Post the Last

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. 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. "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. So, with my love affair with France coming to an end in a mere 7 days, I figured IFFTP deserved some closing words. 

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. 

Browsing through the posts from year one I'm left with a surprising but pleasant discovery that I did manage to learn something, 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 never underestimate the value of cashing in on your courage- 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.

The second thing is never take your plans too seriously. 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.  

Everywhere in the world there is someone waiting to meet you.  I'm so glad to find this to be true. If anything, that lesson was worth each and every challenge. 

Au revoir la France - and to anyone out there considering doing something out of the ordinary, go get em, and write a terrific blog. 

Just Say "Yes."

Marriage. All those times I've whined and complained about wanting to get hitched. Now, grace of a series of events which I shall summarize below, 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.

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. 

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 and have decided to legally marry here in France to solve their travel and right-to-work problems. 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. 

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 anything 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. 

On the other hand,  I've 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.

The stipulations are as follows: 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. 

We've decided to decide by Sunday, so I have time to cancel my embassy appointment in Paris. Woah!

Mom Says, "it's Usually the Woman Who Sacrifices"

It occurred to be while standing on the landing to my building, fumbling for my keys in desperation to get off the noisy, smoke filled sidewalk, just how much I'm willing to give up. TMI is coming home this evening with the news that he has agreed to take an internship here in France instead of on the West coast, as we had initially planned.

Several days ago and after months of trying, we recieved a postive email from a Napa Valley vineyard that wants TMI for his required dates. I should be celebrating, but, in this last week before TMI's deadline to secure an internship, he's suddenly deciding maybe he doesn't want to go for it. In a case of cold feet, fear of the unknown, and allure of the safe and secure, he's this very afternoon meeting with a wine maker in Beaune to discuss his internship.

I'm poised to stay with him. And, in doing so, giving up another year with my family, missing my brother's wedding, (mere months after I missed the birth of my nephew,) an opportunity to work, my friends, and my plans. More commonly called "everything."

Everything, and I am on the thresh hold of giving it for the man I love. -Which of course makes even the tiniest chance that he may not be the one a very real and very frightening danger, in light of the sacrifices.

Maybe it is always the woman's job to wait and to follow. -And, for the record, I would never ask TMI to do his internship on the West coast if I didn't believe it would effect his career for the better. Is it just my lot in life to go where he goes? And, if so, is the love going to be big enough a pay off? He does mean everything to me. But is right for me to give him everything?

Back in July I was apparently a much tougher cookie. I'd do well to listen to my own advice.

Sun Up

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

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

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

In final news check out this banner I made:

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

Thanks for reading!

Positive Plumbing

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

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

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

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

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

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

By Hook or by Crook

I have reached the point of complete desperation. Also, I'm completely hung over.

There is a creepy middle aged man with a comb over who comes into my cafe from time to time and has in the past asked if I might be interested in being a translator for his association for old people. Supposedly, they help with organizing activities and outings as well as keeping families in touch, which is from time to time an international affair. He's such a weirdo and so creepy I mainly try to keep my distance from him and serve him his espresso with a wide bubble of personal space, but, as I've said many times on this blog, desperate times...

So several days ago I opened a dialogue with him about possibly working for his association and, essentially, getting a work contract out of him. He seemed optimistic and invited me to a meeting last night at the old person head quarters to discuss the contract. So, hopeful for my future in France, I braved the rain, cold, and unknown and found my way to the office. ...Where I sat for 2 hours listening to old people talking about their lives and families and daughter in laws and heard not A WORD about a contract. Finally I said I was late for something and escaped.

Frustrated and feeling hopeless about my French future, I let TMI drag me to a fellow wine student's birthday party. The activity for the night was presenting bottle after bottle of champagne, white, rosé, and red wines hidden in a sock so the experts could taste and then guess the region, year, etc of the bottle. Since I'm completely ignorant to all that I just drank everything put in front of me until I realised I couldn't stand for nausea. I stumbled into the bathroom and, sitting sick on the toilet, shed a few tears for my state of embarrassing drunkenness. I wish I could say it was the first time it happened to me, but man, dating a wine student is dangerous. Despite my state TMI got me home and into bed where he took off my shoes, watered me profusely, and cuddled me through my sick night. -And morning headache.

That boy loves me. I mean really loves me. It makes me happy even while sitting here at work with a hangover.. and motivates me to never give up on getting this visa figured out. Next time comb-over comes into the cafe I'm getting the contract out of him by any means necessary! ...and now, another aspirin.

Why Don't You Just Go Gush About it

It's a little early to spill the beans on this, but I'm getting a bit too excited not to share. The previously mentioned me and 5+ drunk French guys in Prague adventure: just been potentially transformed into exclusively me and TMI romantic Prague adventure. Score! The result: I'm thrilled out of my mind.

I'll be honest, I was getting pretty excited about going with friends too, so if that option comes roaring back I won't complain more than expected, but romantic Prague under the snow with handsome TMI is just too wonderful a package to not gush a bit about. Plus, overly religious co-workers hopeful that I will redeem myself insist he's going to pop the question. I LOVE that people are gossiping about this, yes, but my young/wiser-to-the-situation self knows very well that's not what's going down.

But here's the really exciting part: a cold winter is on the way and, according to several reliable sources, winter in Prague is particularly chilly. This means I'm in the market for a new coat! Anyone have any advice for a Hawaii girl when facing the Old World in January? I've been sort of lurking around this navy blue Moment coat from Gentle Fawn the last week.. what do you guys think? What are your favorite looks this winter? ..And favorite coats you can share with me? I promise some classy Prague photos! (artistically anonymous, of course <3)

Snow

Well, after all that scurrying and worrying, the plans have changed and yet a few more French adventures (and naps and sex and boredom and challenges) lie ahead. The airline prices never went down and I wasn't able to cushion my emotional turmoil with a return plan before Christmas, so it appears I will be in France with TMI and his family after all. It will be my first Christmas without warm Hawaii sand and temperate outdoor dinner parties, and the consequential homesick of this reality has been pelting me like a sudden hail storm, but the good news: I will be here until February and thus have time to endure necessary French exams, scary phone interviews, and essay writing that could get me into a Masters program here in Dijon; granting me the ever sought after student visa and means to come back to the country I love. This means I can weather the 18 hours of flight time without attempting lost-love-themed suicide in the bathroom.

So this means my first Christmas day with my significant other's family, possibly a New Year's adventure in Prague, (which could require all night partying, death, and sharing a hostle room with 5 French guys) and a ski trip in the Alps. Probably all wrinkle inducing but at least blog material, right?

Last but not least, yesterday I ate raclette with TMI and two of his friends. It's this crazy grill + cheese melter thing that you put charcuterie and maybe mushrooms on while cheese melts- than you sort of pile it all together on potatoes on your plate in one big fat festival of social weight gain. I don't know if it was the comfort food or just common sense, but Mr. J finally eased off a bit and the happiness that's supposed to come from good love seems to be peeking out from all that icy insecurity and worry. There's still a lot of snow shoveling to do, I mean, but hey at least there's hope.

Worry Never Saps Tomorrow of its Sorrow...

My new haircut is SO BAD I seriously can't go outside or see my boyfriend. I've never felt so terrible about my appearance. The hair stylist literally mugged me. Drive by hair thievery. My bangs had gotten just a little too long, and, even though I still thought they looked great, I decided to go in just to have them neatened and she just shwacked them right off over my eyebrows like a thick hedge.

I'm bed (and hat) ridden with grief.

In actual news my mom leaves France in three days which will grant me the freedom to go back to work in the French Jesus-freak cafe as well as recommence with sex in my apartment, but I suspect a brief and possibly lonely adjustment period to motherlessness.

Also, I'm now only two months away from leaving France to return to Hawaii for Christmas. It could be a good-bye-forever with the man I love. Which I know for him is equally as daunting because in a gesture sweeter than I think any living man today is capable of, he asked if my mother would "mind" if he married me. I love TMI: but marrying me to help keep me in France by solving my visa problems would just feel like taking advantage of him. And, just to kick a dead horse, I'll say the words one more time: exceptionally too young.

None the less he hasn't seen this hair cut yet and it may well be the end of our relationship. I'm not sure I even have the guts to see him until they grow back; which may as well be when I'm leaving France.

My future is so tangled up I don't even know where to begin to make sense of it. The whole project seems like turning a scrambled egg into a hard boiled one. Coming back to France will be a huge and timely undertaking; other life paths include the West coast, graduate school, and old college roommates.

How much is love worth these days, anyway?

The Ink Well (and everything to do with forever)

Nothing good lasts forever, or, so they say. For this reason, love is sometimes described as a flower which blooms, wilts, and, if you're going to get really poetic about it and you happen to be a believer in lasting love, you may also allude to the ability to press them and keep them long after they've died.

What I was thinking today, however, is that maybe the myth of eternal love is more like an ink pen. In the beginning you have to give it a push by dragging it around to get it going, then suddenly you have a nice, satisfying black flow that can carry you along silky smooth for months; maybe longer if you're lucky. But, in the end, it doesn't matter how much you "work at it" or promise pen fidelity, because when the line starts getting dry, you can bet your buttons you'll be reaching for the newer model and the one in your hand has its days numbered.

These stubbornly pessimistic thoughts have a habit of ruining otherwise perfectly good evenings with TMI. We've been discussing efforts to get me back to France after Christmas in Hawaii and getting an apartment together. ..An incredibly elating thought, and yet the sacrifice would be my friends and my family. Placing myself scquarely opposite on the globe from my nearest and dearest which have nothing to to with sex or ink and everything to do with forever.

But, on the other hand, friends fall in love and become less available as their significant other becomes more significant. The temptation to remain forever single could leave me lonely surrounded by friends in love.

I know the obvious solution simile: if you really like the pen, you can buy more ink. But what's the real life equivalent of the inkwell? Could something so idealistic possibly exist? And for something so uncertain, how can I ever really know if it's worth the sacrifice?

Hit or Miss, and Delicate All Around

There is of course a part of me that sometimes feels sharply like giving up. Today, Sunday, I marched alone through town, up the main road, and ventured into the modern part of the city. The part that looks much less like romantic old France than where I live and so rarely leave. I actually continued out into the rolling fields and took myself to the olympic swimming pool, (yes oddly located,) and went for a lonely impromptu swim. After that I took myself to a lonelier lunch, and then to a lonelier still movie. [[Pirates of the Caribbean dubbed in French. Jack Sparrow has a certain charm rambling in the language of love but still I felt I was being a bit jipped on the real deal.]]

Truth is I've been here 4 months and don't have a job; and I promised my family that were that the case after only two months I would return defeated with "my tail between my legs."

Not that I'm not nostalgic for beaches and ocean and grass and trees and Hawaii green and my Hawaii girls, but I hate to regress into living with my family in the middle of the Pacific. I want to be living my twenties to the fullest, and, quitting the France dream would be pointedly painful. This is a scary time for me, a time that feels dangerously hit and miss and delicate all around. I don't want to end up a starving artist, or a mooch off my family; do I go back to school for my Masters? Where? How do I afford it? What can I do with the degree that I have? Do I go back to the islands and look for work there? Do I stay in France, or do I leave and risk putting it back on the unreachable, seemingly phantasmal side of the Earth where it has been all of my life till now?

Aller Dijon, Aller!

Tonight was the night to pull out the red dress and follow a pack of testosterone charged males to the local spots bar and show our support for team Dijon. I never wear red; but being told to do so I obediently dawned a saucy little number and some black heels to brave the cobblestone streets; and learned one valuable lesson. Watching sports on tv is dumb.

After having a beer spilled on my shoe and feeling that I had payed my social duty as a friend, I marched back to my beloved French pad early, enduring many rowdy shouts from sports enthusiasts on my way home.

The news this week is that I am 77% sure that I am moving to Paris for fashion school in September. Having worked as a model in my teenage years and just recently earned a degree in Art History and Digital Illustration, I think it might be the perfect fusion of my interests and the correct step forward. It might be. It might also be a colossal disaster, but I'm willing to undergo a certain degree of embarrassment for adventure. It's also expensive! So it's too soon for the last three percentiles.

And tomorrow I'm portraying the leading lady (yes, only because I'm the only available lady) in a short, independent French film. I'm both excited and devastated because I have some serious problems with getting up early. It's for an annual film festival in which small film crews assemble and draw genres form a hat and have 48 hours to shoot, edit, and present an 8 minute film to a jury. We pulled action/thriller. I was secretly wishing for Romance, but looks like tomorrow I'll probably be running and screaming. (but in French, so I'm not complaining)

So with all that under the belt I'm going to try and call it an early night; so the red dress goes back in the closet and I'm taking some sleeping pills; cuz from what I can tell the Dijonaise are planning on honking their car horns and singing our city's name all through the night.

Forgive Me Legolas

Well I guess this is a... learning experience. Before this eccentric chapter of my life I always thought that casual sex and the now passé' term "friends with benefits" was only for the sexually deviant and hopeful high-schoolers. Well! Here I am, living with a guy that drives me absolutely BONKERS, (I couldn't even get him to sign the Humane Society boycott of Canadian food in protest of the seal clubbing because "it iz joost not important to [him]")and doing the roommates-that-sometimes-have-sex-thing. If only my virginous fat and pimpled younger self knew what the future held in France.

Not that it's any good, mind you. I insist all the lights are off so I can't see him and focus all will power on Ewan Mcgregor, forbidden professor, or of course, K thoughts. But the later usually leads to a kind of sadness. That's right past self. You who once kissed Orlando Bloom posters and daydreamed about Sonic the Hedgehog and Legolas: You knew about true love. And you would be ASHAMED.

But all this silliness aside, I have two adventures ahead of me. A) I found a ballet studio in centre ville, and I need to make a pilgrimage to Paris to visit the embassy.

In the U.S, when you need something notarized you go to the bank and pay a small fee. Here, when I explained what I needed to B, he thought I was way out of line asking for a bank. "Any-zing official and you must be going to the mayor!" and, bien sur, the mayor resides in the grand palace in centre ville. And yes, you even get to cower, bow, and seek an audience. Alas the lesser mayor of Dijon was no good, (I found out after doing it TWICE) and I must go to Paris.

SEAL DEFENCE INFO BELOW!

Click here to FIGHT FOR THE PHOQUE!

Rapunzel

Frustration x 1 billion. I'm trapped in a medieval tower staring longingly out the window at the world beyond. Too bad my story's been told all ready or maybe I could make some money selling children's novels.

In a rare turn of events, B took me out to a cafe where we had a drink with his friends. THANK YOU GOD. It was the first time he's seen his contemporaries since I arrived in France a month ago and I practically clung like a sea urchin to the female in the bunch, talking her ear off in my French/English melange. Not only am I desperate for interaction beyond boring B, especially female, but I love sitting with a bunch of young people chatting away in French!

that little white umbrella on the right is where we sat and where I froze to death and contracted cancer via second hand smoke.

So what have I been doing to my better my life? I've joined a dating website, that's what! What's the plan?? Solicit the affectionate eye of another naive French man to later break the heart of gently so that I have another place to live. It worked the last time, right? Brilliant.

But seriously, that's only one of the for-the-most-part-pathetic efforts I have launched to stimulate a more exhilarating life abroad. I think I should get myself to Paris. So I've begun emailling students and other people my age I've found through social networking in attempt to create a support web, so that I may find a place to live / stuff to study / tasks to accomplish in the great city of romance.

In other news the sky is blue outside! And I HATE being inside when the sun is outside! Honestly I can't understand people my age who can sit inside all day in front of the tv/computer. (cough cough B cough cough) You know what kids? when you're old, that life is your only option. Sitting home alone without functional legs or eyes or ears or people that want anything to do with you. I'll watch tv then. For now, I'm in France, and I'm not gonna sit around waiting for my hair to get long enough for a prince to climb up. I'M GOING OUTSIDE!!!

Oh yeah, and look! A salad. B makes them. I've decided it's the only plus to living with the frustratingly boring guy.

Its got potatoes and a wedge of raw ham. How French!