The other day, I headed to Rennes for a tradeshow. It was the first time I'd been to such a big one, so I was just kind of walking around getting my bearings when I saw someone I knew across the room.

I was sitting there, thinking "Man, which one of my customers does that guy work for?"

Until I realized it was one of the farmers from "L'amour est dans le pré". And then I noticed there was another cast member standing nearby:It was Raphael, the jerky fonctionnaire rennais. It was actually pretty funny to see him there, because C & I had both speculated that he was just on the show to get his 15 minutes of fame, et le voila.

They were there to participate in a forum held by the radio station "France Bleu Armorique". I didn't get to listen to the session because I was there to schmooze with my customers after all, but here were some of the topics discussed:

Est-ce si difficile de rencontrer l'âme soeur chez nous en Bretagne?
Avez-vous réfléchi longtemps avant de tenter l'aventure?
Comment cette idée a t elle était perçue par votre entourage?
Cette aventure a t elle toujours été agréable à vivre, ou y a t il eu des moments difficiles?
Comment avez-vous réagi le jour où vous avez appris que vous aviez été sélectionné?
Aviez-vous fait d'autres tentatives, annonces, speed-dating, site de rencontres sur Internet?

Is it really that difficult to meet one's soul-mate in Bretagne?
Did you think about it a long time before deciding to sign up for the show?
How did your friends/family feel about it?
Was it a 100% positive experience, or where there also some difficult moments?
How did you react when you found out you had been selected?
What have you done in the past to find love (ads, speed-dating, dating websites)?

The interview can be found here (in French of course), if anyone would like to listen to it.

This post is for all the ladies out there - what's your take on heart-shaped jewelry? Do you love it? Hate it? Just find it cheesy?

I myself am somewhere between hating it and finding it incredibly cheesy. I don't remember what TV show we were watching the other night (maybe The Office??), but one of the main female characters said something about how all women secretly hate heart-shaped jewelry. And I was like "Amen Sistah!"

C turned to me in surprise and said "What??", and I was like "I'm pretty sure most women can't stand heart-shaped jewelry, but that they wear it because men keep giving it as a present. Damn jewelry stores & their OTT marketing campaigns". And then he got all red and was quiet for a bit....and now I'm wondering if that's not what he got me (or was planning on getting me) for my upcoming birthday.

OOPS.

But that got me thinking - how would I react if he gave me something heart-shaped? Fab gave me a heart-shaped watch when he moved back to France and I promptly turned around and returned it for one I liked better. He was a bit hurt at the time, and I realize now I probably should've just sucked it up and worn it. But now it's ten years down the road- have I changed? Would I wear it if C gave it to me? I'm still not sure. He's into very simple things, so I guess there isn't much chance of him buying something super ostentatious or in-your-face. But either way, given my recent gaffe, I guess I'll probably never know!

One day while I was in Texas, my cousin and I were in her room, getting ready to go out. I was already finished, so I was just sitting around, chatting. She had a book next to her bed - I can't remember the title of it, but it was sort of a religious "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus". I asked her about it, and she said they'd had to read it as part of their pre-marital counseling required by their church. I started flipping through it, and while it seemed a bit cro-magnon-ish (I man. You woman) and hokey, it did have some good points, mainly about the expectations men and women often have of each other.

Along the lines of how most women tend to show their feelings through obvious words and actions. And then get frustrated when men don't reciprocate in the same way. So the book spent a lot of time talking about how a man's way of taking care of a woman can be more subtle - it could be something like checking the air pressure in her tires so she doesn't have an accident or fixing something around the house. The point being that a lot of their actions in the name of love are unspoken and often go unseen, and that we women may need to look a bit harder for them since they're not being shouted from the rooftops.

It's funny though, because I was just reminded of that book now. C just sent me a text saying he finally found some see-through plastic to put up on my windows. And my first reaction was "Um...great!" But when I thought about it further, it actually is really sweet. There's no double-pane action going on here in my shoebox, so I lose a lot of warmth that way and am often cold. And I really hate being cold. C already had some transparent stuff at his place, but he didn't want to cover up my view of the Eiffel Tower. So instead he trekked all over Paris looking for the see-through kind. And when I think about it, he's done a lot of little things like that in my apartment (or vice-versa in his apartment) to make it more comfortable for me.

He's very different from anyone I've ever dated before - he's less vocal & more traditional - so it's been sort of a learning process for me to figure out how to relate to such a man's man. And this post is a mental note to remind myself that's it's also important to look for the small ways he shows he cares, instead of looking only for the grand gestures or proclamations.

Boys sure do take up a lot of time. Despite all the worrying I did about being single and living alone after first moving to Paris, I actually got used to it, and even grew to like it. So I'm still getting used to having to share my time again, and to having to consult with someone else before planning something. Though part of me is happy I have 'a someone else' to consult with. (The other part of me sort of misses just vegging on the couch in comfy pajamas).

Other than that though, there's not much to note. I'm not a big fan of New Year's resolutions, but I have decided to make an effort to travel more this year. I took more trips through Europe when I lived in the US than I have since living in France. I guess you just get into that mindset of "it'll always be there, I can go next year". Well, next year has finally arrived.

And C, being a fonctionnaire, gets a crazy amount of vacation. He's already asked for one week off in February and one week off in March. So now we are in the process of discussing what to do and where to go. I alternate between moments of panic, where I freak out about things like purchasing tickets and reserving hotels THAT FAR AHEAD!, and other moments of calm, where I feel reassured because he is wanting to do this too. Sometimes all the ups and downs tire me, and I think to myself "Just get over it already". But I guess it's all just part of the process.

I've been struggling with something since dating C. No, nothing like that. My problem is, what to call him? Those of you that know me in "real" life, know that I tend to have a lot of nicknames for people - often short, two-syllable words like lady or chica or mama. With Fab, it was easy - I couldn't pronounce his full name in the beginning, so I took to calling him (much to his chagrin) by his childhood nickname - Fafa. (Which also explains my aversion to the Flight of the Concords "Foux de fafa" song that has been making the rounds in the blogosphere as of late - who wants a constant reminder of their ex?).

And while C's name is two-syllables, it is rather long. Plus both of my ex-BIL's share his name, so any diminutives of it are automatically associated with them. So I'm stuck. I don't want to go to with the standard "mon amour" or "mon chéri" or "mon coeur" - I'm looking for something with a little bit of originality. My Scottish friend down south suggested "mon Frenchie", and I tried it out, but that never really worked for me either. I've tried asking around a bit, but most of the people I know here tend to speak English to their partner.

So I'm curious, what do you all call your significant others? Since we speak French together, I'm looking for something ideally in French and not longer than five or six letters.

Let the suggestions commence!

Well here I am, back safe and sound and jet-lag free. I'd been hoping for a little warmer temperatures, but I'll settle for having my normal, drama-free life back. I landed in Paris Sunday morning, and C got up early to meet me at the airport, which I really appreciated. As some of you know, I'd been a bit nervous about seeing him again. Would I feel the same after such a long absence? Would he feel the same? But luckily everything was just fine. And he passed the Christmas present test by giving me a night in a château. I was actually really touched - finally someone gave me something with a little thought behind it.

It was funny though, because while I was gone, he told me he'd purchased a second guitar. And I was like "A second guitar? What happened to your first one?" There was a slight pause, and then he said "Well, I was hoping I could keep the second one at your place". And then there was a slight pause on my part. My brain raced back and forth between "Ack! He wants to start keeping things chez moi! It's too soon!" and "Stop freaking out, this is a good thing". The rational side of me won out, and I now have this hanging on my wall:
And he spent all of Christmas break learning to play a really lovely song for me, so I have to say it was a decision well-made. :)

I've been meaning to blog about this for a few weeks now, but kept forgetting. Now C & I normally speak in French, but he does speak fairly decent English and has an interest in learning more. He is pretty exposed to it just by association (ie. soirées with my friends, movies in VO, American TV, etc), but he's always resisted my suggestion of speaking English a few days a week. And to be honest, I never really pushed it much since I'm happy to finally be speaking French outside of my work.

But before we left for the UK, he asked if we could speak English there. I wasn't really too excited about it because 1) it would be weird to speak to him in another language and 2) it's kind of nice to have a secret language (that not too many people can understand) while abroad. But I realize I'm lucky that he actually wants to improve his English, so I decided to go along with it. For the first days though, it was really weird. Like incredibly weird. Like talking to a complete stranger weird. It was almost awkward - you just get into this rhythm of relating to someone one way, and switching languages mixes that all up.

But then I sort of got used to it, and it made for some funny, direct-from-French, translations. Like C calling me "my little bug". I didn't dare tell him that puce was flea in English.

A few nights after the ice cream discussion, C & I were watching a French program that was following around this French couple. The wife had end-stage kidney disease, and her husband had decided to donate one of his kidneys to her. My first thought was "Oh, that's really sweet" and then I didn't think anything more of it, but C's reaction (along with everyone else on the program) was more so along the lines of "Is he crazy?" Apparently organ donation is a fairly rare occurrence in France - and it's true that once I started thinking about it, I couldn't ever remember hearing about anyone doing it.

Then again, the laws in France also complicate the matter somewhat. Up until a few years back, you could only donate to your parent, sibling or child. In 2004, they finally changed it to include grandparents, aunts & uncles, cousins or spouses - but it's still illegal to donate to a friend, co-worker, etc. All of this has acted together to make organ donation a lot more rare in France. So I was explaining to C how it worked in MN, and even brought out my drivers license to show how you could check on the back of the box if you wanted to be an organ donor and he was really surprised.

But getting back to the show - I could not believe that the rest of this woman's family refused to donate an organ to her - some of them wouldn't even get tested to see if they were a match! The general consensus was "But if we give one kidney to her, we'll only have one left, and what if something happens to that one?" Even her parents said they wouldn't give one to one another. And then it was my turn to be flabbergasted - I couldn't believe that people would actually prefer to let their daughter/sister be on a wait list (and potentially die) than donate an organ.

It's obviously a bit too early on to be asking C whether or not he would donate a kidney to me, so I asked if he would donate one to his mother or his sister - and he was so shocked I had even asked. He said he never even thought about it before and that he wasn't going to think about it because it wasn't a choice he currently had to make. But here I was thinking that it was important to have considered this kind of stuff, because it might happen some day.

It's funny though, because it also made me think about how most of the Frenchmen I know in Paris are just as Americanized as Fab was (if not more). And C has so many sides that aren't typically French, but every once in a while, I get caught off-guard by just how French he really is. I guess it's going to keep me on my toes, but it does make me wonder if we're not in for some interesting discussions (arguments?) ahead.

Though for the sake of our relationship, it has already been decided that the "No, peanut butter is not any worse than nutella" argument is officially off-limits.

Up until now, I was considering myself to be fairly knowledgeable about French culture, but the more time I spend with C, the more I realize how much I have left to learn. Fab was practically American, so we never really had any cultural misunderstandings or differences, but with C, we're sometimes worlds apart. Like I've already mentioned, there's his insistence on eating literally everything with a knife and a fork. Or how his idea of what constitutes a meal is so narrowly defined.

And I had to laugh the other day when we were watching an American sitcom. The female character ended up being pretty mean to one of her friends. They part ways in a huff, but a few hours later she realizes the error of her ways and she shows up at his door with a big bucket of ice cream. Now C will often times pause the show we're watching to ask a what X word means or the meaning of Y phrase, but this time he paused it and just had a bewildered look on his face. He literally could not understand why she would show up with ice cream. He was so mystified by it that I could not stop laughing. And the worst part is, I couldn't even explain why she would bring ice cream. I mean really, he's right - why ice cream? I tried talking about how they would make up and then eat straight out of the carton with a big spoon, but that just horrified him even more. (and made me laugh even harder)

Oh, the joys of a bi-cultural relationship!

Doritos, where have you been all my life?

(A reference for the Diary of Why readers ^^)

This past Saturday night was the 8th Edition of "La Nuit Blanche" here in Paris. It's an annual, all-night arts festival takes place in other cities in Europe as well. This year in Paris, the festival was situated in three neighborhoods - Le Marais, Le Quartier Latin et Les Buttes Chaumont. I was feeling kind of lazy, so we decided to just stay in the Latin Quarter. We first walked up to St Michel, through absolute throngs of people. The Cluny Museum had their Roman baths open, so we walked through there and briefly stopped to watch a very boring film showing a snow storm. The Roman Baths themselves were much more interesting, especially since they'd been closed for renovation when I'd stopped by last summer.

And then it was on to the Luxembourg gardens, to see the ginormous disco ball I'd been hearing so much about. The line was atrocious - it went from the entrance to the Senate building all the way along the gates up to the main entrance at the RER exit. We decided to get in line anyways, with the hopes that it was fast-moving.We were wrong. 2 1/2 hours later, at almost exactly midnight, we finally made it to the entrance. But the disco ball was indeed gigantic.There was also this installation, as well as a weird musical one. So yeah, I know what you're thinking - that is so NOT worth a 2 1/2hr wait. I definitely agree.But at least I was bien accompagnée. ;)

It's funny for me to think about how much my relationship with France has changed since moving to Paris. Even though I had an absolutely fabulous time in the US, by week three, I was starting to get an itch to come back. Me! Wanting to come back to France! Imagine that. I had to double check that hell had not frozen over during my absence. And the feeling was only cinched after watching Julie & Julia (IMO: the book is probably better than the movie). At $11 the movie ticket, it was a pretty expensive realization.

I'm very lucky though to have reconnected with several friends during my time there - I think after Fabrice and I broke up, I felt somewhat ashamed about the whole thing. Like I'd been thrown out like somebody's dirty laundry. Some of my friends from my "previous life" weren't even aware what had happened. So it was nice to catch up with them again and hear what they've been up to, especially my best friend from college.

There was something missing from my trip though - there were a few times when I'd get a twinge of "Gosh, this is so amazing - I wish I had someone to share this with". Like I was just bursting with love for what was happening at that very moment and I wanted to share that happiness with someone else.

But then on the other hand, I find myself letting the multiple emails from the bal de pompiers dude go unanswered.

I think it's still too soon. Or he's not the right one?

Maybe Paris is enough for me right now.

Can I just say that the Bal de Pompiers was a million times better than I expected? The only thing was that I wished I would've been there with some girlfriends instead of my date - there were majorly hot firemen everywhere and I felt like DANCING. We went to the Ball at the Porte de Champerret Fire Station. The place was absolutely huge, with two different stage areas and a champagne room. Another guy there was telling me that they were the biggest brigade in Paris and judging by the number of firemen there, I can definitely believe it. Out of respect for my date, I didn't really take any pictures of the firemen, but to give you an idea of what it's like at the end of the night, here are few from the Internets:As for the date itself - it was actually alright. He was a nice guy, we have a lot in common (he travels for work, has studied in Finland, etc) and I think he may be one of the first guys to get a second date. So for now, I am over-looking the fact that he is from Bretagne... ;)

Tonight fire stations all across Paris and France will be holding their annual Bal des Pompiers, or Firemens' Ball. One of the most famous ones, held at the Port Royal Fire station, is located in my neighborhood, but after a failed attempt to attend that one last year, I will be testing out the waters in another arrondissement this year....with Hot Date #1. Though he may have some competition from all the hot, shirtless firemen running around... ;)

If you click here, you'll see the list of all the bals being held in IdF. (FYI: Some stations have balls both the 13 & the 14th, giving you two chances to see the firemen in action!)

The joke's on me

I had to laugh last night after seeing "He's just not that into you" (or "Ce que pensent les hommes" in French). It was like watching the past 10 months of my life, all wrapped up into one tiny chick flick package. First, you've got the couple who's been together for 7 years but who are still not married. And then there's the unsuspecting wife who gets cheated on & subsequently left for a younger woman. And then there's the girl who deals with the guy who uses social networking sites to pick up chicks. And last but not least, there's the single girl surrounded by all her married friends. Welcome to my life.



I guess I should at least be glad I didn't identify with the character (played by the same actor who plays Margine in "Big Love") who kept sitting by the phone waiting for every guy she met to call her. That's not really my style - though I guess on the other hand, I haven't really met any guys that I liked enough to sit around waiting for them to call.

I don't know - while I've never read the book, I do sort of subscribe to the "He's just not that into you" philosophy. I mean, there's a lot of truth in it - if a guy really likes you, he's going to make an effort to call you, to see you, etc. An interested man isn't going to be nonchalant or unavailable or constantly making excuses. But so why do we as women continue to make excuses for them? Why do we tell our friends crap like "He's just scared of commitment" or "He's intimidated by your intelligence"? It's just makes things that much harder on them. Figuratively speaking, if he's not trying to sleep with you, he's just NOT THAT INTO YOU. And it sucks if you're into someone who's not into you, but all you can do is stop wasting your time and try to find someone who is.

Anaïs - peut-être une angine
par coksinelle

Sounds so easy on paper, right?

Or not.

I recently listened to "This American Life's" V-day podcast and it was rather depressing listening to physicists talk about how low the actual probability is of actually finding The One. Or even thinking about the idea that there is only ONE person out there for us. But check out Episode 374 if you've got a spare hour:

Somewhere Out There: Of all the 6 and a half billion people in the world, what are the odds that any two people are a real match? Stories from people who know they’ve beat the odds, and the lengths they’ve gone to do it—including an American professor who sings Chinese opera for anyone who'll listen, to get one step closer to his mate, and two kids who travel halfway around the country to find each other and become best friends.

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....

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....

Alright, there has been a request for more details about the snogging incident. As a side note, I still maintain that "snog" is quite possibly the ugliest word in the English language. But anyways, so there we were, at some strange sort of restaurant that turned into a bar after-hours, forcing people to squeeze in and dance amongst the tables where they could, when we met a group of Irish boys from Cork. I am 100% incapable of telling you any of their names because I could not understand a single word any of them were saying. I'm not quite sure what the problem was - I've been exposed to my fair share of accents over the years and I usually do quite well - but in this case, it was a big, giant FAIL. The minute they opened their mouth, all's I heard was Charlie Brown's teacher: wah wah wah waaahhhh. Me: "I'm sorry, I have no clue what you just said". Irish Boy: "Wah wah wah? Wah wahhhh waaah wah". Me: ????? A couple of them kept trying to talk to me as the night went on, but I was just like "Dude, it's not even worth it."

Which brings me to scarf boy. Who apparently did not care that I did not understand him. After all, who needs words when you can snog? And that is what he tried to do for the rest of the night. To be fair, I did think he was cute at first. And when he asked me to dance just a few minutes after Leyla dared me to kiss someone, I thought "Hey, this is going to be easy". And so, kiss him I did. For a grand total of ten seconds. Maybe I've been lucky, because up until now, I've never kissed anyone that literally disgusted me. I always figured people were exaggerating when they said others were bad kissers. Now, I know that is not the case. The man was a bullet kisser. Did everything you are not supposed to do. And so I pulled away and said "Maybe we should just dance instead". To which he replied "Wah wah wahhhh".

Interpret that as you will.

Luckily, a few minutes later, Elisabeth came up and said she could no longer find Leyla & Mel, providing me with the perfect excuse to get away. They came back with a few Eton boys, and then some more Irish boys were found. Meanwhile, I was avoiding scarf boy (who was circling like a shark) to the best of my abilities. He finally caught me at the end of the night, and since I couldn't understand him, we just sort of stood there staring at each other and smiling stupidly. Which left me wondering how on Earth people fall in love without speaking a common language?

At one point, I understood something that sounded fairly close to "Facebook" and realized he was asking for my name. For whatever reason, I gave him a fake name (which I have now edited out - don't need the poor man googling it and coming across this post) and said "Look for (fake name) from Minnesota - I'm the only one!". Which was a complete lie because there are about a million girls named "fake name" in Minnesota. But I couldn't help myself, he had three strikes against him - he was on the shortish side, a terrible kisser, and oh yeah, I COULDN'T FRICKIN' UNDERSTAND A WORD HE SAID!

Poor ol' scarf boy. Who is either called Fred Claus or John-Paul. Still not really sure....

Just another Thursday night in Paris

Last night, I met Jasmin & Opal at a bar to celebrate the arrival of this year's Beaujolais Nouveau. Veronica and their extremely tall and extremely funny friend Elaine joined us later on, and I was hoping to meet up with a fellow blogger as well, but the place was packed, so Zannah, if you showed up and couldn't find us, I'm really sorry!

The Beaujolais was going for the ridiculous price of 18€ a bottle (!) or 5€ the glass, but hey, it's a once-a-year thing, so what the hell. Though you'd think the 5€ per glass price tag would've been enough to stop me from waking up with a massive headache this morning, but I guess not. Though it might also not have been the best idea to mix the Beaujolais with a mojito and a whole lot of champagne either. And I may or may not have gone home with a really cute trilingual banker at the end of the night...

I was going to blog about Tunisia, but decided to share this funny story instead:

I start walking home after lunch today, having met a co-worker and his wife who were in Paris for the weekend on their honeymoon. I decide to stop in at a lingerie store that was going out of business, and after looking around, I find a few things I want to buy, so I head up to the counter to pay. The sales woman starts taking things off the hangers and whatnot, until she gets to one bra and says "Madame, I cannot let you buy this". I say "Why not?" and she says "With the poitrine you have, it will give you boobs up to here (points to her neck), so with all good conscious, I cannot let you purchase this!" I'm a little unsure how to respond for a second - I mean, who is this lady to tell me which bras I can and cannot buy?? - but then I laugh, give her a good ol' Sarah Palin wink and say "Mais Madame, c'est parfois l'effet recherché !!"

It made me stop and think though about how you never really see French women showing any cleavage, whereas so many Americans have their boobs hanging out on a daily basis. I'm not sure whether it's cultural and they prefer to keep men guessing, or if it's just because they don't have anything to show!