Girl’s week in! (the place is a mess and it’s only day 1)

So, Adam’s away in Penticton for work. That’s right: It’s just me and the cats. Uh huh, Adam’s been gone, what, maybe 15 hours, and the house looks like a disaster. Sigh. It’s not my fault. I wanted to make delicious dinner for me and I was indecisive, so I kind of sort of picked everything. The resulting mess is probably somewhat related to the fact that the BBQ was running out of gas, so I was prepping in a hurry.

Oh fine. I’ll come clean (even if the kitchen won’t): I hate doing dishes. Wash the floor, clean the bathrooms (and I mean eat-off-the-toilet-not-because-you-would-but-because-you-could clean), vacuum and dust like an allergy-ridden Stepford wife with OCD? I’m on it. But put away dirty dishes? I can’t. Why? The dishwasher is full. Of clean dishes. Clean dishes I would have to put away first, before I could do anything to the dirty ones. I mean, come ON, you guys. That’s epic. Just thinking about it makes me need to take an ice cream break.

Excuse me. I need ice cream… Here’s a picture to keep you occupied during this little intermission:

Hermes the Handsome

My friend Janice is a graphic designer and decided Hermes needed a bow tie. I think we can all agree that she is correct.

Ok. Ice cream acquired and in the process of being eaten. Check. (Just for the record, took me like 34 seconds to hook up a bowl of chocolate chip mint. I gots me a system.)

So I was thinking the other day how I haven’t really posted much about France. Weird, because it was the best trip ever. Seriously, it was amazing. I have always wanted to go to France and while I’ve been super blessed and fortunate to visit some amazing corners of this world, Europe always seemed to stay just out of reach. After wanting to see France for as long as I can remember (it’s the first place I ever wanted to travel to see), I think I was a little worried it wouldn’t live up to my expectations, inflated as they had been over the years.

I’m happy to report, however, that I needn’t have worried. France, you see, is amazing. It’s beautiful. It reminded me of Disneyland a little, where they repaint the garbage cans every night, lest there be any chipped paint, unseemly marks or mild imperfections even on the trash receptacles. My first impression of France, after coming out of the metro station on the first morning — enroute to the Eiffel Tower — was that Paris was stunning. I almost expected it to be just a false front, and if I peeked around the corner, I’d see the city that looked like every other city. But that wasn’t the case. Paris and all the rest of France was just gorgeous. My friends, I’m talking about make-your-heart-sing beautiful.


First thing I saw. Super-beautiful shiny pretty things. Oh, Paris!

To be totally fair, that was actually my second impression. My very first impression was that it was very busy. This could be due to the fact that we’d been traveling for, oh, 97 hours (fine, it was more like 36 hours, but still) and we landed in Paris on a Saturday night. With luggage that was WAAAAY too big (lesson learned: pack light[er]). We were trying to navigate the metro system, which, just for the record, neither Adam nor myself had ever experienced, after a travel-filled and sleepless 36 hours. I was tired. I was greasy. I was wearing Lululemon pants and no make up, in PARIS. I was concerned we’d lost Jen and Jon and I’d have to call Auntie Carol and explain that we’d misplaced her only daughter.

See, we’d also been waiting at the Charles de Gaulle airport for over 3 hours waiting for Jen and Jon (who turned out to have missed the stop and continued into the city, thinking they’d missed us and would meet us at the hotel) who never appeared, despite our best efforts to locate them in one of the world’s busiest air traffic terminals. Thank The LORD that Jen had provided some rough guidelines for how to get from the airport to the hotel. That being said, we still managed to get a little mixed up, leading a kind French man to ask us if we needed help (whilst we stared at the metro map as though it would suddenly show us the way like Harry Potter’s Marauders’ Map). Our good Samaritan’s reward for this gesture of kindness? Our bug-eyed, somewhat frantic, “NO, THANK YOU WE’RE FINE!” What can I say? We were sleep-deprived and paranoid, having been told repeatedly that everyone and their dog in France wanted to pick our pockets. We both agreed afterwards that he was probably just very nice and helpful. Shame on us.

Luckily, we found Jen and Jon at the hotel. They were just about to leave, because they were heading back to the airport to look for us. That’s what I call friendship. Then, we went to a local pub, ate pizza, fries and drank copious amounts of beer.  It was great.

More to come.

By the way, I’m looking for change. New job, private sector. No point keeping it secret, since the Universe can hardly organize itself to give me an amazing opportunity if I’m keeping my head in the sand and trying to be all secretive. Am I right? I am. I am right.

I’m the worst. The Worst.

Yeah, you probably thought I forgot about my blog, being that I was busy being all fabulously wined, dined and romanced by France. You’re not wrong.

Ooh la la!

How cute are we? Très cute.

I got back a while ago (um, 3 weeks?), but as always, it’s been super-ridiculously busy (I’m very important).

Anyway, I didn’t forget. I’ll be back soon. With lots of super stories and amazing photos. Oh France, I miss you! Also, I need to find a job where I can be more fabulous and get to be in France more. Because France is the best place ever and boy, do they ever have nice shoes…

The Worst.

I know. I know. Where the h-e-double-hockey-sticks have I been, anyway? Well, let me tell you:

I found this super-cool-looking antique wardrobe and while I was checking it out, all of a sudden I was whisked into a world of perpetual winter, where all the animals talked! There were all kinds of animals, too, even ones we don’t have in this neck ‘o’ the woods: unicorns, fauns, mermaids and centaurs…

Oh wait, that’s Narnia. I didn’t go to Narnia. That’s just a story (albeit my favourite story of all time in the history of ever). I wish I went to a magical land filled with wonderfulrishical creatures. And not just because I was buried in ever-increasingly frustrating work and commitments, either. I mean, I did wish it more because of those reasons, but let’s call a spade a spade here: I pretty much wish the places in my favourite books and stories were real ALL THE TIME. And by all the time, I don’t mean fleetingly, whilst I reminisce about my childhood and those fanciful days of my youth. I mean ALL THE TIME. Life would be cooler and things would always work out and honour and justice would always prevail. Plus, unicorns. I’m just saying…

But no, I was just busy. Sorry ’bout that. I don’t enjoy it, either, but it would seem that, in fact, I am not the boss of me. I don’t know who is, but whoever makes my plans has some serious issues with scheduling and time management. I mean, come ON. I’m so tired, but all I hear is “Mush, MUSH!” and on and on I go.

Whatever. I’m whining. But hey! Look over here! Guess what though? The Fabulous France Foray is really taking shape. This is a very good thing, since we leave in 15 days. That is not a lot of days. Jen has planned us a TRIP THE LIKES OF WHICH YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN. You guys. There will be museums. And art. And palaces. And mirrored hallways. And crypts (“I [will] see dead people“). AND CASTLES OF THE MEDIEVAL ERA! And baguettes. And Bordeaux. And Nice beaches (there’s a pun in there, for you clever devils). And wine.

Oh, the wine. We’re looking at wine tours and all I hear is “this one takes us to a Roman aqueduct” and I’m all like, “TAKE ME TO THE AQUADUCT OF ANCIENT ROME-Y TIMES.” I mean, you guys, people (like you and me, but shorter in stature and life expectancy) built this stuff like a million years ago. Or a thousand years. Maybe a couple of thousand? I really don’t know. I should brush up on my history. This coming from the girl with an undergraduate degree majoring in Anthropology, with enough history classes to have pulled a double major. Well. I can’t be expected to remember everything. Or what I had for dinner last night. Or, what I had for dinner tonight, come to think of it.

So, yeah. I’m excited. Hence, when work is stressful, I just pretend that all I hear is “baguette”. It’s working out for me, as a stress-reduction method. You should probably try it out. I call it “The Paris Effect”. Or “The Baguette Effect”. Or whatever.


Check out my reading stash (oh, okay: I’ve been reading the Hunger Games trilogy, too):

I guess this is where we find out how rusty my 1st language is after all this time.

I also finished teaching my last ballet yoga class on Tuesday. It’s kind of bittersweet. My students were awesome, but I’m reaching burnout levels and thus, my spare time is at a premium. I got paid $231 for 8 weeks of classes (which is well below my personal premium). Not that it’s all about the money, but that’s little compensation for basically losing my entire Tuesday nights for two months. Now I’m just teaching one class at work, but with 4 new students! I’m stoked on these great ladies joining the mélange! How cute is this, though: Two of my ballet yoga students brought me a teacher’s gift, knowing I was heading off to France. How amazing is that? I’ve never gotten a teacher’s present before!


With tried-and-true, must-visit addresses for the Parisian visitor!