It’s Me, Sara Louise

Hi! You might know me as C’est Moi, Sara Louise. Before that I was Sara in Le Petit Village. Now, It’s Me, Sara Louise. Hello again.

  • No More Vacations

    If you’ve followed me on Instagram over the years, you know that pre-pandemic, I traveled quite a bit. Back and forth from Texas to Dublin, London, and Copenhagen I would go. 

    I’m sure it looked fun, I’m sure it looked fabulous, but it wasn’t, really. These were me trying to hold my marriage together trips, not fun, fabulous trips.

    I’d bounce around rolling my carry-on, smile plastered on my face hoping for the best. These were not vacations. (But of course, there are a few amusing anecdotes I’m sure I’ll be pulling out in the future. Stay tuned…

    But, this summer, I, Sara Louise, was finally going on vacation — an actual holiday to a new destination. I was going to Maine, a state so perfectly poised for vacationing that their license plates have “Vacationland” stamped on them. (And let’s not forget the lobstah rolls.

    My Auntie Ilene, who you may recall, had invited me to her summer cottage on a bay in Maine. How perfectly charming does that sound? 

    You know what doesn’t sound perfectly charming, SHINGLES. Yes, shingles. I got Shingles right before I was due to leave. My body went into such shock at the thought of relaxation that it revolted with a stinging, burning, aching rash. But, with an OK from my doc and an “if you still feel up to it” from Auntie Ilene, I deposited Fifty at camp and hit the road north to Vacationland because if you’re going to suffer with Shingles, you might as well do it while sitting on the dock of the bay. 

    And that’s what I did,  I sat on the (floating) dock of the (Linekin) bay. (I did some other stuff, too, but if you follow me on Facebook or Instagram, you already know that.

    Meanwhile, at camp… Fifty caught Kennel Cough. KENNEL COUGH!

    I caught Shingles; he caught Kennel Cough. And there you have it. No more vacations for us. The end. 

    P.S. Fifty is on the mend and getting stronger every day. Thank you for your positive thoughts and messages of support they meant the world to Fifty and me. 

  • Moving On

    “You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could’ve, would’ve happened… or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on.” – Tupac Shakur

    And that’s what I did; I moved the f**k on. 

    Sidebar: I may go into detail later about what happened and how everything fell apart, but not now. For now, trust me when I say that I am better off, and believe me when I say as far as my marriage went, I gave it my all and left everything on the field. EVERYTHING.

    ❤  ❤  ❤  ❤  ❤

    I don’t like road trips. And yet, one year, one month, and four days ago, I found myself driving almost 2,000 miles from my mother’s house in Texas to my friend’s home in my old hometown in New York.

    Fifty and I were embarking on the next chapter. And the next chapter meant staying at my friend’s while I attempted to put my life back together and figure out what I wanted my future to look like. The world was my oyster. (If by oyster, you mean a skint bank account and no real idea what I’m doing.) 

    Somehow, after years of torture waiting for life to begin, to finally kick into gear, first because of visa delays and then because of BS excuses and lies delays, life had become a fresh notebook. Blank pages were waiting for me to fill them up with new chapters. 

    Care to read them? 

  • 13 Going on 30 (something or other)

    I did something crazy.
    I, an adult woman, got braces. 
    Not Invisalign. Braces. 
    It’s been on the list for a long time but due to life and whatnot (y’all know about all the whatnot), it kept getting pushed further and further down that list. 
    (Except, I will say that a few years back in The LPV I did go to get them but ended up needing a root canal and left the office over €1000 lighter and there went the braces. But in hindsight, I’m glad that l’orthodontiste didn’t put braces on me because maisongarçon (French for homeboy obvs) jacked it all up, caused a massive infection, which led to bone loss, and then oral surgery a couple of years ago to fix it. Merci fils de pute! (Don’t try to translate that last bit… it’s naughty.)
    Anyway, a few weeks ago, I decided enough is enough; I’m getting them and I’ll make life work around me for once. (This is when my theme song should begin to play btw.)
    (Note to self: pick a theme song)
    So, now I have braces and there still very new and I’m still getting used to them and the fact that I can’t get my Olivia Pope on with my popcorn and I have to forgo my beloved gummy bears, but I’ll get used to it. And get used to the fact that I’m a grumble-grumble-inaudible aged woman with braces.  
    But I will say this, a big part of all the nervousness about being an adult with brace-face disappeared as soon as my shamazing orthodontist said this in response to my embarrassment about being seen with them: 
    “They’ll see a grown woman taking care of herself.” 
    To my orthodontist I say, PREACH QUEEN. 
    And that’s that. I’m doing me right now. 
    What’s new with you? (I genuinely want to know.)
    Are you letting life work you over, or are you making it work for you? (That should probably be werk).
    Your Brace-Face

  • F i n a l l y

    Something amazing is happening this weekend.

    (No, not me blogging twice in one week even though that is fairly spectacular.)

    I’m moving.

    After four and a half years of living like a gypsy, splitting my time between Dublin, London, Copenhagen (I kept that one close to the chest), and my mother’s in Texas, I finally get to be still.

    I know that the thought of unpacking box upon box is horrible to some, but for me, I’m elated! After four and half years, I’m unpacking kitchen boxes into MY kitchen, putting books on shelves in MY living room, and hanging clothes in MY closet.

    I could go on and on and wax-poetic about all of the feelings I’m feeling but I don’t have that kind of time.

    Because I’m moving.


  • Confession

    Confession: I miss blogging.

    Bigger Confession: It’s difficult to blog when life hasn’t been going swimmingly and you’re not sure what to say, and what you actually should say, or more importantly, what you should not say.

    I will say this though. I love my husband. He loves me. But unfortunately life isn’t always that simple. I’m in Texas and he isn’t, for far too many reasons and complications to list here. (Really, it’s been ALL THE DRAMA. ALL OF IT).

    And truthfully, I would have returned to this space sooner if it wasn’t for the perpetual state of limbo that I find myself in. Because although we got the spousal visa, my happily-ever-after has still not arrived, and honestly, it might not. I may have to consider a different happy ending. One that looks very different than originally hoped for.

    I’m here and he’s not, but I want to be back here-here, as in blogging here.

    And there it is.

    So, I’m going to try and come back, and I’m not totally sure what I’ll even be blogging about or how often, but I’m pretty-please asking if you can hold off on any personal questions. Just know that I’m good and whatever will be, will be. C’est la vie.

    À bientôt mes amis [ kiss emojis ].

    P.S. Fifty’s good too. He said to say hi.

  • Well Your Faith Was Strong But You Needed Proof

    On the last mail day of 2017 (or post day if you’re so inclined), this finally happened.

    It only took 1501 days.

    And it only took me 59 days to tell you about it (but in fairness, I did tell Facebook).

    Here’s another fun number…

    It’s been 473 days since I’ve popped in here, hopefully it won’t take me 473 to pop in again.

    Tu me manques.

  • Summer Vacation Saves All

    You know, the one thing I’ve learned from this whole, horrendous, drawn out visa process, is that focusing on the positive is imperative. I’ve always been a glass-half full kind of gal anyway, but now, I’m a glass three quarters full, because let’s face it if I wasn’t, I’d probably be locked away in the loony bin somewhere. That said, while Gregory’s visa denial was beyond dreadful, the timing, was actually pretty good.

    (Since I mentioned it, I feel like now is a good time to drop this fun fact on y’all – while Gregory was notified of his visa denial when the embassy returned his unstamped passport to him, I still have yet to be. That’s right, I’m the petitioner, and as such should have received notification, but someone cocked up and I still haven’t gotten a letter or email to let me know. Way to go America, way to go. My lawyer is on it.)

    We got the bad news three days before I was due to fly to Dublin to kick off our summer vacation. You’re probably wondering how that could possibly be good timing but here it is; we had a couple of days to process the news, and make a plan (of course that initial plan was defunct about 312 plans ago, but still, we had a plan), and for the shock to wear off, so by the time I was on a plane that Saturday morning in May, we were ready to focus on us, and fun, and to enjoy ourselves. All talk of visas, waiting times, separations, or oh my God what are we going to do, was banned.

    So I set off from San Antonio for a few days with my family in Dublin, before reuniting with Gregory in France to return to my old stomping grounds, and my French crew for a three week break from the bull$@*#. There would be laughter, and joy, and South of France sunshine, and goats cheese salads, and Zara, and by God, there would be Rosé. 

  • The Unexpected

    {this will be me, a lot}

    I’ve been thinking about writing this post for awhile, like, a long while, but I was waiting for things to settle down a bit and for us to have an actual plan in place, and now we do.

    So here’s the deal; Gregory didn’t get his green card, as in denied, denied, denied. That’s right kids, D E N I E D. Feel free to take a moment to shout expletives, I know I did. This is what went down and why.

    Way back in 2003, Gregory was working as a bouncer at a club. There was a drunk guy who was harassing other patrons and Gregory asked him to leave. He wouldn’t and his behavior escalated, shouting abuse at Gregory and the people standing in line waiting to get in. Gregory’s boss urged Gregory to get him to go. After many verbal attempts, with zero success, Gregory shoved the guy. The guy fell, got up, and left. That’s it.

    But then, for what I can only guess was an attempt to get money, the guy brought charges against Gregory and the club. As you can imagine, they were quite surprised. But then, the drunk guy came to his senses and decided not to show up to court, and his lawyer stated that he wanted to drop the charges because he knew he was drunk and at fault. But here’s the kicker, Gregory was in court already, so the judge said to Gregory that while he was only doing his job, he was young and needed to learn how to do it better, and he gave him 100 hours of community service. And that was that.

    Fast forward nine years to life in Le Petit Village. Remember this post when I said that some stuff had gone down and we needed to get away for a bit? Well here’s why… At the village festival, which also happened to be Gregory’s birthday, there was an incident.

    It was the end of the evening, and the village square which had been closed to traffic had just been reopened, but people were still milling about. A car came speeding through, almost hitting Gregory and his friends. Gregory hit his hand on the hood of the car and then waved his hand in a ‘slow down’ motion (I know this because I was across the street and saw the whole thing). The driver shouted, “go eff yourself,” but in French and not as polite as that. I’m sorry to say that Gregory did not react very gentlemanly like to that, and a fight ensued.

    It was a mess, but it was a fight, a dumb, boys being boys fight. Our evening came to end and we all moved on, or so I thought.

    A week later, the police showed up at our door to question Gregory because check this out… the guy who Gregory got into a fight with pressed charges and said that it was a racially motivated attack. W H A T ? ! This guy said that he was innocently driving through the village and big Aryan looking Gregory saw him and ran after the car with a baseball bat (where did the bat come from???) shouting for the [insert racially charged words] to get the [insert bad words] out of his village.

    That didn’t happen.

    The case went to court, the racist charges were dropped because the judge wasn’t an idiot and saw through that one, and then he ruled that it was a mutual altercation, as in a fight, that’s it, not assault, certainly not a hate crime, but a fight, between a couple of idiots. And that was that.

    Or so I thought, because Gregory’s Green Card was denied on the basis of Moral Turpitude.

    P O P P Y C O C K! I wrote to the Embassy and requested another interview because surely they were misinterpreting the court records but get this, the consular officer told me that it’s not what happened, or what the outcome was, it’s that the charges that were brought against Gregory, COULD have resulted in bigger convictions. Feel free to take a moment to shout expletives, I know I did.

    So here we are now, beginning the fun-filled waiver process. The process is expected to take six to seven months, and in the meantime, I’m in Texas, and Gregory is in Dublin (he’s working there at the moment and long story short – it makes more financial sense for him to be there right now instead of France).

    But here’s the kicker, when Gregory’s Green Card was denied, his ESTA was revoked (for those who don’t know, and ESTA is the visa waiver that people in numerous countries use to travel to the U.S.) so he can’t even enter the U.S.! That’s right, Gregory has become persona non grata on U.S. soil because he shoved a guy in 2003 and got into a fight in 2012. Feel free to take a moment to shout expletives, I know I did.

    #$@&%*! #$@&%*! #$@&%*!

    I’m sorry for taking so long to tell you guys what’s been going on, but I just haven’t had it in me. These past few months have been rough with a capital R. But I do miss y’all, and I think about you often, and maybe now that I’ve broken the ice again, I might make it back here from time to time.

    P.S. Fifty says hi.

  • encore

    Here I am again, alone after saying goodbye to Gregory. (Well not technically alone… I do live at my mother’s house after all, and of course there’s Fifty too). But unlike the last few goodbyes, this time we can truly say that the end is near. (Please, please, please, oh pretty please!)

    So this is where we’re at… Gregory flew to Dublin today and will arrive early tomorrow morning. After a night out with my brother, he’ll fly on to Marseille Thursday morning. (There is a logic to this Dublin trip, trust me.)

    Once he gets to France he’ll check in with the crew; The Croupier, Honey Jr, a very pregnant Honey’s Honey, and of course, his Bumder. Then in a few weeks, the big show… the Green Card interview in Paris… DUN DUN DUN! (I felt like that required a DUN DUN DUN.)

    All going well (please, please, please, oh pretty please), he’ll have his Green Card by the end of the month. Can you believe it? I mean really, can you? It’s been like a million, zillion, years (not really, but seventeen months is an awful long time when you’re thinking it’s going to be like, nine).

    OK, then it’s May and Gregory is going to stay put in France tying up loose ends and what not and at the end of the month, I’m going to fly to Dublin (Dublin again… stay with me). On my second night in the Fair City, I’ll be meeting my Auntie Ilene (who if you remember is not my real Aunt but an awesome honorary one) and her cohorts for dinner and to give them a quick tour of my old stomping grounds since they’ll be visiting for a few days. And then, the next morning, bright and early, I’ll be flying to France and finally meeting up with Gregory (it will only be seven weeks apart this time, we can do seven weeks on our heads).

    So we’ll have one week together in France vacationing and celebrating. I’m thinking a nice stroll around Aix with the obligatory glass of pink, a quick trip to Avignon because I love it so, lunch at Bonaparte’s in Cassis, Toulon to meet up with my old sidekick, Mrs. London, Saint-Rémy-de-Provence and Les Baux-de-Provence because why not, and of course Le Petit Village. Sounds like a plan. (ATTN: France, you might want to stock up on the Rosé).

    After a week living it up à la Française, we’ll be flying together to Dublin (there it is) and spending a few days hanging out with my family and catching up with friends before returning to the U.S. together to begin (finally begin) our American life together.

    So that’s where we’re at. Still not there yet, but almost. Please, please, please, oh pretty please!

    What about you? Where are you at?

  • ALL the good juju

    It happened guys, it finally happen… WE HAVE A DATE FOR GREGORY’S GREEN CARD INTERVIEW! Cue singing: Hallelujah Hallelujah Ha-ll-e-lu-jah.

    I have been dreaming of this moment for so long and in my head it went like this: I would reach my hand into the mailbox and pull out a letter from the NVC, I’d open the letter, and immediately start shrieking with joy and doing a happy dance before running into the house where the celebratory joy would continue. There would be laughter and cheerful tears and hugs.

    This is what actually happened: the other afternoon I checked my email and there was one from the NVC (which honestly usually makes me panic now more than happy… it’s a Pavlov’s response kind of thing at this point), I held my breath before clicking it open. After scrolling through the standard blah blah who cares that they write in all of their letters, I finally got to the important part… Gregory’s interview had been scheduled!

    There was no jumping up and down, no shrieking, no celebratory dancing, instead, Gregory and I just kept looking at the email in a state of shock. Sure we were excited (are excited), but we’ve been waiting so long that we couldn’t believe it. We just kind of sat there, staring at the email. (Way to go NVC, you’ve broken us, clearly we no longer have the ability to feel joy).

    Bottom line though, we have an interview date! Cue golden trumpets. And bonus, it’s much earlier than we thought it would be, as in it’s next month. Next month! Can you believe it? We can’t. It’s almost over! Oh my goodness, it’s almost over!

    Now, I know that this is going to sound a little nutty, but you guys know I’m a little nutty so indulge me please, I don’t want to say the exact date in case of some weird jinxy-ju thing happening. But, it is in April, and I would appreciate it if you guys could start throwing some good juju our way in a few weeks. Every bit helps you know, so give me your juju please. Thank you. I love you guys. Cue the virtual hugs. 

    But listen to this coincidence… because nothing in my life is ever straightforward, and the universe does like to give me the occasional spanking every now and then just to keep me on my toes… the interview date has been scheduled on the very same day that Gregory was going to be flying home. The very same day… what are the odds? HA, thanks universe, you’re so funny! No worries, we’ll just buy another plane ticket because that’s what we do, we buy plane tickets. Cue my wallet weeping