Up in Arms!

Okay, I don't know where to begin with this, so I'll just get straight to the point: I've been trying to book a plane ticket for Emma and me to travel to the U.S. over the past few days, and Friday night I thought I was set after having found a great fare on CheapAir.com -- but no, it was too good to be true! The next day I get an e-mail and a phone call telling me that the flight can't be confirmed at the quoted price on-line because in fact the "class" for an infant has been changed, or something or other, and that in fact Emma's fare will be 210 AMERICAN DOLLARS MORE -- supposedly for fuel charges!!?? In essence, her ticket will cost nearly as much as MINE, and she doesn't even get a seat! She will be sitting on my lap and may very well get a bassinet, IF I'm lucky enough to get a bulkhead seat.

Folks, as you all know, my daughter will only be 5 months old in December, and I decided to travel with her in January, after the New Year, because I figured that by then the fares would be much cheaper than traveling over the holidays. It wasn't absolutely crucial that I be in the U.S. for Christmas this year, as Emma is still really little, and I figured we would celebrate Christmas here with my boyfriend's family, and then just celebrate things a bit later with my family back home. In the future, further down the road, I hope to take Emma back to the U.S. for an actual Christmas, when she's older and can really appreciate the Christmas carols, baking cookies, the atmosphere around the holidays -- the whole shebang, quoi. This is pretty much the ONLY time I'll have to be this flexible about my travel times, too, because I'm not working right now. Once I go back to work it will be much tougher to figure out the best times to travel. And this time around I don't need to fly over on a particular date, so I was open to many different possible options.

Basically I was looking at flying over around January 8th and staying nearly a month at my parents' place. But I am BEYOND SHOCKED by these new supposed fuel charges... Does anybody know anything about this? Have you heard anything about this before? Suppposedly the woman at USAir told my mother (who called for me as well, as she was helping me to try to book the tickets) that this was some sort of new international regulation for infant passengers -- but WTF?!?! I thought the whole benefit of traveling with a child under the age of 2 was that the cost was much lower, and this is because she doesn't even get a seat! She weighs less than 15 pounds for goodness sake! How can they say this is for FUEL charges, both ways? Is this some money-making scam, the way the airlines are trying to make up for their own financial losses? Has anyone encountered this? I know I basically have no recourse, but I just don't understand how these Internet companies can quote certain fares and then 24 hours later call you to tell you that no, in fact your fare is NOT what you thought it was going to be, as the airline you're traveling with has decided to add this extra charge...

With the extra taxes and fuel charges, Emma's fare will be pretty much as much as mine, and once again, she DOESN'T GET A SEAT! I'm trying not to get steamed over this, but it's definitely not working... I just got off the phone with my mother again, and we're both simply flummoxed by this whole situation. And they've got us good, these damn airlines, because we obviously can't do a thing! And here I was thinking that I wanted to be able to travel with my daughter while she was little, like everyone has told me, because it's financially beneficial, in addition to the obvious fact that it will be a nice way for us to spend time with my family back in the U.S. But NOW what are we supposed to do? Just bite the bullet? I have a feeling that we'll simply have to do exactly that, because we basically have no recourse. I'm just stunned that the international airlines can just UP and do something like this, out of the blue, and inform passengers about it in such a roundabout way, instead of doing it up-front.

Anyhoo, sorry for the rant. I usually don't get so up in arms and upset about things, but this is just extremely disappointing and unnerving for me, particularly since we're really trying to watch our pennies these days, with me deciding to take a few more months away from work with Emma at home. The last thing we need is to have to pay for an expensive airfare in JANUARY, pretty much the lowest season and what I would think would be one of the least expensive times of year to travel to the U.S. from France.

OK, I'm off to grumble some more to myself... And drag my butt to bed.

P.S. ~ On a brighter sidenote, Emma was adorable today -- gurgling away like crazy and being just the sweetest thing. She even took a 3-hour nap from noon to 3:00! It's her smile that makes everything else fade away into insignificance.

Twice in Two Years... Enough is Enough!

Yesterday was a jumbled day in more ways than one... I had such focused plans for the day, and a to-do list (in my head anyway -- I never tend to put those things on paper!) to complete, including some more work on the children's story contest, which absolutely MUST be wrapped up in the next week so I can get the winning booklets assembled and ready for the Awards Party on the 31st. I was planning on spending a good part of my day on that, while alt-tabbing back and forth between some regular office work, and catching up on anything else in cyberspace, per my usual...

But I also had a doctor's appointment for my monthly check-up -- 7 months and counting! Although for some reason I appear to have had the due date off by a week -- my doctor has it down as August 5th, and for months now I've been calculating it as July 28th. (After all, who was there when this little bean was conceived -- her or me?!) I waited in the doctor's office for nearly 2 HOURS before I actually saw my OB/GYN. Now, I know she's in great demand and you have to expect these kinds of delays, but two hours seems to be stretching it just a wee bit. I literally fell asleep in the waiting room, if you can believe it. I was reading there for a while, but then started nodding off, surrounded by a dozen other patients waiting their turn. Each time a name was called we'd all look up, surprised that it wasn't yet our turn.

I had expected to be back to the office by 4:00, given that my appointment was at 2:30 and the cabinet médical is only 4 métro stops away. Plus, she usually has me in and out in a flash, just checking to make sure everything is on track and there are no major problems. I had a few issues to address with her, but I've learned now to make it quick... Basically just little typical pregnancy ails (trust me, you don't want to know!), and she gave me the prescriptions for all that I needed. But with the delay, I didn't make it back to the office until nearly 5:30, and all of a sudden I was incredibly behind schedule. And for once I really needed to leave on-time to make it to the SCBWI event I was attending at 7:00 -- all the way on the other side of the Seine, in the Montparnasse neighborhood.

Bridget was warm and wonderful, sharing a bit about her creative process and lots of images of her work -- both in progress and as a finished product. I fell in love with her book, How Do You Make a Baby Smile and knew I had to have it. But when I told Bridget afterwards that I wanted to buy a copy, she told me that she had hoped to give me a copy as a gift for my baby on the way, with (and this is the best part!) her signature and a drawing inside. So she's going to give it to me the next time I see her, probably at the end of the month for the Red Wheelbarrow Contest Awards Party.

Afterwards, I had dinner with a group of SCBWI France members, and headed home exhausted just before midnight -- an exceptionally late night for me these days... But unfortunately, my night was far from over, as terrible news awaited me on my arrival home. Actually, I got a call from my boy when I was in the train, and he had just arrived himself after spending the evening with his father. When he told me what had happened, I was immediately distraught, and completely oblivious to the stares from people around me... He kept saying he was hoping that it was only an attempted break-in, because he couldn't get into the apartment and couldn't yet tell if anything had been taken. But I already knew that he was holding out hope for nothing -- it was clear that it was a burglary. The locks were mangled, just as they had been nearly two years ago in July, barely 6 months or so after we moved into the place. You'd think we would have learned our lesson the first time around... But life gets away from you, and even if the first 6 months after that burglary left us both skittish and suspicious of basically everyone in our neighborhood, a year later we had other things on our minds, namely my boy's heart attack, and then after that my pregnancy...

So many thoughts whirled around in my head as the train dragged its way from one station to the next... What had they taken this time? How bad was the damage? Did they only take insignificant, replaceable things or did they take anything and everything of any sentimental value? I kept trying to tell myself to be rational, to put things in perspective, as obviously the most important thing is that we are safe, healthy and that no one is hurt... physically, anyway. But that still didn't stop me from picturing the worst, and knowing somehow that we wouldn't have gotten off scot free one way or another. Why hadn't we moved sooner? Why hadn't we gotten our butts in gear and made a move HAPPEN? Why had I hemmed and hawed for so long on the few apartments I HAD visited and not made a decision? Why am I so gosh-darn indecisive, PERIOD? My one small consolation, I told myself, was that I had for some random reason grabbed my digital camera that morning, at the last minute as I was running out the door, thinking I might take a few pictures at the SCBWI event. I also had my iPod in my bag, as well as my most important documents... I feared the possible dissappearance of my U.S. Passport, which I don't keep on me at all times, but miraculously they didn't take that, possibly not knowing what value it may have. Or what do I know? Maybe these days people don't steal passports anymore...

In the end, the burglary definitely could have been worse -- things can always be worse, right? But more than anything else, I've come through these experiences feeling like it's definitely a violation of our intimacy, our security... Everything you can imagine it to be, only worse when it actually happens... The drawers turned upside down, clothes -- lingerie, for God's sake -- everywhere, on the floor, scattered on every surface. And on my dresser, where I keep the few pieces of jewelry I own in small pouches in a wooden box, things were topsy-turvy, and I had to go through one by one and see what they had taken. The bedroom is apparently where they spent most of their time, going meticulously through my things to find that rare piece that might actually be worth something. Because trust me, most of my jewelry is sentimentally precious to me, but nothing more than costume jewelry, or sterling silver, my one small luxury. But I do have -- or check that, I did have some gold rings from my childhood, namely one tiny gold signet ring my grandmother gave me when I was 10 years old, with my initials on it, and another ring that once belonged to my grandmother. As well as some earrings that I don't actually wear that often but still held a certain value.

What can you do in these cases? You try to make an inventory of what's missing in order to give it to the police in your statement, and then of course to the insurance company for any possible reimbursement. But unfortunately, this time around, all that was taken was jewelry I've had for years but held onto, once again, more for sentimental value than anything else (also more than likely because we really don't own much of value -- how reassuring is that, huh?!). So I don't have any receipts, nor any recent photos of my wearing the pieces. So no chance of recouping anything for them from the insurance company.

In any case, more than anything else I was just numb from the whole mess, and my stomach was tied in knots. I thought I might get sick last night before finally crawling into bed, but I did finally manage to fall asleep somewhere around 3:00. This morning I woke up feeling not much better, and I knew it was pointless for me to try to go in to work. I rarely call in sick anyway, but this was just one of those times when it had to be done... For my own mental sanity more than anything else. And I needed to get some extra rest as well -- I'm glad I laid down for a while, because a few hours later I started feeling a bit better. My boy took care of the major formalities, including the official statement at the police station as well as the phone calls to our insurance provider and to the locksmith, who spent several hours this afternoon installing a new, heftier system on our door, although it's far from a guaranteed form of protection from any future break-ins. We can only pray that we will be out of here before that happens again...

Because more than anything else, there's that one French expression that just keeps trotting through my mind, and no matter how hard I try I can't seem to get rid of it: "Jamais deux sans trois..." Say it ain't so.

What a Morning!

Well, it's been one of those days... already. I'm trying to take it in stride, because in all honesty I should be used to these kinds of Murphy's-Law situations by now, but it still gets to me... Especially when everything seems to run together in a series of mishaps or unexpected baffling moments.

After running out the door, nearly five minutes later than planned -- as usual -- (That plan to turn over a new leaf and really allow myself more time in getting to the train station in the morning has not been working -- wonder why? Maybe because I know I'll never change...), I did still manage to get my train, but only just as the buzzer was ringing and I thought I was going to get trapped between the doors. Nothing new for me, but it still puts the fear of God in me. Which is one of the reasons why I had also recently told myself not to even run or rush anymore, because it simply isn't worth it, not for a train for goodness' sake, even if it means getting to work late. Life is too short and far more valuable...

But anyway, I digress. I got this train, but had to make a change at the next station. Once I arrive there, I know things should go pretty smoothly, which they did. But I have to say, in line with some of my expat friends out there, that there truly is some région parisienne behavior that will remain a mystery to me to the end of my days... Granted, we're all harried and tired, from the start of the day to the end, but some people have longer commutes than others (ahem, Jenn?) and some people have more stressful jobs as well. I can't honestly claim to have either one of those at this point, but of course I like to be able to sit down and rest my feet a bit as much as the next guy. And I'm at that stage where absolutely no one knows that I'm pregnant yet anyway, so it's not as if that would help matters. Although from past experience, and from what people have told me over the years, I know that doesn't tend to faze most commuters anyway. They want that sacred seat, come hell or high water!

This morning's hilarious observation really took the cake, though: as the next train pulled into the station, we all quietly ushered into the train as usual, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed it wasn't all that crowded -- a rarity! Out of the corner of my eye, I caught this one guy, middle-aged, perfectly healthy-looking (although I do realize looks can be deceiving...), literally racing down the train aisle to the only empty seat available. I almost laughed out loud! It was so utterly ridiculous, and yet entirely typical. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I have to admit that I was... It's times like those when I literally want to lean down and say, "Hey buddy, it's all yours! If it's that important to you, please, by my guest -- enjoy that comfortable seat for the next 15 minutes!" But of course I keep my trap shut... Making any commentary is pointless, and not to mention inappropriate, according to the unwritten but perfectly understood Paris commuting "rules".

So having caught the right train, I managed to make it down the Avenue a bit earlier than usual, allowing me just enough time to stop into the local Franprix market to pick up a few necessities -- listen, a girl has to have her snacks and French yogurts nearby, especially when she's constantly hungry! I figured I had just enough time to snatch up a few items, run through the cash register, and still make it to the office by 9:30. That, of course, was a pipedream, and certainly not counting on the behavior, once again, of those around me. Now, when I'm in a hurry, I know I can be a bit of a pain too, but I sincerely try to be respectful of those around me. I stood behind the guy in front of me at the cash register, who was apparently doing his WEEKLY SHOPPING TRIP at the local miniscule Franprix, his shopping cart overflowing with bottles, boxes and pretty much half the shop (I know it's a free country, but STILL). Not only that, but his attitude was incredible -- apparently the gal at the cash register was on her own, the only cashier available, which is not surprising either. They're usually stocking the shelves at that hour of the morning, and are often short-staffed. And, well, they didn't have any plastic bags -- and to be perfectly frank, I think that people should not be surprised by that these days. And if I'm not mistaken, I believe a new law is going to be passed in the next year or so eliminating the distribution of plastic bags in grocery stores -- about time, really (do we really need any more of those environmentally destructive things?!). I try to carry my own shopping bag folded up in my purse at all times, for emergency runs like this (but I do sometimes forget it!), and in la province, anywhere outside of Paris, I know that when you make hefty, major grocery shopping trips, you're expected to bring your own bags and boxes to places like Carrefour and Auchan. I think they still HAVE bags on offer, but you have to pay for them. It's only here in the city that people still expect plastic bags to be overflowing and aplenty. This guy was nasty about it, too -- the fact that there weren't any bags on offer. And so his groceries were piling up at the end of the register, and he was shrugging, expecting someone else to find him a solution, refusing to put his things back in the shopping cart or to step aside for a moment.

At this point, I realized that my arriving-on-time plan was pretty much shot -- I quickly thought to call a colleague to punch in for me (because, yes, that's right -- we have to punch in! And no, I don't work in a factory...hmph), exceptionally, something I don't usually like to do. As the cashier ran my purchases through, I popped them into my own bag, paid quickly, and ran out the door. I did manage to arrive only a few minutes late, but it was ironic that on one of the days that I was actually running early, I still appeared to be late. And then, just after I walked through the office door and prepared to settle into my daily quiet, low-key office routine, one of my bosses sprinted right up to me and proceeded to make a random immediate request (this rarely happens). Of course, entirely normal -- to be expected, right? Yeah, sure, except that I still had my coat on my back and my purse on my shoulder -- I hadn't even had a chance to sit down yet. I looked at her a bit incredulously, nodded my assent, and turned on my computer. It was no problem, an absolutely trivial, small request, but the irony of these kinds of tasks is that my bosses always precede them with "When you have time, will you...?" Instead of saying, "This is kindof urgent..." When I'm fully aware that they pretty much expect it to be done pronto. This lack of communication and straightforwardness (or shall we call it beating around the bush?) irks me, but it's one of the few small pesky aspects of my job, so honestly, I can't complain.

And that brings me to now, a few hours later, quietly assessing the day ahead of me, and hoping that it will speed by so I can enjoy my evening at home with my boy and perhaps a good movie. Oh, except for lunchtime, of course -- I'm lucky enough to have a lunch date with my dear friend Jenn, so of course I'd like for that part to stretch out and last as long as possible (hey, we've got LOTS to talk about)! And at least I won't have to rehash this whole morning all over again -- she'll already know about it! Then again, hold on a sec -- I think her days are a bit busier than mine, so she may only read about it later...

In any case, an "eventful" morning, shall we say -- well, I don't know if I would go that far, but it was certainly more mouvementé than usual!

Morning Mayhem

Ahhhhh, what a morning! And I don't mean that in a good way. I'm no longer used to 6:30 wake-up calls, and I am definitely not a morning person... Have I mentioned that before? The fact that I am decidely NOT a morning person? Well, I'm saying it again. Especially after this morning. I know that you can get a heck of a lot done by waking up early, but my body is just not cut out for it. At least not yet... Who knows, maybe one day that might change (of course, I'm not going to hold my breath!) -- or I may be forced to change myself. But in the meantime, I am fighting against it with every bone in my body.

Especially when the wake-up requires a stop at the local medical lab to get some tests done, something which can't be done directly at the doctor's office here in France. I know we have an excellent healthcare system, for the most part anyway, and trust me -- I'm not complaining. I just wish I could get the lab tests done in the same place where I have the doctor's appointment. So it didn't require crawling out of bed at the crack of dawn to have either some needles stuck in me, or other fun forays into the medical domain...

My boyfriend had gotten up yesterday morning to go have some bloodwork done himself, to check up on his cholesterol levels and make sure he was doing okay. It's a necessity after the health scare he had last April, and we have to monitor his heart condition on a regular basis. And I'm constantly feeling guilty about this, because I'm wondering if I'm not cooking the right things, if I'm not taking care of him as well as I should... Of course, I know stress doesn't help things either, and I'm not responsible for everything. I like him to be happy, so I try to treat him from time to time, but then I get the gnawing feeling that I probably shouldn't have made that sweet chocolate mousse on Sunday... Especially if I had known he was going to have tests done on Monday morning!! Even he didn't think about it, didn't make the connection until he got his results on the Internet today... Argh, the triglycerides are not looking good, and I have a feeling the chocolate mousse definitely didn't help.

So off I went this morning, leaving my boyfriend wandering frantically around the apartment, tearing apart every room in search of his car keys, for gosh's sakes, which he could no longer find in order to move his car from one side of the street to the other... We live in one of those neighborhoods where the cars need to be moved midway through the month for one reason or another... I can't remember why this morning, for the life of me, he has to do that. But if he can't find his keys, he can't exactly move his car, now can he? I decided not to harp on the fact that it seems incomprehensible to me that he could lose his own car keys, as I knew this wouldn't help matters much, and I also knew that if I started looking myself I would get as frantic as he already was, and that wasn't going to help either. So off I went to the lab as planned, did what I had to do, stopped by the good boulangerie near the lab, and brought home piping-hot fresh bread for us to share at breakfast. He had calmed down by then, having found his keys in the interim, but still had to go out to move the car.

While he was gone I tried to put as much of the junk back that he had taken out in his hunt, but still hadn't finished when he walked back in the door -- damn, is he quick! And I'm as slow as a snail... I don't think I was awake yet, that was part of the problem. I got the coffee going, slapped on some makeup so I wouldn't look too dead at the office today, and finally wobbled into the kitchen for breakfast. We were both in crappy moods, and the lost keys hadn't helped. I was of course relieved he had finally found them, but I was pretty sure he would anyway -- and guess where they were?? Ha ha... At the bottom of his tennis bag. I think I could have told him that ahead of time -- I don't know why I didn't think of it... (Jenn, are you reading this? What is it about men again?!?!...)

And of course you would think that getting up so early would allow me to head out of the apartment early to catch the perfect train and get to work well ahead of time, right? Well, you would think wrong... I ran out the door the same time as usual, as I got distracted in the kitchen trying to clean up after our breakfast. Old habits never die... I ran down the street and arrived, out of breath, at the train station, only to see that the train I usually take was going to be five minutes late. Well, perfect, right?! Yeah, I guess, except there was no guarantee that it would get me to work on time...

And, well, I did make it in the end, so that's certainly a relief -- but it's given me a bad taste of things to come... An ominous foreshadowing of events this Thursday in Paris, when a huge grève générale is expected on the whole métro/train/RER/bus system.

Oh, how lucky we are. We knew this was coming, but I have got a baaaaad feeling about it this time around... Anyone remember Fall 1995? Yikes!

To Lille or Not to Lille?

There is nothing more frustrating than a change in weekend plans at the last minute. Don't get me wrong: I appreciate spontaneity and improvisation as much as the next gal. But the constant guessing game, the impossibility of making any fixed plans, is just exhausting. That's why I've gotten into the habit of adding "limiting adverbs", so to speak, to my own descriptions of what my upcoming weekend will include. I find myself peppering my weekend-speak with words like "normally" or "if all goes well..." or perhaps even "well, we might be..." And you fill in the blanks from there. The unsurity is sometimes maddening, and I hate playing a constant guessing game, knowing full well that our plans will, in the end, more than likely change.

In a way I've gotten used to my boyfriend changing his mind or committing himself to more than he can really do in one weekend. It's as if he thrives on spreading himself too thin, as if he thinks he can tear himself into three or four different men, and it doesn't seem to sink in that he simply can't do everything -- and besides, perhaps his girlfriend may not have the same ideas in mind...

This weekend's plan, at least as I originally understood it, was to drive up to his sister's place outside of Lille and to spend some quality time there, relaxing and getting away from the city for a breath of fresh air. I was actually looking forward to being in their big house again, and perhaps even bicycling around the area, like we did once a few months ago. I had a feeling that we wouldn't head out on Friday evening, as he originally projected, because I know how exhausted he can be at the end of a long week. So I wasn't surprised when he told me Thursday evening that we wouldn't leave until Saturday morning...

But then the frustrating element kicked in late Friday night, after we went to see The Bourne Ultimatum together, when he just happened to slip in (comme si rien n'était), ever so nonchalantly, that we would be making a "pit stop" on the way to Lille, so he could play in a tennis tournament, the "final one of the season". Mind you, the last three tournaments have somehow transformed, each time, into the "the last tournament of the season"... But I'm just saying.

Trust me, I have nothing against my boyfriend playing tennis! On the contrary, I know it is one of the things that makes him really happy. It's one of his favorite pastimes, along with swimming. I also know that it's both a physical and a mental release for him, a way of getting out all of that pent-up stress men are so famous for keeping inside themselves, whereas girls like me just can't seem to get enough of releasing it simply by TALKING ABOUT IT. So of course it's a healthy thing for him to be doing, for the most part. But I guess I sometimes feel like our plans together come after his tennis-playing plans, or fall completely by the wayside. We don't actually have that many weekends together, and when we do, the time is precious to me -- it's like an oasis in the middle of the desert of our work-run-rest lifestyle at the moment.

So this interruption in this weekend's plans, for a brief trip away from home, just seemed unjustified and a wee bit selfish in my personal opinion... I don't know; I felt like our time together just wasn't important enough, valuable enough, to merit an entire weekend devoted to it. As a result, when I told him how I felt this time around (something I don't always do, because I don't want to upset the applecart or cause any unnecessary conflicts -- the truth of the matter is that I often bend to his will; I want so much for him to be happy) he got all up-in-arms and defensive, saying that the stop didn't change anything in our plans, that it wasn't really a detour at all, that it was on our way, that I was making a big fuss out of nothing. It just didn't seem that way to me, of course.

We really don't disagree like this all that often, and I honestly don't like to complain -- I mean, I try really hard not to complain about his own activities, because I think it's important that we spend time separately doing the things that we love -- that's what makes us happier when we spend time together, after all! But you have to draw the line somewhere when you have so little time together, n'est-ce pas ?

Needless to say, we didn't end up going to Lille... Our Friday-night discussion didn't reach any kind of truce until Saturday afternoon. We were at a bit of a standstill. To complicate things all the more, he just decided to cancel all the weekend plans, in his opinion because I was making things too complicated. In the end, though, apparently his sister must not have been expecting us anyways, because as it turns out she was going to see their father in Le Havre. Maybe she figured her brother would change his plans at the last minute or something... as usual. Hmph.

Oh, and he did still go play tennis. :sigh:

And then we ended up going to Le Havre too.

Rien ne va... or Irritability and the Uninvited Guest

Ca y est - winter has returned to Paris with a vengeance, as confirmed by the ice cold rain and hailstorms on Sunday and the odd vision of snow floating through the sky Monday morning. I've had to pull on the gloves again as I wait on the RER quai, and although this is a convenience in the close quarters of the Paris métro, it's still a reminder that spring will have to wait a bit longer. Of course, that's no surprise here in France, I guess. Au mois d'avril, ne te découvre pas d'un fil; au mois de mai, fais ce qui te plaît... In other words, you better not be peeling off any clothes before the month of May rolls around!

I've been digging through my own winter wardrobe of sweaters, tired of pulling on layer after layer. I know we haven't had a particularly harsh winter this year, but I'm frileuse (read: I'm a wimp) and I simply hate being cold. Even when the sun starts peaking out promisingly, like last week, I still wear thick sweaters as a precaution, wary of an unexpected chill.

Last night I wanted to spend a quiet evening at home with my boy, as he had promised me, maybe watch a DVD, maybe even finally write a blog post about my Spanish excursion. But it was not meant to be. Already my eyes had been bothering me all day long, and I should have taken out my contacts sooner. It looks like I'm not going to be able to put off that ophthalmologist appointment for much longer...

I had planned on making some cream of broccoli soup, but had gotten a late start in the kitchen, given my English lesson right after work and my eye irritation -- which eventually led to my own irritability. Something which poisoned my entire evening.

I was just chopping some shallots at a quarter to nine (yes, you read that right) when my boy came in the door with a friend, a sort of permanent fixture around these parts. I had been somewhat forewarned by an earlier phone call and normally I wouldn't have minded -- he was only meant to stop by for a bit. But I just wasn't in the mood, unfortunately. He settled into our miniscule kitchen with my boyfriend, where they contentedly munched on bread and cheese while I bent, stretched and crawled around them to get my soup on track. They kept asking me what was wrong, but in a teasing, distracted, "oops, looks like the lady's not in a good mood" kind of tone. I hate it when my boy pulls this one on me, making me look like the nasty girlfriend, when he knows that Mondays are simply not my best nights. This was the last thing I needed. Was I tired? (Duh.) Not feeling well? What insignificant little thing could possibly be bothering me? Had I had a long day? I might have appreciated the inquiry if I thought it was sincere and if they had expressed it differently, but this wasn't the case...

Now, don't get me wrong: this friend is not a bad guy, just much too intense and overbearing, someone who has an awkward and forceful way of imposing himself on you and constantly pointing out things you just don't want to discuss, when you'd much rather be left alone. He's one of those "oh, golly, you look tired" types -- you know, the ones who point out the obvious and just make you feel worse for it, saying the one thing he really shouldn't say. He's a nice enough guy, I guess, at least when he tries to be, and the truth of the matter is that I know he has a good heart and that he's had a lot going on in his own life that he's had to tackle over the past few years. But I can't bear his insufferable habits sometimes, his way of implying one thing or another, and his scornful way of poking fun at me one too many times -- intentionally trying to provoke a reaction.

I managed to keep my cool until he had left, blessedly around 10:30, but then I flew off the handle -- and I regret it this morning. I let my fatigue, my nerves and my irritability get the best of me, and I complained about his way of making himself at home in our apartment at the most inopportune times. Mind you, I know he is one of my boy's oldest friends, and they do a lot for each other, but lately his intense personality has been grating on me more and more. And I can only take so much...

I was ranting about insignificant details, like how he drinks almost the entire bottle of orange juice (and I feel really guilty about this, because I know he's done other things for my boy -- but still, it's the principle!) but I couldn't seem to stop myself. My boy usually calms me down and says he's aware of the fact that this guy is a bit hard to cope with, but last night he simply didn't understand me. On the contrary, he thought I was being ridiculous.

To top it all off, just as I was about to blend the soup in our mixer, as I was spooning the vegetables and broth into the glass container, I realized too late that the base was not sealed properly, and the scalding liquid leaked all over the counter and onto the floor. That was it: I was at my wit's end. I let out a spiel of colorful profanity, which at that point sent my boy over the edge. He told me to go to bed; I needed to settle down, he'd clean up the mess. But I'm extremely têtu when it comes down to it, and I wasn't to be convinced. I had made the mess, and I planned on cleaning it up myself. Plus, I had seen the way he cleaned up these kinds of things in the past...

I continued to rant, he left the room (and me to my own devices). A half an hour later I fumbled into bed, nearly midnight, still grumbling to myself. Needless to say, the whole evening was a total washout -- not the quiet one I had expected, and certainly not the kind of "distraction" I desperately needed.

Vacation Withdrawal

I'm back from my holiday in Spain, and instead of feeling jolly and cheery and rejoicing at the unexpectedly lovely weather here in Paris (surprise, surprise!) I'm exhausted...

I can't quite figure out whether it's because we didn't actually rest all that much on this trip, given we were walking quite a lot and visiting all sorts of interesting sites, whether it's just the dread of heading back to work and dragging myself through the day, or whether it's to do with my time of the month (I know, TMI, sorry about that)... Maybe it's a bit of all three, wrapped up together in one big shiny package. But I can't seem to keep my eyes open here in front of my PC at work, and I still have another three long hours to make it through this afternoon. Granted, I don't actually have a lot of work to do, it's quite quiet around here... But sometimes it's these moments that are the hardest, when the greatest temptation is to ease back in my chair, close my eyes, and forget the world around me. To be honest with you, I have seen some people around my office do that before, believe it or not -- I was shocked the first couple of times, but apparently it's not entirely frowned upon. I guess given the business lunches these guys partake in on a regular basis, with the red wine flowing and rich sauces abounding, it's no surprise... But still, in my position, I wouldn't dare.

But do you know those kind of people who come back from vacation and are just grinning from ear to ear, raving about their time in the sun, the wonderful things they saw, how utterly fabulous everything was, how happy they are, and how much of a great mood they're in as a result of their time away, which was exactly what they needed to restart their engines and attack their work refreshed and renewed? OK, don't kill me here -- but those kind of people make me sick! I just can't imagine coming back and going on and on and on about my holidays... Sure, I know the point of vacation is to boost your morale and put a new perspective on things, to come back rejuvenated and positive about your "clean slate," so to speak, but somehow I always come back wondering where all the time went, how it could have gone that fast, and when it will start all over again. Am I alone in this? And sure, I want to share some pictures and stories, but I also don't want to bore people to death nor rub their noses in the fact that I actually did go away for a week or so and escape from the humdrum routine of daily life here in the city.

In any case, I will do my best to share some lovely stories about my adventures in Andalusia, but bear with me -- I'm going to need some time to adjust...

And... The Hits Just Keep on Comin'...

Ah.... the apartment saga.

So... where to begin? My boyfriend and I moved into our current apartment a little under a year and a half ago, and we basically fell on this place by pure chance. At the time it seemed like the golden opportunity: he saw an ad at a baker's shop nearby, he stopped in and inquired, we visited the place, it was a nice size and overall seemed nicely renovated, etc... The process was deceptively simple, especially given the fact that typically it's quite difficult to rent an apartment here in France, and even more so in the Paris area.

Well, we're in the Paris 'burbs, actually. And we moved out here basically for the square footage, to be honest. For our sanity. Because we both knew that if we tried to squeeze ourselves into what we could afford IN Paris, which was little to nothing, then we would drive each other bonkers. And I was coming from living in rooms and studio apartments over the past 3 years, so I was ready for some SPACE (as much as you can get here) for a change. So when I saw this place, it almost seemed like Versailles to me: 60 metres squared (no idea how many square feet that is)! Three REAL ROOMS! A fully equipped kitchen (a rarity in rented apartments in France)! Sunlight pouring in the windows! It seemed to be meant for us; it had our names written all over it.

Or so we thought. 'Course, at the time, we didn't think about the fact that it was SO easy; that we should have been suspicious... That the fact that they didn't require as much paperwork as they usually do was a BAD sign. That the owner was hell-bent on getting this place rented out as fast as she could.

Anyhoo, fast-forward a year and a half later, and we're realizing what a lemon we've fallen into. In a manner of speaking. We probably realized it soon after moving in, but I still had stars in my eyes at the time, and I wanted to believe that the things that were going WRONG were minimal, and that we could overlook them. But now that it's balmy and mild here in February 2007 and we're having to keep the HEAT on to minimize the mold growth and discomfort of humidity... Well, let's just say that we can't move out of here soon enough.

I mean, the owners literally redid the wallpaper right before we moved in, which you might say is pretty normal, right? WRONG. Not when the walls underneath are so rife with humidity that not even a month after we moved in, in a particularly rainy period, mold already started growing. So I let the owners know immediately, and they simply told me to keep the (electric!) heaters on at all times to minimize the humidity!!! Now, mind you, this means monumental electrical bills, but again, I simply accepted it at the time and moved on. I didn't dwell on it.

July 2006: we were burgled. Our apartment was broken into (only 2 locks on the door, and basically no real security system in our building, no concierge, no digicode)... Man, did we learn our lesson. [Next apartment, 2 major requirements: reinforced door required, and central heating. ] Anything of value was stolen, basically, and it left a pretty bitter taste in my mouth. The pleasures of the local market fell by the wayside while I tried to come to grips with this place. I know that burglaries can happen anywhere, and often do all the time, so it doesn't have anything to do with where we live. But there's a definite problem with our building. And the fact that the owners didn't even have the consideration to call us back after I called to let them know about it was enough to make me livid. Oh, God forbid I bother the owners with such a petty concern. That's what the agency basically told me, in so many words.

Winter 2007: mold continues to grow, and with the humidity we've been experiencing this winter, it's become insufferable. I called the agency several times, with no serious response. So I finally sent a registered letter with return receipt, and they actually DID something. They sent an expert in to check out the damage, and although I'm expecting nothing to come of this, as the repairs would entail major construction work on the building facade, at least they've finally responded to our concerns. But we sure had to light a fire under their, ahem, you-know-whats...

And so the expert came and checked out the damage, took a look at our windows, the walls, etc. And he confirmed the fact that the building is poorly insulated, and also that when they had the double-glazing done on the windows, the finishing was poorly done. And that it isn't normal that we should have the heat on when it's WARM outside, and that our bedsheets shouldn't be damp all the time. But not only that, he also discovered some OTHER problems: there's a pipe leak in our WC which he said could basically explode at any time. And there are stains on our kitchen ceiling which indicate probable water damage -- I had noticed these stains before but thought they were there when we arrived, or were pretty ancient. But according to the expert, who tested the water level with some device he was carrying, there was evidence of 80% of water up there! Which means we have to contact our insurance on that one... And I know this means it's not necessarily our fault (it's most likely coming from our neighbors' apartment upstairs, and they are probably unawares...), but COME ON, what else can be wrong with this place? I feel like we're lying on a ticking time bomb, like this apartment is just an accident waiting to happen.

So that's our current situation. Oh, and to top it all off, I called the agency again last Thursday, after the expert came to our place, to confirm the fact that there is a pipe leaking in our WC, and the gal (who I'm SURE is the same one who snapped at me last summer when our apartment was broken into) said they hadn't heard back from the expert yet, and therefore didn't know anything about a pipe leak. So I said, "But I'm telling you about the leak NOW. And I don't want the pipe to burst and for water to flood our apartment!" "Oh, okay, so I'll contact a plumber and have him call you directly to make an appointment, like we did with the expert."

Have I heard from the plumber? From the agency? NO. NO. And what day are we today? Okay, it's only been a few days, but is it that hard for a person to do his/her job? If it only takes a call to a plumber, how hard can that be?

You see, I don't often whine and complain about bureaucratic or administrative problems here. I tend to swallow things, to reason with myself. And it's pretty rare that I go on a rampage, at least I think so. But this is ENOUGH. We have GOT to get out of here.

So it looks like the apartment hunt has begun... Now the big question is: do we rent another place nearby for a short time, just so we can get our bearings before trying to go into the longer and tougher search to BUY a place of our own? Or do we take our time now and try to buy? I just don't know where to begin. I do sometimes miss the village life of being in Paris, but like I said, anything of any decent size there is basically out of our budget. And once you get used to having your space, at least a certain amount of it, it is hard to sacrifice it. UNLESS an apartment is really well laid out and organized. Which could happen... But when you're two, you cannot live in 30 metres squared, not for any length of time. Trust me: been there, done that. NOT gonna happen again. I want our relationship to last.

Wish me luck!