Overheard during the Stockholm weekend

"You know that girl from my wedding - the blond one." 

Yes the one blond Swedish girl at your wedding...

my mother always said I was extra smart

Our floor is freezing because we are on the 2nd floor (1st floor if you live here) - thus, no heat rising from the apartment below us.
Because I am a genius, we bought a heated blanket and put it under the rug in the living room.
Heated floor.
Genius.

Happy Holidays from Notre Dame de Paris

a little Christmas magic for you....

This last weekend

It is cool to forget where you are.  Not like - I forgot I drove to Vegas last night.
More like - I took a 2 hour flight to visit a friend (who speaks perfect english) and we looked at Christmas lights and sang Christmas carols to her new baby so I forgot that there was also this out the window...

Stockholm city hall where the Nobel banquet is held.

Welcome back crazy girlfriend

So yesterday crazy girlfriend showed up.
Yes sometimes (shocking, I know) this girl shows up when she finds the standards here a bit off.


I was in Stockholm last week and I get a message from B that he is getting his wisdom teeth out. He says the dentist will do it on Monday. "Not an oral surgeon?" crazy girlfriend asks (yes the dentist surely doesn't know his limits). No, not an oral surgeon, just the dentist.

So when I got home I asked if he wanted me to come with him to his appointment and wait. And he says no.
"No!? But what if something happens. I can't believe the dentist didn't ask! Why didn't he tell you to bring someone. Oh yea, because he isn't worried about getting sued if something goes wrong. What happens if you are in a state where you are unable to advocate for yourself? What if he breaks your jaw? (I actually said this)

Crazy Girlfriend strikes again.

Things that creep me out...

Baby perfume
From the most chic brand of baby clothing

Baby perfume with a stuffed animal

Super gross!

La Gare

We went here for brunch on Sunday. 
A big good buffet.  Fancy decor (an old train station)
And too many stylish moms in fake leather stretch pants.
2 p.m. is still too early for that.

Living on supplements

Following my momversation of Tuesday night I pretty much haven't been eating.
"No dairy, no bread or any otherwise processed foods" really puts a damper on things. And cooking is out of the question.
It's hard being an adult. 

So I have been living on supplements.
Mmmm supplements.
Because they taste so much better than chicken soup. 

My entire apartment smells like ass

I know I dedicate a lot of time to weird things I eat here, but seeing as how we spend 1/3 of our time eating, it is only logical that 1/3 of this blog should be dedicated to food.

Tonight I had the unfortunate experience of letting B cook andouillette at home.  If you haven't heard me complain about andouillette enough - it's ass.

Well, let's be more specific, Andouillette is intestine.
Metres of intestine stuffed into a sausage form.  This is what it looks like before it goes onto the grill.  And let me just add that it should always be cooked

on the grill

outside

where it can mix heavily with fresh air

Where it can explode on the grill.  Because that's what it does.
Exhibit A - the same 5 andouillette cooked.....

I used to think I was adventurous in food - willing to try everything once.  Now I just flat out deny. 
Andouilette is denied. Andouillette's cold cut brother the Andouille is rejected (also for smelling like ass). 


B cooked it in our closet-sized kitchen with the door closed.
You know when you stand too close to something cooking and then your clothes smell like it?  That is us, but it is not "something", it's ass. Even in our bathroom 3 hours later - it smells.

Anyone that wants to smell ass - come to my house!  We'll be here all week.  

Endnote: There are actually 5 grades of andouillette and I've only ever seen the 5A kind.  And I really wonder what could be left to put in the 1A?  Straight shit?

phone calls from the edge...

So this is a snippet of me talking with my mom today on the phone....

Mom: How is it over there?  Snowy and cold? 

KB: No it's rainy and wet this year.
(KB hacking cough)
Mom:  Oh you have a cold.  What are you taking? 

KB:  Nothing.  I am just waiting for it to work itself out.

Mom:  You're not eating any cheese or bread, or drinking any wine are you? 

I'm sorry, have you heard of this little place I've lived in for 3 years called BreadCheese&Wineville?  Alias: FRANCE?

KB: no 

Mom:  You are not eating any of that?

KB: No. 

Lucky for me the Austrians like cats!

Look what I found for my sister for Christmas!!  It is a cat version of Gustav Klimt's The Kiss.
Who knew the Austrians were cat people? 
I do hope #3 likes it.
But really, who doesn't like cat versions of art?

France!

France:  the country where lunch is melted cheese. 

This should be their slogan. 

A long and unfunny post about going postal

My sister describes me as the opposite of a Francophile

But you see, it is simple.  I’m about things being functional and France is all about form.

And this week was a "non functional" lesson in going postal.

Monday night – we came back from Vienna.  Our plane is 35 minutes late.  We have not checked any luggage so we walk right off of the plane.  There is a sign that says “RER B replaced by a bus.  Take replacement bus from CDG 3.  Last bus 23h”

It is 5 minutes to 23h. We are in CDG 2.  

Downstairs we go to see what happens when we try to buy tickets.  It is possible the buses are late or it is their last run. I look around.  The buses are nowhere.  We check the regular city buses that go into the center of Paris, but they are also finished for the night.  We check the “cars” buses run by other companies but they cost 20 euros each, one way, and also stop at 23h. 

Taxi’s are 45euros.  So since there are two of us, it is roughly the same price.  So we take a taxi. 

The freeway  around Paris at our exit is closed.  We have to drive 15 extra minutes through a city outside of Paris to get into Paris to our place.  The taxi driver doesn’t take credit cards so we have to stop at a bank. 

Tuesday – I take metro line 13 (nightmare) to line 14.  Line 14 is my dream – completely automated and always functioning.  Except today.  When the metro suddenly stops. I watch the poor woman across from me (50ish, well-dressed), catapult across the floor, high heels fly off.  (similar to my experience in the bus, except as a good French woman, she is not eating  - so less tomato on the floor). We get stuck in the dark in between two stops for 10 minutes.  

Friday – I go in the early morning (this means 9) to the American shops to pick up cranberry sauce and pie crusts.  As previously indicated – to do this I wait for 2 sardine-style packed metros before I finally forcibly back into the person who, 10 seconds earlier, was smashed up against the window.  And now I pray - that the door will shut behind me, with me smashed up against the window, but in the metro. 

I have only 4 stops to go.  We stop 3 additional times to regulate traffic flow.

Friday Evening – I must leave for our train 3 hours early so I can go back to the store (45 minutes from our place) that I was at early in the morning that no longer sells cranberry sauce, but does sell fresh cranberries – and unlike the previous year – is the only place in town to do so (after checking 6 other stores along the way home). I buy my cranberries, turn around and go right to the train station. I arrive 40 minutes early.  It is Friday at 6pm and a mad house.  The train departing at 18h48 is on the flipboard with no quai but listed as “on time”.  The quai number lights up 10 minutes before departure(normally it is 20 minutes before).  We get on a completely dark train – the doors are open, but there are no lights and no personel to say why there are no lights on.  We wait nervously. (There is no connecting train if we are late). I send B out to check.  At 19h our train is “deleted” on the board (no explanation, no announcement). There is another train in 5 minutes.   He has to get back to me, load our stuff up, go up the quai and then back down another quai onto an already full train.  We are RUNNING with 2 rolling bags, 2 backpacks and a shopping bag full of cooking supplies and cranberries.  This is not comical.  This is not Home Alone.  This is almost missing a train and running at full speed in order to spoon people on the bus like I get to on the metro because the people for 2 trains are now on 1 train.  + baggage.  This is the road to going postal. 

And then after 45 minutes of standing in the aisles with our bags – no excuses or apologies, but the automated “We hope you have had an agreeable voyage” announcement. 

I want a gun. 

2 reasons Parisians are so cranky

Cranky is actually a nice word for the general attitude of Parisians.  But from this type of "humeur" I have learned some things.

1.  If you have to literally try to glue yourself onto the outermost ring of the 150 people stuffed (like sardines - no exagerration) in one metro car, all the while praying the door closes behind you without leaving scratches and that your bag gets to go with you, in order  to get yourself  to work in the morning - it might make you "cranky".

2.  And then when you leave work at 7:30p.m. , like most Parisians) for 35-45 minutes of spooning those same 150 people in the metro (who are not as fresh as they were in the morning) to come home to your walk-in closet of an apartment where you can cook and go to the bathroom at the same time.  Yes again, this might leave you "cranky".

But "cranky" has it's advantages.  "Cranky" gives you leverage.  If the store that delivered your desk 6 months late thinks you are fine because you calmly speak to them when you come in to complain -  they are not very motivated to give you something for your suffering.  However if you come in indignantly shouting  about how this was the only thing you really wanted and what kind of a company makes people wait like that - they might give you a gift certificate for the full amount you paid for that desk and then some. 

See how that works?   "Cranky" can be useful.

Now if I could just get over the stress of being a bitch all the time.

Dusk in Irancy

More from our weekend in Burgundy.  These are from a little wine village called Irancy.  Population:332

A whole new level of unpleasant...

I thought I might wax myself at home.
What sort of temporary insanity entered my brain that made me think this was a good idea, I really can't tell you.  

Night View

This was our arrival to the renovated farmhouse we rented for the weekend in Burgundy.  All full of fog and mystery. 
Fire burned the whole weekend. 
And, as expected, B + his friends had the usual food marathon.  I am happy to say  there was more green and red this time (i.e. veg and fruits) and about the usual amount of yellow and blue (moldy cheese). and by that I mean - everyone probably ate their weight in stinky cheese.
Friday was a holiday and we luckily found an open grocery store, though there was a minor crisis when there was not a crumb of bread to be found. 
But quick thinking Frenchmen meant that we ordered some be brought by our friends en route from Geneva.    Whatever would we have done without bread.  Perish the thought!

Parc Monceau

Parc Monceau is a beautifully designed, old park in a very nice part of Paris.

It is good for....

waiting for your buddies,

 

taking the baby out for a well-dressed stroll and then sitting quietly next to the carousel

 running

 random modern art

and pony rides with real live ponies!!

Feeling young

Last time I nicked my ankle while shaving and it bled like it did today, I was 14 and it was my first shave.

Feeling young and fresh today!

Apparently we are the clean ones

Seen on a Paris tour bus: 

French:  Thank you for not throwing anything on the floor
German:  Please do not throw anything on the floor
Spanish:  Please do not leave anything on the floor of the bus
English:  Please do not leave anything behind on the bus

Shall we talk service frustration?

Today we received a desk that we ordered 6 months ago.

scratchity scratch scratch

6 months ago, we had a discount and got excited and bought a desk we had been pining over for 3 years. Plus a chair and some other miscellaneous items.  Our chair was delivered 2 weeks later and had large claw scratches on the back side. Punishing myself for not unwrapping the chair while the delivery guys were here before I signed the stupid paper, I immediately called to report the problem and was redirected to the internet where I needed to write a complaint complete with photos, etc.  Which I did.  And low and behold I got an immediate response complete with claim number,Yay!                                          
 
And then nothing.  After a week I called the store. They said they would give us a 200 euro credit and get the chair picked up and replaced within a week.  I got a call on Friday to schedule the delivery and when I asked if it was for the chair or for the desk, she said she would call me back. 
Which she kindly did
and then said she didn't know. 
And then on the day of delivery, no one came. 
I wrote a complaint.  I went into the store where they were very nice and took copies of all my paper work.  I was given a contact she said she would get everything arranged.  And then nothing happened. Again. 
I went into the store again and threatened with "it won't be good if she doesn't contact me" (I really really really wanted the desk.  really really. for 3 years). And I find out my contact has gone on vacation.  (and of course no one else can do it.  And she is on French vacation i.e. 2-4 weeks).  5 weeks later without warning they call to deliver the unclawed chair.  THE CHAIR!  Seriously!?  

During the summer (otherwise known as the dead period when 75% of Paris empties out, and so service is nearly non existent.)  I refuse to visit the store again, feeling like they clearly saw that I wouldn't cancel the order and thus I have nothing to threaten).  3 months after our original order and 1 month after the delivery of our unscratched chair, B sends in a ridiculously long complaint letter (like only the French know how to do) detailing (like 3 pages of detailing): conversations by phone, email and in store, including the promised 200 euro credit.  No response.

5 months from our original shopping trip I go to the store again indignant and ready to yell.  They are abnormally polite.  They say they changed manufacturers and the earliest delivery is at the end of the month. 

And that was it.  Call and delivery right on schedule 2 weeks later. Chair delivered right on schedule at the end of the month.

Disturbing advertising

The oddly popular French soda Orangina has the most disturbing advertising.

And by disturbing I mean animals made to look like strippers drinking orange soda. 

More disturbing and to be avoided at all costs: the television commercials.

Seriously
creepy and gross. 

Fun in the metro

This is Place de Clichy at 18h30.

When people are tired from the day (or even crankily on their way to work at the early crack of dawn time of 8h30) it looks like this. All these people want to get on an already full metro and they aren't particularly patient or nice about it, as you might guess

Place de Clichy has a particularly interesting mix of 50% rough young people 25% regular locals and 25% tourists, with a nice sprinkling of homeless sleeping on benches.  
And this is the only metro in the 74 stops that plays classical music all day every day.   

Thought of the day

Sometimes I have to wear thong underwear just to remind myself to sit up straight and get my "poop in a pile", if you know what I mean.



Because restrictive clothing on your sensitive parts has a way of doing that, making you sit up straight. 

Through a window....

walking home the other day through the corridors of the Louvre
Something that never gets old.

Chocolate hangover

Did anyone ever leave you free to consume something you LOVE as much as you want?  Like maybe your parents didn't know where you kept an entire bag of candy? Like you might have hidden yourself in a closet or in the basement to eat as much as you wanted?

B's Mom:  Do you want to go to the Salon du Chocolat?  (Chocolate expo?)

KB: What time do I need to be ready?!


6 hours later and 3000 people later

KB:  Let's not do this again.

So there is this Chocolate expo. Complete with 300 exhibitors.  300 chocolate exhibitors.
And b's mom wanted to do each aisle twice.  In order to hit both sides and spend the appropriate amount of time at each stand.
b's mom is slim.  And clearly lives on coffee, coffee and chocolate.  She and her friend did not eat anything but chocolate based items and coffee for 6 hours.  I, at 32, in near sugar shock, broke down and stopped for a sandwich.
Weak sauce.   



Other Salon du Chocolat commentary:


There was a big showing of Japanese chocolatiers (Chocolate makers).  Like every delicacy in the world the Japanese will study it, talk to the authorities, take it back to Japan and produce perfection. (check out Tokyo Chocolate or Sadaharo AOKI)

There were 3 chocolate mousse bars, being served like ice cream. In between every 100 samples of chocolate.

Clothes made of chocolate are never anything but ridiculous.

 There were live peace doves in that skirt.

B's mom told me (when I didn't buy these marshmallow bears covered in chocolate. and then she did) that someone had to be thinking of B.  ....Uh, did I just get reprimanded by my boyfriend's mother? 

The swear word edition

 I don’t really swear in French.  Mostly because I can’t make the stupid “r” noise very well. 

And the “u” noise. 

Well I can make the "u" noise. It just sounds ridiculously stupid.  And gay. 

Well, and it’s only in slightly poor taste to throw around swear words when your level of communication is at about pre-adolescent.  

Well on second thought, maybe it is entirely appropriate.  First naughty words.

 

So the one that does occasionally escape my Parisian mouth is chier. 

SHEEEYAY.    

Say it again: SHEEEYAY

As in “ça me fait chier”.  It makes me SO mad.  Sa meuh fay SHEEYAY!

 “It makes me defecate.”

(Do you like how I avoided the swear?) 

Why this is the swear, I really don't know.  

Except it is reflexive. You do it to yourself.  So it literally, means this:

Is that what happens when you get mad? 

Trashy

We now have an old oven on our balcony. 

French Cooking

It would be such a good story if I learned French cooking and fell in love with France and all it's crankiness and divine flavors.  It is true I have had some some sauces and sugary delights that have rendered me speechless (and practically orgasmic).
But this is not me.  If it is not apparent by now, I have my own brand of crankiness and it only meshes well with France on Tuesdays between 10h and 16h. 

Ok so back to cooking and falling desperately in love with France like he is my latin something 

There are a couple of issues with this. One being:

Why would you ever cook French Food for French people?
Like the time I briefly raised my hand in my Beginners Japanese class to correct my Japanese professor's pronounciation of "Feng Shui". (neurons..need...sugar...run...faster). I have learned my lesson

I will not be cooking French food for French people.


But if you, my dear friends, want to cook French food for French people, or anyone else for that matter, here it is: 

www.marmiton.org

This is the holy bible of recipes.  

And just so I don't leave you hanging, a tool from my own bastard style of cooking: 

http://www.convert-me.com/en/convert/cooking#subs

It converts any quantity to almost every other measurement and you can even change the "substance", which apparently somehow affects the density.  They tell me butter and water don't measure the same.  Well it's all Feng Shui to me.  

PS translations of any words or phrases or entire recipes can be done with the click of a finger on google.

Jardins des Plantes

Getting breasts

So, as I said, I've developed a belly.

Did I develop a belly because my posture is crap now?  Or did my stomach, full of 5 courses of French food, require more space and pull my shoulders down to expand forward.  (I know I have great theories).

(And just so you know, eating 5 courses makes you feel tired.  Feeling tired because you ate 5 courses of food has no honor. Have honor because you ran a marathon.  Not because you didn't want to offend your mother-in-law by refusing another serving before the next 2 courses of the meal).     

Theory:  fat settles in places on the body where there is little or no movement.

Proof:  uh, good american booty
So if I wanted to smoke and drink 5 coffees a day and smoke like a chimney, I could have that waify with breasts body that French not-so-nice girls have.  Except for the breasts.

So I don't know how the French girls do the busty chesty thing while having no thighs or hips.  But my theory is if I figure out a way to sit on my chest, some fat will start to settle there.  And maybe I could grow out my adolescent-girl A cup.

   And I totally have those pants already!

uh, because everyone gets married in a Château

You might think, because people only talk about one château (Versailles) that there is only one château.
But if you get in a car and start driving around France there is one probably every 40 minutes. 
Which is good.  Because if there were not a million châteaux, where would people get married. 
Because, you know, there is a serious lack of churches here. 
So last weekend we went to wedding number 5.  And it was here:

 

The Baron's wife (no joke) said to me "I'll have the extra towels put in your room.  You are in the Nebel Sister's room with the twin beds?"  

I said "No, we have the large bed"

but no, we had 2 twins

Do you think they knew we were living in sin?

Wherein I become my grandfather and start writing letters to the editor...

The JDD (Journal de Dimanche - Sunday Newspaper) comes with a ladies magazine.  We get it just about every week.  And since I am all about learning how to be a lady, I always read up.

In this magazine are all the usual suspects: interviews with stars, recipes, practical info and an advice column. 
Advice columns are my favorite.  What is old Crazy up to this week? 

So this week got my underwear in more than a knot.  In fact I'm ready to fire up my typewriter and send off a letter.  This is what it would say:

Dear Editor


Is your advice columnist aware of statutory rape laws?  Please tell her to stop spreading insecurity to women and young girls in the world. 

Sincerely yours,

KB

Here is the short version of the printed letter:

My little sister found explicit messages between my father and one of her friends. It is clear they are having an extramarital affair.  I know it is not our business but should we tell our mother?  I am only 19, what is the right thing to do?  

And the PSYCHOLOGIST'S brilliant answer: 

Your sister's behavior is disrespectful and shows a total lack of discretion. Your parents have a private life and it is no one's business but theirs. Make your sisters aware of what will happen if they tell your mother.  It will cause suffering  for your parents, your family and risks causing an explosion. If they do this, won't they feel guilty? And who wins with this kind of transparence? This infidelity will become a big issue and it is perhaps just a passing phase for your father.  And once again, it is absolutely not the business of you or your sisters.


SCORE in Ethics, Morals and Family Values   France 0  USA 1

photo: morning

I have a surprise for you...

Somehow my city slicker boyfriend acquired a pheasant. 

He came home late from soccer on Monday night
and on Tuesday morning, with a big scary grin, told me he had a surprise for me. 

Let me just say,
I was not expecting a pheasant.

Facades

Facade:

1 : the front of a building; also : any face of a building given special architectural treatment

2 : a false, superficial, or artificial appearance or effect

Boyfriend absolutely refused to put on more comfortable shoes to go to a 22h (10 o'clock) movie last night after we had walked for 4 hours and his feet hurt.

His reasoning: they wouldn't look good.

Yes, how gauche of me for even thinking of it.   

Fall flowers

Here it comes.....

the sunset of the year.

The vibrant red, orange, yellows that feel like sunshine,

even on gray days.

And soup season: 

TACO SOUP! TACO SOUP! 

And squash and pumpkin

Spice: cinnamon, clove and nutmeg

and cayenne pepper.  

And Tea

Warm herbal tea for making people sleepy.

Like baths and hugs on the inside.

Thought of the Day

It's reaffirming to me that every French child I know has a lisp until they turn 6.  Like I'm not the only one that struggles with making those sounds. 

Fall weekend outside Dijon

This past weekend we went to Dijon

We always buy mustard there, though we can get it anywhere in Paris.  Nerdy and true.

This time we got fine herbs (in green) and sundried tomato and spicy pepper (orange) and pesto roquette(white).  A girl's got to change up her salad dressing .

So we went to Dijon because b's family is from there and there was a surprise birthday party for his 85 year old Grandmother. These were some of the highlights:

• Disguises:  PO's grandmother likes getting dressed up in disguises so we all put something on, from wigs to drawn on beards to surprise her.  I was Santa Clause and b was a Catholic cardinal.   
• Staying at Auntie Paulette's house:  Adorning the walls - Poster sized nude portraits of b's cousins when they were 6 and 8 accompanied by their Collie, Riki (Reeekee). (I guess it was an "R" year).    
• Also featured in Auntie Paulette's house: RED Ferrari tribute toilet room.
• 4 hour birthday lunch in a tiny village outside of Dijon. Tiny village complete with church containing a fresco of the virgin Mary assending to heaven from a vineyard.
• Lunch Menu:  

            Kir au Basilic  (yes, it’s 1p.m. why not have a drink? White wine and basil syrup)

Meurette d’Oeufs au Chardonnay de Marsannay (poached eggs in what appeared to be a creamy skim milk sauce.  But no, it was a white wine sauce with mushrooms and bacon at the bottom. Uh, I love you France.)

Noisette de Porc, Légumes étuvés à la Graine de Moutarde (slices of porc tenderloin with steamed new carrots –because the old ones are just unbearable- leeks and tiny yellow spaceship squash, with mustard sauce -of course)

           Fromage (small cheese plate -Camembert, Comté and Epoisse- with salad.)

 

Gateau (3 layer birthday cake: mango and raspberry cake with pineapple cream).

           Café/ Thé   (coffee/Tea served with handmade: blackcurrant macaroons, passion fruit marshmallows,

 small almond cakes with raisins and chocolate caramels)

• Going to Grandma's after 4 hour lunch for more food she had prepared and Cremante (champagne).  Because 4 hours of eating just isn't enough.
  

• Autumn sunset over the vineyards outside of Grandma's house.   

Finding out by Facebook

This morning I awoke to a post with a picture of an old friend of mine on Facebook.  “He was the best friend a guy could have”

Hoping desperately that this was just a grammar fail, I went to his page and saw that my friend’s aunt was collecting photos.  

Never have I felt so alone.  So far away.  

I also found out while on vacation 4 months ago (again via Facebook) that my friend’s teenage daughter had taken her own life.  

This is the day and age of communication.  Yesterday, I was just thinking about the fact that it’s slightly creepy that I know things about friends and acquaintances that they never “told” me.  I simply happened to read it.  Sometimes I rant about things in a fit of some emotion and then wonder why, months later, someone asks me about a specific event. I think, I never told her about that.  Or when my boyfriend got caught not going to an event (of a girl I hate) because we were on vacation – well we were supposed to be, we actually left the next day - but silly me put our departure on Facebook.  

Today, I am in my small apartment, 5000 miles away.  Far from any of our friends, alone, and I get posting at 8 a.m. via Facebook. 

But I am glad, because it has been years and he was a good man. I would have been sad to not have mourned his passing. 

churches

A church we went through in Gaillac, France this last weekend, while in the south for another wedding. (We're 4/5 in the last 3 months).

Creeepy

If there was any question about what kind of spider I really HATE? It's this one. 
This one that I found in the corner of the balcony this morning. 

Go ahead, yell it out

 

Little things, like breakfast.

I love.

The 9h September sunrise in my apartment, through the full wall of windows,  

 

with this breakfast.