-
my honey
Winnie the Pooh: Christopher Robin, I think the bees S-U-S-P-E-C-T something.Christopher Robin: Perhaps they think you’re after their honey.Winnie the Pooh: Well, it may be that. You never can tell with bees.– Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree
The Husband got to be an honorary Honey for the day.And he only got stung three times.bisou
-
do you know the homemaker man?
{La Petite and her Tonton co-chillin}Oh yes I know the Homemaker Man but if you don’t you should because he’s capital F unny, a fellow Beastie Boy lover, and in his own words; Mr. Mom with two very young kids, one wife, three cats, a large dumb dog and a pink house so old the original title was held by a tyrannosaurus. That’s right, Homemaker Man lives in a pink house which if it had purple shutters, would be my nine year old self’s dream house.
Well Homemaker Man has tagged me to answer a bunch of questions and Friday seems like a good day to answer them so that’s what I’m going to do.
1. Have you ever stolen anything in your life (don’t answer this if it’s a felony still under the stature of limitations. Disclaimed)? I refuse to answer on the grounds that this may incriminate me.
2. Can you read my mind? Maybe.
3. Coopon or Q-pon (there is a correct answer here)? Coupon. Although I swear when my Nana used to say it, it sounded like Q-pon, which is funny since she was from Massachusetts and Homemaker Man is from Massachusetts so maybe it’s a Mass accent thing. Like pahk the cah (for those unfamiliar with the accent, that is actually, park the car). Wicked.
4. Medium rare or vegetarian? Medium rare or en français, saignant
5. How many angels fit on the head of a pin? Infinity.
6. What’s the frequency, Kenneth? I don’t know, ask Dan Rather.
7. What does it have in it’s pockets? It doesn’t have pockets.
8. If you were ever sent to prison, and you couldn’t get your hands on a spoon or a toothbrush, out of what would you fashion your shiv? Everything can be used as a weapon if held correctly. True story.
9. If you could 100% ensure your children have one specific quality when they grow up, what would it be? That’s a tough one. I want to say ambition but what if they are ruthless about it, so maybe confidence, but what if that makes them cocky, so I’m going to go with honesty. If it’s good enough for Abe Lincoln, it’s good enough for me.
10. In order to save the world, you have to do seven minutes in heaven in a broom closet with either Vladimir Putin, Newt Gingrich, or the corpse of Elizabeth Taylor. Who do you choose? If it wasn’t the corpse of Liz, I’d flip a coin between her and Vlad but since it is, I’ll have to go with Vladimir. Sorry Newt, I’d rather let the world end.
11. What is your desert island ice cream brand and flavor? Häagen-Dazs dulce de leche.
Now I’m supposed to come up with my own questions to ask but to be honest, I don’t feel like it. So how about this… you answer this one question for me right now below in that space that’s called, comments. OK? OK.
What’s your favorite book ever?(and don’t go getting all highfalutin on meand say something like War and Peace or Ulysses,if it’s really something like The Italian Duke’s Virgin Mistress…no judgement.)bisou -
you can't, you won't and you don't stop
W H E W !It’s that season again here in The LPV… BBQs, BBQs, and more BBQs. Not that I’m complaining, but sometimes a BBQ during the day turns into a party at night and then I tend to end up a big ol’ M.E. double S, never being at home, neglecting a sad Fifty and an abandoned blog.
So without further ado, I give you a little rundown of the latest news of my life in Le Petit Village.
{source} ++ France has a new President elected by 51.63% of the vote. Allow me to introduce you to François Hollande. Good luck François, you’re going to need it.
++ Hollande got 60% of the vote here in The LPV… not too shabby, but keep in mind that in the first round of voting, he only got 20% while the Communist candidate got 30%. That’s right, I said Communist. The LPV is as red as Hugo Chavez’s shirt.
++ The Husband and I spent Election Day at Papa’s house. We ate homemade pizza and awaited the results. It was very dramatic. Even though the polls close in France at 8pm (earlier in some places), the winning candidate is announced at the same time with an estimated count. A countdown begins on the television screen and about thirty seconds before the announcement, pictures of Hollande and Sarkozy alternate flashing on the screen… until dun dun dun… at exactly 8pm, Hollande’s photo stood alone. There was something very Hunger Games about it.
++ Yesterday was a holiday here in France, V-E Day (Victory in Europe) but because yesterday was a Tuesday and it’s kind of dumb to have a weekend and then go to work on Monday only to have off on Tuesday, a lot of people got Monday off here too. They call it faire le pont which means, make the bridge. We made a bridge last week too, because the 1st of May, Fête du Travail, happened to fall on a Tuesday as well. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind making bridges every week.
++ Here in The LPV we celebrate bridge making with BBQs. On Monday, Brother-in-Law hosted one. Because no BBQ here could possibly go off without some sort of strange activity, The Husband and Gatz got into a wrestling match, crashed into a fence taking it down, and also, crashed on top of poor Honey’s Honey (The Husband made a very embarrassed and chastened apology to her yesterday morning).
++ And yesterday we went to a BBQ at The Cousin’s in Avignon where all the boys took turns shooting at frogs. I wish I was joking, but I’m not.
bisou -
sometimes, they get up to no good
Another weekend, and another trip to Toulon. I’m talking about last weekend, not this one. Friday afternoon, The Husband and I headed down south, picked up my cousin, Mrs. London, and went to dinner.
Whenever I’m in this part of France, the Côte d’Azur, on a port, surrounded by palm trees and looking out at the Mediterranean and boats of all sizes bobbing on it, it feels like I’m on holiday even if I’m only two hours from The LPV. But alas, a night sipping Mojitos while staring out to sea was not in the cards. Mr. London was playing in a very important match against those boys in pink, Stade Français, and it was our duty to cheer him on.
And guess what? Our cheering clearly works because Mr. London scored a try within the first few minutes of the match. He’s a quick one that Mr. London. What to do but celebrate the try and the win, right? So that’s what we did.
First with a few drinks outside the stadium so Mr. London could mingle with the other players and some fans and pose for photos (and a couple more Mojitos for me and Mrs. London), and then on to a nightclub.
I guess that The Husband and Mr. London worked up quite an appetite dancing because when they went missing for a bit, Mrs. London and I found them in snack shack across the street, behind the counter, making the sandwiches themselves. I guess the snack guy was happy for the break. And for the record, Mr. London and The Husband didn’t bother making any sandwiches for us. Thanks guys.
The Husband and Mr. London being mischievous little monkeys, jumping behind that snack shack counter, pretty much set the theme for the weekend… the two of them getting up to no good.
Like when Mrs. London and I spent a nice afternoon on Saturday having a leisurely lunch and sipping Rosé, our two mischievous monkeys setup camp in the bar next door with a handful of other rugby players (including a couple of the boys in pink). We popped into check on them at one point and where did we spot Mr. London… behind the bar serving drinks.
And when Mrs. London and I had a nice leisurely dinner with some more Rosé (are you noticing our own theme here?), the boys had once again setup camp in the bar next door. We stopped in to say hi (re: check on them) and there was Mr. London… behind the bar serving drinks (I was beginning to wonder if he had a part-time job there).
Then, later that night at a club, while Mrs. London and I continued our day of Rosé, while we shaked our groove things in our six-inchers (we always seem to be the tallest girls in nightclubs here), The Husband pointed out Mr. London to us. Yes, Mr. London had found another bar to play Cocktail at. Oh what a surprise.
On the drive home back to Le Petit Village, The Husband turned to me ever so seriously and said that he knows what Mr. London should do when he retires from rugby. I looked over at him and he said, “work behind a bar“.
Gee… ya think?bisou -
bees and then the honey
You know how we’ve had birthdays out the gazoo here in The LPV lately? Like first La Petite turned one, and then Honey Jr. had a birthday (although I didn’t blog about that one, but Fifty did buy him a bottle of Jameson), then The Croupier got her Party Rock on, and of course Gatz, with a trip to the wine bar, followed by the impromptu dinner party… well we’re not finished. Honey’s Honey got to blow out the candles last week too when she turned the ripe old age of 24 (24… I remember turning 24… kind of).
Honey’s Honey left the planning of the night up to The Husband which I thought was kind of funny but happily went with it realizing that if it’s up to The Husband, then it’s really up to me, so back to the wine bar we went then.
We rounded up Gatz, Brother-in-Law, and Child Bride to celebrate, but unfortunately, Honey Jr would be working and wouldn’t be able to join us until much later (personally, I think the bees could have waited but that’s just me), but a friend of Honey’s Honey, Mimi, came and she was so lovely, that she more than made up for Honey Jr’s absence (for me anyway, not so much for Honey’s Honey… poor Honey’s Honey). She was so lovely in fact that I’m planning her wedding to Gatz. I just need to get their OK first.
There was a Chanteuse serenading us that night, and all I’m going to say about her is that us singing happy birthday, actually sounded better. It was that bad.
But despite the serenading, it was another great celebration. We got to stay after closing which meant that I was able to walk around and pay extra special attention to all of my friends.
See that one in the middle? On my next visit, me and that one are going to spend some quality time together.And The Husband was having a good time too. Besides wine, the wine bar has a handful of artisanal whiskies in stock (The Husband L O V E S whiskey) and the sommelier brought out a Japanese one for him to try. They looked at it and sniffed it and the sommelier told The Husband that it was made from old corn. The Husband walked over to Brother-in-Law to let him try a sip, Brother-in-Law swirled it, sniffed it, looked at the sommelier ever so seriously and said, “I smell corn, old corn.” Clearly someone had been dropping eaves (never a dull moment with that one).But something was still missing. Where oh where was Honey Jr.? And just when we thought he had chosen the bees over his honey, he arrived and Honey’s Honey got her birthday wish.
The end.bisou
-
versatile: family
{La Petite and her Tonton}Jersey and the Monkey was so kind as to pass on the Versatile Blogger award to me forever and a day ago, and since I’m only back from a weekend with my cousin Mrs. London, I thought I’d make the seven secrets about me, all about my family instead. Because you kind of are your family anyway, it’s a DNA thing.……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….1. My mother is one of eight but my father was an only child so my family is totally lopsided
2. And out of those eight Irish children on my mother’s side; one moved to South Africa, one to London, another to Scotland, one to America (Hi Mom!), and one sailed the seven seas and came home calling himself the Duke of Marmalade. true story. We have accents out the yingyang.
3. My paternal grandmother’s family was written about in this book and I think that’s about the coolest thing in the whole wide world.
4. One of my first cousins (he’s 21 years older than me and used to change my diapers) was one of Margaret Thatchers speechwriters. This is one of those things that is kind of cool and kind of not if you get my drift.
5. My father marched in Selma and on Washington with M.L.K., and in J.F.K.’s funeral procession. It absolutely kills me that he won’t be there to tell the stories to my future children. (Sidenote: my father’s mother, marched along with him on Washington and when I asked her to tell me about it, her response was, “it was hot”. Thanks for being so succinct Nana.)
6. My mother is so smart she graduated school at 14. Hello Doogie Howser.
7. My brother is an actor and it’s pretty surreal to be watching something like The Tudors and go, oh look, there’s my brother.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….You are born with your family, can’t change them, and are stuck with them forever, but I have to say, if I had to handpick my family, I would have picked the exact same people.They’re totally coo coo for coco puffs,but I wouldn’t have them any other way.bisou
P.S. There are so many things that I would like to know about all of you, so if you’re feeling versatile lately, and would like to share some facts, then this Versatile Blogger Award is passed on to you. Thanks for playing. -
elections: how France does it
Disclaimer: I do not pretend to be an expert on French elections, nor do I know exactly or anything really about what I’m talking about, so if you want the real skinny on the French election, maybe you should look here, here, and/or here.
While normally I abstain from talking about politics, religion, or any other hot button topics on my blog, mostly because I believe in keeping this a warm fuzzy kind of place and that there is a time and a place for such things, today we’re going to talk about the French elections a little bit, mostly because I think it’s interesting (and important) to learn how other governments work, and what other countries are up to, and thought I’d share a little about what’s been happening over here in the land of wine and cheese.
Late last week The Husband received a large brown envelope in the post. Inside were brochures for the ten Presidential candidates and individual slips of paper for each with their names printed on them (and I apologize because I had planned on laying them all out and taking pictures but sometimes laziness gets the better of me).{the original ten candidates from left to right above}There is Nicolas Sarkozy, the reigning President of France since 2007 (French presidents sit for five years instead of four), and member of the Union for Popular Movement Party. Nicolas is also married to former model Carla Bruni (well done there Nicolas).Next up we have François Hollande representing the Socialist Party who stepped in for Dominique Strauss-Kahn who remains firmly on the naughty list.
There’s Jean-Luc Mélenchon of the Left Front (does anyone remember that old General Foods International Coffee commercial from forever and day ago where two girls are reminiscing about a trip to Paris and one of them shouts, “Jean-Luc!”, well every time I hear this guy’s name on the news, that’s what I think about.) This guy is a ‘militant socialist’. I think he should wear a red shirt à la Hugo Chavez and call it a day.
That blonde stern looking lady is Marine Le Pen of the National Front party. She’s managed to sugarcoat her anti-immigration stance with this slogan, “French citizenship should be either inherited or merited”. Basically Madame Le Pen wants to keep France French, and I get that, but we don’t need to be such a Nazi about it, do we? (pun intended). And on a side note, The Husband, Gatz, and I had a chuckle the other day about the fact that out of the three of us, I’m the only one with a French last name (Gatz’s is Italian, The Husband’s is Swedish, and mine is from Normandy), so I say we kick those two bozos out and hand me my French citizenship card stat.
Under Sarkozy is François Bayrou from the Democratic Movement party. He’s considered the ‘great centrist’ of French politics, so his views put him somewhere between Sarkozy and Hollande.
Next is Nicolas Dupont-Aignan who represents Arise the Republic, a party that he founded himself (I like that initiative Nicolas).
Then we have Eva Joly of the Green Party who is very easy to remember because normally she wears these horrid bright green glasses making her look as Kristin said, like something out of Harry Potter.
And finally, the last three; Nathalie Arthaud of Workers’ Struggle, Jacques Cheminade of Solidarity and Progress, and Philippe Poutou from the New Anti-capitalist Party (frankly I think some of these party names could use a little work, a little magical PR touch if you will).
So last Sunday was voting day, and the way it works is, you go to your local mairie (town hall) and put one of the slips of paper that you received in the post into the ballot box. C’est tout!
After voting, we all had lunch at Papa’s house and discussed. Everyone sitting at the table had voted for someone else (except for La Petite because she’s only one, and me because although I am married to a Frenchman, and am a EU citizen thanks to Ireland, I haven’t looked into all the hullabaloo into becoming a French citizen because this being the nation of red tape, I can’t even begin to fathom the hullabaloo involved).
One voted for Sarkozy but admitted that originally they were voting for François Bayrou but switched because they didn’t think Francois Bayrou had a hope in hell (imagine if everyone thought that way).
One did actually vote for François Bayrou.
One voted for François Hollande.
One voted for Marine Le Pen (maybe I should look into that French citizen hullabaloo in case this person wants to kick my American, Irish, non-French butt out of the country… although I should remind them, that my name does hail from Normandy so back the F off).
And one did a vote blanc which means that they were choosing, none of the above.
Now, if one of the ten candidates had received over 50% of the vote, they would have won the whole kit and kaboodle and game over, but since that didn’t happen, the two candidates with the most votes, in this case Sarkozy and Hollande, will now face off in a final vote on the 6th of May and that will be that.
I hope you have all enjoyed your French civics lesson.There will be a quiz.(no there won’t be)bisou -
distr-Aix-tion
The absolute best way for me to wonder the streets (shops) of Aix-en-Provence without the dreaded huff and puff of The Husband in my ears is to keep him occupied. And what’s the best way to keep him occupied (besides food)? With his new man crush, Mr. London.We met Mr. & Mrs. London in Aix last week for an afternoon (hour drive for them, hour drive for us, the perfect meet in the middle), and as soon as we said hello, Mrs.London and I went our way, and The Husband and Mr.London went theirs.
First stop; Sephora for some summer nail polish. And let it be said, Mrs.London is way better at picking out nail polish colors than The Husband.
From Sephora we were only a hop, skip, and barely a jump from my friend, Zara, so it would have been rude not to pop in for a quick looksy. As in, looksy what I got…
Are they jeans, are they pants? I don’t really care, they’re fabulous.
And take a look at the shoes Mrs.London picked up…
You know what she said when she saw them, “I don’t know if they’re high enough” (she’s a girl after my own heart, my cousin is), but I told her not to be silly, of course they were. For the record I would have loved to have bought the very same shoe but 1. I live in The LPV, so let’s be realistic, and 2. I’m not a WAG, thanks to a shattered ankle anyway (that would be The Husband’s, not mine).Since we’re punctual, we quickly abandoned our shopping to meet the boys for lunch, who it turns out are not so punctual, so we waited, and because the waiters chose to ignore us, we waited without l’apéro, so we had to occupy ourselves with some people watching… mainly the sweet old man dining alone at the table next to ours. He couldn’t figure out how to work his cell phone. Bless. Although he had no problem finding the volume button… loudest. ringtone. ever.When The Husband and Mr. London finally showed up, they both ordered the all you can eat Beef Carpaccio (of course they did) and got to work while Mrs. London and I looked on in awe. But there was something wrong, it was like The Husband had lost his mojo. Both him and Mr. London only had five plates and they kept saying how full they were… it just didn’t make sense… until I found out that they had been sampling pints of Guinness at all the different Irish pubs in Aix. So I guess that’s what they do when we shop, mystery solved. (And isn’t it funny how no matter what city you are in, all the world over, you can always find an Irish pub? It’s something to ponder).Soon it was time to say goodbye, but we didn’t really, only à bientôt instead because we planned to visit them over the weekend to watch Mr.London play rugby, and have a BBQ, and that was the plan, but as it turned out, we should have said goodbye and not à bientôt after all, because The Husband ended up having to work over the weekend (work schmirk) so we missed Mr.London’s match. But you know who didn’t miss Mr.London’s match? Prince Albert. Allow me to repeat myself… PRINCE ALBERT of MONACO was there and I wasn’t.
*sniffle**tear*
bisou -
Gatz turns thirty and a day
{drink me} It was 11:30, the morning after Gatz’s birthday dinner extravaganza, and I was having a perfectly lovely morning… sipping Barrys Tea, reading celebrity gossip, contemplating doing some on-line shopping and maybe my nails and not much else for the day when The Husband walked into the room…
“Gatz wants to go out tonight in Aix, do you want to go?“
“No, I’m fine, you go“, as delightful images of a quiet night in alone danced through my head.
“OK“
And then a few seconds later The Husband returned…
“But I don’t want to go.“
“Alright, then tell Gatz that you don’t want to go.“
“OK“
And then a few minutes later he walked back in again…
“Gatz wants to know if he can come over for dinner tonight“
Huff and puff from me as I began to prepare to kiss my day of relaxation goodbye.
“And he wants to know if some other people can come too“
Huge huff and puff as I squared off against The Husband… “You mean Gatz wants me to throw him a dinner party, tonight?“
“Yes“
“And I’m guessing you have already told him yes“
“Yes“
Oh H – E – D O U B L E H O C K E Y S T I C K S !
So my day of relaxation went right down the pooper as I scrambled to throw together a dinner party in a few hours. What to cook… what to cook? I turned to Chow, my go to food source, and decided to channel my inner Betty Draper when I came across, recipes for your Mad Men party.
With only a few hours, a broken oven, and a stove top so tiny I can only cook one thing on it at a time, I whipped up deviled eggs with tarragon, tomato bruschetta, caesar salad (like the real one, with eggs and anchovies), and swedish meatballs. It was all very retro, but perfect because dinner parties are my forté (my modesty is astounding, isn’t it?).There we were at l’heure de l’apéro, The Croupier, her fiance, Honey Jr, Honey’s Honey, The Husband, Fifty and me, all waiting for the guest of honor to arrive to celebrate his birthday plus one day, and he finally did, L A T E, but when he did, he had a bottle of La Chablisienne Chablis with him, the very same bottle that I had been ogling the night before at the bar au vin, but had decided was a little too pricey. But Gatz had remembered and brought it for me, and that’s why he’s my buddy and his tardiness forgiven.
And that my friends, is the story of how Gatz turned thirty and one day.
bisou -
oh, the places we will go
{my little pony}Coucou mes amis!
Today I’m blogging over at Oh, the places we will go. Why don’t you pop on over and see me play a game of I Spy, and then stick around and visit fellow Texan, Selena, and see what type of adventures she gets up to in her new city, London.
And in case you are wondering… the photo above is here for no other reason than The Husband is on a mini plastic pink pony. Moments like these… like seeing your husband attempt to ride a plastic mini pink pony must be cherished, documented, and then shared with the world.
Don’t you think?bisou
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
It's Me, Sara Louise 