other side of the screen, she tells the girl to "wait ten minutes." <span style="color: #e06666;">Then, coming to my side and without even so much as washing her hands or donning a pair of gloves, she attacks.</span> She doesn't even bother tie her hair up and I watch, rather startled, as strands of it get caught up in the wax she's spreading haphazardly on me. She exclaims that I have thin skin and I look down (against my better judgement) to discover that I'm bleeding in several places and looking like a <span style="color: #e06666;">diseased desert animal with the mange.</span> I resist the urge to face palm. She finishes up, sprinkles me with talcum powder, and again without washing her hands, goes back to working on the other woman's nails. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My lesson learned is that cheaper doesn't always mean better. ouch ouch ouch</span><br />
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-54625174750084939872013-04-17T03:24:00.001-07:002013-04-18T02:19:26.573-07:00The Great Dress Drama<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Welp. So much for avoiding shameless shopping. The dress that I <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2013/03/if-im-gonna-have-fake-wedding-its-gonna.html" target="_blank">posted about a week ago</a> arrived, was too big and more brown than cream, so I returned it and bought an open back from ASOS; too modern, not so flattering to the figure, and returned it as well. <span style="color: #e06666;">I've since GONE INSANE </span>trying to find the prefect little white dress for a spring civil union with cocktails <i>apres</i>, and I'm driving my postal service, credit card company, and boyfriend insane. Do any of these speak to any of you??</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wLXoppk73Ik/UW5206Y3i9I/AAAAAAAAC70/gbpXGPplb3s/s1600/495e06524fef2fbc9868c54ca1ebbc27_best.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wLXoppk73Ik/UW5206Y3i9I/AAAAAAAAC70/gbpXGPplb3s/s320/495e06524fef2fbc9868c54ca1ebbc27_best.jpg" width="250" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4LZX8gSsarE/UW528f_IDzI/AAAAAAAAC8c/n9f-W-mljns/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-04-17+at+12.12.08+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4LZX8gSsarE/UW528f_IDzI/AAAAAAAAC8c/n9f-W-mljns/s320/Screen+shot+2013-04-17+at+12.12.08+PM.png" width="242" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Cream, Lace Back Bodycon From French Connection</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">White, strapless with bow back from PromMagics</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Lace Open Back Dress From Lipsy</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">HALP!</span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-18126845546661496372013-04-10T07:28:00.002-07:002013-04-10T09:07:24.487-07:00The Red Tape of Love and Marriage <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Getting married in France is, well, fricken' complicated.</span> My birth certificate arrived from the land of aloha-style, (aka three weeks late in all directions,) and A and I faced the challenge of getting it translated IMMEDIATELY so that we could dash in the city hall and reserve a date. (Everything is happening in high speed, I remind you, so that we can submit his green card application ASAP.) <span style="color: #e06666;">The only official translator we could find in Dijon was expensive, old, unfriendly, and clearly insane. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">On the day it was supposed to be ready for pickup, I rented a street bike and ventured far and away in the freezing rain to find her hermit-like dwelling. When I buzzed, her wrinkled face appeared peering around a lace white curtain in a window above me. She had tapped on the glass to get my attention. She looked suspicious, so I waved. She disappeared for a moment, then opened the door to demand what I wanted. I said I was there for the birth certificate. She responded with a blank expression. "..The translation? For the birth certificate from Hawaii?" I added meekly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Finally, signs of recognition. "-I told you after 10am!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"...It's 11..?" I offered delicately. She sized me up a few more moments before allowing me in to sit beside a giant, stuffed elephant to wait for my documents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Couldn't dash away from there fast enough.</span> Then, meeting A at the city hall with our hundred-page dossier, we are told that our <span style="color: #e06666;">attestations of residence</span>, a bank statement for me and an insurance statement from A, were no good. Too old and they don't accept bank statements. We run home and scrounge up a phone bill for me and and a newer insurance statement for A. Then back to the city hall, where we hold hands in the seats across the desk from the mairie, panting. -She tells us they don't take phone bills either and points out that there were two addreses on A's insurance - one ours and one his parents - (which was "confusing,") so no good. We're told to go the office of electricity in town and get one there with both our names. We gather up our dossier once again and run across town to find that the office is closed <i>uniquely that day</i> for re-decorating. Awesome!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">At that point we were out of ideas and returned to the city hall defeated. We ended having to photocopy every piece of identify in existence for A so that I could return the next day without him after going back to the electricity office and getting an appropriate attestation. Far from a walk in the park, this business! Luckily, I got it done this morning and we now have an official date: <span style="color: #e06666;">the 25th of May.</span> (-Three weeks after the date we wanted, but beggars can't be choosers.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The one enjoyable part of the whole effort was putting a heart on the calendar. <span style="color: #e06666;">That part felt good. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><i>(Dijon's city hall) </i></span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-15383563744204827772013-04-09T00:21:00.002-07:002013-04-10T07:06:03.863-07:00A Dad, Overcome with Sentimentality, Plans to Cross Two Oceans to Attend a Civil Union<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">When dad first heard I was having a semi-secret civil marriage </span>in mere weeks, I heard from the family that he more or less retreated into a few days of mumbling and non-communication. Word on the family grape vine was that he was "sulking;" -expected, maybe, of any daddy when he hears the news second and it's that his youngest kid is tying the knot. But, as is the usual pattern with my dad, <span style="color: #e06666;">what is first rebutted usually resolves into agreement with time,</span> and, a few days after the news broke the headlines, daddy called waxing poetic about who would give his daughter away at the ceremony- "out alone into the open seas, no longer under the watchful eye of her father?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For some context, daddy's a gruff old naval captain from the times of yore, a sea dog, so the ocean-themed sentiments were all very touching and.. salty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Day before yesterday I received an ominous one sentence email saying that I was going to meet daddy in Paris, "9:45 in mrn on 2nd." <span style="color: #e06666;">Initially I was filled with terror.</span> How was I going to get up there and fetch him? How was I going to guide him through the airports and onto the metro if he tries to go into the city without me? Where will we put him up? How long is he staying? What will A's parents think? How will they communicate?? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">That said, like my dad, what was first met with rebuttal has since metled into acceptance. The above questions remain unanswered and he's been very secret and vague about his travel plans, <span style="color: #e06666;">but all n' all I'm glad he's coming.</span> It will be hilarious watching A's parents try to communicate with him, in a few words of English and daddy's few words of comically self assured island-French which he picked up in the 70's in Tahiti with a crew of vulgar sea dogs. :)</span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-15676628198911212702013-04-06T02:15:00.001-07:002013-04-06T08:50:52.473-07:00Successful Sublimation in Greece<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">They say it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.</span> But, now that I'm wallowing in the pain of separation, I have (undoubtedly as many before me) come to doubt that statement. Now that I have known Greek food in its native land, the pain of returning to the country of cream and butter bland-ness, (yes, that is my assessment of French food after three years here,) is almost <i>unbearable</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Coming from the land of meat in abundance and veggies far and few between, <span style="color: #e06666;">I found myself in a haven of vegetarian dishes, all cooked with an astounding medley of flavorful Mediterranean produce.</span> We visited the morning farmer's market in Chania, (pronounced "hhhhania,") and bought raki, honey, mountain teas, a mouth watering assortment of veggies, and some excellent herbed goat and sausages. I had a traditional spanikopita for breakfast almost each morning. Holy crap, the ones in the states can't hold a candle to the ones you'll find in Greece. Oh and the yogurt and cheese! herbed pita breads and fresh, minty sauces. Heavenly! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Needless to say I had a </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">wonderful</span><i style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">,</i><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> <i>tremendous</i>, time. I was so sad to leave and to have booked the adventure for so few days. Beth and Perry, my old middle-school teachers I was visiting, were an engaging, silly, adventurous and optimistic couple. They spoiled me with my own studio with a view of the sea in a eclectically dirty, colorful, friendly, and cat filled part of the old town. We cooked and sang and drank raki and munched olives and visited a new and titillating archeological site each day, including Knossos and Aptera. I dug up old pottery at a dig site and danced on Zorba's beach at Stavros. It truly fed my soul. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">It was so good I <i>almost</i> managed not to notice the photos and videos arriving on the facebook Oenopiades</span> of students drinking, dancing, partying, puking, pasing out, and even a video of A, the boyfriend and fiance in question, crowd surfing. -On a bus. Seriously. But the sublimating, all in all, was a success. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I returned home laden with raki, herbal teas, and nostalgia.</span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-70452755170460494132013-03-27T03:40:00.001-07:002013-03-27T03:41:53.284-07:00Going to Crete to Sublimate <div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Tomorrow I once again board a train to Paris,</span> (hopefully <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2013/03/paris-perturbe.html" target="_blank">more successfully</a> this time) to catch a plane at Charles de Gaulle to take me to Athens. I'll stay the night there in an airport hotel, (assuming I find a bus or a taxi or something) and fly to the island of Crete the next morning. I'm doing this partially because I love to travel and my spiritual hero is Zorba the Greek, and partially because <span style="color: #e06666;">I need to get as <i>far away</i> from the dreaded <a href="http://www.oenopiades2013.com/" target="_blank">Oenopiades</a> as possible</span>. The Oenopiades, happening this year in Bordeaux, is a crazy camp out that all the wine students in France participate in each year. It's three nights and 4 days of drinking, partying, puking, helicoptering, fornicating, and oh yes, the one academic redeeming factor: networking! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Despite trying to think of it as a bachelor party or something, the thought of all that alcohol, rowdiness, and substantial number of young ladies both <span style="color: #e06666;">inebriated and undulating</span> is enough to make me sea sick. So, the decision was made that I SHOULD NOT be at home pining and seething, but distracting myself with raki, olives, and Minoan ruins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The unexpected opportunity arrived out of the blue with an email from some of my middle school teachers back in Hawaii; a couple who were and are somewhat <span style="color: #e06666;">radical, progressive, and.. innovative</span>. I remember spending a whole school day which Mr. W had deemed "savage day" mostly naked in the brambles and underbrush, battling with other student tribes and fighting over scraps of beef jerky. Mr. W thought it was an important lesson on human nature in the wild. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Needless to say, the two didn't last long in the western education system, and have spent the last 8 years or so traveling the wilds of Africa and, now, the warm islands of Greece. They sent me an email asking if I wanted to visit. It fell on the Oenopiades weekend, so I probably shocked them with an instant and enthusiastic "YES!!"</span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-48202178100413810032013-03-22T04:07:00.000-07:002013-03-22T07:05:43.749-07:00If I'm Gonna Have a Tiny Wedding it's Gonna be a Tiny Hit<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Yesterday I found my mini wedding dress for my <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2013/02/just-say-yes.html" target="_blank">impending mini wedding.</a> Paired with an updo and some pearls I think it will do perfectly. -So perfectly, in fact, I think I'll probably wear it at the real ceremony in several years. Plus, $60 is a nice price tag for wedding attire. </span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-41636068222326542572013-03-20T04:36:00.002-07:002013-03-22T04:07:54.125-07:00The Mechanics of Decision Making and the Joy of "Yes"<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">I realize I never gave much insight into the lengthy and somewhat painful decision making process that came with deciding to get married.</span> I went through the most absurd and, I have to say, surprising phase of fear, uncertainty, and all around cold feet. Before the concept of suddenly getting married had arose, I was fairly preoccupied with the idea of marriage and convinced I wanted A to be my family. But, once the real decision was put on the table and I was given a week to pick a side, all of that confidence fell off me like snow evacuating a rugged mountain peak in a brisk avalanche. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">The string of stinging questions:</span> Will I never have romance again? Is he the right one? What about butterflies? Crushes? The thrill of meeting someone new and the electricity of new attraction? Is he the <i>right</i> one? Is he really, <i>really</i> the right one????</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Close friends and colleagues were concerned that if I were plagued by these questions I probably shouldn't go through with it. Their doubt only intensified my own, and on several occasions I was firmly convinced the answer would be "no." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In retrospect it's hard for me to wrap my head around this, because in the decision making after math, <span style="color: #e06666;">the storm subsided and warm elation took its place.</span> When I was agonizing and going back and forth, I even asked A while we were having a drink in a wine bar on the beach, (seriously,) "aren't you concerned about never having another girlfriend..?" He matter-of-factly shrugged and said "no." -without a moment's hesitation. I was impressed, but still churning with an internal ocean of turbulence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Now, in the weeks after "yes," everything has calmed. Like when the wizard comes into the room after Mickey had caused the big flood with all the bewitched brooms in Fantasia- he just waves his hands and all the rushing water subsides. I'm confident and happy. Now that I'm no longer stressing over the decision, I think I can actually see the reality of the situation: <span style="color: #e06666;">I'm in love!</span> And, geez, I'm happy! And even more surprising and elating, I don't give a damn about crushes and electric attraction. I've had plenty of that and none of it compares to the real thing. The real joy of being with someone who speaks to you on much more than a superficial level. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We're not doing it the conventional way, sure, or even the most glamorous or romantic. <span style="color: #e06666;">But it's the right way</span>- and it feels so good to know it. </span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-75373106670775739182013-03-18T03:26:00.002-07:002013-03-20T06:38:40.784-07:00The French Twenty Fifth <div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Yesterday, astoundingly, was my <i>third</i> birthday since moving to France.</span> Incidentally it was the best one thus far and not so surprisingly my oldest yet- 25. I'm officially half way through my twenties and there's definitely a shift of consciousness that comes along with it. The pre-25 20 birthdays were all very fresh, sexy, and dangerous. This one feels significantly more serious. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I treated myself to a bike ride to the <a href="http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parc_de_la_Colombi%C3%A8re" target="_blank">Parc de la</a></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px; text-align: start;"><a href="http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parc_de_la_Colombi%C3%A8re" target="_blank"><b style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Colombière</span></a></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><a href="http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parc_de_la_Colombi%C3%A8re" target="_blank"> </a>where I visited the spring baby goats. So tiny! The size of cats and springing and jumping like popcorn. Little French kids were reaching their hands through the fence and feeding them bread and leaves. In the evening, A took me out to a pretty extravagant <span style="color: #e06666;">dinner of <i>six </i>courses</span>: escargot, tartar de beouf, echine de chouchon with heavenly mushrooms de Paris, a ridiculously rich cheese platter, avocado and citron sorbet, followed by a perfect port wine with a terimisu. Not to mention several to-die-for wines. Poor A, I clearly saw him break a sweat when the bill arrived. Luckily I was too tipsy and happy to feel guilty. My birthday present: a calcedoine ring. It's beautiful and it fits. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />Anyone who has been following this blog from its beginnings will know that this birthday is a vast improvement to the lonely lamentable situation of <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2011/03/nouveau-appartement-merci-bien.html" target="_blank">my first birthday abroad</a>.(Entrapped with B in his messy, monk tower apartment questioning the decisions of my life- followed by dinner with some seriously unpleasant company which I payed for.) Ahhh. <span style="color: #e06666;">It's so true what the say about needing the bad to appreciate the good</span>, though. Had I never suffered a birthday with B, or five years of mediocre relationship with K, for that matter, I'm not sure I'd know how good my situation is now. </span><br />
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-30559752640258576672013-03-14T03:57:00.000-07:002013-03-22T04:08:12.670-07:00Paris Perturbé<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">OH. MY. GOD. If anyone had ever suffered a more <i>miserable </i>day trip to Paris I would be <i>very </i>surprised.</span> Of course I was mildly excited, I love Paris, (who doesn't) and was looking forward to lunch someplace romantic on a pleasant spring day + getting my marriage paperwork + scenic train ride home with little to no complications.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Well. Ominously just before I arrive at the train station here in Dijon, I get a puzzling text from SNCF telling me that <span style="color: #e06666;">circulation is "fortement perturbé,"</span> and that I can exchange or cancel my ticket at the service desk. But, I've just arrived, I'm a bit late, and see on the information boards that my train is at the quai, à l'heure, and ready to leave. So I figure the SNCF people have gone insane and I jump on moments before the doors close and the train starts rolling. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">As the train moves North, the warm sunlight of Spring turns from pleasant, to gray, to snow blizzard. Before I know it <span style="color: #e06666;">the train is stopped on the tracks</span> in a sea of white, where we sit for the next <i>two hours</i>. I miss my embassy appointment and learn from the chatter around me that the Gare de Lyon is completely blocked by snow, no one is getting in or out, and I start fearing for how I'm going to get home in the evening. I havent eaten and I start thinking I might die. Also, I'm not dressed for snow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The train finally arrives in blizarding Paris at 2:30 in the afternoon, two and a half hours after my appointment. (I tried calling the embassy on the train but the operator kept disconnecting me or sending me to an answering machine.) I run down into the metro and catch the subway to rue Rivoli, just beside the gardens at the Louvre. I pop back up into the freezing snow blizzard and see the hazy, gray form of the Eiffel Tower peering through the white and for a moment feel a little burst of butterflies in my heart: I can never see that tower without remembering how in love I am with the city. The moment is short lived however, as I shield my eyes from the snow and skid across the slushy, busy intersections to the embassy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I get there and only one guichet is left open. I take a number and wait. After 20 minutes, the person abandons their post and I'm seemingly left alone in the American Embassy. A janitor eventually approaches me and asks what I'm doing. I tell him about my appointment and he tells me that <span style="color: #e06666;">everyone in notarial services is <i>gone</i></span> and that I'll have to come back another day. I muster my most miserable, helpless little girl face and tell him I don't live near Paris and<i> can't</i> come back. It seems to work and he takes pity on me and gets on the phone. Thank goodness, someone was still there for me and they met with me at one of the desks. Straight away they asked me if I had cash. I said no. Then they proceeded to tell me that <span style="color: #e06666;">they couldn't give me my marriage documents because the cashier had left and I couldn't pay with a credit card.</span> I give her my miserable look I used earlier on the janitor. Again she takes pity on me and produces a map of the area. She draws a little path on it to an ATM, and tells me to <i>hurry, </i>because everyone was trying to leave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Back out into the snow blizzard. I'll remind you here that I had bronchitis, was wearing spring clothes, and was running through a freezing wet blanket of white in a complete panic. Long story short, after stopping and asking several people in the streets, I found the ATM, got back to the embassy in time, and got my paper work. By now it was time for my train home, so I turned on my heels and dashed directly back to the train station.. where all the trains were still delayed or canceled. Snow was falling in the station and I was freezing and still hadn't eaten. I took shelter in an expensive station cafe and made a hot chocolate last for the rest of the evening until <i>finally</i>, a train heading south appeared on the info board. I got home at 8 feeling victimized. <i>Dieu merci</i>, A had made me a bath and a cocktail. </span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-86906778811639223222013-03-11T04:14:00.000-07:002013-03-22T04:08:26.027-07:00Come What May<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">The <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/search/label/annual%20wine%20gala" target="_blank">annual wine gala</a> was on the 2nd of March</span> and I went despite being under the weather. I just couldn't handle missing the occasion to wear the dress, the shoes, the updo, etc. and leave A on his own for a raucous night of drinking. I SHOULD have, because I'm still hacking and coughing and suffering <span style="color: #e06666;">the slow pain of bronchitis and walking pneumonia. </span>That'll teach me. I spent most of the night with my head down on the table feeling angry with A for drinking himself into a stupor. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">ANYWAY, as most events tend to produce, I have a slew of classy, happy looking photos which misrepresent the evening ENTIRELY. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The day of <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2013/02/just-say-yes.html" target="_blank">the big decision</a> was the day after and, facing swelling tonsils and a hungover boyfriend, (surprisingly) <span style="color: #e06666;">I decided the marriage was a go.</span> (It took a lot of convincing though, that day and the next, trying to drown out the image of him singing and yelling on the bus home at 5am while I suffered in a little germy ball against the window.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">So we're getting married. </span>We're going to set the date in May. Alban has told his parents and I've told mine, which for both of us was sort of the officiating move. Tomorrow I'm catching a train to Paris to pick up some documents I'll need at the American embassy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I went with a girlfriend to city hall to pick up the dossier several days ago and we were <span style="color: #e06666;">mistaken for a couple trying to have a gay wedding.</span> A cheery, American couple trying to have a gay wedding. The woman at the desk told me very seriously it might be complicated and my friend and I both looked confused until we figured out what was going on. Never underestimate the danger of doing anything oficial in your second language. </span><br />
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-33112463941899915962013-02-28T10:18:00.002-08:002013-02-28T10:19:22.596-08:00Juice and Smoothies<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Despite the sweat inducing</span> <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2013/02/just-say-yes.html" target="_blank">decision making</a> going on in the apartment this week, I've been managing to divert a great deal of energy <span style="color: #e06666;">on health and healthy eating</span>. This is an enormous challenge in France, one that I managed in The States, but am only now managing to grasp in non-veggie friendly Europe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The two big steps to succes is that <span style="color: #e06666;">I've embraced juicing and blending.</span> Several weeks ago I bought a juicer and followed it quickly by a blender. Since then, by days have been going more or less like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I've done a lot of reading about how liquids are the best choice for the morning. They kick start your stomach's engine and your metabolism after the night and are considerably easier to digest than solids. So! I start with green tea, followed by a juice: usually carrot, beet, ginger, lemon, a chunk of cucumber, and a few greens: either spinach or a romain heart. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The result is very aesthetic and oh so good for you. Be careful with this though, get too creative with your juices and you'll end up with something that tastes pretty terrible, so stick to recipes until you get the hang of it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Since this meal interjects the more active part of the day, (usually,) I cut loose and allow myself something more substantial. Yesterday it was baked sweet potato topped with my <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2012/02/chocolate-chili.html" target="_blank">vegetarian chocolate chilly</a>. Oooo so tasty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This is where things get really exciting: healthy smoothie time! Starting with a salad, (often chopped endive, walnuts and raisins,) I finish off my my night with either a green smoothie or a <span style="color: #e06666;">"chaco-cado" </span>smoothy: (banana, avocado, cacao powder, almond milk, maple syrup, and a handful of spinach.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'd been dying to try this recipe since in the past weeks I've become an avid follow of <a href="http://detoxinista.com/" target="_blank">The Detoxinista</a>, and it was.. interesting, but not nearly as tasty as she lead me to believe it would be. But! On the bright side, I drank a whole avocado and an extra serving of leafy greens! My skin, hair, and morning flat tummy thanked me. </span></div>
Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-57310336259265281662013-02-27T02:51:00.001-08:002013-03-20T06:41:12.386-07:00Just Say "Yes."<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Marriage.</span> All those times I've whined and complained about <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/search/label/marriage" target="_blank">wanting to get hitched</a>. Now, grace of a series of events which I shall summarize below,<span style="color: #e06666;"> I have until SUNDAY, as in, March 3, 2013, to decide if I'm going to legally marry my boyfriend or not, and I'm cripplingly conflicted.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Over the past two years, our relationship has been plagued by international paperwork obstacles: I have to pay high taxes on my visitors visa and have never managed to get the right to work. Now, that A, (formerly TMI,) and I have decided to move to the United States' west coast in september to work on our respective fields, (winemaking and art dealing,) the issue of "how are we going to be legal" has again wedged itself into our relationship to jeopardize our plans and career and even threaten to tear us apart, for good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Coincidentally, there is another couple our age here in Dijon going through THE EXACT SAME SITUATION. I met the girl on expat forums and, like me, she moved here on a touristic visa to live with her french honey. They've also decided to move to The States in September to work <span style="color: #e06666;">and have decided to legally marry here in France to solve their travel and right-to-work problems.</span> She and I have booked a train ticket to go to the American embassy in Paris together in several days to get some of our necessary documents and begin the process. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A has agreed, but I keep going back and forth. We had an enormous fight night before last about how I like to read not-necessarily-scientific articles about "hippy" health and lifestyle topics like yoga, microwaves, chi, chacras, etc. I dont necessarily believe all of it, but I appreciate it and enjoy reading about it. Conversely, it drives A crazy that I would read and consider <i>anything</i> that isn't published in a scientific journal and doesn't have data behind it. My argument is that I like to read both sides of everything and am naturally curious. His is that I "don't know how to research." He's very judgmental in this sense, and I, this week more than ever, am being VERY critical. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">On the other hand, <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> I've </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">resolved that our basis for marriage is more practical and sensible than most puppy-love young couple situations. We have a very promising career path that we're both rearing to takle together, and marrying as an international couple opens up many opportunities for the both of us. In addition, we've been living together two years and are happy, seemingly compatible, and in love.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">The stipulations are as follows</span><span style="color: #222222;">: No rings, no name change, no hullabaloo, and no spreading of the word. We plan to have a real ceremony in several years and don't want to detract the significance from it. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #222222;">We've decided to decide by Sunday, so I have time to cancel my embassy appointment in Paris. Woah!</span></span></span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-9290398551389257222013-02-25T06:31:00.002-08:002013-03-20T06:44:09.256-07:00Blogging From Abroad: Version 2.0<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">It's been a hundred years, </span>much has happened, and at last I think its time for IFFTP to rise from hibernation, shake the snow off, and turn over a new leaf for Spring.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For those of you who are still around after the long hiatus, I've put a lot of thought into the fate of this blog and have decided that in order for it to continue it has to make some serious style and behavioral changes. When IFFTP began, I was a <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2011/06/this-is-getting-harry-pt-3.html" target="_blank">bit of a swinger</a> set lose in the streets of France and made that more or less the topic of the blog. <span style="color: #e06666;">Times have changed though</span>, and it would seem I've been roped into a domestic relationship. No longer is it practical to try and talk under cover about my sex life and not expect personal repercussions. (-And at times long, lame, hiatuses.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So! Change number 1 is that <span style="color: #e06666;">I want to change the focus of my blog </span>from sexual gossip, (sad I know,) to travel, eating healthy abroad, and the trials and tribulations of international relationship and romance. (They'll be some mild sexual gossip, of course, I can't resist a little from time to time.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">That said, I've just returned from the South of France, Perpignan, from visiting with my boyfriend's parents. (Formally known as <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/search/label/TMI" target="_blank">TMI</a>, now known as "A". Gasp!) The train home today returned us to the snowy, cold and gray region of Burgundy that we presently call home. Statistics show that Dijon saw an astounding 12 hours of sunlight in the month of July- Astounding because I'd personally guesstimated it to be much less.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">While in the South, we visited <a href="http://www.les-plus-beaux-villages-de-france.org/en/eus" target="_blank">Eus</a>, known as one of the most beautiful villages of France. Pretty enchanting. Especially the feline inhabitants. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">1: I'm probably getting legally married for passport benefits</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> in a mere few weeks. Serious case of cold feet inevitable. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">2: I'm starting a juice fast wednesday to evacuate 2 years of french toxins</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">3: I'm randomly visiting my radically anti-establishment middle school professors on an impromptu adventure to Crete in several weeks. </span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-2057015192606527992012-12-17T14:39:00.001-08:002012-12-17T14:39:43.057-08:00Pussy Party Aftermath <div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Well, I went to <a href="http://ifightforthephoque.blogspot.fr/2012/12/pussy-party.html" target="_blank">the party</a>.</span> -And I was really hoping that it would be either A) good, or B), bad in a funny way so that I could write a sarcastic post about it. ..But it wasn't really either of these things. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Honestly I'm really conflicted about it so I'm not sure how to even proceed describing it. I'm unsure if I'm old, boring, anti-social, and irrational, or if the party was just wildly too childish for me. <span style="color: #e06666;">Or maybe I'm just not a party person.</span> Who knows, but when TMI asked me in the aftermath , 'god, didn't you think Chantal was funny?" -Chantal being a guy dressed as a gogo dancer with big blow up plastic boobs and a gold thong, who, once the party moved to a bar, got on stage to "perform" with the band,) I felt dismayed to think that I instead found it rather gross and completely juvenile. ,,Maybe I would have found it funny under different circumstance?? I dunno!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">I'm ashamed to say it but I cried sporadically through the night and the next day.</span> We missed our train home Sunday and had to sleep with a friend and come back Monday morning. I'm totally screwed up about it. I don't know if I'm the victim or the bad guy for not having fun. I don't know if I love my boyfriend or if he's just intensely handsome and I think that <i>I need</i> him to love me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Do I need a break up? Therapy? Anti-depressants? A chill pill and just to learn how to party?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Either way I'm on the couch tonight :/</span></div>
Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-55530116264895646962012-12-12T02:15:00.002-08:002012-12-13T00:41:26.776-08:00Pussy Party<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">So I'm agonizing over a tough decision.</span> TMI<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"> wants to go to a crazy costume party for his rather fat and crude drunk friends in the south of France on saturday. He insists that I go. I will have to pay $150 in gas, highway fees, and train tickets, plus a 6 hour drive there and three hour drive to a train station on the way back. We won't be home until midnight on Sunday.(Monday morning, technically.) Sounds like the worst thing ever to me. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17px;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Enclosed smoking and sleeping in puke on the floor, more or less. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">But, if I stay here I'll be alone and sad thinking of him going crazy and having fun without me and probably commit suicide from loneliness and insecurity, but at least it will be cheaper and better for my liver. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">Importantly, here's what the invite to the party looks like: </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">"</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">Grémaillière de [so and so] et [whats'-his-name] au [distant address]. Veuillez trouver l'obligeance de vous vêtir de votre plus bel accoutrement en G (Gouine autorisé et fortement encouragé). Munissez-vous d'une bouteille (cubi, felissou, villageoise et autres alcools frelatés autorisés et encouragés) et de votre appareil génital (monotesticule ou chatte en sauce et/ou chatte à l'ail autorisés et encouragés de même).</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">Prière d'arriver le gosier sec et l'esprit clair, aucun débordement ne saura toléré. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">Amicalement, les Grolocs.</span></div>
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PS: bifles et hélicoptères interdits."</div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Yes, there are words like "monotesticle" and "pussy sauce"</span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"> in this one paragraph invite. This is the other thing that gets me. One of the two people throwing this costume / house warming party is a girl who regualarly hurles such phrases like those above at my boyfriend in facebook comments and texts, and worse, he responds in the same lingo. I don't get it.I took him for a rather reserved, classy, intellectual type. A friend told me I need to go just to supervise my boyfriend in these vaginal conversations, but I find it rather.. repelling. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">So do I go or do I stay? It should also be noted that as it is a costume party, if I do go, I will be trapped in a two person card board rendition of the Great Wall of China.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">Opinions anyone? Personally I'm thinking that I'm way too old for this. </span></span></div>
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</span>Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-73022403822644098022012-11-26T03:03:00.000-08:002012-11-26T04:47:35.530-08:00Change of Address, ATTACK<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">I think changing apartments is generally 457% more complicated in France than in the United States.</span> For example: step 1, call the internet company and ask them to cancel our service. They're speaking too fast in too much French and insisting I tell them "why," so I hang up in fear and have TMI call back. We need to know our landline phone number; somehow our name and address aren't good enough to locate our account. We scramble around to find it on our old paperwork. Once the cancellation is finally agreed upon, <span style="color: #e06666;">we get to pay them a 45 euros cancellation fee.</span> I was prepared to tell them to <i>allait te faire foutre</i>, but TMI insisted that was normal practice in these parts. Then, the internet doesn't actually stop until they mail you a shipping label, you find a box, and stuff all of your hardware (router, modem, etc.) into the box, and then WALK to the other side of town to one of their authorized drop off stations. woo! Setting up a new account in the new apartment was a similar process but in reverse- it also required a 10 day activation period. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The electricity was arguably worse. <i>After</i> I had retured the apartment keys to the agency, it was discovered that to cut the electricity <span style="color: #e06666;">I needed a number on an electric counter somewhere in the apartment.</span> I walked to the agency, got the keys, got the number and walked back. Called the service provider. I needed TWO numbers. I HULK SMASHHED the phone and then walked BACK to the agency and repeated that last steps. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The complications, mishaps, and cancellation fees were attacking from all sides. Now that it seems to be over, I'm sort of hiding out in the apartment and peering fearfully around the curtains, waiting for some other institution I forgot to deal with to AMBUSH. </span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-71791093223874432272012-11-21T03:07:00.001-08:002012-11-21T03:07:05.961-08:00The Perfect Pumpkin Curry<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Every week I receive a "panier bio," or, a burlap sack of organic seasonal fruits and veggies.</span> It's pretty cool. I've been getting a lot of pumpkin lately so my new favorite thing is to cut one in half, bake it, and use one part for a pumpkin bread and the other for a curry. The result is that my pumpkin bread still sucks but my pumpkin curry could slay an army. Oh so ono.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Okay so cutting to the chase:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">a chunk of baked pumpkin</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">400 ml of coconut milk</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">250 g of white beans</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">2 baked, russet potatoes</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">1/2 cup raisins </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">1/2 cup shredded purple cabbage</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">about 3 medium carrots, cut into curry sized pieces</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">1 medium onion</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">1 shallot</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">2 tbs olive oil</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">1/4 cup water</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">seasonings:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A LOT of curry powder, about 11/2 tbs, until broth is dark yellow</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">1 tsp </span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">cinnamon </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">1/2 tsp coriander </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">1 tsp crushed basil</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">1/2 paprika (mostly to give the curry a nice color)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">salt and pepper to taste</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Process:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Heat the olive oil in a large wok and then add onion, carrots, shallot, and purple cabbage. Saute until golden. Add coconut milk and spices and reduce heat. Cover and let simmer until carrot is soft when poked with a fork. Taste constantly and ad spices until the broth is to your liking! Add white beans and raisins. Cut your cooked potato and pumpkin into curry sized chunks and add to the pan. Cover and let simmer for about 20 minutes or until you can't stand the amazing smell anymore. Serve on jasmine rice. <span style="color: #e06666;">And save some for lunch tomorrow -</span> it's even better the next day :)</span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-16151723808289332842012-11-19T03:58:00.001-08:002012-11-19T03:58:20.113-08:00Capacity for Placid Romance<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There has indeed been a long hiatus. And I aint sayin' the drought is over, but all the same there is plenty to be said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">First, the bad news: Life is domestic and I'm fidel in a committed relationship.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">..Coincidentally that also sums up the good news.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">I'm back in France and,</span> after two months apart while I pined in the Hawaiian islands, my French significant other and I have resettled into a normal sized apartment. (-At last casting away our tiny studio.) It is both very French and typically eccentric. Marble fireplace, high ceilings, wrought iron watch-ma-callit on the terrace, window over the tub that looks into the kitchen, etc.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The first of December will be our 1 year and 6 month anniversary. <span style="color: #e06666;">We seem to be very in love and yet drama still befalls me.</span> Night before last, we sat in a bar having drinks with a feared red head who, I know on good authority, pursued and made out with my mate mere months before we met. She doesn't know that I know, but dang, I know. And I also know what it's like to be in her situation. It's sort of a sexy, dangerous situation and I don't like it. <span style="color: #e06666;">So let's get even more irrational:</span> She's like, 4'11'', weird shaped, and way smarter than I am. I'm some times a model but mostly a retard. So I got drunk and ate French fries and convinced myself that she was hotter and more spectacular in every way so that when we got home later in the night I locked myself in the bathroom and cried over my piteous self doubt. Damn! I was reading yesterday about eremites and penitents who would go into the desert for 40 years to have a change of heart. <span style="color: #e06666;">If those guys started hating themselves or suffering self doubt, it was demonic possession. No question about it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My apartment is nice but my capacity for placid romance is next to nothing. </span></div>
Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6330099045524181144.post-50803358395505791482012-10-06T02:52:00.002-07:002012-10-06T03:00:35.800-07:00The Heart is an Idiot but it Always Wins<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Friday night, and they day before my brother’s wedding.</span> I remember calculating at the age of like, 8, that possibly by the time I was 16 he could be getting married. I couldn’t wait for the wedding and hoped ardently that I would be right. It kind of adds an interesting aire of nostalgia that tonight, at 24, I am where I am and feeling the way I do hours before the event. -Also that I’ve still, to this day, never been to a wedding.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I’m going back to France on Monday, and I know that in spite of my love for the country,<span style="color: #e06666;"> it’s not exactly the responsible or wise thing to be doing.</span> With my current education, (an undergrad in art history and one year into my MA in art admin with a flawless GPA) I could move to San Francisco, Portland, or any US city of my choice and find well paying gallery positions that I am more than qualified to take. Would this make me happy? Yes. Would this be a wise move for my future career? Definitely. Would I undoubtedly meet scads of entertaining people and assuredly fall in love again? My heart squeaks a little here but my brain answers “of course.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">So what this boils down to is that I’m being an idiot.</span> I love France and yes, I’m in love with someone <i>in</i> France. But neither he or the country are particularly likely to become home or family, so nesting there and biding my time just in case one or the other should become a reality is romantic, but probably 100% retarded.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">What am I doing and how many people are wondering when I'm going to snap out of it? </span></span></div>
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Audrey Saylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09661886748715859101noreply@blogger.com2