gay pair-eee

Gay as in happy. Pair-ee as in Paris, with a French accent.

I just returned from Paris, where I spent a week flopped on the futon in my parent's studio apartment. My parents have become quite the jet-set travellers in their old age, and have recently acquired a 1/8-th share in a "quaint" little shithole 300+ year old apartment in the 2nd Arrondissement in the City of Lights. The location couldn't be better, and the apartment couldn't be dumpier. But hey, the price was right! *free*

We tromped all over the city, shopping on the ritziest street and in flea markets, eating at urban hipster hot spots and old world historical landmarks, saw Mona at the Louvre and Barbie (the one that dates Ken) at Les Arts Decoratifs. It was a blast, despite the rain that persisted the whole week.

I forgot my razor at home and embraced my inner French girl. I ate loaves upon loaves of bread and basically an entire government cheese wheel amount of every melty rich mama-animal-teat- producing goodness I could. I drank gallons of wine. And I'm pretty sure my waist is smaller than when I left home.

French women eat. They eat carbs and fat and they drink and they are all thin. They might work out, but you would never know. In the whole city I saw one gym and one yoga studio. In a week of wandering through packed streets I saw two women wearing activewear. French women dress. And French women smoke. eww.

I'd like to be more French - eat rich delicious foods, drink rich delicious wines, dress with purpose each day, maybe even smoke a cigarette or two. Ok, maybe not the smoking (ewww).

this cigarette is so angry!

But food is different in France. There you buy your bread from the boulangerie where it has been freshly baked that day, you buy your cheese from the fromagerie where it has also been made fresh. Your wine comes from grapes raised without pesticides and is monitored by a commission yearly to be kept to a certain standard. Restaurants offer what is fresh and local and in season.

Here in the states we shop at huge conglomerate grocery stores that stock huge conglomerate bread and cheese that comes from some warehouse made by industrial machines and unskilled workers. Our produce is available year round thanks to genetic modifications, pesticides, and other unnatural growing processes.

Clothes are different here. Jeans and t-shirts and yoga pants are all anyone wears. Even the high end stores sell the same casual clothes, just at 10 times the price. Kanye will give you a plain white cotton t-shirt for $120, the Gap will give you the same thing for $12.  Lululemon gives you stretchy pants for $100, Target has them for $30.

It didn't used to be like this. My mother's generation hardly ever even wore pants, much less jeans. They set their hair on Sunday night and wore it purposefully styled every day. Even a casual outfit was styled.

Women in New York City come closest to the lost era of style in America and French women, but if you get on the subway you'll still see every assortment of clothing option possible.

As much as I yearn for the days where women dressed I can't say I didn't enjoy going to Target and the grocery store today in my active-wear, with no makeup on and my greasy hair shoved under a baseball cap. Is it possible to have both? Methinks I need another trip to Paris for "research"

Soul Sister

You know those people that you have to love because you are genetically connected to them? Most call them family. And then there are those people you actually choose to love because they are who you wish you were genetically connected to? Your chosen family.

When I was 16, I decided my family should host a foreign exchange student. Maybe I'd seen the movie Better Off Dead a few too many times, but I had this very romanticized idea of falling in love with some gorgeous guy with a terrible accent. Well, my parents somehow agreed to the zany idea, and the following year we were driving to the airport to pick up the woman who would soon become my sister and another member of our family.

Sure, maybe I was a teensy bit disappointed we didn't get Hans, some imaginary strapping hunk from Hunkland, but I quickly got over it when I met Chantal. She was sweet, fun, pretty, generous, and brought me chocolate from Belgium. *nomnomchocolate*

That year we loved and fought as true sisters. We had each other's backs. We giggled in the wee hours of the night. We got on each other's nerves. We had adventures. At the end of the year, I didn't want her to leave! We hugged and cried and made promises to write.

Because I am ancient this was before email was prevalent (email was new and seemed a cold way to communicate and I could go days without receiving any... so I rarely checked it), and so we actually hand-wrote letters, and called when our college-student budgets allowed. I visited when I studied abroad in the Netherlands. We sent little gifts, and when she fell in love and got married, I flew out for the wedding.

A few years later I flew out again and was able to meet her two young children, who were absolutely adorable and sweet, and got to see her be an amazing mother. Her light showed even brighter through her kids.

Then we both got busy. She had kids, I was working in Los Angeles trying to break into the entertainment industry.  We emailed, we Facebooked, but despite the additional modes of communication, we talked even less. But we always knew the other's love was there. When we did chat, it was as if no time had passed. Like sisters, with a common bond, we could still know each other with just a tone in the other's voice.

A couple of years ago, Chantal got sick. Colon cancer. She fought and took risks and lived her life to the fullest even with pain and disease. She took experimental treatments. Things looked good for a time, until they didn't. A few months ago, she was told there was no more treatment to be done. Still, she remained positive, sure that some new treatment would become available, some new trial, some new possibility.

About a month ago, she went into the hospital because of some pains. She still was so positive, planning to get the pain under control. In my heart I knew then if she didn't come out quickly, she never would. A couple of days ago, she passed from this world. She was with her cousin, and he said that although she could not speak, she nodded that she was not afraid to go.

I am comforted by the fact that she is no longer in pain, that she was not afraid at the end, and that she was surrounded by love. But I am still brokenhearted that my sister is not there for me at the other end of the phone, or a facebook message or email, or a "like" on a picture. My heart breaks for her two teenage children, that they should have to live the majority of their lives without her. My heart crumbles for her mother, who should never have to feel the pain of losing a husband and her only child. My heart hurts for all who loved her, including me.

I can't help but feel lucky to have known her, to have been loved by her. Everyone who knew her felt the same way. Perhaps those whose lights shine the brightest also burn out quickest. Or perhaps life just isn't fair and some only get to be here a short while. Either way, cancer fucking sucks and it can go fuck itself.

Give those you love a little extra tonight. Reach out to that person you've been meaning to catch up with. Open your heart.

I miss you, Cha... my sis.

global shit storm

I've been reading several articles lately on global warming and how the shit is hitting the fan a lot sooner than originally predicted. And that we are basically f*cked as a planet, unless we make some severe changes, like, RIGHTNOW. And I am reminded of a story that I must have heard as a kid in church or somewhere jesus-y.

I swear, this was a huge iceberg a second ago.

The story goes that there is a huge rain, and it starts to flood. The streets are filling with water such that regular cars cannot drive through them. A devout christian man is essentially trapped at his house because he has no vehicle. A guy comes with a big truck and offers to give him a ride to higher ground.  Homeboy says, "No thanks, I don't need a ride Mr. Stranger. God is going to save me."

Well, the rains keep coming and the water gets higher. Homeboy has to move into the second floor of his house because the water is so high.  A group in a boat comes by and offers him a ride to higher ground.  Homeboy says, "No thanks, I don't need a ride group of Strangers. God is going to save me."

The rains keep coming, and homeboy has to move to his roof due to flooding of the second floor. But he has faith. He just knows God will save him! And a helicopter comes by and offers to throw him a rope ladder to save him! And homeboy says, "No thanks, I don't need your helicopter ride. You see, GOD is going to save me!"

As you can imagine, Homeboy drowns. And when he gets to heaven, he comes before God and says, "God, I am a good Christian man, faithful my whole life. I prayed for you to save me, but you let me die! How could you do this?" To which God says, "You idiot. I sent you a truck, a boat and a helicopter! You refused all three!"

*facepalm*

I feel like that is what is happening with Global Warming. When the shit really starts to hit the fan, the evangelists are going to have a field day. But when they get to heaven and ask God why he didn't save them from the dying oceans, the horrific weather patterns, the crash of the ecosystem, he is going to say, "You idiot! I sent scientists telling you what was happening, congresspeople and senators to introduce bills that would limit emissions, and inventors to create products and services that would protect earth."

f*ckin idiots.

Junk in the Trunk

I went out shopping today for shoes and came home with a little black dress. And no shoes. Whoops. I swear, I wasn't even going to go in the fitting room. And yet, there I was, with this cute little black thing draped over my arm that had leapt from the rack to my grabby little mitts. Everything happened so quickly that I didn't even look at the size. I only saw that it was Kenneth Cole and marked down to $40 from $128. And that it was so cute!

Well, as I'm ripping off my clothes in the fitting room wishing I wasn't wearing a sports bra, I happen to glance at the size. It is a 2.

Just so we're clear, these are the types of women that wear a size 2:

I usually wear a size 6, maybe a size 8 if it runs "smaller" in the booty. (What? I have junk in my trunk carried by my child-bearer hips) If it has more "generous" sizing, I might be able to squeeze myself into a 4. But a TWO???

I haven't worn a two since... since... well, since never! I went straight from kiddie sizes to sprouted hips in one fell swoop. I remember being in middle school and wishing I had the ruler shaped bodies of my schoolmates, thinking I was fat because my body curved out from my waist.  (Lord don't get me started on my 12 year old self's body image!)

Well, I had already stripped off my clothes so I figure, what the heck? It will be too small. I won't be able to get it over my now-loved hourglass shape (read: hip bones and booty and junk). I'll just try to get it on to see if I should even hunt and search for a bigger size. --there was only one on the rack, hence my quick snatch and run to the fitting room. I prepare to suck in the guts as far as they will go, think thin thoughts, step in and -- WHAT THE WHAT??? Praise stretchy fabric and it's smooth ride over my hide!

Always! Gawd, Marilyn, you're so smart. 

Ok, so it fits over my rump, surely the long sleeves are going to be way to short on my gangly arms. I pull the dress all the way up, zip up the back and... do mine eyes deceive me? Does this LBD actually fit?? I have to look at my reflection no less than four mirrors just to verify that I don't look like sausage being squeezed out of its casing.

BTW, don't google "sausage casing" unless you want to be grossed out.
I don't think I will be eating that again. ever. Berf.

Well, even if the four mirrors at the store lied, I came home and tried it on for the roomie, and she agreed that it fit! Wahoooooo!!!! (does happy dance)

Mama's got a new LBD! ...now if only I had somewhere to wear it...

GRATITUDE

One week ago I was challenged by one of my oldest friends to publicly list on Facebook three things I was grateful for each day for a week.  What an amazing challenge. I may complain a lot, but I really do have so many wonderful things and people in my life.  Big realizations:

1. I am not my circumstances.  And, my circumstances are pretty good - uhm, hello? First world country? Yes please.

2. I have some truly amazing people in my life.

3. I really love wine.

What was wonderful is I was able to challenge some people who don't normally post mushy gushy motivational positive shit on their updates. I was also able to spread it to several different friend-groups.

So here's my challenge to you, dear reader, give it a go. List three things each day you are grateful for. And you can't list them in your head. You gotta facebook, insta, tweet, vine your gratefuls.  The good news is you can challenge others! Let's do this. Let's spread some goodness in this world.

Here are three images I found under the search "spread love."

Awwww...

Uhmm...

what the...

And just a final note... I found these images on Bing.  Yes, that's right, I said BING.com.  Wtf happened to Google search? It used to be that you could look at the pictures without being taken to the host website, and now, you can't preview the picture bigger than it's thumbnail, you click and it takes you to the site (whatever site that may be...) which might be a site you don't want to go to and sometimes the advertised picture isn't even there! What the hell is the world coming to that I would actively choose BING??? (sigh) Grateful Shmateful.

***UPDATE***
apparently it is my dumb old computer that makes google image search shitty. I have an older version of Safari that can't be upgraded unless I upgrade my computer. Shitty computer. But I don't want to buy a new one, so... shitty old computer is my computer for now.

Ain't that a sexy beast?