We are dreaming of our daily bakery stops,
our afternoon dip in the pool,
and the perfectly prepared dinners...
{Boulbon, France}
...
maternity: j+d
13 years ago
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
The Story
A few of you have asked about the back story behind the stolen Paris umbrella mentioned in my last post. The story is this…
While we were in Paris a few weeks ago we encountered some drizzle. So during our stay we borrowed umbrellas from our hotel. {thank you, hotel}. On the day we were to fly out it poured. We’re talking Portland plus Seattle type of rain. However, we only needed to walk about 150 yards from our hotel to the Metro. Once on the Metro we’d never have to surface again, thus avoiding any further rain.
The live in had been eyeing the umbrella already. It’s nothing special though, just your standard black umbrella with a wooden hook like handle. I used it as a cane some days when I was feeling extra tired. Really the cane should have been about four or five inches longer though so I just came across as a homeless women with an unfortunate hunchback.
Regardless of the short 150 yard walk, and the armfuls of luggage we were already carrying, of course the live in swiped the thing. Never mind the hassle it was to carry it in the wind and rain while trying to maneuver our luggage over cobblestone streets. Remember our close call at the Paris airport? Well I left out the part about us being even further delayed while the live in was forced to check the umbrella in a large plastic bag normally reserved for checking car seats. This was necessary because apparently the French put umbrellas into the potential weapons category.
And, so do the Americans we found out. We waited extra long in Chicago for this jewel of an umbrella to come out of the “high risk” conveyor belt as we prepared to go through customs and re-check our bags. At one point the live in got so tired of waiting {and fearful we’d miss our connection) for the umbrella to come through he said we were going to leave it. If you’ve traveled internationally before you know this.is.not.possible. You can’t just ditch half the luggage you started with mid-way through your day. You must claim all baggage before being allowed on to your connecting flight. Otherwise you are seen as a bit of a security threat.
Finally amongst the pets, and guns, and other concealed cargo, our prized umbrella came through.
And that is the story of the stolen umbrella from Paris.
While we were in Paris a few weeks ago we encountered some drizzle. So during our stay we borrowed umbrellas from our hotel. {thank you, hotel}. On the day we were to fly out it poured. We’re talking Portland plus Seattle type of rain. However, we only needed to walk about 150 yards from our hotel to the Metro. Once on the Metro we’d never have to surface again, thus avoiding any further rain.
The live in had been eyeing the umbrella already. It’s nothing special though, just your standard black umbrella with a wooden hook like handle. I used it as a cane some days when I was feeling extra tired. Really the cane should have been about four or five inches longer though so I just came across as a homeless women with an unfortunate hunchback.
Regardless of the short 150 yard walk, and the armfuls of luggage we were already carrying, of course the live in swiped the thing. Never mind the hassle it was to carry it in the wind and rain while trying to maneuver our luggage over cobblestone streets. Remember our close call at the Paris airport? Well I left out the part about us being even further delayed while the live in was forced to check the umbrella in a large plastic bag normally reserved for checking car seats. This was necessary because apparently the French put umbrellas into the potential weapons category.
And, so do the Americans we found out. We waited extra long in Chicago for this jewel of an umbrella to come out of the “high risk” conveyor belt as we prepared to go through customs and re-check our bags. At one point the live in got so tired of waiting {and fearful we’d miss our connection) for the umbrella to come through he said we were going to leave it. If you’ve traveled internationally before you know this.is.not.possible. You can’t just ditch half the luggage you started with mid-way through your day. You must claim all baggage before being allowed on to your connecting flight. Otherwise you are seen as a bit of a security threat.
Finally amongst the pets, and guns, and other concealed cargo, our prized umbrella came through.
And that is the story of the stolen umbrella from Paris.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Dear Fall,
I like you. A lot.
Dear Verizon,
My live in is even more mad at you now after the mean text you sent me today. You will be hearing from him.
Dear Chuck Bass,
You make my heart flutter.
Dear Kitchen,
I rocked you.
Dear Lightbulbs,
Please stop burning out. We are too lazy to buy more of you.
Dear Stolen Umbrella From Paris,
You may get used this week.
Dear Live In,
You looked amazing today.
You are fiercely loyal to those you care about.
You knew it was Hilary Duff’s birthday today.
I love you.
I like you. A lot.
Dear Verizon,
My live in is even more mad at you now after the mean text you sent me today. You will be hearing from him.
Dear Chuck Bass,
You make my heart flutter.
Dear Kitchen,
I rocked you.
Dear Lightbulbs,
Please stop burning out. We are too lazy to buy more of you.
Dear Stolen Umbrella From Paris,
You may get used this week.
Dear Live In,
You looked amazing today.
You are fiercely loyal to those you care about.
You knew it was Hilary Duff’s birthday today.
I love you.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Busted
I think my live in might be special needs at times. Last night this was confirmed.
One of the ways we save money is by being super frugal and cheap in areas. Like toothbrushes, for example. I cannot remember the last time we bought one from the store. We either steal new ones from my mom {she buys the nice kind} or we use the toothbrushes our dentist gives us.
Last weekend I threw away my old purple toothbrush and opened a new one from the dentist. It was red. We have a toothbrush holder with four spaces in it. I always use the space to the far left, and the live in always uses the space to the far right. Remember, the live in can be a princess, so he also has a toothbrush in the shower. It is red.
Throughout the week I started to notice that my new red toothbrush had been getting moved from its home on the far left of the holder to the space on the far right. I also noticed that at times it was wet. I only live with my live in husband; we do not have pets or ghosts, or vampires that live here too. So, I asked him why he was using my toothbrush. He denied it. Over and over. And although I knew it was him, I really hadn’t caught him using it and started to question if it was actually me who put it away in the wrong spot. I should tell you that the live in normally has a red toothbrush in the holder also. Except last weekend when I replaced my purple one with the new red one I don’t remember it being in there.
The last time I remember questioning him about using my toothbrush he thought I was crazy. Like in my mind I thought it had been too long since we’d had a good fight about nothing and so I created this whole toothbrush slander against him.
However, last night he got ready for bed at the sink while I was still in the shower. When I got out my toothbrush was soaking wet and on the right hand side of the holder. He had already gotten in bed, so I open the bathroom door and ask why he used my toothbrush. Again, he denies it. He then proceeds to say that the toothbrush in question is really old and is actually his. I explain, again, that it’s my new toothbrush, straight out of the box last weekend. By this point we are screaming at each other. He tries to say that the bristles are worn and this proves it’s his. The bristles look pristine. Mint condition. Then he claims that I threw away his red toothbrush that was formerly in the holder, only to replace it with my new one. Yep, totally busted…I love throwing away his toothbrushes in the hopes that he can get mine equally as gross. Then, it dawns on me. His lazy self hasn’t even unpacked from last weekend when we were at Jeff’s wedding.
I march over to his extra large cosmetic bag that remained unpacked, open it up, and find…his red toothbrush. The same one he swore over and over again that I had been using or perhaps even thrown away.
For a week now I’ve been asking him about this. And for one week he never once thought about his unpacked toiletry bag. Today, he’ll tell you that this is a classic case of “miscommunication” and we can learn something from it. I’d tell you that it’s a classic case of the live in and the only thing that can be learned is that we need to ask our dentist for a different color toothbrush other than red.
One of the ways we save money is by being super frugal and cheap in areas. Like toothbrushes, for example. I cannot remember the last time we bought one from the store. We either steal new ones from my mom {she buys the nice kind} or we use the toothbrushes our dentist gives us.
Last weekend I threw away my old purple toothbrush and opened a new one from the dentist. It was red. We have a toothbrush holder with four spaces in it. I always use the space to the far left, and the live in always uses the space to the far right. Remember, the live in can be a princess, so he also has a toothbrush in the shower. It is red.
Throughout the week I started to notice that my new red toothbrush had been getting moved from its home on the far left of the holder to the space on the far right. I also noticed that at times it was wet. I only live with my live in husband; we do not have pets or ghosts, or vampires that live here too. So, I asked him why he was using my toothbrush. He denied it. Over and over. And although I knew it was him, I really hadn’t caught him using it and started to question if it was actually me who put it away in the wrong spot. I should tell you that the live in normally has a red toothbrush in the holder also. Except last weekend when I replaced my purple one with the new red one I don’t remember it being in there.
The last time I remember questioning him about using my toothbrush he thought I was crazy. Like in my mind I thought it had been too long since we’d had a good fight about nothing and so I created this whole toothbrush slander against him.
However, last night he got ready for bed at the sink while I was still in the shower. When I got out my toothbrush was soaking wet and on the right hand side of the holder. He had already gotten in bed, so I open the bathroom door and ask why he used my toothbrush. Again, he denies it. He then proceeds to say that the toothbrush in question is really old and is actually his. I explain, again, that it’s my new toothbrush, straight out of the box last weekend. By this point we are screaming at each other. He tries to say that the bristles are worn and this proves it’s his. The bristles look pristine. Mint condition. Then he claims that I threw away his red toothbrush that was formerly in the holder, only to replace it with my new one. Yep, totally busted…I love throwing away his toothbrushes in the hopes that he can get mine equally as gross. Then, it dawns on me. His lazy self hasn’t even unpacked from last weekend when we were at Jeff’s wedding.
I march over to his extra large cosmetic bag that remained unpacked, open it up, and find…his red toothbrush. The same one he swore over and over again that I had been using or perhaps even thrown away.
For a week now I’ve been asking him about this. And for one week he never once thought about his unpacked toiletry bag. Today, he’ll tell you that this is a classic case of “miscommunication” and we can learn something from it. I’d tell you that it’s a classic case of the live in and the only thing that can be learned is that we need to ask our dentist for a different color toothbrush other than red.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Mystical
I have red hair. A normal year round job. And I live in Portland. This means I have pale skin, and a farmer’s tan. Well more like a modern day farmer’s daughter tan…but you get the picture. So, in preparation for Jeff’s wedding I went spray tanning.
Have you even been spray tanning before? Kind of intimidating, right? First, there’s the whole turning orange possibility, then there’s the actual machine itself, not to mention the human error factor. My good friend gave me specific instructions on where to go, which tan to get, and how to work it.
I arrive at the recommended tanning salon and ask for the recommended tan only to be told that the machine had just broken and wouldn’t be fixed until the next day. Not going to work for me. So, I went to a different place in my neighborhood that I knew absolutely nothing about...
I was greeted by a Mouseketeer. She was peepy, tan, and miniature. We did not bond. She spoke like a valley girl, but acted like I was the dumb one. She also really, really loved tanning. So I attempt to ask her a few questions about the tan I was ordering.
I tan and walk out of the room. On my way out of the building she mentions, “oh by the way, you will smell. Not kidding.”
Erica: What do you mean, I will smell?
Tween Valley Girl: Yes, it will smell so bad. But, only you can smell it. No one else can.
Who is this girl? And who would ever hire her?
But, like clockwork two to three hours later I was smelling up a storm. Smelling and itching and gettin’ my tan on. I also had Miss Tween Oregon to thank for the lovely tan lines around my ankles. Perhaps she could have advised blending in the tanning solution rather than creating a line? But, she didn’t.
The next morning it was mani/pedi’s with the rest of the bridal party. I loved my nail technician, he was awesome. I bet he was friends with Miss Tween Oregon. He took the liberty to judge every inch of my skin from the knees down…out loud. “Oh, you went spray tanning”. Laugh, laugh, laugh. He also took the liberty to assume that because I was fake enough to go spray tanning I was, of course, fake enough to die my hair. This was the only explanation for the fact that my sister and I do not share the same hair color, in his mind.
At the end of the day, I am glad I went. I didn’t end up looking orange, the smell kind of wore off, and I got rid of my tan lines. Plus, it makes a good story I guess…
Have you even been spray tanning before? Kind of intimidating, right? First, there’s the whole turning orange possibility, then there’s the actual machine itself, not to mention the human error factor. My good friend gave me specific instructions on where to go, which tan to get, and how to work it.
I arrive at the recommended tanning salon and ask for the recommended tan only to be told that the machine had just broken and wouldn’t be fixed until the next day. Not going to work for me. So, I went to a different place in my neighborhood that I knew absolutely nothing about...
I was greeted by a Mouseketeer. She was peepy, tan, and miniature. We did not bond. She spoke like a valley girl, but acted like I was the dumb one. She also really, really loved tanning. So I attempt to ask her a few questions about the tan I was ordering.
Erica: Will this make me look orange?
Tween Valley Girl: Mmmm…well…I prefer the beds.
Erica: Yes, so awesome for you…will this make me look orange?
Tween Valley Girl: No. Actually, a lot of really, really pale girls like it. And if it does look orange just scrub really, really hard in the shower and then you’ll love it! You’re gonna love it!
I tan and walk out of the room. On my way out of the building she mentions, “oh by the way, you will smell. Not kidding.”
Erica: What do you mean, I will smell?
Tween Valley Girl: Yes, it will smell so bad. But, only you can smell it. No one else can.
Who is this girl? And who would ever hire her?
But, like clockwork two to three hours later I was smelling up a storm. Smelling and itching and gettin’ my tan on. I also had Miss Tween Oregon to thank for the lovely tan lines around my ankles. Perhaps she could have advised blending in the tanning solution rather than creating a line? But, she didn’t.
The next morning it was mani/pedi’s with the rest of the bridal party. I loved my nail technician, he was awesome. I bet he was friends with Miss Tween Oregon. He took the liberty to judge every inch of my skin from the knees down…out loud. “Oh, you went spray tanning”. Laugh, laugh, laugh. He also took the liberty to assume that because I was fake enough to go spray tanning I was, of course, fake enough to die my hair. This was the only explanation for the fact that my sister and I do not share the same hair color, in his mind.
At the end of the day, I am glad I went. I didn’t end up looking orange, the smell kind of wore off, and I got rid of my tan lines. Plus, it makes a good story I guess…
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Crazy Rad
Need a little inspiration to get you through the rest of the week? Watch this video. Do it now. I hope you go nuts like I did. Even more inspirational is the making behind the video, watch it here.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Rehearsal Dinner
My brother got married last Saturday!
Here are some photos I took at their rehearsal dinner.
It was quite lovely.
My mom and dad held the dinner at Willamette Mission State Park outside Keizer, Oregon.
It was the perfect setting for a fun evening.
Complete with handmade s'more packets, BBQ, and beautifully decorated tables...
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Well Done
My friends, I have so many stories to tell you from this past weekend but currently the only thing on my mind are the events that transpired yesterday at work.
It was nearing lunch time and I had drawn quite a crowd surrounding my office {okay, cubicle – but let’s dare to dream}. I’d brought leftovers from the night before, when I made dinner, and I was giving the play by play of this rare event. It actually was quite an event, there was even a dog chase involved…but I digress. I was also weaving in stories from Julie & Julia and explaining why Julie Powell has now fallen on my bad list. But, this is merely my opinion and solely based on rumors floating around the web, so ask me in person or do some internet stalking of your own if you care.
Did I mention it was also “no makeup Monday” for me? Yes, I walked out of the house without an ounce of makeup on. I rarely wear anything more than mascara and blush anyways but trust me, when you’re a prime candidate for eye-lid lift surgery mascara is your BFF. And, have I told you I am a recovering H1N1 victim? Yes, my case was so intense I was actually diagnosed over the phone….by.my.mother. She also told me to not tell anyone “we” thought I might have the swine flu because, and I quote, “you won’t make any friends that way.” Of course I told everyone.
So, we’re all surrounding my luxurious “office” gabbing about food and how domestic I looked with my brown bag lunch when a freakin camera crew (lighting, microphones, etc.) storms the scene. I assure you, this isn’t an exaggeration of events at all. We are getting ready for a big multi-day conference next week and, apparently, this includes filming people at their most vulnerable moments while asking them surprise questions. Oh, and this will be shown in front of hundreds – including executives.
Of course they asked me a question. Why wouldn’t they? They probably thought I was an intern or something what without my sidekick mascara and leftover H1N1 snot running down my face. But, I rose to the occasion and answered the questions with poise and grace. Well, not really. I am pretty sure I might get a demotion actually. Mid-way through the interview the guy holding the lights scratched his face…I asked him (during filming) what he was trying to sign me. Not smooth. I also asked (during filming) if it was trick question I was being asked. Turns out it wasn’t.
While the live in and I were getting ready yesterday morning he asked what I had on my schedule for the day. I told him I wanted to talk to avoid contact with as many people as possible…fly under the radar so to speak. Well, that’s a teeny bit ironic now isn’t it?
It was nearing lunch time and I had drawn quite a crowd surrounding my office {okay, cubicle – but let’s dare to dream}. I’d brought leftovers from the night before, when I made dinner, and I was giving the play by play of this rare event. It actually was quite an event, there was even a dog chase involved…but I digress. I was also weaving in stories from Julie & Julia and explaining why Julie Powell has now fallen on my bad list. But, this is merely my opinion and solely based on rumors floating around the web, so ask me in person or do some internet stalking of your own if you care.
Did I mention it was also “no makeup Monday” for me? Yes, I walked out of the house without an ounce of makeup on. I rarely wear anything more than mascara and blush anyways but trust me, when you’re a prime candidate for eye-lid lift surgery mascara is your BFF. And, have I told you I am a recovering H1N1 victim? Yes, my case was so intense I was actually diagnosed over the phone….by.my.mother. She also told me to not tell anyone “we” thought I might have the swine flu because, and I quote, “you won’t make any friends that way.” Of course I told everyone.
So, we’re all surrounding my luxurious “office” gabbing about food and how domestic I looked with my brown bag lunch when a freakin camera crew (lighting, microphones, etc.) storms the scene. I assure you, this isn’t an exaggeration of events at all. We are getting ready for a big multi-day conference next week and, apparently, this includes filming people at their most vulnerable moments while asking them surprise questions. Oh, and this will be shown in front of hundreds – including executives.
Of course they asked me a question. Why wouldn’t they? They probably thought I was an intern or something what without my sidekick mascara and leftover H1N1 snot running down my face. But, I rose to the occasion and answered the questions with poise and grace. Well, not really. I am pretty sure I might get a demotion actually. Mid-way through the interview the guy holding the lights scratched his face…I asked him (during filming) what he was trying to sign me. Not smooth. I also asked (during filming) if it was trick question I was being asked. Turns out it wasn’t.
While the live in and I were getting ready yesterday morning he asked what I had on my schedule for the day. I told him I wanted to talk to avoid contact with as many people as possible…fly under the radar so to speak. Well, that’s a teeny bit ironic now isn’t it?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
The Loft is Getting Gross!
The live in and I were in a small state of panic this morning. Just ask my poor sister who happen to be calling during said state of emergency. She called three times for a good old fashioned rant session but, instead of the standard “hello” I answered the phone with a disappointed “ugh, I thought it might be her calling, not you.”
You see, our housekeeper of four years had gone MIA. {Now, before you roll your eyes and think “it must be nice” you should know…it is nice. And, it’s the sole reason the live in and I are still happily married.}
Well before leaving for France we’ve been trying to reach her, only to get a message saying the number had been disconnected. And friends, our loft is starting to get gross. Our bathroom is growing pink fuzz everywhere and I have been forced to wear socks or slippers so as not to get the floor crumbs and dust bunnies stuck to my bare feet. I begged the live in to use the swiffer last night, but after one round in the kitchen area he called it quits. Fair enough.
This morning we came to the realization that, aside from the swiffer, the windex, and the broom, we didn’t even have the supplies/tools/armor to clean ourselves. We needed to either make a run to the store, start recruiting other help, or step up our stalker status. Clearly, we went with option three.
I summoned my inner Bounty Hunter and took to the web. Turns out everyone is on Facebook. Including several other people who share her name but, when pink bathroom fuzz and our spare house key is involved stalker status sees no limits. Messages were sent, and a few hours later we had contact.
Turns out it was a classic case of lost cell phone. We’re back on the schedule. And this makes us very happy. So happy, the live in did a fist pump.
You see, our housekeeper of four years had gone MIA. {Now, before you roll your eyes and think “it must be nice” you should know…it is nice. And, it’s the sole reason the live in and I are still happily married.}
Well before leaving for France we’ve been trying to reach her, only to get a message saying the number had been disconnected. And friends, our loft is starting to get gross. Our bathroom is growing pink fuzz everywhere and I have been forced to wear socks or slippers so as not to get the floor crumbs and dust bunnies stuck to my bare feet. I begged the live in to use the swiffer last night, but after one round in the kitchen area he called it quits. Fair enough.
This morning we came to the realization that, aside from the swiffer, the windex, and the broom, we didn’t even have the supplies/tools/armor to clean ourselves. We needed to either make a run to the store, start recruiting other help, or step up our stalker status. Clearly, we went with option three.
I summoned my inner Bounty Hunter and took to the web. Turns out everyone is on Facebook. Including several other people who share her name but, when pink bathroom fuzz and our spare house key is involved stalker status sees no limits. Messages were sent, and a few hours later we had contact.
Turns out it was a classic case of lost cell phone. We’re back on the schedule. And this makes us very happy. So happy, the live in did a fist pump.
Dear Live In,
Thank you for staying up late with me on Thursday night helping me prepare for my presentation. Sorry you had to cut your workout short, but I just couldn’t concentrate down in the gym with that albino doing his weird stretches.
I love you for telling me to “rock ‘em sock ‘em” over and over and over again
…even though you were screaming this.
xo,
b
b
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Soon...
I am currently reading the book, Julie and Julia. I know, how trendy of me. Judge if you want. What’s even more cliché is that I read most of this book while eating my way through France.
Never mind that. My sister advised that I would relate to this book and, like always, she was right. I will say Julie has more of a mouth on her than I do, although if you ask my Mother I am well on my way to relating in that category as well. The point is, I did relate. And, I have made a decision.
I am going to start cooking more.
There. In black and white it has been said. And I am not talking freaking PB&J or the likes of either. Meals. I am going to start cooking meals. Perhaps it’s my child bearing hips coming in {just a phrase, people}, perhaps it’s the two week European food tour I just got off of, I don’t know. But right now it sounds like a good life decision.
Of course, I won’t start this new regime right away. We’ve only been back in the loft for three nights. And, of course, I am not giving up eating out entirely. That would fall into the bad life decision category if you ask me.
I will say…soon. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Never mind that. My sister advised that I would relate to this book and, like always, she was right. I will say Julie has more of a mouth on her than I do, although if you ask my Mother I am well on my way to relating in that category as well. The point is, I did relate. And, I have made a decision.
I am going to start cooking more.
There. In black and white it has been said. And I am not talking freaking PB&J or the likes of either. Meals. I am going to start cooking meals. Perhaps it’s my child bearing hips coming in {just a phrase, people}, perhaps it’s the two week European food tour I just got off of, I don’t know. But right now it sounds like a good life decision.
Of course, I won’t start this new regime right away. We’ve only been back in the loft for three nights. And, of course, I am not giving up eating out entirely. That would fall into the bad life decision category if you ask me.
I will say…soon. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
One Crazy Day
Being gone for two weeks without cell phones, regular access to email, and TV other than the BBC and CNN International can be kind of strange. While we were gone there was an engagement, a new baby born, a college graduation, and my brother – wait for it – found.a.job! And a good one too. The live in and I are very proud of him.
Leaving Paris on Friday was, to say the least, a little rushed. The live in and I aren’t necessarily racking up the frequent flyer miles every year, but we certainly aren’t newbie’s either. Trip after trip we’ve learned a few things that make our travel experiences even that much better. However, for some reason the one thing we can’t learn is how to get to an airport on time. This has always been an issue for us, regardless of the country.
From the time we woke up in Paris to the time we went to bed in Portland it was just over 26 hours. There was not one point during any of that time where we sat down in an airport. We managed to arrive at the airport in Paris just in time to hear, “Chicago! Chicago! The baggage door is now closing.” So we shouted back, “Chicago! Chicago! {while waiving our passports in the air like Charlie when he found the Golden Ticket} pa-leaz don’t leave with out us!” They hurried us to the front of the line, checked us in, and told us to cut in front of any security lines we came to. We sprinted along and came to our gate just as the boarding has begun. We had made it.
Never once did we get a lecture about arriving to the airport two hours in advance for international flights, and for that I thank all of France. You were nice to us. You waited for us. And you never judged, at least not to our face.
We had a connection in Chicago that was, to say the least, and little chaotic. It’s always nerve racking going through customs in the US. It takes forever, and there is always the moral debate about what to claim. We were bringing back wine and herbs from Provence, which could go either way with them. My mind always says to claim clothes. Tell them you bought only clothes and they won’t blink…tell them you bought wine and unlabeled herbs and you’re probably going to get a full cavity search. However, when the passport agent asked if we were glad to be back home, the live in started talking to him about college football season and he never asked us another question. Good travel karma we have. And it’s a good thing we have nice travel karma because during this time {while cell phones are prohibited and will be confiscated} our phones were ringing over and over again from our pockets…
During our connection in Chicago we had just enough time to grab some food. We decided on McDonald’s, which was the greasiest food we could find. I tried to order a hamburger by pointing and making a circle with my hands, forgetting that English could now be spoken. The live in tried to order a milk shake, which when the McDonald’s girl told him they did not make those, he replied “then I’ll just have a regular drink” followed by a long stare. She said, “like a Coke”, trying to coax a response out of him. He stared again, and then I jumped in and informed her we had already had a long day, sorry for the ratard-ness, and yes please a coke will be just fine. We make good travel buddies, the live in and I do.
It was a crazy day.
We are happy for all of our friends and family and the exciting events that happened while we were gone. However, right now, I’d really like to go back to a cell phone-less, TV-less, regular email-less environment we had grown so found of. Its just nicer.
Leaving Paris on Friday was, to say the least, a little rushed. The live in and I aren’t necessarily racking up the frequent flyer miles every year, but we certainly aren’t newbie’s either. Trip after trip we’ve learned a few things that make our travel experiences even that much better. However, for some reason the one thing we can’t learn is how to get to an airport on time. This has always been an issue for us, regardless of the country.
From the time we woke up in Paris to the time we went to bed in Portland it was just over 26 hours. There was not one point during any of that time where we sat down in an airport. We managed to arrive at the airport in Paris just in time to hear, “Chicago! Chicago! The baggage door is now closing.” So we shouted back, “Chicago! Chicago! {while waiving our passports in the air like Charlie when he found the Golden Ticket} pa-leaz don’t leave with out us!” They hurried us to the front of the line, checked us in, and told us to cut in front of any security lines we came to. We sprinted along and came to our gate just as the boarding has begun. We had made it.
Never once did we get a lecture about arriving to the airport two hours in advance for international flights, and for that I thank all of France. You were nice to us. You waited for us. And you never judged, at least not to our face.
We had a connection in Chicago that was, to say the least, and little chaotic. It’s always nerve racking going through customs in the US. It takes forever, and there is always the moral debate about what to claim. We were bringing back wine and herbs from Provence, which could go either way with them. My mind always says to claim clothes. Tell them you bought only clothes and they won’t blink…tell them you bought wine and unlabeled herbs and you’re probably going to get a full cavity search. However, when the passport agent asked if we were glad to be back home, the live in started talking to him about college football season and he never asked us another question. Good travel karma we have. And it’s a good thing we have nice travel karma because during this time {while cell phones are prohibited and will be confiscated} our phones were ringing over and over again from our pockets…
During our connection in Chicago we had just enough time to grab some food. We decided on McDonald’s, which was the greasiest food we could find. I tried to order a hamburger by pointing and making a circle with my hands, forgetting that English could now be spoken. The live in tried to order a milk shake, which when the McDonald’s girl told him they did not make those, he replied “then I’ll just have a regular drink” followed by a long stare. She said, “like a Coke”, trying to coax a response out of him. He stared again, and then I jumped in and informed her we had already had a long day, sorry for the ratard-ness, and yes please a coke will be just fine. We make good travel buddies, the live in and I do.
It was a crazy day.
We are happy for all of our friends and family and the exciting events that happened while we were gone. However, right now, I’d really like to go back to a cell phone-less, TV-less, regular email-less environment we had grown so found of. Its just nicer.
Monday, September 7, 2009
We're back...
The live in and I are back in the loft after an amazing vaca.
More stories and photos to come...
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Sartorialist Book
The Sartorialist Book
Oh, this is definitely on my wish list.
Wouldn't it be cool if I spotted him while in Paris?
Or better yet...he spotted me...right.
We can dream...
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Perfect Homemade Pasta
Also on my wish list...the perfect homemade pasta dish.
I would say I’m 70% there.
I’ve banned sauces from a jar and
have come up with a delic garlic cream sauce,
but still have a ways to go…
{via volavale}
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)