I have to admit...

that yesterday I caved. Before my kiné appointment, I kept telling myself "Samantha, this will be the LAST appointment. No matter what, do not let her talk you into another one". But what do I do when the end of the séance rolls around? Book another frickin' appointment! I tried to put her off by saying that I was leaving on a work trip for two weeks, but she wasn't having any of it. So now I am seeing her in 3 weeks time. I promise it's the last one.

I couldn't help it though - she is always so nice to me while I'm there (besides that fact that she makes me spend 30 minutes in just my underwear of course). Yesterday she kept going on and on about how fabulous my French was and how I have no accent and how she can't believe I'm 100% American. Okay, granted she is old and possibly half-deaf, but we'll overlook that - it's still nice to hear it every once in a while, especially since I feel like I barely speak any French anymore.

And then person following me was late, so she gave me an extra 5 minutes of massage and started telling me that I needed to watch out for French men. That they were all untrustworthy and unstable and major mamma's boys. Oh, and don't even get her started on the Italians! Now this woman knows nothing about my past, she was just talking about her own experiences with Frenchies & those of her daughter. But she almost seemed grandmotherly, like she really cared about what happened to me, in a way that doesn't happen very often with French women.

So back I go. And hopefully next time, I will be able to avoid busting out laughing as she slaps my butt, telling me to "clench harder". Cuz I just may have done that this time and then tried to cover it up as a cough. Though better my butt than hers, right?

Ahem.

Getting kultured

In an effort to get myself out of the house, I decided to get off my butt and do something cultural this week. I ended up going to the Musée d'Orsay with my neighbor and 2 of the visiting Australians. Imagine my surprise when I discovered their ticket jeune included 30 or under - it was a nice little flashback to the days when I was under 25 and was able to take advantage of all the discounted entrance fees France offers.

For those of you who've never been there, the Musée d'Orsay used to be the Gare d'Orsay, or a train station serving the south of France. The building itself is absolutely massive (click here for a picture) - we got there at 2pm and only had time to explore about half of the museum before it closed. It also had really fabulous views of Paris in all directions.There was a Picasso/Manet exhibit entitled "le déjeuner sur l'herbe". While I thought it was great overall, I couldn't help but thinking that most of it reminded me of drawings done by the 4 year old I looked after this summer. Maybe it's just more proof that I have no clue what "art" is really about. Or maybe the 4 year old is just a Picasso in the making. lolAnother thing that surprised me was that there were so many people taking pictures, yet no guards walking around shouting "pas de photos s'il vous plaît". So that was nice - there was none of the "I'm pretending to write a text message but really I'm taking a picture with my camera phone" going on. I didn't even bring mine since I thought they'd be forbidding - so all of these pics are taken with my beloved blackberry. I also couldn't get over the number of ritzy old French women walking around - maybe it was "get in free day" if you were 60+ , wearing a fur coat and dripping in diamonds? What was even funnier was watching them try to take pictures of the art with their cell phones.... I particularly liked this guy and his cocker spaniel-like side burns. I think it would be a good candidate for replacing the Euro mullet. Who votes that the Justin starts the trend off?And even though the view wasn't really that different from chez moi, I couldn't resist taking a picture of the Eiffel Tower at sunset. Cuz you know you can never have too many of those...

Can you imagine going without electricity, water or a phone for several days straight? Most of you have probably heard about the big storms that the South of France experienced last weekend, and I've been watching it unfold every day on the news. About 30% of my clients down there, and the majority of them are in les Landes, the area that took the brunt of it. It's so strange for me to see all of those tiny towns on the news - sort of like their 15 minutes of fame, though not in a good way.

I haven't been able to reach many of them so far because their phone lines are still out - pretty much every time I try, I get a message saying "This number does not exist". I hope they haven't suffered too much damage though, and that none of their animals were hurt. I'd almost planned on going down there this week too, but I'm really glad I didn't now. Staying in a hotel is already getting old, let alone in a hotel with no electricity or running water!

I guess it just goes to show how spoiled we all are nowadays. I've tried to think about how I would deal here with no heat, no fridge, no oven, no lights, etc - I'm certainly not equipped for it. In fact, the only thing I am equipped for is internet, since my blackberry can act as a modem for my computer if need be! (Though without electricity, my laptop wouldn't last long.) It all just makes what Riana's doing look even smarter, ie going back to the basics and not being a slave to consumerism and technology....

Oh, me aching head

Ugh. Since I work from home and don't really have any set hours (technically I'm on-call 24/7), I often tend to wake up whenever a client calls me. Which could be at 6am or at 10am, with a tendency towards the later. And that's what I was banking on when I got home in the wee hours of the morning.

Unfortunately it did not work out that way, and I got a call from one of my clients down South at about 7am. It was a complicated problem that took a while to solve, not aided by the fact that I still felt half-drunk. And since their phone lines are all still out down there (more on that tomorrow), she kept having to run outside with her cell phone & climb up on a pile of dirt every time she wanted to call me. But it eventually got fixed.

Now on to last night.

Last night was supposed to just be Happy Hour drinks, celebrating the departure of a visiting Australian. But I should've known better - "Happy Hour drinks" turned into "Staying until the bar closed" drinks. But give me a break - I was with two really nice boys who always speak to me in French and there was a cute bartender named Adam giving us free shots called....wait for it..... "le sexe d'Adam" or essentially "Adam's junk". Would you say no to that?? I had so much fun - it was almost like being with my guy friends back home, just hanging out in a bar, talking & laughing. It was nice for once to not have the sexual question mark that usually comes with talking to a French man. Platonic friendships don't often exist in France (though Alisa, I'm thinking of you here!), which means that guys can sometimes get the wrong idea when you try to talk to them. So last night was cool and much appreciated. And even though I am paying the price today, I am even more grateful that I don't have to get on a 36 hour flight back to Oz.

Which reminds me of my last point. I hope I don't piss any Australians off here, but I have to admit that up until last night, I didn't think "Australia Day" was a real bona fide holiday. I just thought it was an excuse to drink or maybe a joke, sort of like how in high school, my friend Todd declared October 13 "National Todd Day". In my defense, I'd never heard of Australia Day until a few weeks ago (how is that possible with all the Aussie blogs I read??) and my confusion was compounded by the fact that most of the Australians I talked to last night didn't even know the origins of it. Names like "James Cook" and then "Jacques Cartier" were thrown around, and then one guy said he thought they were celebrating the day the first boat-full of convicts landed in Australia - but that seems like an awfully odd thing to celebrate to me. Either way, happy belated Australia Day to all of the Australians out there. I will be attending an "Australia Day" party on Saturday, which gives me at least a few more days to find out its actual origins....

Mannequin porn

Or, "Drunken mother-in-law the morning after"

Sorry peeps, but I've got nothing. My life is one big, boring mess right now. What's that you say? You want some proof? Okay, fine - the highlight of the past few days has been my ancient kiné (physical therapist) telling me to feel up her butt cheeks, so I could see just exactly how clenched they were.

Sadly, that is the most action I've seen in months...


UPDATE: I was just reminded by a friend that I also went on a date this week. Though the fact that I didn't even remember I'd gone on a date should tell you just how memorable it was....

Today I went out with some fellow bloggers in search of some cupcake goodness, courtesy of Cupcake & Co. The store is run by two sisters and all of their recipes use organic ingredients. We'll see what the other girls say, but overall I wasn't very impressed - the service was slow and a bit disorganized (no excuses, we were the only ones there) and the cupcakes themselves were dry & dense. Leesa's cupcakes win hands down! One of the owners said it was because they were cold and had just come out of the fridge, but I think it's a French thing - a lot of the cakes/muffins here tend to be a lot drier/heavier than we'd like them to be in the US. The cream cheese frostings however were absolutely delicious - and I do have high hopes for the mini-cheesecake I purchased for dessert tonight. (As a side note, that is how I know I'm not feeling 100% - I have a non-eaten cheesecake sitting in the fridge! lol)

Pictured: Red Velvet cupcake w/cream cheese
frosting & a mini-cheesecake

Bitter much?

Fab called me the other day, just to see how I was doing, and it left me with a really bad taste in my mouth. For the first time, I felt angry with him - how is it fair that he gets to be happy? He screwed me over, and he's the one who's happy. I've always said I wanted him to be happy, but I sure wasn't feeling it then. Shame on me for wanting him to know what it's like to be hurt so badly. But hey, we've all got our weak moments. And at least I'm comforted in knowing that he always feels like crap after talking to me too. I don't know why that makes me feel better, but it does - like I'm not completely alone in my suffering.

He did share two pieces of news with me though, one good and one bad. The nice ex-SIL is pregnant, which is funny, because I had a dream last time I talked to her that she had a bun in the oven, so I asked her and she said no, we're not even trying. So congrats to them, she will make a wonderful mother (the verdict is still out on Fab's step-brother though, lol). The bad news is that the Père Chesnas died this weekend - he's the crazy (but lovable) old priest I've written about a few times before on my old blog. RIP Père.

PS. Père, if you're looking down on us from up there, please feel free to play a little trick on Fabrice - you know, escaped cows, a flat tractor tire - something along those lines. I promise I won't tell anyone and we both know he deserves it!! :)

So today's the big day, huh? It's hard to believe that the Bush years are *this close* to being over. But yet here I am feeling torn in two - part of me wants to get caught up in all the celebration. Yet the other part wonders how much change he will actually bring? His administration choices just seem to be more of the same, there's very little fresh blood in there.

I also have some reserves about the 150 million they're spending on inauguration day. I realize this is a historic event, but is it really prudent to be spending that much money, in light of the sacrifices he's asking us all to make? Shouldn't he be leading by example?

But malgré tout, tonight I will celebrate - maybe more so the end of Bush's 'reign' rather than the beginning of Obama's, but I will celebrate nonetheless. And I will try to remain cautiously optimistic about the changes Obama will bring.

Boohoo

I was feeling pretty glum on my way back from Bretagne Friday. I had a rough week with my co-worker, and I just sat there on the train having an "woe is me" moment. One of the only things I really mind about being single is constantly coming home to an empty house after my trips, and never having anyone there waiting for me. Compounded with my shitty week, it just seemed downright depressing this time. So much so that I was considering not going to rhumrhums; I felt like doing nothing more than sitting on the couch and feeling sorry for myself.

But then I walked in the door and picked up my mail. And for once, instead of just bills, I had mail from actual people. I got a pretty postcard from Jenny and a New Year's card from L&B, plus a package from my co-workers. I finally have the right to company clothing, so I figured that's what it was. And it was - but they'd also filled the box full of goodies. My first care package, after all this time! I now have 8 boxes of mac & cheese, 2 bags of peanut butter cups and 2 big jars of PB. Plus a lovely note thanking me for all the hard work I do over here. So thanks to all of you guys for giving me a much needed boost (and to everyone else who left me a nice comment on my last post).

And while all of that wasn't enough to completely get me out of my funk, it was enough to at least get me off my a** and out the door Friday night. Two and a half rhumrhums later, I was still feeling a bit down, but I was buoyed after spending time with friends. And then I danced away the last of the gloomies in a club last night, finally rolling into just before 8am this morning. Which meant that I slept right through my plans of eating sushi with friends near Montparnasse, but on the upside, I am feeling a million times better - it's amazing what a night out on the town followed by a long sleep can do for a girl. And on that note, I am going back to bed. Even though I only got up three hours ago.

I had to laugh yesterday when we drove by a tiny lieu-dit called "Ça me suffit", or "It's enough for me". So there's at least one French person out there who's content with what they have. Ha!

(Scratch that - I just Googled it and there are three "ça me suffit's" in France, so I take it back - there are three content Frenchies somewhere out there. lol)

Also, it's kinda bugging me that some of you out there think I'm a "glass half empty" kind of girl. Here I thought I'd been doing pretty good at seeing the positive in everything that's happened. That's the problem with blog posts - half the people are going to read them the wrong way. I just thought the saying was funny because it seemed so French - to always be complaining about everything and not realizing how good they actually have things until its gone. Kind of goes along with how the France is considered to be one of the best countries to live in in the world, yet its people are also the unhappiest....

I came across this black board in the restaurant where we at lunch yesterday:1. Bonheur, je t'ai reconnu au bruit que tu fis en partant - Philosphe Alain. "Happiness, I recognized you by/from the sound you made as you left." I immediately thought of David when I saw this, and of his post wondering how complaining came to be the French national sport. I don't have an answer to that, but this one little phrase sure sums it up pretty well!

2. L'habitude est le commencement du rendement et la fin du progrès - Me. This one is a lot harder to translate properly in English. I'm sure we have a saying for it somewhere, but I can't think of it off-hand. Maybe something about not getting stuck in a rut because then you stop innovating?

Either way, I thought they were two really random sayings to put together, especially since the first one describes the French mentality in a nutshell and the second one is so much more American.

Hotel fun, part 2

Yesterday was a really long day, with over six hours of driving and us not getting back until 9:30pm. We park the car, and as we're walking up to the hotel, I say "Co-worker, are those our windows that are open?" We get a bit closer and discover that yes indeed, those ARE our windows. The only two windows open in the entire hotel. In freezing cold weather. Left open for an entire day and half the night.

It's the perfect revenge though, especially on someone who has to wake up at 5:30am the next morning (ie. the exact amount of time it will take to reheat the room to a decent level). I'm figuring the receptionist said something to the cleaning ladies about my original room smelling like smoke, they took it personally and decided "Well, if they think our rooms smell like smoke, we'll just *air* theirs out".

Passive-aggressivity wins again. You gotta love it!

Re-bienvenue en Bretagne

Scene: Ksam is checking into a hotel somewhere in Bretagne

Ksam (thinks "Oh man, it's the same b*tch we had last time", but simply says in French): Hi, we reserved two rooms for tonight under the name ****.
Receptionist: (Looks back and forth between me and my male colleague) Two rooms?
Ks: Yes, two rooms.
R: (Looks back & forth again and decides to repeat "two rooms" in a really bad English accent, just in case I didn't get it the first five times)
Ks: Yep.
R: Okay then.....here are your keys.........For your two rooms.
Ks: Thanks, have a good night.

I go up and open the door of my room and am automatically hit with a cloud of smoke. Coming from my supposedly non-smoking room. In the supposedly non-smoking hotel. I go next door and check out my co-worker's room, which also reeks of smoke, though somewhat less. After a little bit of mental debate about whether or not I can stand it for the next four nights, I decide to go back downstairs and see if I can change rooms. Considering there are only four other cars in the parking lot (ours included) and 60+ rooms, I figure this will not be much of a problem.

Ks: Hi, I'm wondering if it would be possible to change rooms? Mine smells like smoke.
R: That is not possible, it's a non-smoking hotel.
Ks: I know, but the previous person must have smoked in there. My co-worker's room also smells like smoke.
R: Like I said, it's no-smoking here.
Ks: Like I said, it smells like smoke.

*And thus begins the stare down between Ksam & the receptionist.*

Ks: (finally breaking the silence) Listen here, there's an ashtray in my room AND in my co-worker's room. You can't tell me people don't smoke in there. (TOC, take that biyatch)
R: (realizing I've got her there) Well, what do you want me to do? People smoke in the rooms no matter what we do, so we have to put ashtrays in so they don't leave ashes everywhere.
Ks: (thinks "And this is my problem how??" but says nothing)
R: *sighs* Fine, let me look around and see what is available. *Tappity tap tap tap* You can take room number 36.
Ks: Gee, thank you ever so much for your help.

Remind me again why people say Parisians are the snotty ones?

I kill you!!

I was watching Jay Leno last night and saw this - funniest damn thing I've seen in a long time (or maybe that's just the fatigue talking). If you're pressed for time, fast-forward to around 2:40 to the second act.

We had quite the interesting discussion at rhumrhums Friday night. We were talking about dating Frenchies, and there were two camps - those who wanted to date Frenchies who spoke no English and those who wanted to date Frenchies who were able to speak English.

Personally, I'm divided on this subject. Having spent seven years with a Frenchie who spoke English, I can see the distinct advantages and disadvantages of each side. The pros included being able to communicate when my French was non-existent and him being able to communicate with my family. The downside of that though is that my French advanced at a much slower pace than that of my friends who spoke French à la maison as well as in school.

The thing is though, while I go on and on about wanting to meet a non-English speaking guy so I can improve my French, I have to admit that it is nice to date someone who speaks my language and has somewhat of an understanding of the American culture. It just makes things so much easier in a bi-cultural relationship when both sides can see where the other is coming from.

And since we're being honest here, one of the other reasons that I never pushed more to switch over to speaking 100% French with Fab is because I liked having the "upper hand", so to speak. Speaking English together meant that I pretty much won all of our arguments. Not that we fought about much besides him working all the time, but arguing is just so much harder to do in a foreign language. And even just when having a normal conversation - I speak decent French, but I still feel at a disadvantage when talking to Frenchies. I can say what I want to say, but there's still something that's lost in the process. And don't even get me started on trying to be funny in French....

I guess I just need to make up my mind. I moan on and on about not speaking enough French, but then whenever I have the chance (as I had at last Friday's rhumrhums with a perfectly lovely Frenchman), I still choose English.

Somebody needs to let go of their control issues....

Our favorite Parisian blogger, Heather, recently got some air time on ABC News. She was the 'local expert' on piece entitled "What a Faux Pas! Rude Americans Arrive in Paris". Check out the article and accompanying videos (Parts 1, 2 & 3) when you get a minute!

While my actual apartment may suck, I love everything else about where I live. The location, the safety of the neighborhood, the shopping, the easy access to all the airports/train stations, the close proximity to the rhumrhum bar (hey, it's all about priorities, right?).

But the thing that I will miss most when I (finally) leave is the view. I love being able to see the Eiffel Tower out of my window every day. And I am treated to a beautiful sunset pretty much every night. Watching the sun set over the roof tops of Paris - it doesn't get much better than that.

And now for the osteopath portion of our story

So I arrived at the osteopath and sat down in his waiting room. Which had classical music piped in, a marble fire place and crown molding everywhere. Hmm, I thought, good thing this is going to be covered by la sécu.

Or was it? (insert ominous music here)

I finally got called in, and he said "Okay, take all of your clothes off". Now, I'd seen an osteopath once before in 2004, after an incident involving a small child tackling me and knocking me over, so I expected this part. Unlike in the US, there is usually no changing room, nor a paper gown for you to wear. So I wasn't *that* freaked out by having to strip down to my skivvies right in front of the doctor. And contrary to the last time, I'd at least had the sense to put on some decent, matching sous-vêtements. I can't remember if last time I'd worn granny pants or a thong, but either way, it wasn't appropriate. So at least I had that right this time.

And this is where the appointment started feeling like some kind of first date gone wrong. Maybe he was just being friendly or trying to make me forget about the pain, but he would not stop asking me personal questions. As I'm sitting there in my underwear, with one of his hands near my boob and the other on my thigh, he says "So, are you single?"

I jumped so high I think I popped one of my bones back into place myself.

And it continued along those lines for the rest of the hour. He kept saying "Relax, relax, let me do the work". Well, how the hell do you want me to relax in those kinds of conditions? I mean, seriously, the man was had his hand on my butt and was jiggling it. He said I had a lot of tension in my shoulders (no surprise there, considering I don't have a desk and do all of my typing while sitting on the couch), but what exactly does that have to do with my right buttocks? How exactly is one supposed to be comfortable in such a situation?

He also said I had several things out of whack in my mid-back, but he didn't do much work on my lower back, ie where it hurts. His reasoning was that pain can manifest itself elsewhere, and that was what was happening with my lower back and that it would take a few days to clear up. Okay Doc, I can buy that for now. And I did walk out of there feeling better than before. But my lower back still hurts, damn it!

The worst part is, I made another appointment with him for the end of the month. My Minnesota side came out when he asked to schedule a follow-up and I just couldn't make myself say no. So instead, I will be a coward and wait a few days and then call off-hours, leaving him a message to cancel it.

And thus ends ksam's adventures at the osteopath.


PS. Remember the prescription I had? The one that was for the osteopath? Well, it was actually for the kiné. Still confused as to why the doc told me it was for an osteopath, but whatever. So that meant I had to fork over 65€ for this lovely experience, which may or may not be partially or fully reimbursed by my mutuelle.

But hey, at least I had matching underwear, right?

The one in which I fight off a bunch of old people

Yesterday I did something I hadn't done since last Thursday.

I got dressed. Bust out the marching band.

Stop laughing. You try putting a pair of socks on without being able to bend over or lift up your knees. Ha. Bet you're not laughing anymore!

But I figured that three-day old pajamas would not do for an outing to the clinic, so I managed to dress myself and make my way outside. Only to discover that it had snowed and I had chosen the slipperiest day of the year to walk outside with a bum back. Good call on that one Samantha. But I shuffled my way to the bus and slowly made my way to the walk-in clinic. I had to wait for about an hour - and man, if I wasn't sick before, I should be now, what with all that coughing and hacking going on in there. I swear one guy almost lost his lung in a potted plant.

Anyways, back to the story.

The doctor saw me and agreed I had a very limited range of motion (big surprise there Doc). She sent me upstairs to get an x-ray "just in case". And then I spent the next two and a half hours in a waiting room filled with little old people. "Aww, cute" I bet you're thinking. Ha! Little old French people may look cute but they are the evilest (is that a word??) people on this planet. They make look frail, but they will roll over your foot, cut in front of you in line and/or jab you with their cane if it means they can get ahead of you in line.

Apparently that day though, the old person quota was exceptionally high - they'd all been out and about shuffling around in the snow like I had, except a lot of them had fallen and were in to get scanned for broken bones. It was like a geriatric bull ring in there, watching them all try to cut in front of the other one. "My case is more urgent" "No, my case is!" Thank God I had my mp3 player with or I would've gone insane listening to all of them screech. I swear, some of those old women have voices only dogs can hear. And don't even get me started on their sense of entitlement.

Rupert, go ask them what's taking so long.
Gertrude, I just asked them that five minutes ago.
Well, go ask again. This is getting ridiculous.
I'm not asking again. You ask!
*jabs the poor man in the ribs with her umbrella*
Fine, I'll go ask.

Now, translate that into French and multiply it by 50 and play it on repeat and you've got the hell I was in.

But I finally got my x-ray, and of course nothing was broken. So I had to go back downstairs and wait again for another hour to see the doc again. She gave me pain pills and a muscle relaxers, plus a prescription for several sessions with an osteopath. By that time, my entire day had been spent at the clinic (good thing I don't have a 9-5 job, right?), and I had just enough time to go pick up my meds and head over to the osteopath.

This is getting kind of long, so more about that adventure tomorrow...

On my way to the doctor

Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

The one in which I am once again the weird foreigner at the wedding

Some of you may remember the wedding I attended during my very first weekend in Paris, ie. the one where I did pretty much everything one was not supposed to do - showed up late, wore the wrong clothes, danced with underage boys, etc. And then there was L& B's wedding where I didn't know I was supposed to have written a speech and a funny song for them, so I was totally unprepared and did not fulfill my role as a witness. (Btw, I still feel bad about that, guys).

So it should come as no surprise to you that I was once again the weirdo at Mrs Leyla's wedding. When I showed up at the Palm house (which until we arrived, I'd thought was the "Parma House" because of everyone's accents!), I found it odd that there was no gift table. I asked a man near the door and he just looked at me like I had two heads.

The girl I'd come with just had a card with money, and I thought "Money? That's awfully impersonal. I spent ages trying to think of a nice gift for them". But wouldn't you know, that's what everyone else had done too. There was even a special box for the cards:
If you look closely, you can see just the tip of my present, sitting underneath the post box all by its lonesome. The people that came in after us even pointed at it and laughed. As I watched the girl put her card in the box, I asked her how she knew to do that. She just shrugged and said that's how it was done. And I asked the nice Thai boy sitting next to me how he'd known and he said the same. Even the other frickin' foreigners knew what to do! *sigh* Let this be a warning to anyone else who wants to invite me to their wedding.

Though on second thought, at least you wouldn't need to book any entertainment.


PS. Lest anyone think I did not have fun, rest assured that I did once I got over my present hissy fit. It was an absolutely lovely wedding in a beautiful setting, and I'm so glad to have been a part of it. I'd been a bit worried about it, but I had so much fun that I did not once think about last year's NYE, and how I'd thought Fab was going to propose during our fancy dinner. Sure was way off base with that one, huh? lol

A quick blogging break to announce that - WOOT! - the Eiffel Tower is finally back to normal! Sarko's EU presidential reign is over, so the blue bulbs have finally disappeared. It's about time, I was definitely not a fan. Though I do wonder how many people it took to do the changeover...can you imagine replacing all of those bulbs??

Aïe

My New Year's Eve post will have to wait until tomorrow, as I am currently curled up in my bed after a week of pretending that I did not feel sharp pains shooting up my back every time I took a step. I originally thought I had a bone out of alignment, but I'm pretty sure it's a pinched nerve now and I am definitely paying the price for traveling and moving around so much this past week.
This may be my retribution for secretly thinking "Oh, come on, it can't be that bad" every time I heard someone say they had sciatica. Lesson learned - it really hurts like a b*tch!

Anyone out there want to go grocery shopping for me? My fridge is empty and my tummy is rumbling. Bueller? Bueller? Anyone? Hello?? (insert sounds of birds chirping here).

Vivement Monday evening and my appointment with the osteopath.