The Bold Soul

Reproductive Twitterquette

So you all know about Twitter, right? It's this new internet thing where you are essentially "micro-blogging" in 140 characters or less. People sign up to "follow you" and you can "follow" others, which means you can see what they're Twittering (or "Tweeting") about. Really, it's just another abbreviated form of social networking, of staying connected to people. Companies (CNN) and celebrities (Oprah, Ashton Kutcher) are Twittering. Bloggers are Twittering. Non-bloggers are Twittering. Seems everyone is all a-Twitter these days. On the recent Space Shuttle flight, an astronaut even sent the first-ever Twitter message from outer space!

There's even a whole new vocab to deal with. A "Tweet" is a Twitter message. "Tweeters" and "Tweeps" and "Tweeple" are people who Twitter. The "Tweetdom" and "Twittersphere" refer to the wider world of Twitter. And so it goes, with new terminology springing up almost daily. And I thought I had problems keeping up with teenage slang -- both American AND French -- and now I've got this new language to learn.

I have fun with Twitter although it can get to be time-consuming -- reading messages, posting my own messages, and sometimes posting responses to other people's messages. Some of the people I follow are good friends and fellow bloggers I like to read; some are people who post info or tips on subjects that interest me; and I do follow a handful of celebrity bloggers like Oprah and Larry King. During the US Presidential Election I followed Barack Obama and now that he's in office I'm still on his list and get an occasional Tweet from our new Prez. Kinda makes me feel special, it does.

I am still learning some of the finer points of Tweetville and I'm certain I'm probably not leveraging its power as well as I could be, in terms of building an audience for my blog, business and any future books I may write. But that's just a learning curve and in time I'll figure it out. By way of an example, for a long time after I first got on Twitter, I couldn't figure out how to get notifications when people I was following were posting new material because I live over here in France and thus the cell phone notification features that Twitter provides does not work for me. Then I found out about TweetDeck which is a 3rd-party application that lets you manage all your Twitter activities in once place, and now I'm getting more out of the experience. There are many of these 3rd-party apps out there to help you expand your Twittering horizons.

What just occurred to me is how damned personal Twitter can get. Like, people will drop these little TMI bombs on you, and nowhere is this more obvious than people telling you their reproductive business -- and in under 140 characters, too. I mean, yes, it's totally cool that Lance Armstrong has just Twittered today that his girlfriend had their baby last night... certainly faster and cheaper than sending out the traditional birth announcements and he managed to scoop the media on his own terms, too.

But did I really need to read -- and just before dinner, too -- that a 9-month pregnant Dooce lost her mucus plug at 7:34 pm Paris time? I love reading her blog and I know she posted that Tweet purely for shock value. She's already got a hugely successful blog that pays for her mortgage and her husband stays home and runs the blog as the family business; she has two books out; and already well over a half million Twitter followers to add to the over 1 MILLION blog visitors she gets PER MONTH. How do the rest of us compete with that? Next thing you know, she'll have her husband Tweeting photos straight from the Delivery room and THAT is something NO ONE needs to see! Do I now have to send out a Conception Attempt Tweet each time Georges and I... well, um... you know? Will you want to know if my basal body temperature is at optimum levels? I mean, I feel I'm already stretching the boundaries of privacy by divulging that we're even TRYING to have a baby. Will I now be expected to tell the Twitterverse how often we're doing it, and in what position?

I think I can already answer that. That's a big Tweeting NO. I think I can feel your palpable relief from here.

Which means that you can safely follow me on Twitter now. And I promise to keep it (reasonably) clean.

What I think of birthdays

Blech! I spit on birthdays!

Yeah, it's next week, on Tuesday. Am I excited about it? Not on your life. I think I have now officially reached the age where it is just no longer fun or cool to get another year older. I am very fortunate to be living my dream to be in Paris and to have a wonderful husband who loves me the just way I am, but that doesn't mean I'm all that enthused about what aging is doing to me. And since I'm not prepared to go to Joan Rivers-like extremes with a plastic surgeon (sure she looks great but oh, does she ever look "plastic" with that same expression on her Barbie-doll face in nearly every photo you find)... I need to find some other way to embrace the fact that I am now hurtling toward my 50s at warp speed.

By the way, I know it might seem I'm picking on Joan lately, although I really don't mean to. In reality I have a lot of respect for how she keeps going and going in her career, and she started out when women comedians were virtually unheard of. At the same time I find her and her daughter hugely annoying. And that's the end of that.

The straw that broke the camel's "TSA-approved" back

I have decided to share with you the letter I have just now sent via email to the TSA (Transportation Security Administration) of the United States Government. Now, I'm not in the habit of writing letters to government officials -- in fact, I think I have only once written to any of my congressmen -- but this time, they've gone too far.

I think the letter is self-explanatory. If any of you would care to spread the word to others by linking back to this post, please feel free. And if you happen to have contacts at any major media outlets who would be interested in picking this up as an op-ed piece, please put them in touch with me as I'd love to talk to them. Sometimes, you just have to speak up for what's right.

Even if it's about a lock that cost $6.99.

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Email Dated: April 29, 2009
To: TSA-ContactCenter@dhs.gov

Dear TSA representatives and management,

I am an American citizen who recently flew from Newark, NJ to Paris, France with my husband, and we each checked two bags for our flight on Air France, all of which had “TSA approved” combination locks. These locks are sold in stores around the US and abroad, and the manufacturers claim that they are TSA approved so that the TSA can open them WITHOUT breaking them when they want to do a checked bag inspection. I’ve been using locks like this ever since the TSA security guidelines where upgraded following the 9/11 attacks, because I still want my personal belongings to be secured but don’t wish the locks to be broken.

Upon arrival in Paris, we discovered at baggage claim that two of the four bags were missing their locks. Upon looking inside all the bags when we reached home, one of these lock-less bags contained a “Notice of Baggage Inspection” from the TSA, while the other – where the contents had clearly been “rearranged” by someone, I’m hoping and assuming it was a TSA baggage inspector – had no such printed notice within. One of the two other bags which still had its lock ALSO contained the same printed notice.

I have no problem with the TSA needing to inspect my bags and I understand the need for safety precautions. I’m glad to know that bags are checked if there is some question about their contents. And nothing appeared to be missing from our bags. What I do NOT like is paying good money for locks that are supposedly TSA-approved and which the TSA should be able to open without breaking… only to find out that on the printed notice, it says “If the TSA security officer was unable to open your bag for inspection because it was locked, the officer may have been forced to break the locks on your bag…. TSA is not liable for damage to your locks resulting from this necessary security precaution.” The airline web sites, such as Continental.com, routinely state that passengers should use only TSA-approved locks when locking luggage: “All checked baggage is screened by the Transportation Security Administration (TSA). Refrain from locking your checked baggage or use a TSA Accepted & Recognized Lock. TSA is mandated by Federal law to screen 100% of checked baggage. If your baggage alarms and TSA cannot gain access to your checked bag, unrecognized locks may be broken. TSA will not reimburse passengers for unrecognized locks broken as a result of the security screening process. For more information about the TSA, visit www.tsa.gov.”

Well, I DID use TSA-approved locks – all had the TSA diamond-shaped logo on them and the packaging specified it was TSA approved. Now, two of them are gone and I will have to pay to replace them. Why was the TSA agent unable to open this TSA-recognized lock? Was he just lazy and in a hurry? Is it now quicker and easier for the agent to damage my locks than to take the time to get a pass-key and open it the correct way? Why is the TSA putting its name on these locks if it isn’t going to bother to open them the right way? Just because you are a government agency, do you feel you don’t owe the consumer anything for damaging locks your agency supposedly approved in the first place?

It may seem like a minor issue to you at the TSA, having to compensate a lowly passenger for a broken lock, given that there are certainly bigger problems in the world and your job is to focus on security. But isn’t it bad enough the airlines are constantly cutting corners on the comfort of the passengers in order to save money and make more profit for themselves and their shareholders? Isn’t it bad enough that passengers are subjected to rude employees, non-functioning toilets, having to now pay for pillows, peanuts, and checked luggage on many flights, and tolerating long waits for their “scheduled” flights to take off even when bad weather is not a factor? Do we now have to leave our luggage UNLOCKED, where items can (and often ARE) stolen by corrupt airport employees and baggage handlers? Isn’t it bad enough that we can’t even redeem the frequent flyer miles we’ve spent years earning, because the airlines don’t want to honor their own frequent flyer programs and promises to customers? This is getting ridiculous. Just how much are we supposed to take? You can say that we don’t HAVE to fly, but for some of us it’s really not an option; in my case I live in France because my husband is French and this is where his work and his children are located, but my family – including my 75-year-old mother – are all in the U.S. So let’s face it, sometimes some of us have to get on a plane whether we want to or not, no matter what we have to spend to do it, and no matter how badly the airlines and the TSA decide to treat us. Is it too much to ask that we have some peace of mind about our luggage being secure?

When we, the flying public, follow the TSA’s rules and buy the right TSA locks, and the TSA STILL sees fit to break them anyway, I would think the least the TSA could do is include some sort of reimbursement voucher in the luggage along with that standard card of explanation. It would be only common decency – when you break something belonging to someone else, you’re supposed to compensate them, yes? But clearly this has become an industry that no longer seems to feel that passengers should be treated with respect. Instead, we’re treated like criminals to be body-scanned and frisked without respect for personal dignity, or we’re treated as cattle to be pushed around and crammed into tiny, uncomfortable spaces for hours and hours on end… “privileges” for which WE, the passengers, now pay absurd amounts of money, I might add (my round trip airfare on this flight was nearly $200 MORE in April than when I flew the same route for the Christmas holidays!)

So forgive me if I’m a little irate at having to go out and buy two more new locks the next time I have to fly, considering I had just purchased the two you broke, a mere three weeks ago. The next time YOU have to fly somewhere, I hope you have as lovely an experience with YOUR baggage as you have given to us.

By the way, I’m posting a copy of this letter on my blog and hoping that my numerous international blog readers, Twitter followers and Facebook friends will share this with others. If I can get a few media outlets to pick it up as an op-ed piece, I intend to do that too. Word-of-mouth can be a very powerful thing. It might behoove the TSA and the airlines to remember that.

Sincerely,

Lisa Taylor Huff
Freelance Writer, Author and Disgruntled Airline Passenger

Jongleuse

Allow me to introduce myself. Je m'appelle la Jongleuse.

Juggle. Juggle. Juggle. All day long, I'm trying to keep those balls in the air, just like a lot of other women and a fair number of men, too. I will spare you the gory details of just what and how much I am trying to juggle because it will tempt us both to draw comparisons (the "Oh, you think YOU have it bad; you should see MY life!" kind of thing), and I don't think that's fair to anyone as it would be like comparing juggling apples and oranges. Instead, I want to talk about how I am really, REALLY struggling right now with the juggling act.

I've always thought of myself as a pretty successful juggler, although not in the literal sense; if I tried to juggle raw eggs they'd end up smashed on the floor during the first rotation. But in life, I mean, I always have had to juggle things like multiple work responsibilities, clients and projects, and I was always damn good at it. I was always known as the kind of person who could be relied upon to get it done, and get it done well and on time, and I was proud of that reputation.

And today I am wondering one thing: where in the hell did THAT woman go? Because that part of "me" seems to have completely disappeared, and I'm not at all happy about it as I really need her, now more than ever. Without her, I'm dropping balls right and left, and constantly feeling the need to apologize to people because of it. "Sorry, I didn't get to the supermarket today, we're out of juice, and there's nothing to eat for dinner." "I know I promised I'd have that chapter written three days ago but I need a few more days." "I feel like a bad friend because I haven't called you/seen you in AGES, and I'm so sorry!" I am as sick of apologizing for my lapses in productivity as other people probably are of listening to the apologies.

Maybe it's that I'm coming to the REAL juggling act -- love, marriage, children, house care, friends, PLUS career -- later in life, and that's why lately I feel like I am absolutely drowning when it comes to my professional productivity. Or more to the point, the LACK of it. Is this the "can't teach an old dog new tricks" syndrome? Am I too old now to leap-frog from one thing to another and still be able to accomplish something? I am finding it much harder than it used to be to handle interruptions in my work, or even to get myself started to work. I am feeling completely overwhelmed by the sum total of the massive life changes of the past couple of years, and it's affecting my ability to focus on something that is actually really important to me:

WRITING.

I have two big client projects that need to be finished but which are in some state of partial completion, crawling along at a snail's pace for well over a year now; and while some of the delays were not of my doing, many of them were. I have a book I want to write, a book I am dying to write and which I think about writing every single day, but a book I'm completely stalled in even really starting. I also need to get out there and pick up some new projects to keep some kind of cash flow going because it's not like this blog is making me any money. And what am I doing? NOTHING. Well, nothing productive, at any rate, and nothing that is advancing the cause, so to speak.

Logic, of course, has nothing to do with any of this stuff I'm struggling with. I know all the things I'm supposed to do; I've coached dozens of people in this exact situation for years. I know all the time management tricks, and I know that if I (for instance) lit a fire under my own butt and finished even one of those two client projects, I'd feel like a zillion per cent better about everything.

Yet I feel completely stuck. I have hit the proverbial wall like a cartoon character, and haven't managed to peel myself off yet. Every day I wake up and resolve to do better; an hour or so later when I could be and should be writing, I am frittering instead.

I can feel that I'm utterly distracted by "things". The things I'm doing when I should be doing other things; the things I'm not doing but want to do; and future things. On the one hand, some of the things I'm distracted by are really good things. I'm still head over heels in love with the love of my life, and every day he gives me something to smile about. Marrying Georges, despite the peripheral challenges that went along with merging our two lives together, is still the best decision I ever made and really it was the most effortless decision, too. There are challenges in the step-mom department from time to time with one or another of the three kids that sometimes stress me out, but then there are also really GREAT things that go on nearly every day that make me feel I'm doing at least some things right as a novice parent-figure. And there are some plans on the table for the future that are all good as well.

But even the good stuff can distract a person and turn her from a poster child for efficiency into the most scatterbrained wreck of a woman. And right now I feel a lot closer to "wreck" on the spectrum.

I have people I look to as role models in my life, people I know who have had even more challenges in the whole "life balance" department than I am having, and who still managed to write books or run businesses, or even get a hair cut. I feel like I am turning into one of those fat, frumpy, haus-fraus who feel lucky if they manage to take a shower every other day. I know I am just as smart as my role models, and in my own way (again, trying to avoid detailed comparisons) I'm just as brilliant and talented, and just as capable.

And I feel completely stuck as to how to sort this out and get the pendulum swinging in the other direction.

The good news is, I'm not on my own in all this. I have a husband I can actually TALK to about these things, and he's fantastic. But I don't expect him to shoulder the burden of all my emotional needs, so I've recently reached out to a friend/coach who I'm hoping can shine a little light on things for me, to at least give me a gentle shove (with a cattle prod) in the right direction. She's one of those role models I mentioned who has successfully "been there and done that", and more than once, too. I think I will be in good hands.

I also have enough life experience and perspective to know that this, too, shall pass in time. I may feel stuck now, but I know it won't be forever. After a roller-coaster of a year where my life completely changed just because I decided to step off a bus and meet a new man one Tuesday afternoon, now I am having to deal with the aftermath, as well as to seek new dreams to chase. I have these bold new dreams in my sights -- both of them -- and now it's a matter of getting my act together so I can actually get there, and sooner rather than later. Those dreams, once attained, will change my life once again in ways I probably can't even imagine at the present time. And I'll have to learn to cope with THAT new reality as well, all over again. Juggling, juggling and more juggling.

C'est la vie pour la Jongleuse.

FaceSpace, Twitted-In, MyBook and Other Tales of Confusion

So yeah, I'm on Facebook. Is there anyone who is NOT on Facebook these days? Ditto for Twitter. And MySpace. And LinkedIn. And Plaxo (but only because other people I know kept sending me requests to join because THEY were using it).

And what I want to say right now about these so-called "social networking" sites is this:

STOP THE FREAKING INTERNET... I WANT TO GET OFF!

These sites, and others like them that keep cropping up nearly every week (it seems to me) are making me nuts. Don't get me wrong, I have been a big fan of the Internet since the beginning of it, way before most people were even aware the World Wide Web existed. I have made a damn fine living off the Internet in one way or another since 1992. I'm what you might call a "power user" of the Internet, having been a web developer for a long time. I've booked vacations, shopped online, and made good friends via the Internet... and best of all, the Internet is how I met my wonderful husband. So the Internet is a part of my life and I barely remember what life was like before it came along.

That being said, these social networking sites are sucking up a TON of my time lately. In the past 48 hours for example, I have been Facebook-befriended by no fewer than FIVE different people I used to be friends with in high school. Plus a few people I wasn't really friends with but whom I remember. And at least one person who is a complete stranger to me. Every time I change my status, I get emails if other people who are my Facebook friends comment on that status. I am DROWNING in Facebook emails all of a sudden.

Then there's Twitter, which I'm told is a way to drive traffic to your blog or web site as well as a means of keeping up with what your friends are up to. Except since I'm here in France, Twitter won't (or can't) send me SMS messages or email messages to tell me if my friends post anything, so unless I remember to visit my page at Twitter I have no idea what my friends are doing. And I have to go out of my way to send out Twitter posts online because if I try sending them via SMS, I have to phone a number in the U.K. which costs money. Oy!

I barely use MySpace but I set up a page there back when it seemed THAT was the site to join, but now it seems Facebook has blown MySpace to hell and back again. So I don't know what to do with my page there. I also get emails regularly from both LinkedIn and Plaxo telling me this or that "connection" has posted something new, etc. etc. blah blah yada yada.

I am feeling like a bad "connection" now because every time I get more email from one or more of these sites, instead of it making me want to spend time socializing with the people I'm connected to, it often makes me want to run screaming from the computer and hide in a dark closet with no WiFi access. So no one can find me. Ever again. Unless of course they want to send chocolate (and I mean REAL chocolate, not those fake Facebook "oh someone sent you chocolate" chocolates).

It was different when I was a single gal and had all the free time in the world to spend online if I wanted to, but my life just isn't like that anymore. Time being at a premium these days, I would rather go back to the "dark ages" of social networking... you remember, like when you used to pick up a telephone (one with a cord) and dial it and actually TALK to your friends? Or when you used to go out and meet a friend for coffee, or dinner, or a movie? Whatever happened to having a real face-to-face conversation? Are we turning into the robot-like beings the sci-fi films (and Wall-E) have been imagining for decades, people who can't function without the help of modern technology?

I am worried that my friendships are going to be reduced to nothing more than the occasional SMS. Or that I am going to lose my ability to form complete sentences when I speak because my vocal cords will have shrivelled up from lack of use. Not to mention I may lose my ability to even THINK in English at all because I'm immersed in French on a daily basis.

The worst part, I think, of these social networking sites is that I am afraid I will be thought of as rude if I (a) refuse a request to connect to someone, even someone I know, or (b) if I delete an existing connection to someone to try and pare down how many people I am connected with, and ease the information overload. The guilt is giving me a headache.

If you will excuse me now, I have to go and sift through the latest 20 or so new Facebook, et al messages I seem to have received since this morning when I checked my email. Good thing I live no where near the Eiffel Tower... I might be tempted to climb up there and jump, just to end the agony.

Being sick sucks

I've got either the flu, or a sinus infection, or bronchitis, or perhaps all three together (hey, when I do something, I never do it halfway -- it's ALL OR NOTHING.) Low-grade fever, muscle aches, chills, and all kinds of nasty shit coming out of my head at regular intervals. Which of course made for a bad-sleep night. It hurts to cough. It hurts to move. It hurts to be touched. Even my freaking eyelashes hurt.

I have some left-over antibiotics from the last upper respiratory thing I had in November so between that and the Coricidin Max Strength Cold & Flu I brought from the States, I've got enough medicine to tide me over until Monday when, if necessary, I will drag myself to some new doctor in the neighborhood who will probably not speak any English. And then God only knows what will happen after that. My biggest fear is that French doctors are known to have a favorite remedy that they like to prescribe for all sorts of maladies.

How do I say "I do NOT want any suppositories!" in French?

Comment dit-on "spam" en français?

You know you're really integrating into life in France when you start getting spam and phishing emails... IN FRENCH!

"Phishing", as you may or may not know, is the term for those dangerous spam emails that are designed to appear as though they come from a legitimate source where you might already have connections, such as PayPal, eBay or even your own bank (the one I got today was supposedly from PayPal where I do happen to have an account). The senders of these emails are "fishing" for your personal information by hoping to trick you into panicking about your account being closed down and getting you to click on a link where you will supply them with your name, address, phone numbers, email address and most importantly your bank account, credit card or social security number. It's another form of identify fraud, it's very prevalent, and even experienced Internet users have been duped by these scam artists because some of the emails are very realistic looking (the one I got today was not so well done, and since I rarely get email in French I was suspicious right away, but even when they seem like the real think I always look more closely).

99.9% of the time these emails will be fakes and your bank or Amazon will not have tried to contact you at all. The way you can tell these emails are NOT from the source they claim to be, is to check the URL for any links they want you to click on (the URL is the part that looks like "http://blah-blah.com"). For instance, in the fake PayPal email urging me to click the link to "Veuillez rétablir l'accès à votre compte" (Reestablish access to your account) when I put my cursor over that link (but didn't CLICK it... NEVER CLICK ON A LINK IN ANY SUSPICIOUS EMAIL) what I saw was a URL without the PayPal.com domain name in it (the first clue that it's fake) and where the domain name ended in ".nu" which is usually assigned to domains registered in the South Pacific island nation of Niue, near Fiji. However, while pretty much anyone in the world can register a domain with that extention -- meaning you really don't know WHO is really emailing you and asking you to provide your personal information to theoretically "keep your account open" or "reactivate your account" -- I think it's safe to say PayPal is NOT sending out emails with links to something.nu if they want to communicate with their customers.

The thing to do with these emails is to simply delete them without clicking on any link contained within the email. Legitimate online merchants such as Amazon, eBay, PayPal and any catalog shopping "stores" online, as well as any banks that provide on-line services to their customers, are already well aware of these phishing scams targeting their customers and blemishing their good names, and as a result they will NEVER ask you to provide any updated account or personal information by clicking on a link. For example, when my bank needs to contact me via email, they send an email without ANY active links in it, and they instruct me to phone my local branch or to log onto the main web site and access my secure email (they provide a secure system using their web site so I can discuss my account with them via email with complete peace of mind).

So, to be safe, just delete those emails without clicking through to any links, and if you're worried, just contact the company through another means -- by phone or through their web site's "Contact Us" instructions -- to determine if there is really a problem with your account. Follow the same common sense rules that apply whenever someone calls you on the phone claiming to be affiliated with your bank, credit card company, etc. and asks you to give them your full account number or entire social security over the phone, which is another clear sign of attempted identity theft. Because if it WAS your bank calling -- wouldn't they already have that information at their finger tips? NEVER GIVE OUT THAT KIND OF INFORMATION TO SOMEONE WHO INITIATED THE CONTACT WITH YOU.

In the meantime, I'm getting a little giggle over having received my first phishing email in French, even while I have already deleted it from my in-box. There is no point in wondering "how did they get my email address?" -- because "they" have it now and I'm sure this won't be the last time I get one of these. After I get the 10th such spam message in French I'm sure I won't be giggling any more. Because now I have the chance to get TWICE the junk mail, in two languages.

Makes me think that maybe I don't want to learn Italian after all.

Not past my sell-by date YET, but...

For the most part, I really like being in my forties. No, really, I'm not making that up. And I'm not drunk when I say that, either (I know that was your next question). Each decade I survive pass seems to get better and better. I barely remember my life before the age of 10 so that one doesn't count (although in the photos I look happy enough), but since then it's just been a nice, steady climb from clueless and crying to confident and content.

In my teens, I was one of those poor, over-emotional, clueless drama queens who had no idea how fabulous she really was, and I spent most of my time secretly agonizing over what I perceived was wrong with me (everything), my body (everything), and my lack of a boyfriend ("I'll never get a guy to like me"). I had a rough adolescence in a lot of ways, although parts of my life were really fun, like the time I spent being in all the performing arts programs at school and occasionally ditching classes to sneak out and drink beer off school grounds. Even my first year at college wasn't so bad, mainly because the drinking age in those days was still 18, although I was still behaving badly when it came to boys, stupidly thinking that promiscuity would translate into true love. I even got "engaged" at 18 to an "older man" of 23, and just as quickly "un-engaged" a few months later (he wasn't happy about it but thank God I came to my senses). I switched from full-time college to a full-time job with night school when my federal grant money got cut (thank you, President Carter). And once all of that was over, I couldn't wait to turn 20.

In my 20s, I went to work in a series of secretarial jobs while pursuing a business degree in the evenings, but in each job I seemed to find my way into some interesting projects where I picked up some good skills to carry into the next job after that, and finally landed a job in a big insurance company in the days when you could still plan a career path in a big company. I learned to value my mind and to have confidence in my ability to get the job done to everyone's satisfaction, including my own. Purely by accident in 1985, I launched a career in Information Technology that made me some pretty decent money and got me some professional respect because I had the career everyone else seemed to want, and although it wasn't my dream, I turned out to be damned good at it and leap-frogged my way into more and more responsibility and money. I made a lot of dating mistakes, though; constantly falling for men who were never even close to good enough for me although I always walked around feeling I was the one who wasn't good enough. I had enough self-respect never to have ended up with anyone abusive, but other than that I seemed to attract guys who were never "that into me" although I didn't get that distinction at the time. I wish I had -- I could have saved myself some therapy money.

I am one of the few people I've ever met who was really DYING to turn 30; everyone else was depressed as their 30th birthday approached, but I was ready to break out the champagne over it! (Although to be candid, when I hit 31 I did get depressed a little because I realized I was now "OVER 30".) I was so ready to get out of my 20s and into what I thought would be a decade of "living smarter". I wasn't entirely wrong about that, either. In my 30s I started doing a lot of things smarter, especially where men were concerned. I chose quality over quantity, which sometimes meant going long spells (and I mean YEARS) without a man in my life, and yes that means I usually wasn't getting any. None at all. Which puts being "celibataire" in a whole new light (in French, it just means "single").

It was in my mid-30s that I finally had my first long-term relationship. While it wasn't perfect and I'm sure I wasn't the perfect partner in it, upon reflection I have no regrets about it -- mainly because that relationship and the long, long, long healing process that followed the breakup (which I initiated, by the way) gave me the opportunity for some serious self-reflection and growth. And out of THAT, came some of the biggest life changes of all as I moved from my 30s into my 40s.

I went back to being celibataire and not getting any again, and put all that unused energy into the Next Big Thing in my life -- changing my career and lifestyle. Now, I really wanted MORE, and MORE meant more life satisfaction, not just more money and more stuff. I went from I.T. into Life Coaching. I went from the corporate 9-to-5 to freelancing and making my own schedule. I went from a steady paycheck and benefits to... well, OK, that part kind of sucked a little, and still does -- the lack of regular financial compensation and too-costly health care is tough sometimes. But everything has its trade-offs, and for me the freedom to choose my own work and decide my own fate was well worth the money juggling and financial headaches I experienced. And one of the biggest changes at that time was the spiritual shift I experienced, and all I'll say about that is I went from having no firm spiritual foundation (having more or less rejected organized religion since I was about 9 years old) to finally finding a philosophy and life perspective that really worked for me, and still does.

As I got into my 40s, the changes continued, mainly professionally. My interest in coaching gave way to my passion for writing. My web design career and side-business, which I had carried with me as an extra money maker after I left corporate life, began to wear on my nerves and I started to think about "retirement" before my skills were completely obsolete. And I started to think, for the first time in a long time, about what I really wanted my life -- my PERSONAL life, this time, not just my professional life -- to look like. I was finally ready to put my life more in balance, and give some of my energy to finding the life I wanted, and finding lasting love.

You long-term readers know what happens next. I dusted off my long-ago dream of living in Paris, and added "being a writer in Paris" to it. I even started a blog to support this goal. I wrote a book about how to write a book. Then I finally got on the plane to Paris, where I could finally be the "me" I had always wanted to be. I made friends. I saw stuff and did stuff, lots of cool stuff.

A year later (and 15 months from this week), Georges chatted his way into my life and my heart, and his kids quickly wiggled their way in, too. I decided it wasn't fun any more, being celibataire -- or celibate. We moved in together. We got engaged. We got married. And here I am, living my dream at last. And it's only just beginning.

So I would easily venture to say that my 40s have been my best decade yet, the one where I've got the most life wisdom and good karma to show for my efforts during the previous decades. It's so good, being 40-something, that I am even looking forward to my 50s because I figure it will just keep getting better, and now I have Georges and the kids to share it all with. After all, I have more books to write and turn into huge best-sellers and box-office-record-smashing movies... and a small personal project I'm hoping will get off the ground this year. Clearly, there are more brass rings to be grabbed, even while I love the ones I've managed to catch so far. Life is very good.

Being in my 40s would be ideal... if it weren't for one small thing: AGING. You know... things that used to be firm, high and perky are slowly heading south. Your skin totally changes; I go through so much hand and body cream now, and I've given up hope that my feet will every be even close to soft and supple again. Between colorings, I see more grey hairs every time. I look young for my age but even that phrase "for my age" has a certain shelf-life to it, because sooner or later I'll look 47, even if it's when I'm 57.

I've kind of come to a place of acceptance about all of that... although I did ask my doctor in Paris about a possible breast lift and reduction (the jury is still out on that one because I hate the idea of surgery, although if it will relieve my chronic neck and back pain I may go for it at some point). The other day, though... something new and horrifying happened, something I still can't quite believe, that makes me feel like I've got a sign on my forehead, scrawled in backwards writing so I can see it every time I look in the mirror, and it reads:

"Give it your best shot but it's only a matter of time, and then old age is coming for you. You can run, but you can't hide."

What is this evil thing that happened? Well, I felt what I thought was a zit on my chin, about halfway between the lower left part of my lip and the bottom of my chin. I've had peri-menopausal breakouts for years, so a zit was no big deal. And then I realized what it REALLY was.

A hair. A really LONG hair, and I kid you not, this hair was at least a HALF INCH LONG. In a place where there had never been such a hair before. Where such a hair should never exist on a woman's face. AND IT WAS SNOWY WHITE.

And I thought, "Holy shit. I used to tweeze hairs like that out of my 95-year old grandmother's chin" -- as I rummaged through my makeup bag, sighing, knowing what I had to do next. And wondering WHY THE HELL NO ONE TOLD ME I WAS WALKING AROUND WITH THAT HUGE FUCKING HAIR RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FACE. Because a hair that long doesn't just pop out one day like that. AND I NEVER SAW IT, even though I had tweezed my eyebrows just a few days earlier. Clearly, not only is my body sprouting hair in places it shouldn't, but I really need new glasses, too.

My grandmother must be up there somewhere right now... and she is laughing her ass off.

Having a WALL-E moment

I was in a café, killing some time while awaiting the arrival of my husband and step-son. I was enjoying a lovely hot cappucino and making some notes in my Moleskine for my next book and I just happened to look up and gaze out at the passers-by, where I observed two young women walking side by side. They were obviously going somewhere together as they were walking rather quickly through the freezing cold at the same pace.

And what I noticed was, they were BOTH talking on their cell phones.

It suddenly struck me as so odd, although it's probably not that uncommon, that they were with each other but totally engrossed in conversations on their phones. I'm sure they were both talking to other people which was bad enough, because if they were together then why did they both need to talk to other people. But then I had a moment where I couldn't help wonder: ARE they actually talking to each other... ON THEIR CELL PHONES? WHILE WALKING RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER? Have we finally gotten THAT reliant on technology that we can't have a simple conversation without some appliance in our hands?

It reminded me of the movie WALL-E where it's far, far into the future and people float around on hover-lounge chairs talking to each other ONLY through video phones (with hands free to drink smoothies and press buttons -- their only form of exercise -- all day long). And when, because of WALL-E, some of the people inadvertently lose their screens or fall out of their chairs (and out of their self-induced technology comas), they are dumbfounded because they haven't had a conversation with anyone face-to-face in, like, FOREVER.

I like my techno-gadgets as much as the next person but PUH-LEEZ. Let's not lose the ability to be aware of our surroundings or to interact with each other like what we are: PEOPLE.

And now, having said that, I think I'll close my laptop and go talk to my husband. Although he might be on HIS computer or iPod Touch.. reading this blog.

PSA: If you've been having trouble with comments...

If you've been having trouble commenting by creating a Typepad profile and signing in, would you let me know? I've had at least one person report this problem to me and I want to know if others are having it as well. While I've had some comments since installing the new comment system, it seems to me comments are lighter than normal so maybe others are having the same difficulty.

Email me if you're having trouble, please.

But in case it wasn't clear, you don't HAVE to create or use a Typepad profile in order to comment. You can just type in your name, email and URL (if you have one) and leave a comment the way you used to do before. So if you're having trouble with the new profiles, try commenting without and see if that works any better.

I have the option of reverting back to the old system but want to give this new one a fair trial and it IS in beta testing at the moment, so there are bound to be some bugs. But do let me know if you can't comment, with or without the Typepad profiles. Thanks and sorry for any inconvenience.

Accomplishment

I did get one major item off my list of "Things I've been procrastinating about for months".

I finally finished writing and mailing our wedding Thank You notes today. WHEW! And it only took me nearly FIVE MONTHS*. (I believe the etiquette books give you six.) It's not that we weren't grateful and appreciative of our guests being with us and showing their generosity. It's just... life gets in the way sometimes, despite our best intentions.

Sigh.

Rome wasn't built in day, you know. But at least my mother will get off my back. If you were one of our lovely friends and family who has been awaiting a "Merci mille fois", just know we haven't forgotten you and your wait is nearly over. And we really DO Thank You.

*I only got the ones done from the wedding in the U.S. which was in July. We still have to do the French ones from our September "after party" here in Paris. So I'm not totally off the hook yet.

The Electoral System: Does every vote REALLY count?

As we all wait, worn out and exhausted by the effects of two years of campaigning politicians, for tonight's election results (and I for one will probably be up all night here in Paris because of the time difference), an article by the Associated Press made me pose the above question, and not for the first time, at least in my own mind.

If our electoral system is such that a candidate who wins the popular vote can STILL lose the election (and we know from recent memory that this has happened), then does the electoral system really work? Isn't this the reason so many people feel their individual vote doesn't even count? Why don't we just tally the popular vote and let that speak for itself?

I don't have an agenda on this one. I think it's an interesting topic and I'm just tossing the question out there to give us something NON-PARTISAN to think about today. What do YOU think? Here's your chance to weigh in.

And if you're not up on the Electoral College, what it is, how it works or how it got started, here are a few articles I dug up:

• From the US Government Federal Register --  The FAQ on this site is a very good place to begin.
• Electoral College for Dummies from CNN.com

In doing this extra research, I learned a few things myself. Did you know that:

• ...the Electors don't actually meet to officially select the President and Vice-President, and to officially record their selections, until DECEMBER 15th, 2008? And that Congress doesn't meet to count those votes until January 6th, 2009?
• ...the Electoral College was modeled on the Holy Roman Empire?
• ...although the state Electors typically vote for the candidate(s) who won the popular vote in their state, they potentially COULD ignore the popular vote? Supposedly this happens "rarely", but STILL... it makes you think.
• ...despite over 700 proposals being submitted to Congress to change or eliminate the Electoral College (because clearly others have thought this system maybe doesn't work so well), and despite public opinion polls indicating the public agrees we should change or abolish it, somehow we still have this flawed system in place? What's up with that?
• ...it is possible that NO candidate in an election would get the 270 majority votes required to become President. If that happens, there is a process in place by which the House of Representatives selects the President from among the THREE candidates (not TWO) who got the most votes (each State delegation gets one vote here), and the Senate selects the V.P. from the TWO candidates with the most votes (each Senator gets one vote).

OK, so it's interesting... but still extremely complicated, and it does seem to me that it is easier and more sensible to just go with the popular vote. If someone can explain to me how the Electoral System is better than going with the popular vote, I'd be most happy to listen, because it still doesn't seem logical to me.

As usual, the government seems determined to over-complicate everything.

And I'm gearing up for a long night ahead.

I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it any more

Regular readers of this blog know that I normally don't "do" politics here, and for two reasons (other than that this just isn't a blog about politics): (1) I don't follow politics closely enough, most of the time, to have a strong enough opinion I'm willing to go public with -- normally -- and (2) politicians give me an acid stomach, and since the last thing I need is an ulcer I try to think about politics as little as possible.

That doesn't mean, however, that I don't pay attention to what is going on in my own country. Or that I don't have an opinion, such as it may be. Or that I don't CARE.

I care. A lot. And right now I'm about as disgusted with my own government as I have ever been in my life. And it doesn't make me anti-American to say that; in fact, it's because I am an American that I have the right, the OBLIGATION, to speak out about my government when I think they've messed up, and whoa, have they messed up.

Although I don't think this particular bailout plan was the right one (though I do think the government probably needs to intervene in some way to avoid a real catastrophe -- this guy had some pretty interesting things to say about it), what happened yesterday in Congress was shameful. FOR SHAME, CONGRESS!!!! HANG YOUR HEADS IN SHAME!!!! It had nothing to do with them caring one iota about the American public, and everything to do with them caring about winning the game of politics that they play every day. They let their egos get in the way of getting the job done. One day, it's all, "Oh, this bipartisan bailout plan will be approved on Monday" blah, blah, blah, making us all think they'd actually come to some concensus for a change... and the next thing you know, it's been shot down (and by Bush's own party, for the most part, although there were some Dems who weren't backing the thing, either) and the stock market's in a free fall. And one reason it was shot down, apparently, was that a lot of the Republicans didn't like Nancy Pelosi's so-called partisan speech-making. It pissed them off, so they voted No. They said so, on camera. They didn't shoot the bailout plan down because it was the wrong solution (which I kind of think it was)... they shot it down to "show" the Democrats they still have power in Congress. Ego, nothing more. Is that what we voted them into Congress to do? To vote with their egos?

How is it that lenders are permitted to give credit to those who clearly can't handle the responsibility of credit? For example, why are credit card companies allowed to hand out credit cards to college students who don't even have jobs yet, so that they leave college with a huge credit card debt on top of school loans, and it's go bankrupt or have Mom and Dad pay the bills? Now let me be candid about something: I have been a person who has, in my past, used abused my credit cards way beyond my ability to pay those credit card bills, so I know what it's like to be overspending and scared to death of the mailman when he'd bring the bills every month. I don't blame the government for MY over-spending; no one held a gun to my head and said "Oh, yes, go and charge that TV you can't afford to your credit card!" But even in those days when I was "living on plastic" (which I no longer do), I used to wonder how it was possible that I could have credit lines that far exceeded my annual income? You can argue for free enterprise all you want, but some things just don't make sense, and this is one of 'em.

And these damned Golden Parachute clauses for top executives that allow them to completely mismanage a company and drive it into the ground, and walk away with millions for themselves? THAT IS INSANE! How does our government allow that? How could the head of Merrill Lynch fail at his job and walk away with $161 MILLION as a door prize? Since when do we reward failure? If I didn't deliver on one of my client's projects, that client would fire me and might even demand a refund; he sure wouldn't give me a nice juicy bonus for not doing the job as promised.

Look, I am no expert on the American government or the economy, and I'll never pretend to be, so if you're looking to get into a debate with me about this, you're picking the wrong person. What I am is someone who still loves America and what it stands for, and who is utterly and completely disgusted with what's happening to it. I may not live there any more, but my family does and my friends do, and it's still "home" to me. And I'm damn mad right now because what's going on is affecting ALL of us, regardless of which side of the ocean we're living on.

What is frustrating is the feeling of not being able to do anything about it. Except for one thing... I can VOTE. And oh, I cannot WAIT to cast my vote in this year's election. I only hope my candidate will be able to "be the change we wish to see in the world" (paraphrasing Gandhi). Because what's going on in America right now is totally fucked up. I'm sorry for that language if it offends some of you, but there's no other way to say it. I said as much to Georges last night as I watched the closing bell on Wall Street. And he said, "Yes, and they're fucking up the rest of the world, too."

Now, he's not at all anti-American, so let's not go there. What he meant was, that what's going on in America, both politically and economically, is having a strong ripple effect around the globe, and he's right. But oh, how I wanted to be able to disagree with him, to defend my country, to prove him wrong, to act like a proud American.

And how frustrated I was that I just couldn't. Not this time. All I can do is cast my vote and hope for better things after this election.

Meantime, here's a clip from the movie "Protocol" that I've always liked. Goldie Hawn is a ditzy cocktail waitress who ends up center stage in a national political scandal, and she's testifying in front of a Congressional committee who asks her to name "who's to blame". Whenever I'm tempted not to vote or to give up and ignore politics completely, I remember her response:

Now, if only Congress would watch this, and be reminded of what We, the People, elected them to do.

[Stepping down off soap box now.]

October 2nd.... stepping back onto soapbox for a moment to add...

A friend sent me a copy of an email from Michael Moore. Yeah, that's right, THAT Michael Moore. Whether you love him or hate him, you might want to take a look at his 10-point alternative to the proposed $700 billion bailout. I have to say there's a lot that makes sense in there. Why should WE, the working classes, have to finance the bailout of people who are already richer than they need to be? If I knew my money was going to help people in a real financial crisis, someone who is losing their one and only home due to foreclosure, that might be another thing entirely. But I sure as hell don't want to pay one additional red cent to bail out some greedy Wall Street broker or someone who already owns a few houses.

Anyway, just more food for thought. Moore isn't always my favorite guy but I have to admit, he gets us all thinking, doesn't he?

Mouse tales

I warn you now: this post stinks.

Today was a major laundry/ironing day here at Chez Just-Married. Like most people in Paris, we don't have a clothes dryer (they're expensive to run and not terribly energy efficient, so most people just go without -- I can't lie, I do miss the convenience and fluffy bath towels) so I was hanging the laundry upstairs on the mezzanine comme d'habitude. Just before going upstairs, I stopped to feed our neighbors' fish, who are temporarily bunking with us while their owners are en vacances, and noticed, not for the first time, how fishy-smelling the fish food smells.

As I was upstairs hanging laundry, that fish smell hung with me. I sniffed my hands... nope, that wasn't it. I thought, "Whew! That stuff really stinks if I can still smell it up here!" And then forgot about it while I went back downstairs to iron and watch the Olympics.

Until just now, when I went upstairs to hang the last load of laundry. And I still smelled this sort of fishy odor. Now, that didn't make sense to me at all. We hadn't cooked any fish in the house in ages, and that tiny container of fish food could NO WAY create that kind of a stench, which had actually gotten worse.

It was then that I remembered something. Dead mice can start to smell a bit like dead fish... after a day or two.

We've had a mouse problem lately. I'm not sure if they're coming in from outside, attracted by the composter our thoughtful gardener-neighbor decided to place in the courtyard just outside OUR house, or if some of them decided to set up camp inside our walls, but in the past week the cat has caught/killed three or four, and I caught one in the traps I finally decided were a necessity.

In the ten months I've known Georges, periodically a mouse might decide to make an entrance, and the cat would usually have a good time playing with it, often letting it get away. But these were relatively sporadic occurrences, and although I hate mice I'm willing to allow that in a city, sometimes you're gonna get a mouse. Hell, I lived in the country my entire life before moving here and every winter we had to deal with the mice moving in with the cold weather. We'd get traps and sometimes even mouse poison... which is, I'm afraid to say, why I suddenly recognized the offending odor upstairs today; the problem with the poison is they just crawl away and die in the walls and you're stuck with that smell for days, sometimes even weeks.

So anyway, I'm not sure why we've gotten a surge in our mouse population. Each time we find another one dead (or... sometimes we just find PARTS of mice if the cat has been feeling particularly vindictive), I keep hoping that's the last of them.

Suffice to say, when I followed my nose and discovered the corpse lying right out in the open on my office floor, my hopes were dashed, even while I cleaned up the evidence and sprayed air freshener liberally through the entire upstairs. And this was the first time the cat actually took a mouse UPSTAIRS to terrorize it until it dropped dead from fright.

Anyone want a cat? Free to a good home?

I feel guilty about not feeling so guilty

I am sitting here at our kitchen table. Georges has gone to work, and the kids are at school. The nanny hasn't arrived yet with the baby from next door. Still, I am not alone.

We have a femme de ménage... a cleaning lady. She's the wife of the man who owns the épicerie (small grocery/convenience store) next door and is the mother of two very sweet young children; her oldest goes to school with the Little Guy. She's a very lovely girl, very friendly and she works hard on her two half-days a week with us. Not only does our house get cleaned regularly but she irons Georges' shirts, a task I would be sending out to the dry cleaners if it were left up to me. So her being here is a wonderful thing.

We're not made of money, don't get me wrong, but Georges doesn't see this as a luxury, he sees it as a necessity and says as long as we can afford it, we'll always have someone. He prefers to be able to put his (and now my) time into other things, like spending time together or with the kids, or doing other projects around the house that need to be done. (We're still trying to find the perfect storage solution for the piles and piles of sheet music we collectively own.)

I see his logic. And not being so domestically inclined myself on top of having just merged my life with a family of four other people, I am thrilled that I did not have to take on all the cleaning for all of us. I love that she comes to clean our house.

But it was a strange feeling at first, sitting here in the house watching some other woman do the dirty work. I don't picture myself as a lady of leisure, supervising the hired help but not wanting to chip my nail polish. Sure, I do laundry. I do dishes a LOT as our dishwasher is broken (I think it's being replaced soon, though), and as Georges does most of the cooking I think this is fair that I do most of the cleaning up afterward. I do the bulk of the food shopping now because I've got more time to do it (except for buying cuts of meat or certain kinds of fish... that's Chef Georges' domain). I've been known to change sheets and scrub a toilet when it's needed without waiting for the cleaning lady's arrival. And I am not above taking out the trash, the recycling or even (on occasion) changing the kitty litter when the stench gets too strong. I don't love housework and will often let things go for a while, but I am no prima donna either; I come from families that worked.

In the beginning I felt a tiny bit guilty, having her here and watching her do the things I would have had to do if she weren't here. And then... I didn't any more. Feel so guilty, I mean. She comes in, asks me if there is anything in particular that needs to be done, and if I can't think of anything she looks around and finds something. She just chided me for washing the dirty dishes that were in the sink, that she would have done them, and I said "But NON, these were our dinner dishes from last night!"

So just now, as I saw how much time she was spending cleaning our bedroom (I thought she was just going in there to change the bedding and I had told her to leave all the piles of crap on the side table because it's mine and Georges' problem to organize that) I felt that tiny pang of guilt again, and a bit of embarrassment that someone else knows how dirty our house gets. Then it went away, that guilty feeling, because really it's very nice not to have to do all that stuff.

And then I felt guilty about not feeling so guilty any more. It's that American "gotta work hard all the time" thinking again, the part of me that still has trouble completely relaxing and who couldn't even finish a 5-week course in meditation/relaxation yoga because I couldn't be still for 15 minutes.

Which makes me wonder how long I'll have to live in France before I can embrace the philosophy of "how sweet it is to do nothing and then rest afterwards".

Well, THAT didn't take long...

... for the "Bridal Insomnia" to kick in, I mean. Last night, I absolutely could NOT get any decent amount or quality of sleep. I went to bed around 11pm, a very respectable, healthy hour. And despite Georges being next to me, throwing off his furnace-level central loving body heat, I could not get warm and comfortable for over two hours. I know this because I kept looking at the clock as it passed 23:30... 00:00 (midnight)... 1:15.

Then, of course there are all the wedding details jostling around in my head. I'm about 90% sure this is the major reason I wasn't sleeping -- there is just a lot going on and I'm in hyper-drive. Because of the time difference, I am also having to make many necessary phone calls to the States in the evenings, and last night I talked to both the caterer and the French Consulate within an hour of trying to wind down to go to sleep. So that certainly didn't help my brain relax.

And for some strange reason, (get ready for Too Much Information) I had to get up to pee about five times last night, way more than my usual average of 1-2 times. This is not exactly conducive to a good night's rest, and hopefully I didn't wake Georges up in the process because there's no reason for both of us to be without sleep.

Last and definitely least, I had a song stuck in my head. Well, two of them, actually... both of them loud, energizing songs from Sister Act 2 which I had been watching earlier in the day. I love a good gospel choir, really I do - but NOT in my head at 3:37 am! And they're both still there this morning, alternating with each other, vying for what little bit of my mental energy is left after that LONG sleepless night.

I could have gone back to sleep after Georges left for work this morning but my brain was already revved up into high gear. However, it is now 10:19am and I am feeling the bed calling my name. I think I will need a little lunch-time sieste... before I start calling numbers on the US Embassy's list of official translators to inquire about getting certain of our papers translated into one language or the other.

I only hope it's not going to be like this for the next two months or my wedding photos are going to show me with big dark circles and bags under my eyes. Not at all the "glowing bride" look I would be going for.

This message is inspired by the sadistic bastards who are in charge of currency exchange rates

I will be the first one to admit I know absolutely nothing about how one currency is valued (or devalued) against another currency. I simply don't understand it so I don't wrack my brains trying. I just try to cope with the bad news that the dollar is sinking against pretty much every other currency out there, except for the Swiss Franc and even with that we're now just breaking even. Even the Canadian dollar is beating our asses.

But THIS? This is just plain P-A-I-N-F-U-L. Today I needed to transfer some bucks from my American bank over to my French bank, so as usual I checked the going exchange rate... and nearly had a stroke:

1 EUR = 1.58407 USD

This means that $1,000 of my money only buys me about 630€ of goods and services here in France. And doesn't that just royally suck.

God help us all, we poor (and getting poorer by the minute) ex-pat Americans. We may love living abroad and there are many good things about having this kind of life experience, but we sure are paying a high price for it right now.

So my message to whomever it is out there who is tinkering with my hard-earned money all for the sake of trying to get rich, at MY expense, by gambling (they call it "investing") on which country's currency is going to be worth more today than another, is this (and I apologize in advance for not be more elegant in my phrasing, but sometimes you just have to say it):

Dear Greedy, Inconsiderate, Selfish Creeps:
I hope some day someone comes along and tries to piss all over YOUR dream by fucking with YOUR money, you rat bastards, whoever and wherever you are. And when it happens to YOU, I will laugh maniacally and do a little happy dance around a pile of my bank statements, in your honor. And then I will burn a dollar bill, in effigy. Because at the rate these rates are going, it won't even be fit for burning before long.

But know this: no matter how you try to screw with the US dollar, you will not kill MY dream or force me to crawl back to suburban New Jersey with my tail between my legs, whining about how it's too expensive to live in Paris. I will just live my dream on a budget if I have to. And then I will write several best-sellers and be fabulously wealthy, and will be paid by my publisher in euros, in order to beat you at your own game. I will sit in a café along the Seine at sunset, watching the pink-amber afternoon sunlight work its magic over the old stone buildings, thinking how good my life is here in ways having nothing to do with money; and I will then happily drink a bottle of champagne with my amour as we toast a victory over this game you are playing with other people's lives. Because living boldly is the best revenge.
Sincerely yours,
The Bold-But-Totally-Pissed-Off Soul

And this is how it begins

Today, I passed another mile marker en route to "senioritis"... you know, that stage in life where you get stuck trying to remember a word, or can't recall where you put your car keys, or you mix up the names of your kids when you want to call one of them?

I was preparing dinner tonight -- "preparing" meaning taking a bag of something out of the freezer that will only take 8 minutes to prepare in a skillet and still taste delish (ask me about the miracle that is Picard some time) -- when I realized I couldn't read the small printed instructions on the bag. So, I went looking for one of the half-dozen pairs of reading glasses I have stashed around the house. Sadly, I've been stuck with these things for the past 2 or 3 years after one day waking up very suddenly and discovering I could no longer read a book without holding it an arm's length away, and even then it was fuzzy. Yeah, welcome to your 40s, old girl.

I found a pair of said glasses in the bedroom, and started the meal.

A few minutes later, I came upstairs to check something on my computer. On the way back downstairs I folded some sheets that had been drying... and that's when I noticed it.

I had one pair of glasses on my face... and another one on top of my head! For the life of me, I can't remember when I might have put that second pair of glasses on, because when I was in the kitchen I was positive I had NO glasses on my person whatsoever.

I am 46 going on 86, obviously. Next thing you know I'll be asking Georges to sign me up for the French equivalent of those Lifeline pendants -- how do you say "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" in French? -- as a gift for my birthday THIS COMING MAY. Because it's never too soon to start planning for that broken hip.

Public transportation would be just fine if it weren't for the public

So, I'm on the 95 bus heading cross-town from my apartment, where I have spent the afternoon packing up many of my things for the official upcoming move. Although we'll be renting a small van to schlep most of the heavier and bulkier items, I've been transporting certain things myself using a small suitcase and a shopping bag from Champion in Day-Glo Pink. Today it was various small electronics, some scarves (you can never have too many in Paris), a few more pairs of shoes (again -- no such thing as too many), and my American pillow.

I manage to score a seat that will allow me to keep my baggage just in front of me without inconveniencing my fellow passengers. I decide to stay on the 95 all the way to Georges' quartier, preferring the scenic route to being trapped in the metro today, since the weather is so mild. The 95 is a great bus line as it slices right through the heart of Paris, and en route I spot many of the city's most recognizable landmarks: the phallic Tour Eiffel and the monolithic Tour Montparnasse; the Deux Magots and the church at Saint Germain-des-Prés; crossing the Seine with the Musée d'Orsay and the Grand Palais on my left, and Notre Dame and the Pont Neuf on my right; the Louvre and the Palais Royal; the stunning beauty of the Opéra; and the grands magasins of Printemps and Galeries Lafayette. It takes a bit longer to travel from point A to point B by the bus-only route, but on a beau day like today when I'm not in a rush, the views are infinitely preferable to getting there 10 minutes sooner.

There's only one problem with the voyage today. It's the man who gets on the bus somewhere around Pasteur and decides to sit next to me. He bears a somewhat scary resemblance to the méchant and portly grocer in Amélie Poulain, and he has some kind of nervous habit or condition that makes his leg twitch about every 7.5 seconds -- the leg that is unfortunately squeezed against mine from hip to knee. When you take public transportation in a city like Paris, you have to get used to unwelcome physical contact with strangers when things get crowded; and there is a very different concept of "personal space" here in Europe, I have learned. So it's bad enough that you have to sit thigh-to-thigh with a complete stranger, but one with a jumpy leg? Oh la la... get me outta here.

To top it off, the guy smells like... something unpleasant and odd. At first I can't put my finger on it. Oh, wait a minute, there it is. He smells like soup. And not a yummy soup, the type that reminds you of visiting your favorite grandmother, where the delicious aroma greets you at the door and makes you feel like you're home again. No, this man smells like a really bad soup. (For a moment I think, "Hell, maybe he is a surly green grocer in the 18ème, and he falls asleep in the choufleur every day.")

There's nothing much I can do unless I am prepared to give up my great seat, which I am not. I decide not to suffer alone, though. I send Georges a texto to share my sad tale of woe, knowing he will surely get a laugh out of it. He responds by threatening offering to make la soupe for dinner tonight. I am now getting so irritated with my neighbor that I am on the verge of changing my travel plans by hopping off the bus and onto the metro at Saint Placide, when I am saved: Twitchy Soup Guy gets off at the stop just prior. After that, a succession of harmless senior citizens take that empty place, a desirable one on the aisle just near the doors. And I am able to enjoy the rest of my tour of Paris by city bus.

Alas, I am not one of the fortunates in Paris who can afford to hire a taxi to go everywhere they want, or to keep their own car in the city, so I am relegated to using public transportation. If only it wasn't quite so... public.

Even the healthy stuff isn't healthy any more

I just can't believe it. Now we are being told to avoid (or severely reduce our intake of) TUNA and certain other types of fish -- because they contain higher levels of mercury than previously thought. This includes canned tuna, tuna steaks and fresh tuna used in sushi. SUSHI, I love tuna sushi and maki! This totally sucks.

Good grief. Maybe this is old news to some of you, this mercury thing, and personally I don't eat a lot of canned tuna anyway, but now they're talking about taking away my sushi! It's like we're damned if we do and damned if we don't, no matter what we eat. "They" tell us to stop eating red meat and eat more fish, and we do, and THIS is what we get for it. How can you win?

Sorry, Charlie. Even the Starkist tuna isn't going to be quite good enough any more.

Worm Wars, The Sequel

So we are sitting down to a quick lunch en famille at Georges' house; me, Georges and the two boys. We are having some pasta with a little butter and some hamburgers before we head over to the Jardin des Plantes in the afternoon to check out the menagerie. Our weekend, up to this point, has been very low-key, as Georges and I have both been fighting a re-occurrence of la Gastro (fortunately it never got bad with us even though we both had zero energy and I felt queasy for two days; Smecta works well preventatively). So we were looking forward to taking the Little Guy to see the animals and getting out in the fresh air.

As I am beginning to eat my pasta, I notice that one of the noodles seems, well, DARK in the middle. I am thinking maybe it got scorched in the pot so I sort of move it to the side of my plate, and continue eating. The rest of the noodles look fine.

Then it occurs to me: what if that isn't a scorched noodle? What if... oh, dear God, NO... there is actually something IN there? Like... a mite? Or a mite worm? I don't want to think about it, but now I have to know.

I cut into the noodle, holding my breath... all the while there is conversation taking place between Georges and the boys and they are oblivious to my dilemma... and sure enough. Ugh. It is a (now boiled) moth.

I show it to Georges, somehow managing to keep my cool and keep my lunch down. I mean, it WAS cooked already and I am pretty sure I didn't have anything else in my other noodles I'd already eaten. So I am trying to be a grown-up and not over-dramatize it, especially in front of the kids. But what I REALLY want to do is run from the room and do what the Smecta had heretofore successfully prevented me from doing for two days.

Just as Georges and the boys were laughing at the horrified expression on my face (MEN!), Georges' daughter comes home and wants to eat something also. We all try to warn her off of the rest of the pasta... but this girl is a Leo like her Papa and she is not faint of heart. She lived for part of her childhood on an island in the Indian Ocean and once ate grilled wasps on purpose! (She is one Bold Soul, for sure!) So she is not at all grossed out at the thought of there possibly being more moth by-products in the pasta, and she grabs a plate and digs in.

I leave the table for a few minutes to get my camera and other things together for the outing, and when I come back, Georges says with a big grin: "Well, you can see I have no secrets from you" and proceeds to tell me that his daughter found THREE more "things" in the pasta. After proceeding to pretend-choke him in front of his kids for having served me cooked insects in my lunch, he and I and the Little Guy head out for what proved to be a very a lovely afternoon of animal watching. I especially liked seeing the monkeys, flamingos, three ostriches who seemed to like watching the cars driving by along the Seine, and the little pandas. We also got to see two exotic little frogs... well, um... playing "leap frog" quite energetically.

I was, however, eternally grateful that there were no moth exhibits at the Jardin des Plantes. It would have been more than I could take. After dinner, I threw out ALL the remaining open bags of pasta and flour after his daughter and I went through them and saw something moving in one of the bags. BLECH! We'll buy new.

And you thought my life in Paris was SOOOOOOOO glamorous, didn't you?

And a partridge in a pear tree

Voila! I have officially FINISHED all my Christmas shopping. I had just one gift left to buy - Converse All-Stars for Georges' older son (his sister is getting Converse also), and I got out early today, just when the mall was opening... so no problems parking, and I was in and out of that mall in under an hour. And that included a little shopping for me... in Macy's lingerie department. (Yes, of course Paris has amazing lingerie, but it's really not sized for MY body, so once again I am doing my clothes shopping here. And the pre-Christmas sales over here are pretty fantastic. Therefore... Cha-ching.)

I am looking around the room at all the bags and bags of STUFF I now have to wrap. I've got:

• jewelry and lace goods from Venice (Murano & Burano to be precise),
• hand-printed paper journal and picture frame, also from Venice,
• a giant beer mug from Munich,
• chocolate purchased in Paris and made by a French chef but with Belgian chocolate and Canadian maple syrup instead of white cane sugar (supposed to be healthier?),
• coffee bowls and scarves from Paris,
• Jelly Bellys, Converse, Pokemon cards and Spiderman toys and a blanket from NJ (all going BACK to Paris with me, for the kids) -- plus a little something extra for Georges, besides ME, I mean (and sorry, mon amour, I'm not telling and you'll have to wait until New Year's Eve for this one!)
• video camera accessories
• a Bratz doll
• and assorted little stocking stuffers and do-dads.

I wouldn't be shocked at all if, once I start sorting and wrapping, I discover I also have three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree in those bags. There is just that much STUFF in here. And I really need to get it all taken care of by tomorrow as my brother-in-law's dad is coming on the weekend and will be staying here for the holidays, in my room (I'll be on the sofabed in the spare room). So it will force me not to procrastinate for a change, on the gift wrapping.

I will say one thing. Having done the bulk of my Christmas shopping in Europe the past two holidays and knowing I have to schlep all the cadeaux back to America with me has forced me to "shop small". I typically select things that will pack and travel well and aren't very heavy. I've gotten over the fact that next to the giant presents that will typically be under the tree to and from all my other relatives, MY gifts might be smaller and maybe not even as expensive. But I think I'm shedding my American need for excess since living in France, where gift-giving is a bit more restrained and where things are expensive.

This is not a bad thing. It forces me to choose gifts with more care and thought. Sure, I would have loved to give my sister a great set of serving dishes I saw in one of the gourmet stores on Rue de Rennes, but to either carry it on the plane or take the chance of shipping it and having it arrive in broken pieces? No way.

Having said all that, I did pack two empty duffel bags to make sure I'd be able to bring back my gifts for Georges and the kids, plus the gifts I will receive AND the stuff I'm picking up for myself while I'm here. And maybe a few things I will take out of storage, if I can fit anything extra without paying too much for extra/overweight luggage. Again.

I wonder if there will ever be a time I can travel light going back to Paris. So far, it sure doesn't seem that way.

Still a clueless étrangère

The other day, I got a series of strange SMS messages on my French cell phone. In French, bien sûr. Which is kind of where the whole trouble started.

For one thing, the number was a +44 number -- the U.K. While I do have a couple of clients over the Channel, but they don't normally call or text me on my cell phone. The first message said:

"Message VDO perso: Tu as un msg video poste aujourd'hui a 11h55. Pour l'obtenir envoie ABC par SMS au 8nnnn."

Hmmmm... Someone wanted to send me a video message? Can my cheap, bottom-of-the-line Nokia phone even play videos? I didn't think so. Who would be sending me a video message? Just at the same time, I got a texto from Georges, who has this new iPod Touch gadget, and I thought maybe he had figured out some odd way to send me a funny little video or something. I know -- I'm sure you, the wise objective observer, can see how completely STUPID was my logic here, but at that moment I couldn't think of what else it might be. So, I did what I thought I needed to do. As instructed, I sent the code ABC to that number*. And I waited to see my video.

What I received was: "Message cannot be displayed"

OK... then a few seconds later, a new message, this time from 8nnnn:

"Votre message video a bien été envoyé. Pour la suite, envoie OUI ou NON au 8nnnn."

Now, I was already feeling rather stupid and could sense a scam, and this little voice of sanity in my head kept saying: "No! Don't do it! Don't send the OUI!!!!"

But guess what? I sent the OUI. Don't ask me why. A perverse curiosity is all I can offer by way of explanation.

No surprise... I got the same "Message cannot be displayed" thing again. I knew this piece of crap phone couldn't play video.

I went back and looked at that last "send a OUI ou NON" message and scrolled down farther -- AHAH! there was more to the message, which I had not noticed because of how they cleverly spaced the continuation so someone wouldn't (hopefully) notice it at first glance: 

"Age 18+. M365 (3e + 1SMS)"

It was then I realized I had just agreed to be charged 3 euros + the cost of an SMS message, and for what? FOR PORN I DIDN'T EVEN GET TO WATCH.

I never heard of something like this, a random SMS spam. I've had cell phones for years and never gotten phone-spammed before. Is this a common thing in Europe? Has it happened to anyone in America or Canada or elsewhere? Live and learn. 

Just call me the stupid American tourist. Oh, la.

The odd thing is, I'm not sure which pisses me off more: was it that I did something stupid and wasted 3 euros, or... was it that despite the fact that the video was bound to be something REALLY offensive, I did STILL something stupid, wasted the 3 euros AND didn't even get what I paid for?

The only redeeming part of this story is knowing that I gave Georges QUITE a nice laugh when I told him WHY there would probably be a 3 euro "porn charge" on our next cell phone bill and that of course I would pay for it. Now he knows: as smart as I am, I can sometimes do some pretty half-assed things.

The sad part (well, sad for me, anyway) is that it will certainly NOT be the last time I am able to amuse him greatly with my foreigner's naiveté. France is just one big minefield of opportunities for me to look like a complete and utter cul. And clearly, I don't even have to step outside my door to do it.

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*In the interest of NOT wanting to endorse such dreadful phone-spam, I have changed the numbers and codes. So don't try this at home.

The storm before the calm

WARNING: this post is just an excuse to bitch and moan. If you're not in the mood for that today, it's OK if you just decide to move on. I don't blame you.

This morning, the transit workers are pretty much back to work 100% although officially I don't think the strike is quite "over" and some negotiations are still in progress. I took a metro across town this morning followed by a bus, and really it was very nearly completely normal for rush hour, perhaps just a little more crowded on the metro than usual. But much better, and thank you very much to the workers who voted to return to their jobs.

Last night was a whole other story, and this is where the bitching and moaning comes in. It took me 2 HOURS AND 20 MINUTES to get from my place to Georges' house, on the same route where it took me only about 35-40 minutes this morning. What the hell! (And Yes, I realize this kind of goes against the "I'm so grateful" theme I wrote about yesterday. But sometimes annoying things happen even when you are busy being thankful, and you just have to blow off some steam.)

It started out fine. I sprinted (and getting pretty good at it, too) a block and a half to catch the 95 bus near my place, and it got me up to Saint Placide in the 6th in fairly normal time, given there was a little extra Friday evening traffic on the streets. At Saint Placide, I always change to the #4 metro there, which takes me all the way to the 18th, to within 1.5 blocks of Georges' house.

This is where the trouble started. The #4 was running trains every 7 minutes (the norm is 4 minutes but with the strike every 7 was actually very good). The problem was with what stop I was trying to get on. The stop just BEFORE Saint Placide (a small, normally low volume stop) is Gare Montparnasse. And what was obviously happening is that too many people were crammed onto the trains at Montparnasse, and NO ONE was getting off at Saint Placide.

I waited while THREE trains came and went, and just wasn't one of the lucky ones who managed to squeeze into the already WAY too overcrowded sardine-can cars when one or three people got off. (On one train, I saw that the conductor had actually allowed about 5 passengers to ride in the cabin with him!) Meanwhile more and more people were flooding into Saint Placide behind me.

Finally I decided I needed another strategy. I went back up to the street and caught another 95 bus (rather quickly) and decided to try the #4 stop at Saint Germain-des-Pres, where I expected MORE people would get off to make room for those who wanted to get on. My backup plan was, if this was not working, I could re-board another 95 bus which would take me to the 18th and then I would have a 10-minute walk to Georges' from there. Not ideal because with cross town traffic it would take at least an hour from Saint Germain by bus, but better than not getting there at all.

And not getting there at all was not an option. Not only did I want to see Georges but I had agreed to stay with his son for an hour or so while Georges attended a meeting of a parents' committee at his son's school. So I had to be there by 9pm. I had left my apartment at 6:30. It was already getting close to 8pm and I wasn't even across the Seine yet!

Sad to say, the situation at Saint Germain-des-Pres was no better. I waited for two trains and could NOT get on, so I gave up. Back up on the street I looked toward the taxi stand and there was a long line but no taxis. Back to the bus stop in front of the church.

Where, all of a sudden I saw a #39 bus, which I am not familiar with but whose final destination was Gare du Nord! This is only 4 stops from Georges' place on the #4 metro and acting on instinct I hopped on it, figuring that this might still be faster than waiting for the next 95 bus.

It proved to be the right decision. But still, with the extra heavy auto traffic caused by the strike plus it being a Friday night rush hour, there was a large part of the trip the bus could only crawl along, despite having access to bus-only lanes on the larger boulevards (some drivers cheat and go in those lanes anyway and then get stuck in traffic, same as everyone else). I got to Georges' at 8:45pm, just enough time for him to show me what he had made for dinner (he and his son had eaten of course), for him to put the boy to bed, and dash to the meeting which luckily for him was a block away.

Nearly 2.5 hours to travel what is essentially just a few miles. Paris is not that big a city. In 2.5 hours I could drive from New York City to Philadelphia, a distance of 95 miles, and this with the usual nightmarish New Jersey highway traffic!

Suffice to say, waking up today to find that the striking workers had decided to go back to work was very welcome news. Because this whole thing was really getting OLD for the rest of us. And I only had to deal with things like this intermittently -- not like Georges and others who had to commute to work every single day, not knowing when or how or even IF they would get to work, or home again, on a daily basis for the past 10 days. Enough is enough. I hope this is really the end of it.

OK, I feel much better now for having whined for a few minutes. And tonight, at least, I can go out for dinner with one of my friends, and can also enjoy my weekend plans with Georges, secure in the knowledge that for the first time in nearly two weeks we won't have to make ourselves crazy just for the chance to go out and have a normal life. Because the trains and buses are finally on track again.

No one needs to see THAT

En route to the métro at Plaisance a few hours ago, an unwelcome sight: a man, on his feet but slightly staggering and definitely "unkempt", with his hand out and mumbling at me for spare change... and his pants unzipped and half falling off his derrière.

I sometimes donate my spare coinage to people who clearly seem to need it, but I draw the line at sponsoring drunken flashers. If you want MY money, better keep it zipped, buddy.

Ah, the "romance" of living in Paris...