Friday, July 24, 2009


Blah. I know, I know. Starting out that way usually means it's not gonna be a good one. Sorry. That's why I held off on blogging... To spare you... But I guess I need it more than I need to preserve your sanity, so if you're feeling like you don't wanna hear the melodrama better just close the window and come back another day when there are cute pix of the kids.

Okay, it's not that bad. I'm just... well... torn.

Not torn. I just can't find any piece of mind.

This is going to sound flaky and flighty and that's good because it'll encapsulate my mood of late. Okay. I can't stop thinking about all the things I should do. I should go clean the kitchen. But I don't want to. And it feels good and naughty NOT to. (At least I'm using the time to do something I kept thinking all WEEK I should have been doing, right? Blogging.) I should put my clean family cloth in the family cloth holder, RIGHT NOW so I don't wait until I'm sitting on the toilet dripping before I realize that I'll, again, be forced to use toilet paper. I should be writing. Even though I haven't heard back from the agent's assistant (well, that's not entirely true and I'll get to that later). I should be writing the other book. But writing it is making me feel a little psychotic. Why? Because... here's the deal... when you write down a memory, you sort of fossilize it. You know? It goes from one medium to another. It gets sort of translated from visual to verbal and then becomes tangible on the screen. I'm a sucker for "accuracy" so I want to get everything down exactly how I see it in my head. But what if there are holes? It stops the progression. AND what if... No, I don't mean what if. I mean there's something else that happens, too. Flashes. Little flitters of images that have nothing to do with the "story" or even the progression of the "plot" I'm trying to cover. It's like an acid flashback in the middle of dinner. I heard that acid sticks to your fat cells and that years later when you burn a particularly acid-laden cell, you have a flashback. Well, that seems to be happening with my memoir writing. I start thinking about something and then I start writing about it and then all of a sudden I see the built-in, pull-out hamper in a trailer where I used to live. What's so damn important about this laundry hamper? Absolutely fucking NOTHING. Not to you, anyway, maybe. But to me, there's something important about it. But I can't put my finger on what. See? But whether or not I can describe the object's importance isn't important. What's important is to describe, fossilize and memorialize an object that I, for some reason, deem important. Make sense? No? Not to me either. I think I'm going crazy. But anyway, that's one of the big reasons I can't write right now. I guess. Probably because I'm overwhelmed with flashes amongst the memories. I'll be busy writing down the memories (or staring at my blinking cursor, trying to remember what goes in the hole)and I'll have a flash and have to open a new Word doc so I can quickly "jot down" so to speak a description of this object or place or feeling or smell or whatever.


And then, too, I'm constantly plagued by fiction, poking at me. "Write me, write me," I keep hearing when I'm sitting in the movie theatre waiting for the film to start. Or on my bike. Or lying in bed. Or in the shower. I must have like 10 different ideas for novels. But then when I play with them a little bit more, when I problematize, I give up on them because they quickly start to seem stupid. I'll keep asking "and then what" until I come to a place where I'm like, "Huh." and scratch my head... and then scratch the idea off my notebook.

I should be researching the farms we're going to visit. But I can't seem to be bothered. It has nothing to do with a waning of motivation. At least I don't think it does. I think it has more to do with me feeling like I should just let things happen. Or I'm lazy. Or maybe part of me feels like it's too soon. I mean, I do have three farm tours lined up (and hope to have a couple more before we go) around Lynchburg. But I wanted to line up some tours around Charlotte since we're going to be there for a week. But I guess part of me doesn't see the point since the likelihood of us ever living there again is pretty small. BUT, you can't be too sure, and so I think it's a good idea for us to cover all our options.

I should be reading nonfiction farm stuff instead of all of my little fiction books. That's what a good farmer-to-be would do, huh? Get myself all learned up and ready? But what about the librarian part of me? Shouldn't she keep up her reading? And I'll be a librarian before I'll be a bona fide farmer. I know I'll probably have to work full time for a few years until we get the soil ready and then you know, I don't expect us to go from nothing to a full farm in a blink of an eye. Way I see it, we'll start as a family with a garden. Then a field for wheat to make flour. Then a few chickens for eggs and winter meat. Then another field for fodder. Then another field for goats. Then cheeses. And quail. And bees. Etc. But I know it'll be gradual and I know we'll have to PAY for these things somehow and working as a librarian may be what I do to do that. And that's not problem because I MIIIIISSSSSSSSSS it really bad. REALLY bad!

I should be clinging to the U.S. I should be clinging to my old U.S. friends. And I do. A certain handful who are dear to me. I used to think I had a lot of friends... and I do have a lot of really nice peeps who are interested in what I do and where I go and what I eat and the like, but when it comes down to chilling together, we probably won't, really. I should cling to them anyway. Cling to home. But there are moments, albeit brief, when I'm REALLY happy here. Not just content. Happy. And I fantasize about it going on. About just staying. About how kick ass it is to get on my Velov and ride through the park on the way to my movie. About how kick ass it is to get back on a Velov in between movies and do another couple of laps around the park. About riding back from dropping Ryan off at Day Camp. About... about... about... Oh, what's the use? This is temporary. I've been to this place before. The happy place where I'm living the life and I know it but I know it's only a bubble. I remember when I first met Sam.. how happy and self-actualized I felt. How I thought, "I can stay here forever." All it took was a three-week trip back to the States for me to figure out who I really was. Coming back to France was like a jail sentence. I actually even looked at farm land over here the other day. I am SO ASHAMED to have wavered!!! Can you BELIEVE I did that? And I actually FOUND some. Ancient farmhouses made of stone on 50 acres of land in the middle of nowhere. *sigh* I'd have a great place to live. But it wouldn't be here. And I wouldn't be fulfilling the purpose that drove me to want to be a farmer in the first place, now would I?

So, fiction or non, past or present, Charlotte or Lynchvegas, France or the States... I'm torn. in. half. And I'm having a hard time finding the Puzzle Saver to hold it all together.

Okay, enough musing, huh? You want some plot? WELLLLLLL, some cool stuff happened this week. Like, I went gay bar hopping with Flavi-avi-avia! Gilles was going out of town on a bachelor's party trip (they don't just go out and drink really hard and see strippers... they go like, kayaking and four-wheeling and camping and shit... I think it's AWESOME... It's really about being a boy for the last time before having to be about responsable for someone else... not about being a dick for a night just cuz you can). Anyhoo, while he was away (and because they have a lot of construction going on across from their apartment) Flavia came to stay the night with us. She came over Saturday afternoon and had lunch with us. Then we saw a movie with Iva. Then we came back and had a quick dinner/shower. THEN, we took our list of gay bars and a map and caught the bus to the Opera area.

Our first bar was OBviously gay because they were covered in rainbows. That and there was a crowd of BEAUTIFUL skinny little gayboys blocking the doorway. I stood there politely waiting for them to part like the Red Sea, but they didn't notice. Finally, the bartender said, "Okay, children, step aside so the ladies can come in." *swoon* THEY had a cool happy hour special of buy one pint get another free, but it was Carlsburg which isn't very tasty or strong, so *shrug* After a pint there, we set out into the night to discover the rest.

There was another bar in the vacinity, I thought, that I had heard of but didn't have the specific address. We went looking for it but didn't find it. Instead, we decided to go into a bar that had American flags all over it. Can't for the life of me remember the name, but it was REALLY cool inside and they had a whole list of 3 Euro shooters like B52 and Orgasm and Alice in Central Park and stuff like that. So, after a shitload of shooters and some dancing on the barstool, we headed out to find the gay bars again. And we found one. *crickets chirping* It was way too well lit, no music and NO ONE sitting inside (meaning that everyone was a smoker). The only exciting thing that happened was that while we were standing outside looking at the bar, a couple (male and female) said, "We're right here. Right here, come have a seat." That was cute and funny, but not enough for us to overlook the blah-ness of the bar and take them up on it. Instead, we headed to the next one.

It is called the Pinks bar and I had remembered seeing it all OVER the floats at the pride march, so I was really excited to see it in person. So, we walk up to the door, which looks like it's made of iron, that has a little bitty window in it. We approached to read the menu and saw that it was mostly like, champagne and shit. I started to scratch my head and wonder if I had misunderstood something or something, but the door opened.

"Good evening, Ladies," a bulky but Opie-esque white guy said. "Come on in."

"Oh, you're open." We walked in and saw a huge, muscular smiley black guy standing behind a counter.

"LADIES! Are you ready to party?"

We giggled and assured him that we were. We asked how much it was to enter and he said it was 2 Euro to check our coats/purses.

"And it's required?"

"Yes, sorry, purse and coat check is required. It's the only way we can assure there are no drugs or dealers getting in."

Oooooooh, I thought. Well, 2 Euros is a cheap 'cover charge, so let's go in. So, we did. And it was DEAD. I mean there were crickets chirping. There was a dj blasting techno and there was dry ice blowing out of the ceiling and lights pulsing but there was NO ONE at the bar and only three people sitting at a table near the dance floor.

Flavia was like, "Uh oh. This is one of those places."

I furrowed my brow. "What places?"

"After places."


After ordering our "shot-of-something-strong" which ended up being something blue that the bartender poured alcohol on (and around the bar) then set on fire, then sprinkled pepper into it so that it would spark, which we quickly slurped down with a straw, we asked her, "Where the hell IS everyone? How late are you open?"


"You mean... Midnight?"

She shook her head. "Noon." And then grinned.

"See?" Flavia said. "An 'AFTER' place. The place you go when the other bars close down. It'll probably be dead in here for a few more hours."

I felt bad for bringing her to a place that wasn't going to be any fun for a while, so I suggested we do a shot of tequila to pass the time. It was YUMMY. Then, I asked the bartender if she could make a really strong gin and juice. And she WAY delivered. Flavia drank a Cuba Libre (rum and coke). At the bottom of those two, we were drunk and sloshing all over the place. Talking and blabbering and blundering. But the strange thing is, by the end of the glasses, the place was full. The music was calling me so hard I could barely pay attention to Flavia, so I was like, "Mama... Let's go dance."

We did and it was AWESOME. I don't remember us ever leaving the dance floor. We danced on the regular floor, took turns standing up on a foot-stool-sized formica round thingy (that moved so you had to be careful not to drunk-dance too much). We got involved in a "what?" "Whoa?" with a guy dancing up there. Another time, a dude came over and tried to whisk Flavia away, but I quickly danced up to them and whisked her right back(to which she said a quick, "Thank you... I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get away politely. Did you see that dude's arms? And he reeked of booze." Which I thought was funny because we surely did, too.) We went to the bar to catch our breaths and to get Flavia another CubaLibre, but the Macarena came one. So, we Macarena-ed. Then at the end of her drink, when I had convinced her we should probably go home (she had looked at her watch and said, "Oh my god, it's three."), MJ's Billie Jean came on. Now, come on. Even if you don't like MJ as a person, you HAVE to like Billie Jean. Who on God's green and blue Earth can resist dancing to Billie Jean (especially if you've had two "Orgasms" earlier in the night)?

Not us.

So, we started dancing and singing at the top of our lungs. Two gay dudes came over and split up, taking each of us in their arms and danced to the song together. The dude I had was pretty good at twirling me around like we were ballroom dancing. It Kicked ASSSSSS! I LOOOOOVED it. I LOVE being swung around like that! SO much fun!

We stalked away into the night, screaming Billie Jean at the top of our lungs in search of food to soak up the alcohol. Flavia gave the bar a parting glance and don't think I didn't see the longing on her face... it was just starting to get packed. We'll go back again, I assured her.

So, we walked past a plaza where a guy was grilling stuff out on a make shift stand he had set up on a table out of the back of his van. He looked at Flavia and said, "We know each other don't we?"

"Do we?"



So, we laughed and walked on in search of my favorite eatery nearby (place that used to have vegan stuff... I mean... they still do, but I don't necessarily go there now like I used to). EVERYTHING was closed. We tried down several streets but all were closed.

"Guess I have to go back and pretend to be Nathalie!"

We let our peals of laughter and sang a few more bars of Billie Jean on our way back to the van.

And it was YUMMMY. We had merguez sandwiches on baguette and because she told the guy she was from Brasil, the dude put a LOT of harissa (SPICY sauce) on her sandwich. "Why the fuck does everyone think that EVERY country in South America is Mexico? WHY?"

I thought it was hilarious. Poor Avi!

We made it back and tiptoed around the house. Eating chips, taking Tylenol and drinking water to stave off the hangover. We YouTubed some videos and laughed and played. Even woke Sam up who came in and listened as we told this same story of our night out. He's such a good sport because he laughed in all the right places and smiled at our silliness. I LOVE that man. Sometimes I love him so much it physically hurts (then again, other times I wanna knock his teeth out... which would physically hurt, too... thank goodness I love him more often than not, yeah?).

The next day, we were awakened by Ryan screaming "RISE AND SHINE!!!!" We ate a quick breakfast and then took a walk at the park to get some air and sunshine. We let the kids play on the playground for an hour or so (all the while, Lolo running back over to give Flavia hugs here and there... making her choke up with love for Lolo's scrumptiousness) and then decided to sit on the grass and make Sam run and get us a Kebab (my first of the summer, by the way... I've been really good on my no-pizza-no-kebab resolution).

Gillou stopped by later and told us of all his bachelor party shenanigans... which was pretty funny. And then, he took our Flavia back home. We missed her instantly. Especially the kids. They wish she'd come and live with us permanently. I know they do.

The agent... So, I let the date go by. The 30 days. You'll remember, I was scared of even asking. But I figured, might as well get it over with, right? So, I emailed him and said, "Do you need more time? Not trying to hound. Just wondering." And then I asked him if he had any advice about buying a Kindle (Google it). He apologized for the delay on the MS and said that they were inundated. He did warn me that there was a class-action suit against Amazon for the Kindle's casing coming apart and whatnot, so that was cool of him, but assured me that owning/using a Kindle is awesome. So.... No answer. I don't know how long to wait. It'll be two weeks past the deadline on Sunday. I guess I'd like to know before we leave on vacation. i don't know why because it's not like I could really WORK on it that much while I'm gone if there was something he'd want me to do, but still......... I guess I'd just like to know.

But I don't wanna push. Better to have no answer than a NO, right?

I think.

Anyway, so, we had a sushi night last night. It was AWESOME. Ju was in town and able to make it. Iva and Dav and Vlad came. Remember Matt and Alex? Well, Alex got to come and brought her kids who played with my kids and that was cool for them. Even Delph and Sylvain came!!!!!! I was so excited to see them again. It had been FOREVER. And they brought their kick ass game but we didn't get to play. Everyone was a little tired it being a week night, so we'll have to save the game for next time.

What else? I've been working out. Not often, but HARD when I do. It makes me hungry though, so I haven't really lost a LOT of weight, but I can feel that my shape has changed. That I'm toned.

What else? Oh, there's some blah blah blah... but my fingers are sore. I need to go read before I gotta go get Ryan. I'm REALLY going to try to blog more often. I mean it. I'll try to give DAILY reports about cool or interesting stuff that's going on... and the stuff I haven't talked about today, I'll write down and talk about it tomorrow, maybe.

And I'll try to get some pix up here again tomorrow, how about that?

Well, okay then. Until then.

1 comment:

Ryan said...

Never take Tylenol after consuming alcohol, love... acetaminophen, combined with alcohol, will DESTROY your liver... Don't they have gatorade in France, Shug?