The Wedding

The long version of the wedding story:

As some of you may remember, this wedding was planned to be absolutely underwhelming. 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, and good-ole Jonas, who'll you'll remember from the Turbulent Harry Saga, showed up with tears in his eyes and pleased as punch that he'd been there on the night that A and I had met. 

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 Palais de Duc, here in Dijon.) We followed signs to the "marriage waiting room." I had heard rumors that in France, instead of saying "I do," you say, "oui, je le veux." I wasn't sure about this though and I was getting nervous for the moment when I'd be asked. 

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 mairie, 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. Finally I was being addressed and I knew I was supposed to say something. I sort of mumbled, "oui.." and then tentatively  "j-je le veux." "We can't hear you!" The mairie insisted. "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. 

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, before we had realized it was happening, our "fake," "no frills" marriage had become the real thing.  

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 thought it would feel old and strange all the way up to the moment I was standing in the city hall clutching my bouquet, but as soon the words were said and the deed was done, there was only elation, and a whole lot of gratitude.  

and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the first time my face has ever appeared on IFFTP

Successful Sublimation in Greece

They say it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. 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 unbearable. 

Coming from the land of meat in abundance and veggies far and few between, I found myself in a haven of vegetarian dishes, all cooked with an astounding medley of flavorful Mediterranean produce. 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! 

Needless to say I had a wonderful, tremendous, 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. 

It was so good I almost managed not to notice the photos and videos arriving on the facebook Oenopiades 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. 

I returned home laden with raki, herbal teas, and nostalgia.

Blogging From Abroad: Version 2.0

It's been a hundred years, 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.

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 bit of a swinger set lose in the streets of France and made that more or less the topic of the blog. Times have changed though, 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.)

So! Change number 1 is that I want to change the focus of my blog 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.)

That said, I've just returned from the South of France, Perpignan, from visiting with my boyfriend's parents. (Formally known as TMI, 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.

While in the South, we visited Eus, known as one of the most beautiful villages of France. Pretty enchanting. Especially the feline inhabitants. 

Posts to come: 

1: I'm probably getting legally married for passport benefits in a mere few weeks. Serious case of cold feet inevitable. 

2: I'm starting a juice fast wednesday to evacuate 2 years of french toxins

3: I'm randomly visiting my radically anti-establishment middle school professors on an impromptu adventure to Crete in several weeks. 

Weight Gain Complaining

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

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

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

The Agony of Andouillette

Last Thursday I was suddenly informed that I could hop a train Friday evening and spend the weekend with TMI. Since I had been suffering some serious intimacy and sexual withdrawals I was very happy to spend the 30 Euros on a ticket and head into the country.

TMI is staying in an old run down boarding house with two other boys also finishing their summer internships. As one can imagine, the old house habited by two 20 something boys and one shy (and very much the third wheel) 18 year old, was a complete disaster. Old sausages hung on window clasps, socks were balled up on the kitchen counter, a loaf of bread with a collection of cutlery stabbed into it was stuffed in the freezer, an enormous murdered arachnid terrorized the bathroom floor, and a single vegetable was no where to be found in the whole house.

Despite all this I was lovingly received, lovingly cuddled, cared for and made love to with the utmost attentiveness for most of my stay; and while the boys worked I took refuge in TMI's bedroom with a book.

The second night some Dijonaise friends drove out and we had a barebeque. I ate something a little too French and mixed it with a little too much wine and spent the second half of the night puking miserably in the bathroom, at this point sort of befriending the huge dead spider at the toilet side.

Despite all of this it was predominantly pleasant and saturated with sentimentality. I don't think I've ever been loved the way I feel I am now. -Even with my relationship which lasted years. Maybe every love is different? Or maybe I'm just learning how to pick em' and starting to hit a little closer to home? One can hope.

Sex and Sentiments in the South

The town of Sauzet is too beautiful for words. The afternoon I arrived, I moved my hands affectionately over sun bleached stone walls, climbed some ancient steps, and looked out into the Rhone valley: Olive trees, lavender fields, and distant mountains. While I opened my mouth wide to try and breath the whole dream into my lungs, a french cat purred and bumped its head up under my chin. No joke, these are my most precious dreams realized, and the sight moved me to tears. TMI's family thinks I'm completely insane since I'm, in their ears and eyes, an illiterate emotional retard.

Meanwhile TMI and I have been doing what we do best: thinking far too much while "bumping like rabbits" on every solid object in the South of France. Honestly I've NEVER been with a guy with such a drive. Every time he touches me the next thing I know I'm being thrown into a bush, into a closet, onto a table, under an olive tree or into a lavender patch. I thought the "wanna go again" line 3 minutes after sex only happened in movies and fanfictions written by blushing pre-teens, but evidently, it also happens in the South of France.

All the sexual energy is leaving us rather frustrated however because, last night, we were able to bring to light a sentiment shared between the two of us that would damper even the most fervent of sex drives. While we seem to be growing uncomfortably attached to one another, (aka becoming possessive, or insecure, or jealous, or worried) we aren't falling in love- the usual payback for the attachment troubles.

In final words I'm growing fatter than ever and TMI's sexy chic mom is calling the crowd into the kitchen for tiramisu. Plus bientot

Who Has Time to Wait?

Today while I was reading in the little cafe I live above, Zorba the Greek came upon a 90 year old man planting an almond tree."What, Grandad! Planting an almond tree?"

The man says "my son, I carry on as if I should never die." And Zorba says, "-and I carry on as if I should die at any minute!"

Expo of Modern Relationship

Today we went to a relatively rad art expo.

I like him- I do, and there is an allure to intimacy. I think. But it may be too soon for me to try and open up to someone in the way that a relationship requires when the love-stains all over my heart haven't begun to fade yet. It's wrong that when we're talking/cuddling I'm thinking about Harry. It's probably also wrong that when we're having sex I'm thinking of Handsome Parisian. Thinking of him and cursing his name for ruining my sex life.

The last banner for IFFTP said "some people are settling down, some people are settling, and some people won't settle for anything less." I have a fear of settling for less. I've done it. I've done it twice and I never ever want to do it again. Not to mention every time I hear a woman say the words "my boyfriend" she immediately sounds like she's in a cage to me.

But this all sounds very negative. The soft peach fuzz truth around this sour fruit is that he's intelligent, cuddely, tall, receptive and thoughtful. I like him. I miss him. And next week he's taking me to Montelimar, a town in the South, to stay at his family's place for Bastille weekend. It's probably going to be wonderful. Dang!