it is not necesary to stand THAT close to me in line!!!! (deep breath) i've grown accustomed to the French idea of personal space, mainly, that there is no such thing. but today, at the post office i nearly lost it! and then, this guy starts telling me how to use the damn machine, the machine i've been using for a year! that i'm using just fine without your help buddy! i'm just waiting for it to finish printing the damn stamps. and no, i can't just get a book of stamps because these are going international and take a funny amount, i know this!! back off! danger! you're standing too damn close! and telling me what to do?!?! (another deep breath)
so, in these moments, when i just want to be left alone to finish my business and i have a cold and my nerves are shot and sending 48 Christmas cards (of which i'll get a return percentage of close to ZILCH) to my friends and loved ones in three countries seems more than i can bear and the guy is now literally STANDING ON TOP OF ME (excuse me?!? please don't put your package on the scale ON TOP of my letter!?! can you NOT see me?)—i do the naughty thing—pretend i don't understand and go into english. and you know what?! the jerk was ENGLISH! so much for queu-ing up nicely mate.
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i was walking Ruby out along the ramparts the other day in Antibes, though there was a nip in the air the sun was out, when i paused to let Miss Ruby do her sniffing thing. From behind me came a person on a bicycle–you can sense these things–always fond of bicyclists (next painting subject maybe?) i turned to get a better look. this is what i saw: an older lady, probably over 60 with that blonde-white hair all French ladies of a certain age seem to have, wearing a bright red wool coat–the kind with princess puff sleeves, a nipped in waist with brass buttons and a big swirl of a drop to the ankles–this volume of red fabric was caught up in the wind behind her. Her bike was an old-school type with big white wall tires, cruising handlebars and wicker baskets front and rear. and in the back basket? wrapped Christmas presents and a bunch of evergreens.
did i just see Madame St. Nick?!? of all times not to have my camera.
a few days previous, again in Antibes, i was walking through the square–now complete with Christmas train ride for the kiddies and various vendors selling various kitsch–and noticed a rather tall, thin man selling animal shaped mylar balloons. he'd made an attempt to dress festively, but i must say it was the worst Santa costume i've ever seen–too short for his long arms and legs, he was much in need of padding for that 'jolly fat' look and he'd given up on the cottonball beard by just letting it hang down round his neck on his chest. just when i was thinking this was amusing enough– a little boy, 3 or 4 years old, spotted "Santa", pointed, smiled and exclaimed "Ho! Ho! Ho!". only this kid was French so it came out "Heau! Heau! Heau!"
i had to struggle to keep from laughing out loud, you should have been there, it was so funny. -
the one good thing about having a cold—i went to the singles night (speed dating in English) tonight–and was so stuffed up and high on cold pills that i had no time or consideration to be nervous–and had a seriously good time. and The Sweater didn't let me down–'old reliable'..of course, in my state, i didn't notice til too late that most of the evening one or the other of my boobs was hanging out. ha!
much better stock of boys this time–some of them even could be said to be 'men'!
hmm…wondering what will surface in the 'match' emails to come….. -
i just got a home made birthday card from The Custard. and a birthday email from The Old Man. and a birthday/Christmas package from The RyDog. i've heard of it, it's sometimes in the movies, i've been told it happens; that the (hetersexual) men in your life do occasionally remember these things, but i don't think i've ever really seen it before in real life. well, wonders never cease!
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step one of year 31: Get Out There
action taken: am signed up for local English-speaking singles night this upcoming Wednesday. (hopefully, it will not result in a repeat of last year's disaster date!: "Um, you've got a sandwich crumb in your beard there." "Oh, I'll get it later." Later?!?!….)
preparations: must launder The Sweater pronto.
results: pending -
homemade German Chocolate Birthday Cake from Mom (and a lovely chocolate brown leather handbag, not pictured because it's lost somewhere under the mountain that is our coat tree)! a gooorgeous ring from Miss Maria! a Guide to French Cheeses book from Miss Liz! kisses from Miss Ruby! what more could a girl want?! -
it's my birthday. alot has changed since last year. who would have thought? i've gotten out of that horrible job situation, tied up loose ends and moved from Savannah to France, lived (happily!) with my mother again, learned to love Uncle Bert for his unique Bert-ness, sailed on the Mediterranean, visited my sister in London without bloodshed, made new friends and maintained old trusted friendships around the world, learned passable French and found that indeed i can paint (and really enjoy it!). so, what next? who knows! here's to another great year! clink clink
p.s. only one thing lacking on this birthday (and the previous three)–is it weird to wish for a reliable provider of good nookie for your birthday? is that wrong? (and no, i'm not going to order anything that arrives in an unmarked brown paper package). -
seems the most shocking thing i can do these days is say something like: "I might take up ski-ing.", which i said to Maria, Phil and Mom when we all ran into each other in the lane earlier today. i think Maria hurt herself. What?!? Don't look at me like that!?! I just might you know!. huh.
well, ok, my definition of 'ski-ing' would technically be sketching, reading and crocheting whilst sipping spiked cocoa in the chalet–but it's a start!!!
(and i remember the days when i shocked folks by piercing my nose and dying my hair purple…ah, those were the days. how old am i going to be tomorrow?!?) -
Madamoiselle Hair Girl is such a sweetie–she loves doing my hair, mostly i think because i never care what she does with it–i let her do something different every time. of course, short hair is easy that way–no matter how different, it is still pretty much the same. or it grows out to the same thing in a week or two anyway! Monsieur Hair Guy is a serious chatterbox–it's good practice for me to sit and listen to him rave on about politics, religion, etc in french. today's listening was a lecture on the state of capitalism in the 'new' Russia. the poor guy in his chair only came in for a trim! -
am tuckered out with yet another cold–don't mind sleeping in, having a stuffed up head and feeling groggy, but couldn't it at least be the result of a hangover?
as Duncan so kindly pointed out to a mutual friend–"That attractive young American girl living here is sitting on the sofa, with the dog and blankets and cushions and the tele on and she's knitting. On a Friday night!" something's wrong with this picture!
