tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60158332011-04-22T06:04:23.294+02:00San Francisco DaysLife in the City by the Bay...Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.comBlogger1011100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1159923288949573662006-10-04T02:54:00.000+02:002006-10-04T02:54:48.970+02:00To be LovedSo I had a birthday over the weekend. I turned 42. I’ve never been one to shun my birthdays – or anyone’s, for that matter. I love that there’s one day set-aside just for me to celebrate my birth. That’s awesome! And I don’t have any issues with the whole growing older thing. It beats the alternative! I don’t care if I have laugh lines and crows feet. I like moving forward Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1158684926654104552006-09-19T16:41:00.000+02:002006-09-19T18:55:26.753+02:00Life Puppies Birthdays and Kissing So I'm living in San Jose again. I'm exactly one block away from where I lived for ten years. I feel like I've come home again. I love San Jose. San Jose is a sweet town. It's got a happy little vibe, friendly people and lots of fun places to go. It's got lots of parks and trails and hidden treasures. There are coffee houses that are not Starbucks, Lou's Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1157584478512378922006-09-07T01:09:00.000+02:002006-09-07T01:14:38.543+02:00I'm working for Princess DianaI wore my hair straight today. I usually curl it. I prefer it to be curly because it's naturally wavy and curly just seems easier to maintain than straight. I blow it out and half way through the day, it's wavy again. But my curling iron is broken so I just came to work with straightened hair today. My boss complemented my hair today and I think she did that so I Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1157395397298398302006-09-04T20:35:00.000+02:002006-09-04T20:44:28.280+02:00Ain't no SunshineI miss my best friend. He's been on a business trip for most of the summer. I won't see him for at least one more month and I hate that he's away and we're missing so many experiences in each other's lives. I know we'll be fine when it's over but right now, I yearn to have him here and I am just looking forward to that day in the future when I'm sitting next to him in a movie Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1157394793905593852006-09-04T20:14:00.000+02:002006-09-06T22:12:51.290+02:00Labor DayI moved this weekend. I took Friday off and my sister-in-law (who had to work) and I went to Public Storage and unloaded my "pod" into a U-Haul truck. We got the whole container emptied and the truck loaded in just thirty minutes. We're a good team -- both strong and hard working. I felt terrible that she had to change into work clothes and go to the office.I got to my new home and one Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1156527274970968112006-08-25T19:32:00.000+02:002006-08-25T19:35:56.626+02:00AnniversaryToday is the one-year anniversary of my dad's death.My dad was a great guy. He was heroic and smart and funny in a way you wouldn't expect someone so smart to be. I miss him a lot. I miss the man he was before he had the stroke that eventually took his life. I miss having his advice available to me. He was great at giving advice because he never bullshitted. He would always tell me Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1143737747280800712006-03-30T18:53:00.000+02:002006-03-30T18:55:47.293+02:00Prayer for a BrotherSending out a little prayer to the universe, to the ancestors, to my mom and dad in the afterlife, begging their attention and asking them to please be with my dear brother today as he takes the bravest step of his life and confronts/admits his illness.Please give him the courage to admit that he's not well. Please give him the strength to do whatever he has to do to regain Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1141923301448713942006-03-09T17:32:00.000+01:002006-03-09T17:55:04.453+01:00Well, it's over. Project Runway has run its course. The finale was last night and Santino didn't win. I'm disappointed for him. I loved his collection -- it was girly and ethereal and beautiful. The judges said they thought it was "safe" but I think they got the collection they had been pushing him to create throughout the run of the show. Every time he did something in his own Santino style, Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1141679102385331312006-03-06T21:32:00.000+01:002006-03-06T22:05:02.443+01:00I LOVE movies. I see at least one a week. I prefer to see two when I can. So I love the Academy Awards. I love the hosts' corny jokes, the montages, the award speeches, the dresses, the crazy moments you're not expecting -- all of it. I'm a fan. So even though my opinion doesn't amount to much, here it is anyway!Highlights from the 78th Annual Academy Awards1. George Clooney. The man is gorgeous,Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1141074300622647442006-02-27T22:01:00.000+01:002006-02-27T22:06:37.543+01:00Project RunwayI am completely addicted to Bravo TV's Project Runway. Have you seen the show? It is the most entertaining thing on television. It's great!I will be sad to see the season end, actually. I watch it religiously. Even the reruns entertain me. Santino is my favorite designer and I am hoping he wins when he presents his line at Fashion Week.If you haven't seen it, there's still time -- Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1141074029548076882006-02-27T21:35:00.000+01:002006-02-27T22:06:06.260+01:00Flea!When I was little, like in kindergarten, we used to do this paddy cake thing that went like this:"Flea!""Flea fly!""Flea fly flo!""Vista!""Koomala, koomala, koomala vista, oh no no no not the vista.""Eenie meanie ex-a-meanie, oo-a, oo-a a-meanie, ex-a-meanie solomeanie, oo-a, oo-a.""Beep billy oboe bo bo belinda...ssssh."I am reminded of this because this was something we sang in the car a Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1140642821722343662006-02-22T22:05:00.000+01:002006-02-22T22:13:41.736+01:00Humane Execution?So here in the Bay Area, we're being inundated with news stories about a death row inmate, Michael Morales, whose execution is being debated and delayed.http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/c/a/2006/02/22/MNGSUHCJFB1.DTLI do not believe in the death penalty. I do not believe that taking a life equals justice. It just seems hypocritical to me to say, "Bad murderer. You Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1139519786493015662006-02-09T22:12:00.000+01:002006-02-09T23:54:35.963+01:00VD RantValentine's Day looms and I am not in love.Oh, sure, I'm crazy about a beautiful man I left behind in Paris but that can't really count until he moves here to be with me. Right? And there are no guarantees that that will happen. Itis only my HOPE. So I'm without a love for this stupid Hallmark Holiday. That's what my dad always called it. He was not a fan of being obligated to do somethingMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1138301785480075262006-01-26T19:55:00.000+01:002006-01-26T19:56:25.500+01:00Greedy Cat, Greedy Cat, What are They Feeding You?This morning as I sat down to breakfast, excited to tear into my fresh-from-the-toaster waffleswith their yummy apple flavored syrup, I was rudely usurped by my orange cat, Jules. Jules is a freak for the butter. If you have toast, he will climb onto your head if it will get him closer to his precious butter.He will stand on you or on your plate Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1137619101936957232006-01-18T22:08:00.000+01:002006-01-20T22:16:07.136+01:00There but for the Grace of God...Last Friday, I was so happy because after work I was going shopping. I thought about it all day and it made me smile. I was just going to buy some suitable work clothes (seven years in an IT department, working odd shifts means I have a lot of casual and not a lot of "office appropriate" clothing) but it has been months since I could afford anything not deemed "Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1135874545049017102005-12-29T17:18:00.000+01:002005-12-29T17:42:25.086+01:00This morning this guy got on the airport shuttle and sat across from me. I'm one of the few people who gets to ride the free airport shuttle to work every day from the train station. The shuttle is a bus that runs from the CalTrain station in Santa Clara to the Light Rail which goes to downtown San Jose and all over the South Bay. Anyway, it's free and it stops at the street where I work so I Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1135818073538967722005-12-29T01:55:00.000+01:002005-12-29T17:18:34.846+01:00The Christmas That Wasn'tSO my Christmas was quite remarkable if only for the fact that it was, sadly, very unremarkable.I have always loved Christmas. As a kid, my dad had to make a rule that I was not allowed to listen to Christmas music until AFTER Thanksgiving. Because until he inacted that rule, I would be in my room on, like, July 10th, listening to O' Little Town of Bethlehem or something Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1134763305892755472005-12-16T20:09:00.000+01:002005-12-16T21:01:45.953+01:00Dim Sum ChristmasMy brothers and I used to have a really great Christmas tradition. On Christmas morning, we'd all do our own thing and then we'd all meet at one of our houses for brunch at one o'clock. We'd have fresh squeezed orange juice -- Dee's contribution; cinnamon French toast, turkey bacon, chicken and apple sausage, hash browns and scrambled eggs prepared by me. Coffee, of course.We'd Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1134438577377557842005-12-13T02:21:00.000+01:002005-12-14T20:51:37.193+01:00You wouldn't believe the year I've had, and trust me: I wouldn't wish a year like this on my worst enemy (not that I have any, but if I did...). First, let's start with my "relocation" from the glorious, beautiful City of Lights, Paris, to "The Space Capital" of Huntsville, Alabama (NOT by any stretch of the imagination the Paris of the South). My "relocation" was really just my lameass boss's Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1097415808358878582004-10-10T15:42:00.000+02:002004-10-10T15:43:28.356+02:00The Right Place
So the whole relocation thing is up in the air and as of this moment, I am going on a three month business trip to Huntsville, Alabama. The cats and I are hopping on a plane on Friday the 15th and are scheduled to come back to Paris on the fourth of January.
So I have no idea whether I will be living here next year or not.
But wherever I end up, I’m going to be fine with it.
Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1095859093579815262004-09-22T15:16:00.000+02:002004-09-22T15:18:13.580+02:00Patien(t) ce
I am working from home for a month. I saw a doctor on Monday and she has decided that I need to rest my foot as much as possible so I’m to work a la domicile. Hallelujah! In many ways, I am happy to follow the doctor’s orders. And not just because I can take the occasional lunch hour with my friend Wendy, although that’s a nice side-benefit. It’s nice to be able to listen to my Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1095171952528066322004-09-14T16:22:00.000+02:002004-09-14T16:25:52.526+02:00Inside the Actor’s Studio
I watch Inside the Actors Studio every morning, as I am getting ready for work. I love the show because I am a movie fanatic and I really admire actors. My friend Greg told me years ago that I should be in movies and I have never figured out why he thinks so. I’m so much more a writer/observer than an actor. Maybe it’s because I’d cried in front of him before. Men Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1095079111388711962004-09-13T14:37:00.000+02:002004-09-13T14:38:31.390+02:00The Rugby Shirt Vigil has officially concluded! Wahoo!
I’m Awake
I woke up at three o’clock this morning. And I was really awake. I say this like it’s odd, but this is just an average day for me. There is something about being the only awake person that feels surreal. I sat up in bed, ostensibly watching Larry King Live on CNN, but really letting my mind drift and trying to remember Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1094809082785640422004-09-10T11:37:00.000+02:002004-09-10T11:38:02.786+02:00But Not For Me
They're writing songs of love But not for me. A lucky star's above. But not for me. With love to lead the way I've found more skies of gray Than any Russian play Could guarantee. I was a fool to fall And get that way High ho alas and Also lackaday. Although I can't dismiss The memory of his kiss I guess he's not for me. I know that love's a game I'm puzzled all the same Was I theMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1094705715240427972004-09-09T06:53:00.000+02:002004-09-09T06:55:15.240+02:00Day Twelve of the Rugby Shirt Vigil.
Issue Having
It has now been more than a week since I received David’s email. His email which said, “Don’t call me, I’ll contact you when I can.” As if he were about to go off on an undercover job – deep, deep cover.
Whatever. “I have issues,” he said.
I’ll say you do! When you cannot even tell me what the hell is going on in your head, I’d say you haveMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1094549847732085252004-09-07T11:37:00.000+02:002004-09-07T11:37:27.733+02:00Rugby Shirt: Day 11
There is a man here in the office who, for some ungodly reason, has worn the same outfit for 11 days in a row: ecru and navy blue striped rugby shirt and khaki pants. Every day.
For eleven days.
It bothers me.
I worry for him.
Has he been ejected from his place of residence? Is he living in his car? Or in the lab?
Perhaps he has lost a bet and is wearing the same Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1094464130018869362004-09-06T11:48:00.000+02:002004-09-06T11:48:50.016+02:00Hogan
Those who know me well are aware of my weaknesses: shoes and purses. Well, with my pied gauche causing so much trouble lately, rendering shoe shopping no longer an option, per se, at least, not for now, my desire for a Hogan handbag has begun to grow. In fact, it is becoming a bit of an obsession.
For a handbag aficionado, a Hogan is sort of like the holy grail. It’s elusive, hard toMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1094206399356308922004-09-03T13:10:00.000+02:002004-09-03T12:13:19.356+02:00Hello, Mr. Heartache
When you fall in love with someone, you take a huge risk that you will get hurt. You make a part of yourself available to your loved one that you don’t share with anyone else. You give them the tools to hurt you like no one else ever could. But the risk is nothing compared to the reward you gain when your love is returned.
But what happens when your love is rejected? Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1094127562383589102004-09-02T14:17:00.000+02:002004-09-02T14:19:22.383+02:00Forget Paris
Okay. It’s NOT Paris. It’s not even “the Paris of the South.” It’s Huntsville, Alabama: the Space Capital, home of NASA’s Space Camp, among other things.
And it looks like soon, I will live there.
People will think I’m an idiot to give up living in Paris, I’m sure. But I miss my friends, my family and my country. I miss hearing English spoken wherever you go. I miss being Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1094033486436866372004-09-01T12:10:00.000+02:002004-09-01T12:11:26.436+02:00Ninja Barrette Terrorist
As a frequent (relatively) traveler, I am truly a fan of airport security. Seriously. I WANT to have my bags searched and x-rayed and I want to be closely scrutinized along with my fellow travelers. In the world we live in today, it is a necessity and I embrace it wholeheartedly. Not that I am a fan of having to stand in line in my socks while my shoes are analyzed Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1093941227330001222004-08-31T10:32:00.000+02:002004-08-31T10:33:47.330+02:00My Left Foot: The Saga Continues
So I went on holiday and limped all over the Western United States – well, okay, California and Arizona. But still. My foot did not cooperate with me and swelled to hideous proportions and frankly hurt like a motherfucker. The pain of taking a step after sitting in a car for hours on end was so intense; I had to fight the urge to vomit.
So the first thing I Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1093366354201872252004-08-24T18:51:00.000+02:002004-08-24T18:52:34.203+02:00Road Trip
When I was a kid, my family took a lot of road trip vacations. We’d all pile in the car and drive off to explore the country, towing a trailer behind the station wagon, or maybe laden with tents and hammocks. We covered a lot of ground and saw a lot of the state parks in the United States.
Loading five kids into a car and transporting them across state lines is risky business. My Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1092983721906901522004-08-20T08:07:00.000+02:002004-08-20T08:35:21.906+02:00You Can Never Go Home Again
So I'm in Arizona and I'm visiting my parents. My sweetie is here with me, which makes the visit easier. In the past, when visiting my folks on my own, I always felt like I was a specimen under glass and they a couple of over excited scientists, ready to dissect. Having David here provides a nice buffer and gives me someone to go off on day trips with, so that I'm Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1092143629202211282004-08-10T15:11:00.000+02:002004-08-10T15:13:49.203+02:00Leaving on a Jet Plane/Homeward Bound
Wahoo! This time tomorrow, I will be airborne, on my way to California; to friends and family and the Pacific ocean. I am so looking forward to seeing everyone and unloading the myriad gifts I’ve got creatively stowed in my luggage: chocolates from La Maison du Chocolat, LU Petit Dejeuner biscuits, butter cookies, soaps, baby clothes, birthday gifts, etc.Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1091627789629206632004-08-04T15:54:00.000+02:002004-08-04T15:56:29.630+02:00Fool Me Once…
I am not a fan of flakes. I define a flake as an individual who is unreliable. The flake is the friend who says, “Let’s get together this weekend,” and then never speaks to you about that again. You see this person on Monday and he/she tells you all about his/her fabulous weekend. Which didn’t include you. And our flaky friend has no idea that he/she has let us down. It’s as Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1091441476951013602004-08-02T11:44:00.000+02:002004-08-02T12:11:16.950+02:00Monday Monday
I now know why people get homicidal on Mondays. Today is like, the Mother of all Mondays. Sheesh! It started nicely enough. I left the house on time, got the train on time. And then it all went to hell.
Since it’s summer, France has different schedules for the trains and buses. This boggles my mind because not only are less trains and buses available, the real bonus is: Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1091104919041492132004-07-29T14:40:00.000+02:002004-07-29T14:41:59.040+02:00There is a very distinct possibility, really more like a probability, that David will move here in the New Year. This wish that I have had for thirteen months is finally going to come to fruition (knock wood). I am giddy and joyous and pinch-me happy. All of these months of loneliness and yearning will finally have been worthwhile.
As much as I love living in Paris, enjoy the city and the Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1090404313470851652004-07-21T12:04:00.000+02:002004-07-21T12:05:13.470+02:00Dee
I have a picture on my desk of my youngest brother and I. His name is David, but we call him Dee. When he was little, he called himself Dee (he even had a cape and at one point went as Super Dee), I was Wee and our brother Greg was Beak. The Dee thing stuck and later, when we got two older brothers, Mike and Dave, our little David’s fate was sealed. So he’s Dee. When people call his Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1090318694368335582004-07-20T12:17:00.000+02:002004-07-20T12:18:14.370+02:00Crying Over You
Some days, I cannot get away from my emotions and I infuriate myself. Yesterday, I had one of those days. I was upset, crying, all day long. It was embarrassing and mortifying, to be sitting on the train or at my desk; unable to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. My eyes were so red by the end of the day I looked stoned.
I was upset because I couldn’t reach Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1089902184742575972004-07-15T16:36:00.000+02:002004-07-15T16:36:24.743+02:00Grateful
Someone I love more than I ever thought I was capable of is in the hospital.
He woke in the middle of the night on Sunday in pain and drove himself to the hospital and wound up having surgery.
He’ll be checked out today and it will be a while before he’s as good as new. But he’s okay and for that I am so very grateful. I feel like hugging strangers on the street. I feel like there Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1089648189645323492004-07-12T17:59:00.000+02:002004-07-12T18:03:09.646+02:00Uptardation
Oh my god. I just went to the Smashbox cosmetics website to check it out. I use their foundation and really like it so I just figured it would be interesting/fun to check out the rest of their stuff – even though I have seen it all at Sephora several times. You know – slow day at the office, etc.
Okay, so you can request their catalog and I thought that would be fun to get. So IMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1089382797156109462004-07-09T16:19:00.000+02:002004-07-09T16:19:57.156+02:00Disheartened
I have not been moved to write lately. I have been a bit stupid. I have been homesick and heartsick and sick of the goddamned weather here. I have been disheartened.
Last year, when I went to Tucson for a week to visit my folks and celebrate my dad’s birthday with him, I made a vocabulary-related error.
My dad was in a rehabilitation facility, recovering from a couple of pretty Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1089108846296751492004-07-06T12:13:00.000+02:002004-07-06T12:14:06.296+02:00Credentials
Don’t you sometimes wish you could wear your credentials on your forehead or something? Someplace visible, anyway. That way, when people look at you, they don’t get an idea that you are younger or less senior than they are. They won’t make assumptions, inaccurate ones, about who you are and what you are capable of.
I have a young face. I am not married and I don’t have children. Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1089037362624927652004-07-05T16:22:00.000+02:002004-07-05T16:22:42.623+02:00Long Distance Guacamole
So I got all bummed out yesterday, missing home, missing David, and missing being American. I called David and while we were on the phone, he made a batch of his delicious guacamole (to take to a barbecue at his friend Doug’s) while we chatted. It was almost like being there, except I didn’t get any avocado on my hands. Usually, when David makes the guac, I help out Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1088692624884050372004-07-01T16:36:00.000+02:002004-07-01T16:37:04.886+02:00Independence Day
I’ve been here a year on July 10. Last year, I got to celebrate two Independence Days: one at home and one here. The one at home was great. David and I spent the day at a friend’s house, had barbecue, played games and then watched the fireworks from folding chairs out in the street. It was sweet and traditional.
I’ve always enjoyed the Fourth of July. It’s my second Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1088589871232799172004-06-30T12:03:00.000+02:002004-06-30T12:04:31.233+02:00The Last Days of Disco
A friend and I were having lunch yesterday and she told me a story about a boyfriend she’d had in high school. This boyfriend and his buddies had traveled to Europe in order to visit the sites shown on various Morrissey and/or Smiths CD covers/art. She was embarrassed by this geeky, obsessive behavior, even though it predated their relationship, and the relationship, Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1088166443279569762004-06-25T14:25:00.000+02:002004-06-25T14:27:23.280+02:00Memories
The other day, my friend Wendy and I were marveling at the way the men in our lives can remember every last word of a movie or television show they watched once, maybe years ago. Or how they can recall, with alarming clarity, every detail of a sporting event – a championships of some sort, perhaps, or maybe just a particularly “good” game, from the shirt they wore, to the stats and Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1088084593182786162004-06-24T15:42:00.000+02:002004-06-24T15:43:13.183+02:00The Bureau
Because my cat Jake has developed this goofy habit of sleeping/hanging out in the bureau which occupies the left wall of my apartment’s entry way, my friends and I have begun referring to this piece of furniture, which holds linens and my winter clothing, as well as Jake and now sometimes Jules, The Bureau of Cats.
I have always been one of those people who talk to their pets. I Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1087993189308630222004-06-23T14:19:00.000+02:002004-06-23T14:19:49.306+02:00Sucker!
Oh man. I had taken yesterday off work so that I could go to the Paris Music Festival on Monday night and stay out until all hours, checking out the local music scene.
Unfortunately, I had a bout of food poisoning, or something, probably brought on by the Indian food I ate at Old Kashmir restaurant on Sunday night (where the extremely rude waiter demanded that I eat rice with my Poulet Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1087829212647896722004-06-21T15:37:00.000+02:002004-06-21T16:46:52.646+02:00Tequila!
You have to respect a beverage that has the power to put you in your place: the power to humiliate you, degrade you and put big blank spaces in your brain where memories should be. Such a beverage is tequila.
I sort of remember the night I learned about the dark side of the Cuervo Gold. It was my twenty-eighth birthday, to be exact. On that night, my pals and I met at the bar (Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1087573741756373552004-06-18T17:46:00.000+02:002004-06-18T17:49:01.756+02:00Expats
So you want to be a jet setter? A globe-trotter, a gadfly, a continental drifter? You want to be mysterious and worldly and make people sigh in awe at your card catalogue file of top grade, high quality party chatter anecdotes? Here’s what not to do: don’t dis’ the country you come from. Don’t distance yourself from your roots. Don’t deny the place that made you what and who you areMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1087398056056361542004-06-16T16:10:00.000+02:002004-06-16T17:00:56.056+02:00Give it Away
I honestly cannot remember my last concert going experience. Until last night, I mean. Last night, I went to Parc de Prince, in Paris, and saw The Red Hot Chili Peppers. This is the fourth time I’ve seen them play and in many ways, it was the same as the others, but the fact that I saw them in France made for some interesting differences in the whole experience. For one thing, Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1087300513067293562004-06-15T13:54:00.000+02:002004-06-15T13:55:13.066+02:00Fabulous!
I just spent half an hour looking into fares to take a quick trip over to London and back. The Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players are gigging at ICA in London on July 9th and, since I have some time off on the books, I can take that Friday off, Chunnel over to London on Eurostar, go see these wonderful performers and then just stay up all night, do some sight seeing in the morning,Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1086962228314876682004-06-11T14:57:00.000+02:002004-06-11T15:57:08.313+02:00The Ugly American is a Bitch!
Ladies and Gentleman, call off the search! I have met the Ugly American. And she is a nasty piece of work. Even in America, this woman would have made me cringe but here, in France, where I am accustomed to meeting NICE people from my homeland, it was an absolute shock.
I saw in a magazine that if you order from the new salad menu at McDonalds, you could get a Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1086861214473661052004-06-10T11:49:00.000+02:002004-06-10T11:53:34.473+02:00Oompa Loompa
I have the Oompa Loompa (From the movie Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) song in my head this morning. This is thanks to a woman who rides the same bus to work as me. This young lady is trying very hard to work a look. I would describe her look as EuroTrash. Now that we have sunny weather, she is sporting these huge Gucci-like sunglasses and baring some skin. You know, IMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1086685893844136372004-06-08T11:11:00.000+02:002004-06-08T11:11:33.843+02:00My Left Foot
My left foot is injured. I don’t know what I’ve done to it but it is a mess. It’s swollen and has a lump in its arch and there is no such thing anymore as a comfortable shoe. Comfortable is lying on the bed, in socks, with my feet elevated. The problem with this is that I have this very walking-oriented lifestyle and I really love to walk. Except now, it’s like a mind over Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1086344565316225932004-06-04T12:20:00.000+02:002004-06-04T12:22:45.316+02:00Two Lives
This morning, I had dinner with my sweetie. I called him at five a.m. my time, which is eight p.m. his time and we talked while he went to Home Depot and looked for some lighting solutions for the new ceiling fan he installed in his bedroom. After he left Home Depot, he drove over to the Spaghetti Factory, in San Jose, to have dinner. We carried on our conversation as he waited for Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1086192414677265972004-06-02T18:06:00.000+02:002004-06-02T18:06:54.676+02:00New Wardrobe
If you want to revitalize or replace your wardrobe, I have a very simple technique that works like a charm:
1) Take “old” colored clothes; pile them into one jumbo load washer.
2) Add a new shirt of a bright color, like, for example, Dark Pink.
3) Forget to reset the temperature dial to COLD water.
Sit back, relax, and watch a substantial portion of your wardrobe turn various Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1085738277941747002004-05-28T11:57:00.000+02:002004-05-28T11:57:57.940+02:00Friends I Haven’t met yet
I talked on the phone for an hour and a half yesterday with my friend Gina. I have known Gina for six years. We’ve spoken often on the phone and send emails and even cards and letters to one another. I have seen photos of Gina’s wedding. We send each other information about beauty products and skin care lines. We discuss the importance of Sephora.
And we have never Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1085672204600461742004-05-27T17:35:00.000+02:002004-05-27T17:36:44.600+02:00She's Got Her Ticket
Quite possibly the most wonderful thing to have in one’s possession is Airline Tickets.
Oh, the potential, the possibilities, the fantasies all spun around these paper stubs that will fly me to my beloved California, to my sweet David, to my family, my friends.
In August, David and I are going to take a road trip. We’ll drive from San Jose along the coast of California Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1085478068732758602004-05-25T11:40:00.000+02:002004-05-25T11:41:08.733+02:00Riding the Bus Without a Helmut? What, are you Crazy?
This morning, the bus driver was feeling wild and reckless, I guess. He arrived early and drove, pedal to the metal, like a bat out of hell. I am not accustomed to this style of public transportation. In the States, if the bus driver is early, he or she waits at the stop until the appointed time and then leaves the stop. (Of course, in Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1085415177839131952004-05-24T18:06:00.000+02:002004-05-24T18:12:57.840+02:00Sephora =’s Heaven
I went to Sephora on Saturday. Oh, such a paradise is this place! There was perfume and make up and powders and potions and lotions and brushes and glosses and washes and shines and tints and puffs and spritzes and samples. It was like a toy store! It was like a party! I felt quite restrained to be only buying a lipstick and a perfume. I got out of there for only Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1084969384934752072004-05-19T14:22:00.000+02:002004-05-19T14:23:04.933+02:00Fruits, Vegetables, and Risk Taking
Have you ever been at the market and had a hankering for an apple? So you look over the selection and find the perfect looking piece of fruit, buy it, bring it home and rinse it off, only to bite into it and have it be all mushy?
This has happened to me more times than I care to admit. And to be honest, it has affected me. Over the years, I have learned to Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1084872387899724102004-05-18T11:19:00.000+02:002004-05-18T11:26:27.900+02:00Stymied
I have been tongue-tied the past few days. I don't know if it has anything to do with the fact that my actual VOICE is completely wrecked. Like, maybe the fact that I cannot use my voice is inhibiting my ability to use my words? I'm not sure. I've had a nasty cold -- the kind where you wake up at two in the morning and have to cough for half an hour or an hour before you can go back Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1084547349569155082004-05-14T17:01:00.000+02:002004-05-14T17:09:09.570+02:00Brothers
I have four brothers. Mike and Dave, older than me, are my stepbrothers. Greg, younger by two and a half years, is adopted, like me. In fact, we got him on the very day we were leaving Colorado for California. We had already moved out of our house on South Quitman Street and had spent the night at my grandparents’ house. The moving vans had already left for San Jose with our stuff. Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1084197965544770792004-05-10T15:29:00.000+02:002004-05-10T16:06:05.546+02:00Mother's Day
Yesterday was Mother's Day. I've had three mothers in my life. I was adopted, so I have a "Birth Mother," an "Adoptive Mother," and a "Step Mother." So if there's anything anyone needs to know about being mothered, you'd think I'd be an expert.
But I was never good at being mothered. Since I was brand new, I've been independent. My dad told me that when I was a baby, they'd Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1083938879684531942004-05-07T16:07:00.000+02:002004-05-07T16:12:27.950+02:00Everything I Own
It is so frustrating to be far from the one you love when he’s having a rough time. When all you want to do is open your arms and hold him and tell him that everything will be okay. When you just want to make him laugh and take his mind off his troubles. When you just want to be there to rub his shoulders while he tells you what’s on his mind. And you know that you could Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1083678842780561132004-05-04T15:54:00.000+02:002004-05-04T15:57:58.700+02:00Long Distance
I am not a fan of the telephone.
I talk on the phone for work – answering calls from my company’s employees in Europe and the Middle East when they have problems with their computers or with computer applications – mostly Oracle. If you don’t know what Oracle is, I don’t have time to go into it. Suffice to say it’s a huge and thank god it’s glitchy, unstable product because theMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1083585286885075772004-05-03T13:54:00.000+02:002004-05-03T13:59:02.186+02:00Bitch Filter Not Functioning
You know, I am the first to admit this: I am a bitch. I mean it. My brain is unkind. I spend much of any normal day biting my tongue. Well, not so much out of the office. Once I'm out of the office and I don't have to be nice to every random who approaches, I am nicer. But being in the office, where you are forced to associate with people who, let's be honest,Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1083233294597832092004-04-29T12:08:00.000+02:002004-04-29T12:12:31.513+02:00Ode to a Fan
It’s the little things in life.
When I moved here last year, I arrived in July, just in time for a mini-heat/humidity wave. The temperature each day, for my first week here, was around eighty-five degrees and the humidity was probably 70 or 80 percent. I’m from a nice, cool, Mediterranean climate in Northern California. Humidity is not something I enjoy. The heavy, velvety Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1083152847583928362004-04-28T13:47:00.000+02:002004-04-28T13:51:42.856+02:00Dirty
If you want to have fun, watch a Britney Spears video (I’m pretty sure any one will do) with a forty-year-old, married father of three.
At lunch today, at my desk, Katri and I were watching videos on Launch.com when my coworker Philippe, who sits next to me, came back early from the canteen.
We tried to send him away – we were in the middle of a block of Madonna vids – Vogue, Borderline, Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1083062037802558342004-04-27T12:33:00.000+02:002004-04-27T12:38:11.640+02:00When did celebrity, having it, I mean, become like a Free-for-all license to be just as stupid, weird, disturbed and messed up as Humanly Possible?
I just read a really disturbing item online. I was reading the gossip, er, celebrity news on www.imdb.com (and yeah, I’m ashamed of myself for caring – well, I don’t really CARE per se, what the famous people in America are doing, but I do like to Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1082982365091331882004-04-26T14:26:00.000+02:002004-04-26T14:30:17.780+02:00S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!
Keep on dancin to the Rock and Roll,
On Saturday Night, Saturday Night.
Dancin to the Rhythm with a Heart and Soul,
On Saturday Night, Saturday Night.
That’s a song by the Bay City Rollers, from my youth.
They were a very famous Scottish Pop band, for about ten minutes.
Anyway, Saturday was one of those days that last forever in your mind.
It was warm out so my friend Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1082622657880653572004-04-22T10:30:00.000+02:002004-04-22T10:35:04.890+02:00Black Toenail/Crack Smokin' Landlady
I promised my sister-in-law, Teresa, that I’d blog about this so here goes:
I have a blackened toenail: my left big toe’s nail, to be specific.
It’s the result of wearing shoes, which have become too big. I have lost weight while living in Paris and have become quite the walker. I walk about three miles a day and then lots more on the weekends. But these Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1082564247310541542004-04-21T18:17:00.000+02:002004-04-21T18:21:33.450+02:00Spinning Wheels
Sometimes I really feel sorry for David. Because here he is, this very sweet,
well-intentioned man; a little commitment-phobic (who isn't these days?),
and not a big one for PLANNING.
And then there's me. I am a compulsive planner. I HAVE to plan. AND I hate ambiguity. Give me a vague answer to any question and I will analyze, re-analyze and hypothesize the situation Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1082464545159172122004-04-20T14:35:00.000+02:002004-04-20T14:39:49.466+02:00Summertime Dance
When I was a little kid, I used to play alone a lot. I was really imaginative and could self-entertain for hours. One of my favorite things to do was to roll this green wooden wagon we had down to the corner and set it up with my dad’s big green and yellow golf umbrella and sit inside, in the shade of the umbrella, reading books, or maybe just looking at the photos in the Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1082381237291015012004-04-19T15:27:00.000+02:002004-04-19T15:31:20.390+02:00What?! It's Monday? Again?
What is it about having a four-day work week that always makes the following weekend pass too quickly?
I was NOT ready for another Monday this morning! I woke up and it was like, NOOOOOO!!! How did it get to be Monday again so quickly? I have two theories about weekends. The first is that if you do something on Friday night, in addition to Saturday and Sunday, it Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1082119303287874172004-04-16T14:41:00.000+02:002004-04-16T14:45:42.013+02:00You know the Golden Rule?
It's treat others as you would like to be treated, right?
Is that just a crock of shit? Because it seems like we're not all living this way. So it's just an idea. Not a Rule, per se.
If it were a rule and I sent an email, the recipient would reply, right? Every time. Because who sends emails or anything, for that matter, without wanting a response? Other than Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1082035138042608512004-04-15T15:18:00.000+02:002004-04-15T15:22:55.733+02:00A Dog By Any Other Name...
My parents bought a dog a few months ago. She's a miniature Doberman Pinscher.
She started her life with my family as Hilda. About a month passed and my parents decided she just wasn't really a Hilda, after all. So they named her Heidi.
Approximately thirty days passed. I called a couple of times and discussed Heidi with my dad. She's really cute and hops or Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1081933931043725752004-04-14T11:12:00.000+02:002004-04-14T11:16:07.216+02:00Don't you Hate it When This Happens?
Last night, I did some marketing. I picked up an apple juice (jus d'pomme) and when I got to the register, upstairs, the top of the box of juice was jacked up and it was leaking. This is not America, where a bagger is sent down to the juice shelf to get you a new one that's in perfect condition. In France (at most markets), YOU are the bagger. And I Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1081873124211425732004-04-13T18:18:00.000+02:002004-04-13T18:22:39.340+02:00Change
Monnaie is what they call it here (sounds like mon-ay). Meaning change. Of the pocket variety. Coinage.
Okay, so being an American, I am not a fan of change. I like paper money. Euro coins are fine. The two Euro coin? I'm a fan. But I am so not the exact change counter-outer at the market. People are behind me and I've just got to hand over my money and go! I am not rifling Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1081850917964523372004-04-13T12:08:00.000+02:002004-04-13T12:12:32.890+02:00Easter
Easter weekend has passed.
I'm not religious, so it's not a holiday with a lot of significance. And as a kid, since I am not a fan of pork, I never really liked Easter. Sometimes we'd get Easter baskets. Sometimes just a chocolate egg. Sometimes we'd have an Easter Egg hunt, sometimes, more often than not, we didn't. My parents would make us stay around the house all day, out of Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1081504498290704232004-04-09T11:54:00.000+02:002004-04-09T11:58:47.856+02:00Kill Your Television
Yesterday, I telecommuted. My cat, Jules, who has asthma, was really having problems with his breathing. Jumping up on to my bed caused an attack. Jumping down from the bed caused an attack. The poor little guy was really struggling. So I stayed home in order to go see his vet. Thankfully, the vet's office is on my street. And he's a great guy. Very friendly and kindMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1081352792015521492004-04-07T17:46:00.000+02:002004-04-07T17:50:18.496+02:00The Most Romantic Words Ever...
I finished reading the book Cold Mountain last week. It was a great book. I loved the movie and was very moved by it. Probably because I already had the most romantic words ever written in my head when I saw it. I was crying within the first ten minutes of the film because of this story I’d heard last year.
I heard this story on NPR (National Public Radio) Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1081252777166136892004-04-06T13:59:00.000+02:002004-04-06T14:03:22.686+02:00Patience
I used to have a quick temper. A short fuse. I was a bit of a hothead. I'd vent, let off steam, feel better and leave hurt, angry and confused people in my wake. Sure, it was great for me to blow my top and feel better. But I seldom considered the consequences I'd have to face before I'd launch into a tirade or take a hasty course of action.
Now, maybe because of the effects of ageMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1081177867730591392004-04-05T17:11:00.000+02:002004-04-05T17:14:51.950+02:00The Frailty of Man
I watched a show on BBC last night where this woman named Max decided that she'd rather be a he. So a bunch of tests were done on Max's brain and also her physical fitness was charted and she was monitored for six months as she received male hormones. Her shoulders got broader and more muscular, she grew some facial hair and her body fat sort of redistributed itself. Her Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1080899722038252642004-04-02T11:55:00.000+02:002004-04-02T11:59:01.170+02:00Movie Goers Lament
This is the worst time of year if you are a movie lover. There's just nothing at the theatre. All of the good movies have either come and gone or are waiting for their big summer release.
This does not bode well for me. I truly adore the movies. And I need them. Living, as I do, six thousand miles away from home, there are times, when I'm sitting quietly at home or evenMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1080813119188547122004-04-01T11:51:00.000+02:002004-04-01T11:55:36.996+02:00There is Superstition
I come from a family of ritual. Of crazy Celtic traditions, of goofy East-Coast habits: some might call them superstitions. We throw salt over our shoulders, we pick up our feet when we cross railroad tracks in the car. My mom has been known to rub the two cut ends of a cucumber together, to "neutralize their poison." We knock wood. We're really big on the knocking Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1080741454156013152004-03-31T15:57:00.000+02:002004-03-31T16:01:10.746+02:00Global Citizen
When I was a little kid, when the Space Program was an enormously big deal, we were told that things would be much different in the world when we grew up. For instance, all the sidewalks would move and walking would be a thing of the past. Cars? Obsolete, due to the invention of the hovercraft. And the food developed for the Space Program, which we were partaking of, many of Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1080740224252153602004-03-31T15:37:00.000+02:002004-03-31T15:40:41.090+02:00T-t-t-train Ride
Well, it's official. It doesn't matter whether a kid is whining and stuttering in Enlgish or French: either way, it's annoying.
This morning, on the train, this little girl was saying over and over, in the whiniest little girl voice imaginable, "Maman, et a la, a la, a la, a la..." I just wanted to thump her, like a needle on a record player, so she'd spit out whatever it wasMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1080553644872918142004-03-29T11:47:00.000+02:002004-03-29T11:50:58.763+02:00The Hour
It's only sixty minutes. But I've lost it and I really want it back.
Here in Europe, we've already had to endure the annual "Spring Forward" of the Daylight Savings Time rite. This is the worst night of the year, in my estimation: when the "powers that be" steal an hour away from us all.
Why do they call it Springing Forward? I did not Spring Forward. I was dragged, kicking andMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1080319759006524822004-03-26T17:49:00.000+01:002004-03-26T17:52:49.186+01:00Under the Weather
Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up and you feel like your head is stuffed with cotton? And you can't really hear anything and you're a little dizzy? And you have weird twinges of pain in places you haven't been aware of in years -- like the area beneath your ribs on the right side? Or your hearing suddenly clears on your right side while the left side is Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1080208422058599652004-03-25T10:53:00.000+01:002004-03-25T10:57:10.200+01:00There's this guy...
The man I love has a great laugh. When he laughs, you cannot help but join in. He has one of those laughs that is so sincere and heartfelt that it takes over his entire body. Twice, I have been present when he laughed so hard that he fell out of his chair. Once, I made him laugh so hard that it hurt and he begged me to stop. I adore this about him. It's so important to Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1080127387910944582004-03-24T12:23:00.000+01:002004-03-24T12:26:35.293+01:00SPAM SPAM SPAM SPAM Email and SPAM
This morning, I had 145 emails in my personal email box -- meaning the emails addressed only to me. This used to be the box where I got mail primarily from friends and family.
Today, sadly, 144 of the emails in my personal email box were SPAM.
Puh-leese! People, I don't need Generic Viagra, to increase the size of my Manhood, increase my bust size (it's allMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1080042060515937072004-03-23T12:41:00.000+01:002004-03-23T12:44:26.233+01:00My Musical Building
Okay, so I don't know how it came to be that my building (where I live) is filled with musical lunatics, but it IS. Perhaps they just naturally gravitate to my lovely neighborhood. Maybe the owners of these miscellaneous apartments have placed their For Rent notices in music halls and music stores. I don't know. All I can tell you for sure is that my building is inhabitedMaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1079968371909952652004-03-22T16:12:00.000+01:002004-03-22T16:16:16.810+01:00Wallpaper: Satan's Plaything?
So the weirdest thing happened when I moved into my tiny, shoebox of an apartment in Paris: wallpaper.
I've never lived in a wallpapered apartment. Hence, Jake, my eleven-year-old cat, had never lived in a wallpapered environment either.
I don't know if he's bitter because we moved away from the house he'd lived in for ten years or if he's bored during the day Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1079949359792180152004-03-22T10:55:00.000+01:002004-03-22T10:59:23.810+01:00Market Over-Saturation, Gwyneth Paltrow and Me
I hope that Gwyneth Paltrow takes some time away from the spotlight after she has her baby. This is not an altruistic wish on my part. The thing is, I am a reader. I read voraciously: books, magazines, newspapers. So this weekend, I decided to go through the magazines that are overfilling the magazine rack in my bathroom. Seriously, I bought Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1079690617495939732004-03-19T11:03:00.000+01:002004-03-19T11:06:58.140+01:00Hootenanny Guy
Main Entry: hoo·te·nan·ny
Pronunciation: 'hü-t&n-"a-nE
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural -nies
Etymology: origin unknown
a gathering at which folksingers entertain often with the audience joining in
As I got off the bus this morning, at the stop on ZI Les Gatines and rue Pierre Curie, I was preceded by a guy who works in the same building as me. As we walk up the Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1079618903002391802004-03-18T15:08:00.000+01:002004-03-18T15:11:42.436+01:00The Story of La
True story.
One evening, on my way home from work, walking down rue l'Arrivee from Gare Montparnasse (Gare means train station and is pronounced GAR, like tar), crossing the street alongside the Galleries Lafayette, I over heard two young boys talking. One boy was probably about twelve, and he was standing next to his bike, which he was holding upright with his left hand. In Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015833.post-1079603965264111742004-03-18T10:00:00.000+01:002004-03-18T11:02:44.576+01:00So it's March. I've been here, living in Paris, for eight months now. I have figured out the train, the Metro, and the bus system. I can buy produce at the market. I know that sounds like nothing, and it is, in the United States. But here, to buy produce you have to go to a machine and press a button with either a picture or a number on it, which corresponds with the vegetable or fruit you Maryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793271185966255138noreply@blogger.com0