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. 

A Dad, Overcome with Sentimentality, Plans to Cross Two Oceans to Attend a Civil Union

When dad first heard I was having a semi-secret civil marriage 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, what is first rebutted usually resolves into agreement with time, 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?" 

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. 

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." Initially I was filled with terror. 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?? 

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, but all n' all I'm glad he's coming. 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. :)

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.

Going to Crete to Sublimate

Tomorrow I once again board a train to Paris, (hopefully more successfully 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 I need to get as far away from the dreaded Oenopiades as possible. 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! 

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 inebriated and undulating 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.

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 radical, progressive, and.. innovative. 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. 

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!!"

So, A and I both head out tomorrow, me at noon and he at 7 for an all night bus ride to the South West of France. What shall become of us? Only time will tell! (Though I strongly suspect a hangover is likely.)

Paris Perturbé

OH. MY. GOD. If anyone had ever suffered a more miserable day trip to Paris I  would be very surprised. 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.

Well. Ominously just before I arrive at the train station here in Dijon, I get a puzzling text from SNCF telling me that circulation is "fortement perturbé," 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. 

I text A to tell him how silly the SNCF people are and sit back happily.

As the train moves North, the warm sunlight of Spring turns from pleasant, to gray, to snow blizzard. Before I know it the train is stopped on the tracks in a sea of white, where we sit for the next two hours. 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. 

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. 

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 everyone in notarial services is gone 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 can't 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 they couldn't give me my marriage documents because the cashier had left and I couldn't pay with a credit card. 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 hurry, because everyone was trying to leave.

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 finally, a train heading south appeared on the info board. I got home at 8 feeling victimized. Dieu merci, A had made me a bath and a cocktail. 

Sitting in the hot tub and sipping my drink, I thought, at least I'm marrying the right guy. 

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. 

The Heart is an Idiot but it Always Wins

Friday night, and they day before my brother’s wedding. 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.

I’m going back to France on Monday, and I know that in spite of my love for the country, it’s not exactly the responsible or wise thing to be doing. 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.”

So what this boils down to is that I’m being an idiot. I love France and yes, I’m in love with someone in 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.

What am I doing and how many people are wondering when I'm going to snap out of it? 

The South, Spain, and The Fish Crisis

One week down in Perpignan, and though I've spent a good deal of time on the couch, in bed, and in the reading chair while TMI works in the vineyard, the time here has also been embellished lightly with some perfect Southern France and Spain exploration. 

Last Tuesday I went with TMI's mom to work and had a day to myself wondering the walled medieval city of Carcassonne. It felt a bit like Disney Land with the streets all stuffed and colored with flamboyant summer shirts and hairstyles of plump aging tourists, but the novelty of the scene was worth it.

Thursday TMI's mom took me yet again on an adventure and we crossed the border into Spain and spent the late afternoon in Gerona. Loved it. We sat under flowery trellises and sipped melty melon flavored shave ice-like drinks.I think we were supposed to be female bonding, which I tried sooo hard to do, but the language barrier is still fighting our having a comfortable relationship like a feral cat on a leash. 

The weekend the whole family went back down to Spain, this time to a town called Figueres, where TMI and I explored the Dali museum. We kept very close to one another and I adored exploring the inside of all those slides I'd seen while studying art history in college.

In other words I've been managing alright in the occasionally awkward 2 weeks in Perpignan with TMI's parents situation. But, just to complain about something, we have been eating A LOT OF MEAT. As in, every day, every meal. Before moving to France I'd been vegetarian for several years, namely because I couldn't handle the violence of eating something that once walked and talked- picking bones and avoiding fat has always made me squeamish, but also because I'm a strong animal rights advocate. I'd been handling the meat eating well enough, but last night,(and I know you guys are gonna barf at my wimp out factor here) we had fish, the kind where it's the whole fish, gaping mouth, steamed eyes and all, on the plate.

I picked around the bones and tried my best not to look at the face.. the little teeth, the white eyes, etc, and I was trying to work my way around the vein covered spine, when I pulled at it and a slimy red fish brain slipped out of the head. That was it. Trying not to attract any attention, I tried to pile the fish in a way that looked like I'd eaten it and left the table the first chance I got. It was a big reminder that for a year I'd been doing something I didn't feel good about; but also that I'm ashamed of not wanting to eat meat and afraid that TMI won't be able to understand.

This Marks This, That Marks That

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Chance for Escape

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

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

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

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

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

Perpignan and Barcelona

..Blogger's new posting layout is.. intimidating!


But that isn't my excuse for not posting since the 18th. My real excuse, which is no better, is that I've been traveling, sick, and makin' love in new and exciting places. 


A week ago today I took a brief road-trip with my beau into the South of France, Perpignan, where we stayed for a night before heading into Spain and Barcelona for two nights. We visited the usual landmarks and attempted the usual cuisine; tapas, paella, sangria, etc; but mostly just wondered around indecisive and hungry in the gothic district. 


Traveling with TMI in comparison to traveling with K, my disastrous and lengthy premere relationship, (spanning from Hawaii, to the West Coast, to several European countries)is like ice cream cones vs. prickly cactus sandwiches. Tears, fights, and unpleasantry vs. cherished and cheery closeness and company.


We visited the Guell Garden and kissed in private rock enclaves, purchased spanish guiar cd's from local musicians, and made fun of asian tourists. 


Perpignan on the other hand, where we spent a second night on our way home, is a depressing place. Trash in the roads; kids jumping around with dogs and smoking scary looking beer-bellied dad's on street corners. All the more depressing since TMI's family is selling their unbelievable house in even more unbelievable Sauzet and renting a large apartment there, going where their work takes them. 


While lamenting the impending departure from the blazing green countryside, I'm also slowly dying with several diseases. Feels like strep throat and a sinus infection. Anguish in pain in respective areas for the past 6 days without improvement. Thank GOODNESS, TMI returned from a sympathetic doctor this afternoon with an arsenal of antibiotics, so I'm hopeful that I'll see the sun again.


One thing I notice though is that the sicker I get the more lively my sex drive. It's like my body wants desperately to reproduce before I cash in the chips.
..
do the texas cakewalk
kick the bucket
go room temperature
put on the pine overcoat 

etc.

My Life and My Love are on Opposite Sides of the Planet Earth.

It's kinda weird that even after 14 months since this blog's birth and my plunge into Europe, I've neglected to address my most prevalent problem in my franco-phonic home away from home. Loneliness. While there have been some notable names who've dropped in an out of the picture, I've found the language barrier and lack of employment and/or physical student body have left me, for the most part, pining away in solitude in my attic apartment. Wondering at a loss what places I have to go, people I have to see, etc. Since meeting and falling in love with TMI I've become uncomfortably dependent on his company; passing my days waiting for him to come home, languishing alone and without motivation.

Certainly, things have got to change. TMI, no matter how much I love him, can't be worth spending my life waiting around. I know I should go back to Hawaii or the West coast and start a life there, I know it.. But leaving TMI would be like slowly chiseling through my own arm with a pocket knife- like that guy who was stuck in a ravine with his arm pinned under a boulder for several days. How do I do that?! Sack up and take the ouch, or stick it out for love? I wish option two were the answer but honestly I know I couldn't go another month, let alone nine, as we've been planning, like this. So I should go. But the little voice inside me yells "no, no! don't do it! He's the one you idiot, don't give him up for anything!!"

If only he'd made the compromise I was counting on and taken an internship in the Napa valley, these questions wouldn't be writhing around in my brain. Well, granted, at least I have something to think and complain about, and instructional videos on how to be lonely.

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.

What's it Worth?

I'm sitting and sniveling in my best girl-friend's bed in San Francisco, preparing for my 11 hour flight back to France. I am sick, true to form: I manage to be heroically resilient against cold and flu until a flight shows up within the 24 hour range. -Then I'm seemingly set upon by throat-seizing microbes. I was sick on the way over and it looks like I'll be sick on the way back.

But this isn't what I want to complain out. I want to complain that I'm on the verge of devastated because this week is the last week my significant other has to find and secure a vineyard on the West coast for his 6 month internship arriving this summer. If he doesn't manage, he'll have to get one in France. Meaning, if I want to stay with him, I may have to move to a smaller town, miss my brother's wedding and Christmas with the family yet again to lead a moderately lonely life abroad. -Especially if I only get to see my guy on weekends.

Naturally, I'm apprehensive about staying by his side. Yes, I love France, but I'll have to fight the visa battle again and endure our shared social life which honestly, makes me cringe. I don't really enjoy his wine student contemporaries and facing another 6 months of choosing between late nights with them or staying home lonely depresses me.

But I love him. Do I somehow go home and enjoy the 4 months we have together, then when the internship starts, pack up with a straight face and leave? Go to the states, or Hawaii with my family, and plot out a new future without him? Or do I figure love is worth everything, which I'm beginning to think it is, and stay?

p.s: if you haven't all ready, please remember to Fight for the Phoque, and send a message to the Canadian prime minister.

Addict

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

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

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

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

Tough times.

Oh Voyage Merciless

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

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

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

Still Standing

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

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

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

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

We Hope You Have a Pleasant Flight

Welp. I've booked my flight back to Hawaii. But I'm determined to be back in France by the beginning of April, at the latest.

So here's the what kind of suffering I just paid several months of rent for: 6 am wake up in the dark cold. 30 min WALK in the dark dragging 50 pounds of luggage to train station over cobblestone, followed by 2 hour train ride to airport in Paris, then 1 1/2 hour plane to London, followed by an 11 hour flight with "student-fare seat." AKA, between two enormous farting fat people with babies. Then? My kitties? My Hawaii homeland? Um, no: a weeklong road trip with my dad on the West Coast. Then, and only then, may I embark on the 6 hour flight over the Pacific Ocean to get me home. The missing flights and dashing around frantically lost in airport nightmares started yesterday morning.

so close, yet so far away! ..actually, just really far away.

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!

Train Pain

So on the way home from Sauzet and about to step onto the 4 hour train to Lyon, I was suddenly aggressed by a familiar terror. Burning tearing pain in that oh-so-sensitive of places. This is my fifth time around at this, let me remind you, so I knew immediately what was happening and burst into tears. Yet another UTI, despite all of my precautions. And, not arriving in Dijon until 7:30 that night, there would be no doctor until the next day and a whole night of searing pain to look forward to.

I told TMI we absolutely HAD to miss our connection in Lyon and go into the city and find me a doctor and anti-bitotics ASAP, and proceeded to convince him by crying into his lap the whole train ride. Dear God those things are painful, and each one over the past 5 months has been successively worse than the last.

TMI called home and had his dad find us a doctor's office near the train station and make us an appointment. Luck shone a bit here because we were able to get in early. I blurted in teary emotional French my tramendous streak of bad luck involving my vagina since coming to France. He asked what was different in my life since the infections started. The obvious answer was TMI, but since he was sitting right there in the office and being such a saint since the pain started I wasnt ready to to point fingers. So I beat around the bush a bit mentioning oral contraceptives, etc. The doctor eventually picked up on it and told me privately that intercourse, should I wish to keep it up under such circumstances, needed to happen after showers and be finsihed every time promptly by peeing and a glass of water. How romantic!

Anyway, the trauma ended with antibiotics and a blessedly comfortable train back to Dijon. TMI was so kind and loving and, I have to face it, drop dead gorgeous all afternoon and throughout my misery I couldn't help but feel all new heights of love for him. In fact my love seems to be steadily growing along with the adversity against our relationship. Still no visa solution.. and time running out!