Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Carla Carla Carla part III

I must really be the very LAST person on the planet to not give a shit about Carla. My eyes are rolling so far back inside my head that I can in fact see my brain, losing heap upon heap of cells, with every bit of superfluous, pointless information I hear about her.

She is everywhere. She is there, while I'm brushing my teeth. While I'm ironing my clothes. She's ruining the taste of food in my mouth and sucking the beauty out of the music in my ears. She's staring at me, with her lips spread into that creepy grin thing she does, and I'm shivering in my little gray boots. (PS the plastic surgery is really not helping reduce the creep-out factor. Some people were not made for full-on-smiling. Yeash.) I suspect, had Stephen King met Carla Bruni thirty years ago, the "It" wouldn't have been a clown, but a Carla doll complete with Jackie-O get up. In short, I feel like I'm being stalked by the Queen of France.

I open the paper, and there she is, commenting on the fact that she doesn't want her husband to run again next term. I turn on the radio, another report about her supposed cheating scandal. I go online, and there she is... yet again... some stupid fashion rivalry with Michel Obama.

Will it ever end?

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Night Run To Belgium...

One of my favorite things about living here is that I can wake up one Friday morning, like last week, and say to myself, "I'm going to Belgium in 24hours", just because. In Wisconsin that phrase would substitute another country with some mundane task like... mowing... or milking cows. At best, I'd be going to a restaurant that did not serve omelets and lacked the word "Family" in the title. Now and again, I'd throw a concert into the mix... but I never went to another country just to see a show.

But times, they are a'changin' and I piled into a car with my hubs & friends to see Phoenix, one of the best bands of all time. I'd been to visit our neighbors to north before, so I had some idea of what I was getting into, I'll break it down for you...

Obligatory Belgium Process:

- Make fun of the accent for a good hour in the car. If you're untalented in the accent department (eh hhem.. yours truly) you can perform what we like to call "Le Mélange" (the mix). It's a combination between the Canadian, American and Belgian accents rolled into one. An accent taco, mmm, délicieux!

- Upon arrival, check in, drop off your stuff at the hotel and proceed IMMEDIATELY to the nearest bar for mass consumption of beer.

- When you're full of liquid deliciousness, head to the nearest restaurant and get yourselves a GIANT POT of mussels and a few cones of fries. MMM, the M-F'er treatment (Moules & Frites!). It's fine. Everyone will reek of garlic sauce, so no one will notice that your breath can anesthetize small children.

- Go see the famous peeing boy statue. (A must... only in Belgium can a statue be famous because it's peeing.) Take your picture next to it, preferably pretending to drink the pee. Everyone does it.

- Feast your eyes on Musé de Marguerite's many many naked images and oddball phrases. (this will be especially funny being that you'll be totally hammered after your liquid excursions. ie: "Poetry is a pipe" => in french meaning "Poetry is a blow job". Priceless.)

- Go see an amazing Phoenix concert if you can.

- Beer Dinner.

- Sleep.

- Repeat.

M'Fing awesome.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Friday Feature: Start doing something pointless PRONTO

March 25th 2010 was a landmark day in history. It was INTERNATIONAL PROCRASTINATION DAY!!!

"What??" you say. Oh yes indeedy. This is not a test. Yesterday, you were to stop producing dammit, and have a nice nap, or browse the interwebs, or loaf around doing something else of little or no value.

Despite a massive lack of communication IMO, the day went off without a hitch. The only other day when people accomplished less was probably 4/20. They should combine these two days since the result is most definitely the same. International Pot & Procrastination Day! It will be glorious. (Except for me since a. I'm a type A personality, so it takes a conscious effort and constant reminding just to relax at all, and b. I'm into hugs not drugs.) Although, since I began writing, this blog has become my main source of procrastination practice. Soon I'll claim my throne as rightful Queen of Frivolous-Time-Wasting-land.

The first question that popped into my head, and those of my fellow expat buddies, was... WTF, isn't that everyday in France? Did they really need to officialize it? You're missing the point completely. This is an INTERNATIONAL day of laziness. Let's try to see beyond our own borders, and let the REST of the world have a day of dilly-dallying, hmm?

So I put the following question to some friends... naturally I did it today and not yesterday, so the answers are late this Friday in accordance with the world-wide holiday....

Did you participate yesterday? (Do you participate EVERYDAY?) What did you do in Paris & what would you have done in your home town?

I did my share of idle puttering... jog, nails, facebook, twitter, blogs, reading (JULIET NAKED = BEST BOOK EVER!!) writing this blog. Yes, the classics were at work. Oddly, I don't think it would really have been that different if I were home except I'd have probably been doing it in a little café on State Street.

"'Particuliere is so expensive..." - Badaude (between the UK & Paris since 2006)
I'd love to participate this week but I have to do some work but first, you know, I have to look at Twitter and then I might sharpen all my pencils because I can't work without sharp pencils. And then I'll arrange them in order of colour (it helps to be organised). And then I'll notice my nails need filing and, you know what, I could put some varnish on them too. But what I'd really like is that new Chanel colour, 'Particuliere'. So I could have a look to see if there's any for sale on a website. And I'll compare all the prices because some of them charge so much for shipping. And then, when I've found one that looks good, I'll think maybe beige isn't for me after all, but - where's the morning gone? If I'm really going to get down to work, I'll have to make a coffee. Or maybe a tea...

"Le Bon Marché!" - Lindsey T. (3yrs in Paris)
Work was traded for a makeover session at the NARS stand at Le Bon Marché with Mademoiselle à Paris. I'd say that's not a bad way to procrastinate :) 

"Quite talented in the art of procrastination" - Ashleigh T. (10yrs in Paris)
I definitely don't need some made-up holiday to encourage me to procrastinate! I am quite talented in the art of procrastination all on my own!

"Get back to you later on?" - I Heart Paris (6yrs in Paris)
Is it alright if I get back to you later on? It’s just I’ve got to do a bit of facebook checking, a bit of twitter catching up, I really ought to give my apartment a quick tidy and I might just need to do my nails after that. You know how it is...

More answers coming when the girls damn well feel like it!

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Oh. NO. She. DI'INT!

To everyone who loves this idea: I pity you.

To everyone else who has 2 brain cells: Please find it in your hearts to forgive the rest of the moronic population who wouldn't know what music was if you invented a way to hive-mind them with Vivaldi's ghost.

Yes, she has vocal chords. THAT DOES NOT MEAN SHE SHOULD BE USING THEM. To make matters worse there's talk of her dueting with the legendary Jean-Jacques Goldman. Unfortunately, I have vivid memories of Jean-Jacques, and his ridiculous cheese being played during yearly crèpe parties of high school french class. It was bad enough that I had to listen to him back then on his own; teamed up with Celine just feels like some kind of Pentagon-torture-mix will be unleashed on to the world.

"If all goes well" the album should come out by the end of the year or early next year. Personally, I'm going to pray for disaster. I'm going to pray, GOOD AND HARD, that the studio excreting this steaming pile will be "accidentally" bombed into oblivion.

Since I'm sure the gov't read this shit, get on it cap'n. I know you hate that "music" as much as the next soldier, so unleash the drones before it's too late! And, btw, HERE, just in case you need a reminder of how she has perfected the art of narcissism and age-ed crooning.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Train of (stupid) Thought(lessness)

You're not going to believe this. It's happened AGAIN! Seriously!! Another train incident. Not long ago I informed you, loyal readers, about the (ppssst RACIST) announcement made to warn passengers about Romanians.

Well, folks. They're at it again. Only this time, the "internal error" involved a massive explosion that didn't actually happen. How do you make an announcement about a fake explosion? You'd think they'd double check these types of bulletins before blabbing it to the commuters. Usually you get some kind of "the train going direction blah blah is currently at the station blah blah blah"... oh how I would've LOVED to be there when they announced that there was a bomb. I hope they got that shit on tape.

Everyone makes mistakes. It's human, and I am typically enthusiastic and supportive of people who are empathetic and understanding of these kinds of incidents.

However, when it happens twice in the same month, I think the minions of negligence are at work here. Maybe I'm over-reacting... but don't you think it's time to fire the fucking intern?

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Dating for people too hot/rich/pretentious for regular sites.

Online dating has lost its stigma. It's joined the ranks of other common-place pseudo-dating, like missed connections, personal ads, and dating services, as another way to calculate your soul mate before realizing that a profile does not determine compatibility. We are humans, not puzzle pieces. Just because your gaps line up with his or her protruding edge, it doesn't mean that you're going to spend your lives together laughing and having babies on a yacht. (It doesn't mean you won't either, but interaction, environment, and people who lie about their real personality traits often get in the way of your would-be nuptial bliss.)

One thing is clear though, no one cares. We're gonna search based on your height, age, location, sexual preference, salary and then expunge any unattractive types who sneakily appeared in the list. People are going to keep trying to find their other halves, their missing pieces and online sites are probably the easiest way to narrow the field from the get-go.

Obviously, this bothered the uppity folks at Meetic (a major french dating site). Meetic didn't want to be just another "method". They had to be the black sheep of the pre-meet-selection-criteria family. So, they've created "Meetic VIP", or as I like to call it, "".

OK. So you don't want to date poor people. We get it. You want someone who loves gallivanting in underground clubs and snorting coke off toilets seats as much as you do. Do you need your own site? The answer to this question according to Meetic, was YES. Absoeffinglutely, they do. And here it is!! Your prayers to Saint Benjamin have been answered!

There's just one tiny problem. They got the banners ALL WRONG.
I've corrected them for your viewing pleasure.

Life is sweet...

So what's your poison? Cake? Muffins? Giant bowl of butter? Anyone who knows me is familiar with my pathetic weakness for cookies. A friend used to offer me a cookie, and of course, I'd refuse on the grounds that it is an EVIL food and made of pure fat and sugar that no reasonable person would touch. But if he put a crumb on the corner of my desk, I could NOT resist popping it into my mouth to savor it's lardy-deliciousness.

In my world, cookies are the sugary equivalent to Satan poops. They serve no nutritional value, are of a demonic nature, and loaded with crap. Incredibly delectable meadow muffins. Unbelievably exquisite, mouth-watering, srcumptulescent dookie droppings.

Which is why I'm not a huge fan of the French Macaron. It's chocolate deficient, chunkless, and more colorful than a float-dancing dragqueen at a gay pride parade. Cookies aren't supposed to be hot pink? (This is the "No crying in baseball" correspondent of the confectionery world.) Apparently the French didn't get the memo.

I'm willing to make an exception every now and again, and I cannot think of a better time for it. Thanks to I Heart Paris blog and it's article "Jour du Macaron", I've a great excuse to break out of my American tradition and partake of the beloved Macaron.

Today the 20th, Paris is giving away Macarons for a wonderful cause - l'Alliance des Maladies Rares (the Rare Disease Alliance).

So... eat up & spread the word!

Friday, March 19, 2010

Friday Feature! The Gold & the Beautiful: Expats chime in on Paris being voted Best & Most Expensive Place to live

The French newspaper, Figaro, in conjunction with the "No Fucking Shit", "Figure That Out All By Yourself, Now Did You?" and "Captain Obvious" associations, has astutely declared that Paris is the most expensive place to live in the known universe.

Thanks for that amazing piece of investigative journalism. My socks = blown right off. If you figure out how babies are made or some other incredibly, earth-shattering breakthrough, please, keep me informed. Personally, I find Paris incredibly expensive, mostly because I come from Sticksville, USA and my rent was literally 1/10th of what I'm now paying for less space and no yard. Living in the city reminds me every day that I'm not in Madison anymore!

But there are those who take issue with my stance. They feel that Paris really isn't bad for a major international hotspot. From baguettes to brussel sprouts, everyone has their own take on what things cost, or rather, what they should cost.

The kicker is that Paris was also voted the best city to live in. (Again... shocking!!) Seems like the good life comes with a hefty price tag. I've asked some fellow bloggers & expat friends to donate their two cents.

I asked my girlfriends two questions:

1) What as the most ridiculously expensive thing you purchased in Paris that should've been cheap?

2) Paris was recently elected the "best place to live". Why do you think Paris is the best place in the world to live? Or do you think it should be some other place - if so where & why?

Here's what they said, thanks for your contributions ladies!! And don't forget to check out their lovely blogs, dear readers!

"Milk Rent" - Badaude (between the UK & Paris since 2006)

1) A cup of white coffee. In a cafe. Anywhere in the centre. Why do we have to pay a whole extra 2 Euros 50 for the splash of milk? In England, the milk's the cheap bit, the add-on. In Paris, a coffee with milk costs more than twice as much as the straight coffee. How does this add up? Are we paying Parisian rents to keep their organic cow in the apartment above the bar? Or is it that they're like, a cafe, so they're really unlikely to have milk just lying around in the kitchen and have to make a special journey to Franprix every time they're surprised by a customer requesting it. Or is it that they just know it'll take us more than twice the time to drink a crème rather than an espress and they're making us pay 'milk rent'? Yes, I think that's it...

2) Paris is the best place to live because you can hang around a cafe for about an hour drinking a really great crème which is better than anywhere else in the world.

PS - check out Badaude's amazing Art to accompany her post...

"They know how to enjoy life" - Lindsey T. (3yrs in Paris)
1) A coke/diet coke! When you've paid between 5 and 8€ for something that often costs $1.50-3, you know you're in Europe. Other than that, I'm always dumbfounded by the price of shoes. Take a pair of converse sneakers, for example. In the states, I paid $35 and in Paris they were asking between 50 and 60€! It's outrageous. I try to get all my shoes in the states because the prices are so exorbitant.

2) There is no contest for me about this. I love the tumultuous relationship I have with the French (of course they are not aware that such a relationship exists) - they're whiny, stinky-cheese loving wimps but they know how to enjoy life. Now, if they could just take the complaining down a notch, it'd be a utopia. The open markets, the never-ending choice of restaurants, and their unequivocal passion for art and culture make me feel like this is where I belong.

Anytime I feel down or homesick, I just smack myself and say "LOOK AT WHERE YOU'RE LIVING!" and then I come back down to earth.

"It's like a real love affair" - Rebecca Leffler (5.5yrs in Paris)

but I'll go with "a manicure"
or "walnuts" (seriously a bag of Trader Joe's walnuts to last you 12 years costs like $3 and here I pay like 8 euros for about 15 nuts in a bag)

2) It's the best and worst place to live all at once -- it's like a real love affair, one minute it's the greatest, most beautiful place on earth, and the next it feels like a horrid 3rd world country but dealing with the latter is worth it for all of the excitement of the former :)

"Queen of Free" - Sion Dayson (3.5yrs in Paris)

This is actually embarrassing in the reverse – I am a total cheapskate, so even though I’m in the fashion capital of the world with (apparently) amazing shopping (of all kinds), I don’t really, erm, shop.

Or if I do, it’s with the “bargain basement” goggles firmly in place. Back home, I was known as the “queen of free.”

That being said, Paris was recently voted the most expensive place in the world, so you don’t have to try too hard to spend too much. Just about every meal I have out in Paris gives me a heart attack (the bill, not the food – though sometimes the food’s so rich, I'm sure I’m building towards cardiac arrest in that sense, too). Oh, how I miss the cheap little ethnic restaurants of New York!

I also prefer not to calculate the cost per square foot of our apartment. Parisian apartments are tiny little things (often without such things as, say, stoves), yet the rent can reach to egregious proportions.

But you still want to know what I’ve splurged on, right? Ok, I spent an ENORMOUS amount of money on a new mattress. I can’t even fess up to how much. Both my mother and sister almost choked when I told them the price.

In my defense it was right after I got married. I think an incredible bed was a good investment :)

2) I was at first surprised that Paris was named the best place to live. The locals have taught me their treasured pastime : complaining. There’s a whole host of things wrong here! I say.

The surprise started to wear off the more I thought about it, though. If it weren’t for the bureaucracy (and ok, at times, the Parisians), I could go along with it. As a SAD-sufferer, though, I ask Paris to really do something about its perennial gray skies.

Still: fresh bread, outdoor markets, hot chocolate, easy travel, great health care, beauty everywhere. I am a lucky girl.

(I do need, however, to put in a plug for the love of my life, New York. I miss the energy, diversity, and dynamism of the city. Paris can’t compete on those fronts.

Also, I’m not sure I’d turn down the opportunity to live in sunny Portugal or Spain. I still dream of a more hospitable climate – and a language I can speak without being laughed out of the room).

"Easier to explore" - I Heart Paris (6yrs in Paris)

1) Probably something on import that only foreigners with a dire craving would buy, like marmite or Heinz Baked Beans. And when you have a serious craving for marmite on toast, they know you'll be prepared to pay 5 times over the odds for it. But ouch, €4 for 10ml of yeast extract...

2) for me it's because, for a capital city, Paris is pretty small and so it's much easier to explore than say London, and (contrary to erroneous reports in The Economist) I think it's actually pretty cheap - certainly a lot cheaper than London, particularly re. eating and public transport.... the small size and the cheaper cost of living, whilst still being one of the most happening capital cities in the whole wide world, for me = better quality of life....

"I miss me some tar-get!" - Margo B.
1) 500 euros for crappy curtains!!! seriously, if it's going to cost that much they should at least not be see through. but of course, to have the added layer of fabric would've more than doubled the price. the worst part: everyone french thinks this is a reasonable price. I miss me some tar-get!

2) b/c louis lives here!!! awwww... so cheese!

"a whole lotta mark-up!" - Ashleigh T. (10yrs in Paris)

1)Prime example is anything American. Like a box of Mac & Cheese for 4€; or american brunch for 17€...Compared with .40c and 3.50$ back home, that's a whole lotta mark-up!!! Also, rent = expensive; cab rides = expensive; food = expensive; drinks at a bar = expensive, you get my drift? I would argue that the only reasonably priced thing here is the wine! At least that helps us forget how much we're paying for the rest!

2) Did the people who voted actually LIVE here? It may be the most beautiful place to live, but the best overall, I highly doubt it! Don't get me wrong, I do love it or I wouldn't stay...But when every time you leave the city you are shocked to see smiling people who are hospitable and even nice...Well, that doesn't say much for the general mood in Paris!

"an endless source of entertainment" - Forest Collins (7yrs in Paris)
1) This one is close to my heart: cocktails. Compared to New York & London - two of the most influential and expensive cocktail cities - you’re hard-pressed here to find drinks of the same quality for the same prices. In fact, pretty much anything you imbibe is more expensive here: coffees in popular cafes, soda, tea. Anything liquid…except wine. And, really, you kind of have to love a city where a glass of wine is cheaper than a coke!

2) I find it interesting that Paris was elected ‘best place to live.’ I love Paris and the idea that there is always something new to find and explore – it’s an endless source of entertainment and discovery. For a big cosmopolitan city it’s easy to navigate on foot, bike or metro and pretty damn gorgeous to look at as well. But, Paris seems a bit staid to me sometimes – I think there are other large cosmopolitan cities that are a lot more vibrant and creative (again: New York, London). I’m not saying I’d rather live in those cities, I’m just saying I think ‘best place to live’ is a pretty subjective thing. Definitely depends on each individual’s criteria.

"Just walking down the street is dreamlike" - Eve J. (2.5 yrs in Paris)
1) Everything! But it's the price of coffee, tea and beer that annoys me the most (no prizes for guessing where I'm from ;-)) I once paid 10 euros for a pint and 5 euros for a cup of tea is the average!

2) It's best because....It's like living in a film - just walking down the street is dreamlike as it's so incredibly beautiful. Plus the food is amazing.

Worst - waking up from the dream with a bump by rude parisians shouting at you and looking you up and down!

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Happy Drunk (AKA: Saint Patty's) Day!!

I've been celebrating St. Patrick's Day since high school. It's the day one of my closest and oldest friends freed herself from her mother's oppressive body, and she now owns a multitude of useless gifts covered in shamrocks and leprechauns to mark the occasion. My mother in law also shares this Bday, so I have a lots of reasons to celebrate. (PS - Happy Birthday El & Maman!!) But it wasn't until I got to college that I realized the impact of this holiday.

The first time St. Pat's snuck up on me was back in two thousand and three. I was sleepily arriving at my day job, I was a web programmer back in those days, and expected another day of coding and testing, nothing more. The lamp posts were still lit in the dim, early morning light and nary could a noise be heard. It was just your average, monotonous, achingly boring Monday. Or so I thought.

Then something caught my eye as I turned the key of the office door. I looked over my right shoulder just in time to watch a three-hundred-pound man across the street vomit (loudly) into a garbage can. Nothing like a good whiff of puke to get you off and running in the morning.

I scrambled inside, half horrified, half afraid, half grossed-out (yes, I know that makes 3 halves - I was very distraught, you see). I bolted the door and watched through the blinds as the mystery hurler spewed several more liters before being carried away by two other intoxicated buddies.

Little did I know, this was a common occurrence in my college town. Saint Patrick's was not just a day to celebrate the British Priest who taught the Irish about the holy trinity, nor to recognize the injustices suffered by Irish immigrants in America during colonial times. (What?? Even I read Wikipedia sometimes). In Wisconsin, Saint Patrick's Day was to celebrate the holy addition of GREEN BEER, stupid little top hats and "Kiss me I'm Irish" t-shirts to our lives, and praise their jovial ways.
The inebriated rendezvous begin at dawn. College students take off from work, or skip class, to get as drunk as possible as soon as possible. Homework can wait; they've got a six pack to pound.

T'is not so here. Everyone is sober. It feels wrong that the French are wasting this opportunity to uncork. I'm missing my Bday-girl in the states, and the drunken crowds in the streets this Wednesday. I took the simple charm of drunk college kids for granted when it was just a part of my day. Au revoir green dyed beer. Adieu Patty-Parties and lime jell-o shots. You shall be missed.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Fun with fake genitalia! aka: And you thought Parisians were strange.

You know that saying, a picture says a thousand words? Can you please tell this one to put on a muzzel, 'cuz I just ate breakfast.

Thank you Huffington Post, for yet again reminding me that other cultures have WEIRD traditions, and that France is not the worst of them.

Japan is celebrating it's cock & vag festival.

Yes. You read that right. They played with wooden schlong sculptures, and candied vajay-jays all the live long day. Isn't that... sweet.

I know that reproduction is wonderful, but do you really need a punani holiday?

God, I'm so relieved I do not live in a country filled with these mother fuckers.

Monday, March 15, 2010


She's fucking at it a-gain. No sooner did I post about how she destroyed my nap last weekend, but now she's in the press for an alleged cheating scandal. (PS the discovery was made following ANOTHER earthquake, this time in China. Is their love-life some kind of diversionary tactic to keep us from worrying that the tectonic plates of the Earth are going to implode?)

Am I the only one tired of hearing about their relationship? What is SO fascinating? He is rich & powerful. She was a supermodel. Isn't this the same ole PB&J the media crams down our throats every time E! comes on?

Besides, it's totally unimaginable that anyone could find Sarko unattractive. I mean... just look at him. All that... flab.. and attitude. The man has swagger. He probably invented the phrase "Cock of the Walk".

Don't playa hate.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Fashion (victim) Week - Paris 2010

It's that time of year again. The season that makes my tiny, style-free head A-SPLOAD.
It's Fashion Week!! Let the priceless auctioning of skinny girl's dignity, BEGIN!

I've explained previously that I am from Wisconsin. I'm positive there are many people from my state with a natural sense of grace. An innate sense of class.

I am not one of them.

I've tried but realized that in time, I really just didn't give a shit. Don't get me wrong, I've come a very long way from the worn tennis shoes, over-sized shirts and countless other mistakes... but I am no Dior.

I relate more to George from Seinfeld when he shared this pearl:
"I would drape myself in velvet if it were socially acceptable."

I am honestly in awe of these people. If you throw out the fact that most of the girls look like they need a hamburger or three hundred, the cost to produce the clothes could feed a small country, and in the real world what you put on your head shouldn't matter as much as what's in it... it is pretty amazing.

I REALLY DO respect the artistry, and all the hard work that goes into making these living works of art. That said, I'm going to make fun of it, brutally, with a top ten of my favorites and their respective captions...

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Jim Carrey: Scaring the French more than EVER.

We Americans have a bizarre sense of humor. In no other country have I ever seen so much laughter produced from a single asshole.

We delight in Jim's theatrics and are accustomed to his juvenile pranks. The fact that he is so wildly popular is a testament to the freedom we all take for granted.

If I were to employ Jim's whimsical antics, I can say with near certainty, that I'd find myself behind bars before my arse could utter it's first sentence. (Damn shame too if you ask me, it had so much to teach us.)

The French don't seem to have the slightest clue what to make of him. Look at the interview he just had on French tv. I'm betting behind that uncomfortable smile, the interviewer genuinely felt that our sacred Jimmy was an unstable freak who deserved a straight jacket and a Xanax cocktail.

Now I'm not saying the French don't have a sense of humor; au contraire! There are several Frenchies whose presence causes me severe incontinence, and they don't even need to use their ass cheeks. (Quite a feat!) 

I'm just saying that the standards are not the same. In my limited experience French humor consists mainly of quips,  smart/whitty commentary and involves using your brain more than your body.

To put it in simpler, Saved by the Bell terms: The French humorists are your AC Slaters, your Zacks. American, Carrey-type humor is, without a doubt,  Screech. To be fair, Screech would freak the shit out of me too.

The fact is that we have "Look at me! Look at MEEEeeeee!" disorder. American goofiness is the black-sheep-bastard-middle-child of French comedy. I'm pretty sure a record for eye rolls was set by French audiences watching Ace Ventura.

That said if anyone knows a French Jim Carrey equivalent, I want to buy you a beer. It's not everyday such asstastic talent is mined from the rough. It deserves an honorary toast, don't you think?

Saturday, March 6, 2010

The fucking BALLS. *

What is your gramma up to tonight? Letting the dog out? Ironing boxers? Reading the bible, or some other end-times novel of choice? On a crazy night, maybe she'll wait until her husband is snoring like a chainsaw at 5:45pm after a lovely meatloaf, and, GHASP, sneak a little Wheel of fortune? (You know she fantasizes about making sweet, sweet love to Pat Sajak on the wheel.)

Well I've got a gramma that will make yours start pushing her LifeAlert like the anti-christ has just poked his horned head out of her vajay-jay.

Her name is Ruth Flowers, and she is the fucking balls.

Ruth is 69, British, and probably senile - but she rocks out with her blocks out.

I couldn't resist this story, and am pretty sure I have a new idol. Check out her website if you want to see what an aged Mary Poppins on crack sounds like.

Her recent gigs include premiers at Cannes and chic Parisian clubs, and despite her advanced age, she shows no signs of stopping... of her own volition that is. Mother nature is just waiting for that hip to shatter while she's doing her next jig on the red carpet.

Ruth was introduced to her new career when her grandson had a birthday. It was love at first scratch as she made her way to the MC... you know, because if she's anything like my grandparents she probably couldn't hear without pressing her face against the speakers until they left grid-marks on her marshmellowy, rouge-slathered cheeks.

Now she's making a name for herself as the oldest DJ on the planet. She claims to be a "Great Fucking DJ"... but, is she? Or are we all mesmerized by the freak show that is a geriatric Samantha Ronson being praised by France's elite who all secretly want to know when the reaper, disguised as a blond, psychotic-arexic actress, is going to pull the plug on her tables?

Personally, I dig it. Make history. Rock on 'ma. Blow my mind. Just keep the paramedics handy because death is such a buzz kill.

Any last requests?

Disclaimer: No elderly people were harmed in the making of this post.  Gramps & Gramps, I love you & your wonderful sense of humor, near-perfect hearing, amazing capacity for love and affection, and above all, the ability to read with a grain of salt what I've written here knowing that it's a humor blog & not about you...

Thursday, March 4, 2010


Can someone please explain to me why the French don't know how to high five?

What is so hard about this concept? Someone sticks their hand up in the air, and you hit it. Not rocket science.

How could this tradition, taught to every American child by the age of two, have passed them by? We even teach it to our DOGS for the love of snausasges.

Maybe they get it, but just don't want to gimmy some skin. Is it beneath them? Do they want to bring me down a notch? Are their hands too fragile? Are they afraid of catching my cooties? Did they just pee and not wash their hands, thus want to save me from their cooties? It's a mystery.

Whatever the reason, I seem to be doing a lot of waving at the air lately. Nothing makes me feel more retarded than a confused look when I offer an enthusiastic fiver.

The following scene is all too familiar to me.

Me: "YYEEAAaaaahhhh!!!" [My hand is out stretched, a joyful smile on my face... expecting my reciprocal slap, my eyes are glued to my palm like a cat at a laser pointer.]

Frenchie: [Looks at me like I'm insane.]

Me: [I look back at said Frog, perplexed and a little afraid... then back at my hand.]

Frenchie: [The light bulb has come on. A smile crosses his lips. He shakes my hand and his grin grows wider.]


Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Dear Passengers, please report all Romanians to the police.

Romania you say? Never been. Nothing against. Oh, except they are ALL a bunch of SCHEMING, CONNIVING THIEVES!!!

According to the French state railroad, that is.

The French rail staffers want you to know that Romanians are a threat to be reckoned with. They may in fact be stealing from you right this very moment. How do you know, have you checked your pockets in the last ten seconds? Didn't think so... aaand you're BROKE.

They're not the innocent swaddling-clad bands of people you see selflessly returning lost rings for a small thank you fee. You've been had, my friends.

Did an innocent child bump you in the metro? I hope you enjoy poverty. The tiny, adorable bandit just bled you dry. Your kids' inheritance is long gone.

The French are serious about making sure you're on to those rascally Romanian scams. Apparently, there was a (not at ALL racist) warning posted that "roughly translated" read:

"Over the past few weeks there have been worries with Romanians. Indeed, a number of bag thefts have been noted. We ask you to redouble your vigilance. Besides, all sightings of Romanians must be reported."

The flames of hatred between France and Romania had been dying, but thanks to this operation, the fires of despise are, once again, fervently burning.

I love this warning. Not only because it vaguely alerts us to the fact that Romanians are worrisome, but dutifully reminds us that ALL sightings are to be reported. All. For any reason. You know, just in case.

So remember, next time you see a Romanian, pull out your big anti-Romanian whistle and blow like there's no tomorrow before they do something really horrible, like ask for equal rights or citizenship.

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