AliThinks

Subversive

We are in a hotel in Erie, PA, and I just got back from the free! breakfast. I chose oatmeal, and struggled to spoon brown sugar and raisins into my bowl.

Why was it hard? Because the spoons were positioned to the right, and I am left-handed. Now, I could have turned the sugar and raisin bowls in order to use my left hand, but I hadn't had any coffee yet. I'm always a little dim before I get some caffeine in me.

Once I had finished my task, however, I gave each bowl a counterclockwise half-turn, and went to eat my breakfast. I hope some right-hander has a hard time of it for just a moment. You southpaws out there know what I am talking about.

On Est Chez Nous

As Allan has written, we are back in Lexington. And as he mentioned, we will head out shopping shortly. The Christmas shopping is all done, but my daughter has only two pairs of jeans that fit, and one of those has both of them have about as many holes as a nice chunk of gruyère.

The rest of the clothing the kids need can wait until after the holidays. My ex and I have a sort of tacit agreement that I will purchase certain things here, as they are much cheaper than in France. It's something I'd do when we were still married: stock up on staples during trips to the US.

I'm not looking forward to the shopping. I am looking forward to coming back here and hunkering down for the afternoon. It's good to be home.

UPDATE: We had a successful mission this morning, and after lunch C. and I went out AGAIN. And, oh my Flying Spaghetti Monster, we went to the mall. It was...crowded. We got out of there as fast as we could, then scored some nice leather boots for 75% off at a shoe warehouse in a another part of town. I still can't believe we braved the mall. On a Saturday afternoon. Before Christmas.

Non! Je Ne Repasse Rien...

...rien, rien, je ne repasse* rien**

The place we are staying has a washing machine, Dieu merci, but no dryer. This is okay; there is a drying rack in the garage, and I just brought it in and set it near the radiator***.

I got to thinking about many French women I know. They iron things. Things like socks. Underwear. Dish towels. And you know what?

I don't. I don't iron anything if I can avoid it.

I think I'd rather poke my eyes out with chopsticks than iron something.

Granted, ironing things means that you can store them more neatly. A crisp pillowcase is a joy to behold. But really. I can't be bothered.

So it was with some trepidation that I folded a clean dish towel and put it away in the cupboard next to the stiffly pressed ones. Will the owners care? Will they rent this house to me again?

I had to laugh as I was hanging the wet clothes on the rack; all of the clothespins were grouped according to color. And as I said to my daughter, this place makes me a little nervous, because it is so CLEAN. I'm thinking that someone's just a little obsessive-compulsive. It makes me smile to think that an unironed dishtowel or mixed up clothespins would make a person shiver.

But I really want to be able to rent this house again, so perhaps I'll keep everything just so.

_______________________________________________________

* Je ne repasse rien = I don't iron anything

**with apologies to Michel Vaucaire, Charles Dumont, and Edith Piaf.

*** for those of you with no dryer, here's a trick I used to do: Hang your clothes on the rack. Set it in front of the radiator. Cover the rack with a sheet, so that three sides are enveloped. The heat from the radiator is held in by the sheet, and the clothes dry superfast!

An Open Letter To The Woman In 21E

Honey,

Doing stretches and lunges (LUNGES!) in the aisle does not endear you to your fellow passengers.

xoxo,

Alison

Over And Out

We're heading over the pond tonight for a short visit. When we come back, we'll have my offspring in tow. I sound really excited, don't I? I am, but I just want to get there.

Our access to the internets may be limited to time spent in cyber cafés, so let's just say I'll be incommunicado for the next week.

Have a great weekend!

Meh.

I have a shiny new porcelain crown on molar. #19. The TOOTH.

You know what? I don't even care. I just hope that I'm done with it, because seriously? I could have had a baby during this saga. Yeah. Nine months I've been dealing with it.

Sofa King Random

My favorite expression these past few months has been "sofa king." Anyway, I went to the grocery store to get a few things—shrimp, red bell pepper, garlic, and fresh ginger—for dinner, and on my way home I heard a song on First Wave that made me say "I have GOT to keep a running list of songs to play at our wedding reception." (No, there's no date set yet.)

I told this to Allan when I got home, and he said "You should blog about it."

Then his eyes got all twinkly, and he added "You know, to get some tongues wagging."

I'm pretty picky about music. There will be no "love ballads" played at our wedding. We will not dance to the "I like big butts" song (I don't even know the name of that song! But I was out of the country during the 90s, so I'm excused).  I'm not sure we can learn to dance to "Thriller" in time. (I'm not opposed to having that played at the reception, though.)

Anyway, if you have a cool song you want to share in the comments, I'll take note.

No promises that I'll let it be played at the reception, however.

Oh, and the song I heard on the radio? It's below the fold. Don't you judge me. I came of age in the 1980s.

Grumpy And The Chatterbox

Today I talked to my kids. Grumpy Son is bouding me (pardon my franglais) because he doesn't want to come to Lexington. So we spoke for about 10 seconds, then he got his sister.

"[Sister!] Ramène ta fraise!" (This literally means "Bring back your strawberry," but in this case, it means "Come here!" I love French.)

Then Chattery Daughter talked to me for half an hour. This was good, because lately our conversations have been short. I found out why, though: I've been calling during Star Academy. Silly me.

My New Job

In my last post, I wrote about having interviewed for a job I didn't get. Yeah, that was a drag, because it seemed like a perfect fit for me. But what I didn't mention is that I have been hired elsewhere.

The old adage "It's not what you know, it's who you know" does ring true. My friends Dan and Christine have asked me to help them market a new vodka they are distributing. I'm honored and proud to get behind such an outstanding product; this is simply the best vodka I have ever tasted. (No, I didn't use it in my pie crust.) I sipped it well-chilled and straight out of a shot glass.

Qino One is the first vodka made from organic, free trade quinoa, a South American grain. You can find out more by visiting the website. So far it is available in California (north and south), Illinois, Massachusetts, Minnesota, and Pennsylvania (I know!) at restaurants and retailers by request.

My job — besides trying to get the stuff sold here in Kentucky — will be to use social networking sites to spread the word about Qino One. As of now, Qino One has its own Facebook account, and as time goes on, I'll be using more sites and blog ads to promote the product.

I know this is quite a departure from my usual blog posts, but I'm excited about Qino One. Also, my boss approved the subject matter, which is rare in the blogosphere. Stay tuned.