Because January is always the dullest of the dull (apologies to you Capricorns and early Aquarians) without much going on (except for this interview featuring me!) I’m taking a look back at what I got up to last year…
January began in Dublin where thanks to my mother, I learned a great new word… aye a fuckenmuckennucken, before returning to a dull Le Petit Village. It was a gloomy enough month, but then I was shattered to find that almost all my china and Waterford crystal I had shipped over from Dublin had broken. But meeting two new friends, Pinky & Blue, helped to put a smile back on my face. When I wasn’t making friends with rubber duckies I was hanging out with Gypsies and discovering how very weird The Husband actually is (i.e.; not knowing who Oprah is and never ever having eaten a PB&J… told you…weird).
Still in full on winter boredom in February, we popped some chaussettes on Fifty in an attempt to entertain ourselves. That fun lasted all of a minute. Then it was my birthday and another round at turning 29. The Husband practiced his English with some wacky language lessons. But really, these were all things to occupy our time until the real wedding of the century (Will and Kate who?), Le Petit Village’s very own Shotgun Wedding.
In March I tried to replace Galliano with my Project Runway skills but never heard back from Dior (shocking, right?). So instead of heading to Paris I went to Aix-en-Provence for the first blogapalooza. Then The Husband and I hit the road again to Lyon to celebrate our first year wedding anniversary, but then my father passed away and Lyon seemed like a dream that never happened. But I did learn about how much blog love is out there. Thanks guys.
April was a strange month for me. I was here, but I wasn’t really here, if you get my drift. But eventually I came back around and was finally able to tell you all about my trip to Lyon and what I’d been up to (it wasn’t much). We went to Le Petit Village’s first BBQ of the year, which also happened to be the strangest one I had ever been to, and for the very first time, I heard The Husband utter my favorite word… numbnuts.
May kicked off with warm weather, sunshine, and a sunnier me thanks in part to the Royal Wedding (and maybe I did watch it while sipping tea and wearing a gown while Fifty walked around with a crown on his head) and the possibility that Fifty may or may not be a super secret canine assassin. When not being totally delusional, I was hanging out with my fellow Real Housewife of the South of France and making ouefs en cocotte in a poshy posh accent. Brother-in-Law dabbled in archaeology while he played in the medieval graveyard and we all overcheesed a bit at la Fête du Fromage.
June was a doozy… Brother-in-Law brought some kidneys and a heart to a BBQ (whatever happened to bringing some wine, or a six-pack) and we saw the spot where some monk killed himself hundreds of years ago when Becs visited Le Petit Village. The Parisian celebrated one year being the worst bartender of all time and we all celebrated The Husband’s birthday extravaganza with such an action packed weekend I had to post about it more than once like here, here, here, and here.
July in France means one thing (well it means one thing to me anyway) LES SOLDES! So that meant a trip to Aix-en-Provence to see what the what was in Zara… and the what what was good. I did manage to stay out of the shops long enough for a BBQ at Honey Jr’s where he showed off his new girlfriend, Honey’s Honey. And then in an attempt to cheer up Fifty from his spiraling depression and jealousy, we headed up to French Mommy’s for a long weekend so he could be spoiled with extra cuddles.
In August it felt like we were here, there, and everywhere… first with a day in Avignon, and to Montpellier for a date with Aidan, and a weekend with my Texas family here in France, and then back to Avignon for a night out with the ladies. And it seemed like the whole world invaded Le Petit Village for a brocante, our first ever Brazil Day, and of course, the annual fête.
October was a bittersweet month… my boyfriend Morgan Parra got kneed in the face by that porcupined haired Richie McCaw (and I know them are fighting words but you pick on my Morgan, I pick on you) when it all went Pete Tong, but we did have a few happy accidents and a glitzy trip to Cannes and Monaco.
Since there was a zoo outside my house in November, we escaped to Dublin for some pints, pints, and more pints and when we came back, we celebrated a Franco-Texan Thanksgiving in Montpellier.
And in December we got stuck in traffic for the very first time in Le Petit Village, on our way to Avignon to say goodbye to a friend. And Le Petit Village failed at les fête des lumières. And that was that.
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