Sunday, April 14, 2013

Ma Nouvelle Belle-Sœur




The last thing I wanted to do the day after landing in Paris was to get up at 6:30 in the morning to catch a train to Northern France, but Davids brother was getting married so jet lag be damned and sorry purr fur ball who was so happy to see us.

You're leaving again? You have got to be fucking kidding me


I transferred my make-up bag to a smaller suitcase stuffed in a dress and blindly followed David through the metro. I grabbed tightly to the stripper pole and dozed behind my sunglasses. David says they make me look like a tourist but I don't care. They hide a multitude of sins such as not properly grooming like a proper Parisienne, which I was guilty of, having left the house with wet hair in a bun and not even smear of lip gloss to disguise my laziness.





Breakfast of champions

They got married by the mayor, like David and I did. No church wedding for these heathens.














We snuck away for a nap for an hour and a half between the aperitif and when dinner was served, but it didn't help much. But our hotel room was adorable.










My head was swimming with the French flowing around me, and just when I thought I had a hold on what the conversation was about, one of the older guests would switch to speaking in Ch'ti and other people would follow suit and it would take me a while to figure out why I couldn't understand a thing. Luckily by midnight, our jet lag switched to our favor. We were wide awake and chat time was over and dancing was in full swing and we shut that party down.










We got back home by 7 p.m. Sunday night which I hadn't prepared for before we left for the US. All grocery stores are closed on Sunday, as are most restaurants, our refrigerator was empty and our choices were slim.

Dear France, why don't you slice your pies? If I wanted to cut my own food my lazy ass wouldn't be ordering take-out. And eggs on pizza? Gross. I can never tell if things are normal for France or just normal for David.








8 comments:

  1. hah. the late sunday return ALWAYS sneaks up on me. always. i think on wed, "oh i'll go to picard before we leave..." and i never do and then we arrive back home and all that's in our fridge is a table spoon of hummus and a rotted apple. pizza doesnt sound too bad though... with or without the egg!

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    1. I never thought about going to Picard and filling up my freezer before I leave. Cette une bonne idée.

      Our problem is that we are usually tired and cranky and we go in circles of "I don't know, what do you want" and I already feel fat and bloated from stuffing my gullet with food I can't get in France, airline "meals" and eating dinner when my stomach is telling me it's breakfast time.

      Looking forward to checking out The Kale Project in person this weekend!

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  2. Picard is a life savor for Sundays in Paris! It took me years to get used to it and now come Saturday around 4, I'm "trained" to do inventory if my freezer is low on goodies.

    I like the service of having my pizza cut for me too! I don't understand why it's just not done here. I did notice at Mama Shelter that our pizzas were sliced up nicely! How annoying would that have been? Slicing 6 pizzas?

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    1. I almost bought a pizza cutter but then I thought, well that will just encourage me to eat more pizza. And my kitchen is tiny. And WHY SHOULD I NEED ONE?!!?! Lazy parisians. When we had pizza in northern France it came sliced.

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  3. Hey, I go to bed at 9. Just letting you know that OLD PEOPLE are coming to visit you.
    XO
    Caryl

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  4. Why does French wedding cake look so much better than any other wedding cake I've seen?

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    1. because it is. And it costs probably half as much. My cupcake tins are gathering dust because what is the point of making cupcakes when I can buy something ridiculously delicious for 2 euros?

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