How to Attract An Australian

29 Mar

I noticed someone ended up on this blog the other day from having googled ‘how to attract Australian men’.

And to you, i say, “get back to me when you find out”.

But what i can offer is this. Unlike French men, who seem to go for anyone who seems like a bitch, i think in Australia it is rather the opposite. Ah ha, that’s right – be nice. I’m not sure if it is actually as easy as that, but it is certainly the essential ingredient.

To you, dear google-er (is that a word yet?), if you read this, and you are indeed a nice person, you should have no trouble attracting yourself an Australian.

Let me know when it happens 😉

Pot Calling The Kettle Fat?

18 Mar

Sorry to get all political like on you all, but i have to share the funniest thing i have heard all week.

On the matter of Nicolas Sarkozy, this week, Gaddafi apparently said in an interview something along the lines of “yes, Sarkozy… he is my friend, you know, but unfortunately he is crazy – he has a mental disease”.

This cracked me up.

It’s amazing that someone so completely off the planet has the clarity to see such a thing in someone else. Truly incredible.

Perhaps he is in fact superhuman enough to succeed.

I wonder whether that’s the reason France will be throwing a bomb over Gaddafi’s roof sometime this afternoon?

A Farewell to Arms

8 Mar

I’d like to talk about Charlie Sheen.

But i won’t. Not enough room on the INTERNET to talk about all the crazy going on there.

So instead i’ll talk about the other thing currently occupying space in my head, normally reserved for air, EATING.

Oh my good god is living in France in winter is a sheer test of will or what?

All it takes is December, January, February, a little bit of fois gras, some sneaky – still in the fridge as you cut it – cheese eating, a couple of plates of confit du canard, an entire olive baguette on a Sunday afternoon and voila – a new layer of protective fat. Just in time for Spring.

I’ve taken off my jeans and put on my leggings. I am not putting them back on until they no longer look like i’ve sprayed denim directly onto my legs.

It’s official. Poulette is on operation ‘put the cheese down’.

Or maybe operation (no) dessert storm.

Now i could do this the old-fashioned French way and cover every inch of my body in fat reducing creams and stuff my self silly with diet pills, but i’m gonna do this the plain old Anglo-Saxon way and stuff myself full of vegetable for several weeks, while salivating on the window of pattiseries and restaurants all over town.

This is really happening guys.

Am I Dead?

5 Mar

I am completely aware that this is called neglect.

I have had a crazy week of work and the forecast is the same for next week. So much to talk about yet so little time. All i can say right now is how did i end up working virtually all the time for virtually no money?

This is not what i moved to France for.
Time to put my thinking cap on….

P.S

20 Feb

Whoops and i forgot to tell you the funniest part of the whole haircut saga. It was the night after i got it chopped and i met my (also short haired) friend in a bar…. she took one look at my head and said “oh no, i really think i should grow my hair long again!!”

Fail!

Short Hair Blues

19 Feb

Recently, in spite of my better judgment, i have cut my hair extremely short. As one lovely friend pointed out, it has hit lesbian mother territory, and possibly the point of no return. It’s taken me a little bit of getting used to. For example, i absolutely could not look at myself in the mirror for at least the first week without tears welling up in my eyes.

Dramatic i know, but true. A woman’s hair is very important, and when it’s not flowing down surrounding your face in feminine mystique, it’s a little unnerving! As Jack Donaghy says, “Lemon, everybody knows that your hair is your head suit”

As i was wandering around town, sitting on the metro, doing all those normal things, all i could think about was if everyone was wondering whether i was a lesbian. or, whether people were just looking at me thinking er, what has occurred on top of her head?

But this was just the first week. Okay, first 2 weeks.

It’s been a month now, and i have to say, i am LOVING short hair! It’s true what they say that i may never go back! While it seems that i am missing a certain aspect of femininity, there is a huge element of liberation in the feeling of the icy wind on the back of your neck.

I got all dressed up to go out last night, finally feeling at one with my head, no longer feeling like an angry lesbian with 3 kids, and more like a lovely bohemian artist pixie.

I was standing at the bar ordering drinks with a friend, and a guy standing behind us tried to get our attention. I thought, god, why was i worried all this time, my hair is fine, and it’s still attracting all these dudes anyway, there was never a problem!

Even though we were speaking French, this guy behind us, head reaching about breast level, interrupts, and the conversation goes something like this

Him: “er, er ixcooooooose mi, er, you are zee iiiiiinnglish speaking?”

Me: “Oui”

Him: “Er, er, you arrrre waiting for zee service?

Me: “Oui”

Him: “Okay”

My friend and i looked at each other and rolled our eyes, communicating the the same thought of, “really, this 4 foot high dwarf with a square head is trying to pick us up? Mwhaaahahahaha”

But then i felt another tap on my shoulder –

Him: “Er, iixcuuuse me, ello. Uh, i wanted to say somefing also, i wanted to tell you that you are viiiry oggly”

Me: “Pardon?”

Him: “Oui c’est ca, i find you viiry viiry OGGLY!”

Me: WTF!!

Ouch. It kinda hurt i gotta say, and while i think a little unfounded, i may had temporarily gone back to avoiding mirrors for a couple of days!!

Love.

15 Feb

I have intentionally written a post about love on either side of Valentine’s day. Gotta do something to keep up my pretext of being an emotional jerk, right?
And if you didn’t think i was a jerk? You might in a minute!

But it is on the brain (love, not being a jerk) and once again i’ve far too much time to think. That and i happen to be reading a book about love.

It’s a scary concept, and the thing that scares me the most? The inability to know whether the feelings you have today will still be there next week – or next year – or even in 10 years.

It’s such a leap of faith and it scares the hell out of me.

Clearly i’m not a religious person. Believing in something when there is a proven theory against it just isn’t something i feel capable of. Except in this instance the theory isn’t proven, it just hovers.

(One of those ‘big’ questions – can you get me a whiskey Wonky?)

I’ve been in the position before –  i know what it’s like to have such strong feelings for someone and then one day, just like that, you don’t any more. I know it’s possible. I know it doesn’t have to be, but nevertheless, i know it can.

And so i don’t know how to trust my own feelings.