What the F do the Borg have to do with Thanksgiving?

Resistence is Effing FUTILE yotch!
image © Wikipedia

Over the last couple of months, I have transformed from workaholic, to android who does nothing but work, eat, sleep and crap, into a full-on BORG. Old habits don't die hard with me, they live on, and on, and on, and effing ON. They are as immortal as the Borg themselves.

As a sort of wake up call, I started tracking my hours very diligently. Let's just say the words "a lot" to describe the number per week are similar to saying that the sun is "kinda big". I'm starting to think this is just a part of my personality. The whole, I'm gonna-give-1000-million-% until I waste away into a pastey-faced-imp-like-monotone-world-dominating-psycho who can plug her head into her computer and tells people resistance is futile. (It is you know, totally and utterly futile.)

It's already been 2 weeks since Thanksgiving and my obsession with staying on top of all-things-work has kept me away from the ole blog.

Thanksgiving and Christmas are always bitter sweet for me. I LOVE them. I play music, I make cookies, I get all "tra-la-la, it's Christmas, time to break out the ELF movie and cozy up". But I'm also very "where the F*** are those F***ing scientist Mother-F***ers hiding, and why haven't they invented teleportation yet?" (Yeah, I'm talking to you mr., pardon me, DR. physicist. Sheldons of the world, UNITE and get your asses on this!)

This year, like last year, I took a little time out to celebrate the day the pilgrims sat down and shared a meal with an indigenous group of unsuspecting people who we later slaughtered mercilessly and forced to live on small plots of land while we sold them "fire water". I mean... we celebrated all the things we're thankful for.

This is in fact, the last time that I'll be going to the country house with a band of merry x-pats, as it has (sniff sniff) finally been sold off (the house, not the merry band). I loved building a crackling fire, enjoying the hazy mornings with the clop-clop-clop of a horse-drawn carriage, and all the cooking, laughing, forest-walking, horse-riding, champagne-tasting, and other good things that accompany the country life.

I'm pleased with our last hurrah at the house. I have to say that the cooking, of which I didn't participate much, was even better than ever. Our "breakfast crew" has matured in their cooking endeavors, stopped bickering and finally decided (after much tribulation), that "French Toast" (sweet) is better than "Eggy Toast" (savory). The Franco-Ameri-Brit cooking styles meshed perfectly together to create the biggest god damn delicious turkey you ever saw, complete with every side dish known to man.

While all those people slaved in the kitchen, some of us whistled out the door to go horseback riding. I am in love with horses. (Not like that you dirty sod.) I had only one previous experience horseback riding when I was a teen, and it wasn't nearly so spiritual and fulfilling.

Dear lord. WHO, tell me, WHO wears a halter top to go horseback riding?? Well. This girl did. It was a hot summer day, but that is no excuse for my idiocy. We started trotting a bit, and all was well. It was around the second gallop that I realized... hmm... it's a little... chilly. No, more like NIPPY. Yes. As in, my shirt had untied and I was pulling a Lady Godiva.

I wish I could say that I was graceful. I wish it had been something like this:

 

The reality is it was really more like this:

 

Moron, that I was, I started screaming and grabbing desperately at the pile of fabric around my waist that used to be a shirt, at which point EVERYONE turns around and starts staring and my horse decides to go even faster to the point of almost bucking me off because I've decided that modesty is more important than life. Also, I forgot to pull on the reins and actually stop the horse. Like I said. Imbecile.

So this time went much better to say the least. Firstly, it was cold out, so we were all bundled. The chances of my pulling another Lady Godiva were slim indeed. Secondly, I wasn't 16 anymore, and figured out how to steer and stop the horse.

Finally, I really bonded with that beautiful brown horse. We were friends, whatever her name was that I've now forgotten, and I. I can't wait to try this again!


*UPDATED* I can't BELIEVE I forgot this part. We had the most CUT-THROAT game of boys vs girls Charades you can imagine. Dear god. I thought these people were going to riot. I blame the brit who stoked the fires of competition, you know who you are.

There was screaming, and pointing of fingers left & right. NO NO NO, that word is NOT fair!!! I have a PENIS, how the *hell* am I supposed to know who wrote the fucking "Princess Diaries"!! (Incidentally, it was this woman.)

I stepped in and tried to be the arbiter, but, to no avail. Because the girls were kicking such serious ass, we had to change the rules to appease the male-folk lol. Even if I think this is our last game of Charades, I'm sure we'll come up with new and better ways to instigate genitalia-rivalry.

The best part of the weekend however, wasn't the amazing food, or the delicious Chateau du Petit Thouars wine provided, or even the post-dinner dance party that the Brits weren't quite drunk enough to participate in.

The best part was my shirt not coming off. J/k. I wasn't sad. I wasn't all "woe is me, I miss my family". I was positively on cloud 9. Of course, I missed them, but the happiness won out :)

Lesson to us all: When in a far away land, find a good band.

Happy Holidays!

10 Day Ohm Project Update

So, it wasn't a total failure, but not exactly a success either. I kept up with the hypnosis and occasional meditation, but the yoga was a total bust. I keep telling myself: you *must have* 30 minutes a day to do this crap, but somehow it keeps getting pushed aside into "I'll do it later" land.

I think karma is plotting against me... I try to quit smoking, and my world kind of goes up in smoke. I try to do this zen-living thing, and several projects that I wasn't anticipating fall, no THUD, into my lap like a thousand pound elephant in the room.

I really wonder sometimes if it's just not meant to be. Maybe I should just stop trying to force a lifestyle that isn't going to suit me, you know?

Thing is, I really respect and admire people who can do that. Who get up every morning, and run, or do yoga or something good for their mind/body/soul. I used to be like that, swear! I was practically vegan in the US. I would run every morning, do sit ups (omg did I have some rock-hard abs back then, not like these mushy, pathetic little lumps I have now), I was all about kickboxing and was starting karate before I moved here.

The strangest thing is that I go *right* back into that lifestyle when set foot in the US. All I wanted to do last time I was there was go to yoga w/ my bestie, and run, and eat healthy when I'm surrounded by all that good American food.

Can't explain it. Maybe being in the US makes me paranoid about being unhealthy, and being here has the opposite effect. I suppose it's very possible that Paris is actually bad for me if that's the case lol?

Whatever the reason, I can't seem to connect with that person over here. Any advice those of you who have achieved my goal?

The 10-day Ommmm Project

Copyright © Flickr by porchlife

If you know me IRL (as the kids say), you know that I'm a haggard, frazzled, stressed person at the moment. The phrase "I have a lot going on" was what I was telling myself 5 projects ago. Between that, and family stuff, friend stuff, Italian class, and all the other things life throws at me right now, it's been busy times a gajillion. 

Long story short: I'm not myself. Feels like the Michelle Bachman version of me right now. All batshit, running in all directions, blathering nonsense, and on top of it all -- not really sleeping. S'not good.

Back in the US last month, I went to my first yoga class with friends. I was pretty impressed with how good I felt, despite being the "Problem Child" as my friend dubbed me because I didn't know what the hell I was doing. (In reality, she was just jealous that I got a 30sec. back massage from the teacher. I bite my thumb at you E, pffffffff.)

Copyright © Flickr by myyogaonline

In light of that discovery, I'm taking some new steps. Turning over a new yoga mat. And doing it publicly because, well... I know myself, if I don't do it here, I know I'll just quit tomorrow when the next issue arises and slap a gold star over my "third eye" for even thinking it up in the first place. I'm really curious to see if the hippy-dippy, chakra-reki, flowerchild crap really works.

So, break out your tea lights. Slip on the stretchpants. Let the 10-day OOOHHHHMMMMMmmmmmm Project COMMENCE!

The plan: Do at least 1 yogaglo.com meditation or yoga class per day to chill my ass the f*ck out.

Simple & easy. I'll be documenting the experience on here, starting with today's!

What I did:
I did this morning yoga routine, followed by 15 min. of "OOOOHHMMMMMMMM"ing in the shower.

Result:

Hmm. I feel surprisingly wonderful. My body is awake, my mind is calm. I've set some mental expectations for the day. Mental being "focused" and "open-minded" and not in the "WTF NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO THAT SUCKS, I SUCK, WHAT AM I GOING TO DO??" sense. Which I think is good.

Maybe a before-bed meditation is in order?


Motivation level:Very. Very very. If motivation were a stash of Halloween candy, mine pillow case would bust open. Feels great, glad my sleep-deprived mind is still capable of this kind of creativity, rather astonishing.


Other notes:Anyone else really f*cking hate downward-facing-dog pose? Dude. Kill your wrists much? Yowch. Maybe this gets better as your arm muscles develop or something.

Expat goodbyes suck as much as any.

©flickr By √oхέƒx™

A few friends have packed it up to go back to their homelands recently and for lack of a deep, emotionally and intellectually moving way of expressing this, I'll just say what I usually do... it f*cking blows man.

It's hard enough saying goodbye to home. Your friends, family, colleagues, dog, hamster, kitchen sink, etc etc are left behind. That's about as much fun as having your teeth drilled sans Novocaine while taking a math test with someone singing Depeche Mode off-key behind you to "set the mood". (I know. Pretty bad.) But, having friends over here is no easier imho:

1) You both love Paris.
Something happens when you meet expats here, a kind of... "Ahhh yes, I know how you feel" bond is formed about the city. You swap favorite addresses, try new places together and it's inevitable that you feel a certain attachment to those places with those people.

Then, they leave, and you go back to those places. Man, that sucks. There you are, missing people from your old home, and new one. Nothing to be done but bitch and moan to your expat buddies until *they* announce that their own departure from sanity and Paris.


2) You both hate Paris.
Another thing happens: you bitch about the French. Nahnahnahnah.... I love the French, so wag that finger at someone else. But, you can't tell me that you don't have an irrepressible urge to whine about them from time to time when you're an expat in Paris. Dahdahdah, ya do. Period.

Chalk it up to cultural differences, there's always something that will irk you, no matter your origin. The day will come when an atrocious thing (like walking in poo, or watching naked neighbors, or generally too much saliva) will happen to you that an expat friend told you about. All you want to do is go to your favorite bar, sip your favorite drink and bitch to them about how batshit crazy this world is and how you fully understand why people sometimes try to jump off the Eiffel Tower to get away from it.


3) You start sifting.
Paris is on everyone's bucket list, am I right? So people come and go. I've started asking "How long are you here for?" as a means to cope.

What I mean by this question is really something more like "If you turn out to be an awesome person and I want to you to be my BFF, are you going to rip my heart out, spit on it's still beating last moments, and then do the mexican hat dance around it by leaving 6 months after we buy matching necklaces??"

4) Another one bites the dust
Before you know it, you're wrackin'em up. One after another and you start thinking to yourself, "Damn. I've said more goodbyes here than I did at home". Total Paris Buzz-kill.

Any expats out there feeling this post?

Naturalist Neighbors (AKA: Pubes-R-Us)

© flickr by BeauB

I have some new neighbors in the hood. A young couple that have obviously never had a "vis-a-vis" (neighbors that can see into their windows). How do I know this you may ask? WELL. Let me explain.

Not to put too fine a point on it, I've seen them regularly making out on the bed, but that's not really the worst of it. I have seen my fair share of impetuous preliminaries on the streets of Paris. Who hasn't? It's practically a right of passage to see some tongue-baths in this town. Eventually, they get to more advanced techniques and draw the blinds. (Thank the lord.)

The worst part isn't the bedroom... it's their bathroom. (You see where I'm going with this.) In France the toilet is typically separate from the tub-area, and I cannot express how truly grateful I am for this custom. But the problem remains: I have a view of their tub-area.

Shockingly, this pair of unprudists have a curtain. What they don't have, is a fucking clue how to use it. It's strategically placed 1/2-way folded down. It's Pubes-R-Us over there.

Anon-nudists next door shower nightly, for which I'm very glad. Less stink on the metro is good for all. Unfortunately they spend an inordinate amount of time drying themselves in front of the window, where I have a front-row seat to the ass-crack show of a lifetime.

I could sell tickets to this, not kidding. The red-light district ain't got nothing on my neighbors. But that's the thing. You can't NOT look. It's like when someone says "Don't look!!". We all look, dammit.

There I was minding my bidness, and BAM. BUTT-IN-FACE time. That's not all. It's like I have this need to know whose butt I'm looking at. Guy? Girl? I can't tell half the time, they rock the bush, which just makes it intriguing because you don't want to turn away until you know just how much to be grossed out. It's sick right? It's sick. Blegh.

Next time they do this I might just start shouting at the open window, something like... "HEY NAKO, I CAN SEE YOUR CRACK!! YA WANNA DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT?!". When they look out the window, I plan to innocently start looking at the other balconies and pretend it wasn't me. Shocked-face will be necessary, better start practicing that in the mirror.

I'm hoping they will eventually get the net, or I will eventually become so grossed out that I'll just stop looking. Neither has happened yet, I'll keep you posted.

Ten Tips for Paris on a Budget

Please give a warm welcome to Leah from AnyTrip.com who is guest blogging on JNSQ this week! Just want to take a second to let readers know that AnyTrip is giving away several trips to Paris, and you still have time to participate! Just Like them on Facebook to enter! Good luck and thanks to AnyTrip for these great tips!

© flickr Moyan Brenn

The allure of the City of Lights can put a big hurt on your pocketbook if you are not careful, so check out these tips for how to have a blast without breaking the bank.

Cheap accommodations – Hostels are fine if you are just looking for a place to grab a shower and snooze but if you want to savor the atmosphere of a Paris neighborhood, check out weekly apartment rates or room rentals where you can cook and hang close to home to keep your out of pocket expenses low.

Learn the language – Don’t aspire to speak French like a native, but valiant efforts to address locals with articulate French phrases give you a chance of not being pegged as an uncouth tourist and therefore avoid the price gouging that goes with the label. Of course, learning how to understand their response is the second part of the equation…

Hit the outdoor markets before closing – Any good bargain hunter knows that vendors drop their prices drastically when it is time to pack up, so if you can refrain from shopping until closing time, you will be surprised how much more you’ll have for less money.

© Flickr Dimitry B.

Museum Pass – Even though there are many free museums to enjoy in Paris, the ones you write home about have hefty entrance fees so a Paris Museum Pass is your golden ticket to unlimited access to all 60 museums -- ideal for repeated visits so you can soak up your favorites.

Paris Visite Pass – Spare yourself the trauma of Paris’ notoriously wicked traffic by hopping aboard their excellent metro system with a Parise Visite Pass. The traveler’s card entitles you to unlimited rides for a single price for a set amount of time – but note the passes are divided into zones so city-wide excursions require multiple passes. What’s really cool is that the pass automatically qualifies you for discounts in stores, restaurants, and sightseeing venues as well as the many seasonal events.

Cheap dining - Learning to eat cheap in Paris requires a bit of discipline but with fortitude you can indulge decadent food fantasies without facing sticker shock. The street vendors have rock bottom prices for crepes and pizzas while the cost of sit-down restaurants like Chartier, Chez Gladines and Au Petit Grec comes as a pleasant surprise.

Luggage and bags – Keeping track of your stuff is tough enough when you travel, but Paris is notorious for pick pockets and purse snatchers, so arrange your attire so you carry your valuables close to your body and just have purses and bags to carry incidental items. Simple but sturdy luggage with locking zippers is the best idea; anything too flashy just makes a juicy target.


© Flickr Aitor Escauriaza

Stay away from tourist traps – As in any popular destination, everything from food to souvenirs cost more the closer you are to the main attractions. By setting a firm resolution not to be tempted by the obvious bait, you’ll find your spending money will stretch much further.


Ask for advice - It is surprising how people love to share their insider knowledge of bargains, so by asking the right question at the right time you could well land a sweet deal. Be alert for opportunists, but don’t be shy about relying on the kindness of strangers.


Buy your own booze – Drinking cocktails and buying bottles of wine with dinner can jack up the bottom line in no time. By keeping your own supply tucked in a handy flask you can catch a buzz for a fraction of the price.

cheap Paris hotels
four free trips to Paris

What if we stopped talking about the weather?

You: Wow! Summer = over.

Me: Uh-huh.

You: Already?

Me: Yes.

You: It's like, what???

Me: I know.

You: But? Seriously, it's crazy.

Me: Mmm-hmm. Indeed.

You: Yeah, like, just yesterday it was so warm.

Me: Imma about to shove my fingers up your nostrils until I touch the part of your brain that is making you act so retarded and POKE the SHIT out of it. Fair warning.

You: But like, it's so cold out?

(you know what comes next)

Yep. It was a great summer. Full of beauty and love and RAIN and friends and food and RAIN and bike rides and picnics and cold breezes and RAIN. Did I mention rain? One thing I'm tired of hearing is this whole, wow it's so cold & crappy out schtick. I just got back from vacay myself. The change from swimming in 80 degree aqua waters and basking in the golden rays of sun from a clear blue sky so gorgeous you start believing in God, to the gray skies of Paris in its dirty, honking, frowning, black-wearing glory is obvious enough without you telling me about it every 10 seconds. (Le sigh, I miss me some aqua waters and infinity pools.)

Don't get me wrong, I love talking about the weather with you... actually. You didn't get me wrong. It's more boring than the chitchat I had with my dentist about why her gear gets clogged. (Have you ever wished someone would give you knock out gas more?)

I feel like giving Paris one big collective bitch-slap into reality, because if my last 6yrs here are any sign of the times, I can tell you this:

1) Summers are full of rain god dammit. Rain, rain, glorious rain. This isn't London, but just get the net already, it's not f@%#ing Ibiza either. You will have rain at least 45% of every month. Can we get on with our lives and discuss something more interesting now?

2) There is the occasional sunny day. It will strike when you've finally put away your sandals and picnic basket. Yes, God is laughing at you. They are rare and beautiful and they happen once every two weeks or so. So don't put away the sandals, just ... don't plan picnics either. They need to be spontaneous, and uncomplicated. You could follow in the footsteps of my friend Richard (bless him) who just brings random food from his fridge that everyone's afraid to eat -- it certainly gave us something better to talk about than the weather, it was flat out awesome lol.

3) Then there are those 2 days every July when the sun decides it wants you-kababs and needs to cook your ass until it's sizzling and you actually wish for death to not be so hot anymore. Cold showers are a solution, or your local public piscine is another. You know what doesn't help you cool off? Flappin' yer gums about how damn hot you are.

If I permit myself to make these comments, it's because I used to live in Wisconsin. I can't really imagine weather more detestably cold or hot than in that state. We have it *great* over here in Paris. That is all.