Frog Blog

today is my 31st birthday. 31 is most definitely an easier pill to swallow than 30. i’ll miss being 30; it’s a round number and it’s a little dramatic. 30.5, however, has been the best so far. something snapped in my head when i turned 30.5: i realized I live in the city, i don’t have kids, i can still pull off high-heeled boots so let’s go. let’s rock this show. i think what it is, too, is finally feeling comfortable in my own skin. it’s a satisfying feeling.

on a side note, i’ve never felt like a true leo in the j-lo/madonna sense. leos get such a bad rap of being complete attention-hogging me-me-me-me-me drama queens. i don’t think that’s me. i’m too easily embarrassed, especially when there’s any kind of group singing involved: i hate sing-a-longs at concerts, i think singing in church sounds so drone-y and awful, and people singing happy birthday to me makes me cringe on the inside. but i love presents (isn’t that awful? or, painfully honest!).

i learned something really valuable in france: patience. no longer do i mind waiting in line at the grocery store or the post office, and i don’t care if i stand in line at ken’s for 15 minutes, because i know at the end of the 15 minutes i’ll have a warm croissant in my bag. i think this patience clicked into place for me after waiting in line for 25 minutes one day at la poste, behind crying kids and women checking their bank accounts (the post offices in france often double as banks) and men mailing large packages to japan and budapest. (you can read that entry here.) anyway, after experiencing that particular level of hell, waiting in line for 10 mintues anywhere doesn’t seem so bad. there’s lots to see: all the different types of gum one can buy, all the variations on old candy bars (reese’s peanut butter with caramel bar, anyone?), all the trashy magazines, martha stewart and real simple. i tend to tune out in line at the grocery store; i go into my “this line will end soon” zone/daze and don’t get all twitchy anymore.

sadly, dear boyfriend B has not yet reached this state of sublime. while buying food for my birthday barbecue last week, i waited in line for about 20 mintues before even getting to the register to pay. B had grabbed a shortcase of corona from the cart to buy it at another cashier so he could get some cash back; i’d unloaded all the rest of the groceries and was second in line behind a young mother who was talking to the polite, chatty cashier. the cashier would scan an item with her right hand, put it in her left hand, put her right hand on her hip and make whatever point was pertinent in her conversation. grab carrots, scan, switch, dish. grab granola bars, scan, switch, exclaim. and on and on. by this time, B had paid for the beer and was waiting for me on the other side of the cashier, rolling his eyes at me, giving me those “holy shit, oh my god, what is UP?” faces.

but i was in my zone. at least the cashier was friendly. chatty and friendly is much better than bored, half asleep and annoyed. in france, the cashiers sat on stools, didn’t bag anything for you, always had the “i’d rather be reorganizing my silverware drawer” expressions. they were there to simply scan groceries faster than you could bag them and then talk to their other cashier friend across the way and then scoff at you if you gave them anything bigger than a 20-euro note.

when i finally got to chatty cashier, i asked, “hey, how’s your day going?” and she said, “not bad, i’m about to leave, my day is over.” i nodded and she went on: “yeah, everybody maintained today. everybody maintained. i didn’t have to change my attitude, y’know whaddim sayin?”

do i ever.

i just completed my first try at making yogurt. B gave me a yogurt machine for my birthday last year and i’ve only used it once. actually, he used it for me once on a day off. it takes a while to make yogurt and i’ve never felt like i’ve had the 7 hours to devote to making it myself. today, however, was a get-shit-done-at-home kind of day. i picked up some organic whole milk and original pavel’s yogurt (it’s the most similar to yogurt in france that i’ve found here, with the exception of fage greek yogurt, which was hand-made by god) and got to work.

i’m not much of a chef, er, cook, and truthfully the only times i’ve ever boiled milk have been for cocoa in the winter. i had no idea how much milk likes to overflow in a giant foamy mess once it’s hit the boiling point. oy, mama! boiling milk froth everywhere! i’m surprised it didn’t extinguish the gas burner flame. and then waiting for the milk to cool back down the room temperature… good lord, it took almost an hour! i finally put it in the fridge to speed up the process. (i’m sure B would be all, duh! you could have put it in the fridge to begin with! but i’m a recipe girl, and, um, the directions didn’t say you could put it in the fridge, so … yeah. common sense in cooking: not my forte.)

according to the fine print, whole milk yogurt takes about 6 hours to make. i set the clock and thought, huh, this is what 6 hours is going to feel like. i’ve never set a timer for six hours (not counting my alarm). i thought, what can i do in six hours? what can be done? dishes were washed, dinner was prepared and eaten, dishes were washed again, postcard was written, movie was watched, websites were browsed (my new fave: etsy.com). after six hours the yogurt looked a little runny, so i set the timer for 18 more minutes. now it looks a little better, but i can’t eat it until it’s been cooled for 3 hours. perhaps time in the fridge will firm things up. hopefully.

something i realized: 6 hours isn’t 7.5 hours, the length of my plane ride from new jersey to paris in 3 weeks from tomorrow. it’s pretty close, though. long enough to read a couple of mags, take a nap, watch the in-flight movie. ideally those 7.5 hours will fly by while i’m asleep. i have my doubts, though. i’m not looking forward to the jersey-paris flight, or the 5.5 hour flight beforehand (from here to jersey), or dealing with what to do at de gaulle once i get there. should i take a cab? should i take the metro? i’m trying not to worry about it but lately it’s these first few parts of my trip that have me up thinking at 3 a.m.

when i tell that to people, they’re aghast. you’ve been there before! they say. you lived there! yeah, yeah. but it’s been a while. and honestly, i never remember the bad parts when i think back to france. my mind has erased all the frustrating, tiring moments where i was in pure survival mode. it’s living in the moment, for sure, but it’s exhausting. and exhilarating. i think i’ve been confusing nervousness for excitement in my head. i’m dreading that initial culture shock, though. the different language creates an inability to express myself on a basic level. what words will i remember? it’ll take energy to conjure up my strength and will and drive. once i get there, though, i know i’ll be fine and energized. i’ll be home.

i often marvel at where my feet lead me. when i meet someone randomly, i always backtrack in my mind the route i took to get there: up one street instead of another, cutting diagonal through the park, deviating my normal routine because of a walk sign going the other way. instead of going home after work today, i aimed for the library to pick up some books on chanel and dior. (i’m reading up on french fashion before my trip.) i love placing books on hold at the library. it satisfies my spendthrift urges: i go online, pick out my books and in a day or two they’re ready for pickup. it’s like shopping, only it’s free! so fulfilling. thank god for libraries.

anyway, today i wandered through town in a zigzag way, tried to avoid all the road construction and heavy traffic, made a quick side trip in a store, and finally ended up in front of the library, face to face with a guy i knew in college who i hadn’t seen in three years. in school he was more of a friend of a friend, but nice all the same. we chatted for 10 minutes about real estate (he lives in the one of the only neighborhoods B and i will likely be able to afford) and the friend we have in common and i got his email address so we could meet for tea some afternoon. he works at the university mere blocks from my office. i’m going to be diligent about following through with emailing him; making an effort is something i’m working on.

as i walked into the library, out walked F, a guy i met at a neighbors’ party six months ago. he and his girlfriend had dinner at my apartment once and are wonderfully talkative and interesting and smart. today we only chatted briefly as he and gf were about to meet a realtor to see some houses. the serendipity!

and when i retraced my steps; when i thought, what if i’d gone straight instead of taking a right, what if nordstrom’s did indeed have the mascara i wanted and i took 5 minutes to buy it, what if i’d left work 40 seconds earlier or later? everything could have been different. how lovely that i could look back on the map of my day and see how its trail led me to the front steps of the library at that very moment. it makes me think: everything i do right now will lead me to right then, over there, soon.

i think i must be a vampire underneath all this. a night owl, a midnight oil burner. why is it so much easier for me to sleep when it’s light out? all night long i lay in bed unable to sleep. i can hear the world spinning slowly. it’s awful. when i do finally fall asleep (lately it’s been at 3 a.m.), it’s this fitful, unrestful type of sleep, full of bizarre dreams. and when i wake up when the sun rises i instantly fall back into a languid, deep sleep. i think it’s because the daylight offers comfort, a reminder that things are simply what they are: my desk, my chair, the trees outside, the cars on the highway. in the dark these things are not what they seem: they’re shadows, unanswered questions, anxieties swimming in my mind.

ever since i was small i’ve had sleep issues. i’m unable to sleep because i’m not tired, or i’m hungry, or my mind won’t shut off. it’s exhausing to carry this and all my other neurosis around with me. the person i am is ingrained into my cells and hard to change: a worrier, a borderline hypochondriac, a pessimist, self-deprecating. it’s hard to shake these patterns off; even harder to do so at 1:30 a.m. when i think about them the most.

eight days away from traveling and not a single bag packed.

i’m planning to take only one bag, by the way— either my backpack or B’s pack, plus a small messenger bag as a purse/water/guidebook/camera holder. i’m also bringing a duffel bag that folds up so that i’ll have extra luggage to carry stuff home. i don’t plan to buy much except perfume. and maybe some shampoo. oh, who am i kidding, i’ll come back so loaded down with stuff it’ll be embarrassing. longchamp bags because they’re cheaper than in the states. mariage freres tea because it’s cheaper and i’ll be able to smell all 500 selections and choose what i want instead of orderling online based on description. a couple of cheap wrap scarves because i love them and again, they’re much cheaper overseas. postcards, rhodia paper pads, soap, champagne (it’ll have to be at least a half bottle). my two weeks abroad is slowly becoming a giant shopping spree. oh, lord.

i do plan on not shopping at all some days— i can’t wait to simply live and breathe and soak in the sun of provence. and think about van gogh. drink volvic and vittel water, gorge on yogurt and escargot chocolats, write in my journal, share dinners and table wine with my family. i can’t wait to just be in another country, another atmosphere, away from work and home and traffic noise and the copy machine. a true vacation!

i’ll be spending the first 3 nights with my 18-year-old cousin in paris. C’s a cool kid; he starts college this fall and we have a couple things in common. i asked him in the spring: are you cool with sharing a room with me in paris? and he said, yeah, no problem. paris is blessed with a killer nightlife and i plan on taking advantage of this. our hotel is in the 6th— quite possibly my favorite arrondisement— and nearer to the seine there’s all sorts of late night restaurants and bars.

i told him, look, all i’m interested in doing in paris is perfume sniffing and absorbing the city. you can come along with me on those adventures or not. he seemed cool with that. i don’t think he’s too much into museums or touristy stuff and at this point, neither am i. i think we’ll make a good team.

after three nights in paris we’re taking a train down to avignon to meet my dad, his mom and uncle D. we’ll be staying in st. remy for five or six nights; i can’t remember. from there, i may go back to reims or may head back to paris with C. he flies out a day before me, leaving me with a whole day in the city alone. one last huzzah to load up my bags before coming home.

B and i drove out to the new ikea last night. it’s by the airport, but we weren’t sure which exit to take so i called my dad to get some directions. my dad, who’s been to ikea before me? there must have been some sun spots that day, i swear. anyway, pops told me, “well! before you go to ikea, don’t take any drugs or drink too much because it’s hard enough trying to find your way out of there as it is!” and he was right! B and i barely scratched the surface as we snaked in and out of the maze of that giant store. i’ve been to ikea before: twice in renton and once in paris, but B wanted to go because he’d never been. and he’s a swede! (incidentally one of my friends stateside pronounces it “uh-KEY-uh” and the french say “ee-key-ahh,” no accent on any syllable. we say “eye-KEY-yuh.”)

all three times i’ve been didn’t match the fun we had last night. lately i’ve been less into stuff so i wasn’t compelled to browse through the masses of stuff aisles. i’m way more into design— i actually enjoyed looking at kitchen cupboards, drawer pulls and book shelves. ikea’s designers are certainly efficient; everything has that slick, clean european look which i love. i especially like secret hideaways in cupboards and drawers; the display kitchens had plenty of those. it felt like we were at an art museum where we could touch everything.

we came out relatively clean; we bought a rag rug for the kitchen for a whopping $1.99, and i bought 3 rolls of unique wrapping paper and ribbon for cheap. on our way out we could not resist the hot cinnamon rolls and soft serve frozen yogurt, each for a buck. B almost bought some lox and had his eye on some cassis jam.

driving out to the airport got me thinking about france and how excited i am to be going. 5 days! whoohoo!

leaf blowers

carrying tea that’s so hot it burns my hands

when my left shoe knocks against my right inside ankle bone

my bangs

hangnails

dry skin

having to get up early in the morning

when they ask if i “want room” in my tea at starbucks … and then give me 2 inches of room

using a debit card for anything under $5

newsprint on my fingers

papercuts

soap scum

when someone puts me on speakerphone

impatient drivers

4 months ago i bought my ticket to france. since then i haven’t given much thought to my trip. it was always “4 months away” or “at the end of the summer” and i never want to rush through a summer. but eventually 4 months turned into 4 weeks, then 4 days, until today: august 31, the end of the summer (and a rather non-summer to boot), the beginning of months that end in -ber, my last day at work for two weeks, my bags still unpacked, preparations in full swing.

i’d forgotten how much preparation it takes to go overseas! getting my passport in order, remembering my tickets, notifying my bank and visa people of my absense, making sure i have all my maps and guidebooks and moneybelt. i became wisful today thinking about all this. the last day of august is always a wistful, nostalgic time for me, what with a few leaves on the tree outside our living room window turning red, and all the acorns i’ve been kicking around on the sidewalks near work. i’ve just recently accepted the month of september and what it has to offer: gorgeous indian summer days stretching into cool evenings and crackly air. it’s truly the best month in my city. but it’s been hard to drop my associations of september meaning school starting and fall approaching. oh, the beginning of fall and cold and rain and grey. shit. it’s nearly time to break out the wool sweaters and boots.

looking back on my life, big things happen to me in september: i moved away to college, i moved to france, i got a raise or started a new job, i took a vacation. it’s the same now— a changing of the guard, a change in my life’s atmosphere and mood. these are good things.

as much as i want to blog in france, to remember all the little details that make france so special to me, i might not be writing so much after all. i’m sure i’ll write in my journal (especially on the trains), but i might just find myself faced with an allergy to computers. i’m ready to unplug and introspect. drop out for a while. i’m not sure yet.

stay tuned!

enola gay- omd (play it twice, ok? twice every hour), roxanne- the police, obscured- smashing pumpkins, honey hi- fleetwood mac (in fact, please play the whole “tusk” album), ego tripping at the gates of hell- the flaming lips, not too soon- throwing muses, things you said- sleater kinney, on earth- the sundays, any major dude will tell you- steeley dan, midnight ravers- bob marley, holly holy- neil diamond, razor love- neil young, straight on you- heart, moving out (anthony’s song)- billy joel, mirror in the bathroom- the clash, tainted love- soft cell, fuck and run- liz phair, don’t go back to rockville- r.e.m., the girl from ipanema- stan getz, your love is king- sade, satellite- guster, between the bars- elliott smith, age of consent- new order, golden & phone went west- my morning jacket, the funeral- band of horses (fitting, eh?), sparks- coldplay.

also, please have plenty of iced animal crackers, and pate with little cornichons and good mustard, and cool ranch doritos. for real food, have B cook up some of his wonderful stir fry with marinated skirt steak (“honey we got any meat marinatin’ round he-yah?”) and have my brother bring some fresh lobster and clams, and have my dad supply all the booze: billecart saumon rose champagne; vodka tonics, whatever wines suit his fancy. and B could also make noodles for long life, to celebrate my life and to celebrate yours.