Doing my usual morning routine, which includes opening the window to check the temperature (I've actually been opening doors and windows before deciding what to wear since I was a kid - it's like that when you grow up with 32° mornings and 80° afternoons), I spotted this magnificent, unusually-colored tree hidden in the back of a brick building. I realize it's just a silly tree with leaves changing color in the middle of Autumn, but it almost made me want to write a poem or paint foliage on a canvas, or something. Central Texans don't get an autumn. When our leaves decide to finally turn colors it's halfway through December, and they're usually turning some dirty, dreadful brown color. What I love about this tree is that it's just hanging out behind an old building turning colors while every other tree is still content to stay green. It's the little odd-man out and I tend to like little, odd things, I suppose (not that that's in any way personified symbolism, although I have been called odd once or twice in my life, among other things).

All the news about the economic crisis, mortgage woes, and dwindling jobs has got me thinking about my economic future. It's hard for me to admit and accept that at 27, I'm unemployed with little to no prospect of finding a serious job anytime soon. It just crossed my mind today that this will be the first year since I was 17 that I won't have to file taxes since I haven't and won't receive a paycheck for an entire tax year. I don't want to sound like Debbie Downer, but that's a really hard pill for me to swallow. I realize how lucky I am to be in my situation, living in a fantastic city with the love of my life, where finding a job isn't currently a pressing issue. I've got it pretty good. But, I've never been a stagnant creature; if I'm not being challenged, pressured or educated, I'm not being fulfilled. For the past ten years, I was either working full-time or going to school full-time and working part-time. I might have been exhausted every night and cursing the day I decided to take 18 hours of school, work for 20 hours per week while interning for 10 hours a week , but I was accomplishing so much! I felt so great after finishing that crazy semester, relieved, too, but mostly successful. Nowadays, my success is (self-)measured by how good dinner tastes or how many shirts I iron in a day. It's really hard for me to believe how much my lifestyle and ambitions have changed.

Like most kids, when I was young, I wanted to be everything - a teacher, a designer, a CEO, an ambassador, a surgeon, a lawyer, a politician - and I somehow never grew out of that phase. I still find myself wondering what in the world I'm going to make of myself. There are so many ideas I have floating about in my head about what direction I should take in my career, but nothing stands out as the one path to follow, and of course, none of my options seem attainable given my current circumstances as an unemployed, non-French speaking housewife. I'd really love to go back to school, to get my master's, but even deciding on what to get it in and which schools to apply to is just as daunting as anything else.

I know I'm not doomed to be a stay-at-home wife forever, and I'm sure brighter days are ahead. Perhaps it would serve me well to just pick something from my superfluous list of things I want to do and do it. What makes me so uninspired, though, are the what-ifs that I like to torment myself with: what if we were back in the States...what if I had never left my last job...what if I could speak French fluently...what if I don't get accepted to grad school...what if my French doesn't improve...what if I'm 40 and still in the same boat...? Maybe I should stop wasting my energy on all these rhetorical questions and get started on something. But, what if I can't choose what to start on?

...And, now I'm off to get some Camembert for this whine.

I hope I don't get in trouble for posting this, but it's too funny not to share. I've seen some people moving in and out of our apartment building over the past few weeks now, but being that I've never actually met all of our neighbors, they could very well be old residents doing a little Fall cleaning. Still, I can tell that there are a few newbies from the handmade changes seen on the mailboxes. At our fête de voisins this summer, the caretaker of our building took down everyone's names and (among other things) promised to have new plaques made to replace the aged and ugly plastic covers that identify our mailboxes. Months later, nothing's changed - no new mailbox covers, no new resident information for deliveries, no new name indicators for our doors, no new nothin'. So now that new people are moving into our building, I've noticed more handwritten mailbox covers. Casually, glancing over the boxes to check out the names of our new neighbors, I stopped at this one and laughed (loudly) to myself - just before I grabbed my camera.


Yes, I realize this is a joke that a 12 year-old would make and laugh at, but I think the funniest part of it is remembering the Grey Poupon commercials I saw as a kid and how I would make the same fake British accent in an attempt to get my little brothers to laugh. It's amusing to think how clueless I was back then about how my life would unfold for me, and it's even a little funny to think that I'm here, living in France, with a French husband, having Monsieur Poupon as my neighbor in a life I never imagined I would have. Merci, Mr. Poupon, for the nostalgic joke and for putting it all into perspective for me.

I've never done a meme, but this was one that I couldn't pass up. I love all things food - well all things I consider food - and I wanted to see how I ranked as a "true-blue" omnivore. This originates from a British blogger (and expert gourmand, it seems) by the name of Andrew whose blog, Very Good Taste, I stumbled upon recently.

So, here's how it works:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

(Total: 56)
Updated: I originally had 55, but didn't immediately realize mole poblano was just regular ol' mole.

I was surprised at how much I have already eaten. At least ten of the items I've eaten only as a result of traveling, so it looks like I have no other choice but to continue traveling around to complete this list. Also, I'm a little surprised at how much I crossed out on the list. I might be able to be convinced to try a few of those crossed-off items (like frog legs and sweetbreads) - I guess it would just depend on how many of those dirty gin martinis and bellinis I had before being asked.

Since arriving in Paris for the first time nearly a year ago, I've struggled with identifying myself as a resident rather than a tourist or visitor. For me, home has always been defined as a place where I can navigate myself around without challenge; someplace wherein lies a support system of people who I can turn to for just about anything - for comfort in times of crisis or to share a good laugh with.

My first few months in Paris were riddled with jet-lag, over-sleeping, meet-ups and parties with Gui's friends and family and occasional headaches from trying to communicate between languages. I rarely left the house without someone else in tow to show me where to go and how to get there, and the few times I did venture out on my own, it was only to familiar spots or after two hours of preparation and mapping on the internet. I guess I was living like a tourist then. Now, I'm noticing myself growing braver about finding my way around the city. I'm at the point where I'm confident enough to trek through town with an address and arrondissement in my head and capably find where I need to go. Perhaps my bravery comes from carrying my trusty Indispensible or my wireless connected phone that can search Google maps for me, but even so, my new home is starting to feel more familiar everyday.

And, I suppose it helps that recently I've had a lovely group of anglophone ladies enticing me with invites to fun places around town. It's unbelievable how much of an impact having friends can have on an etranger's life (well, at least on mine). To be surrounded by impossibly friendly folks who've often gone through (or are going through) similar circumstances as mine, who are looking for like-minded friends to enjoy this amazing city with, who miss the same things I miss, who still pull out their cameras to take a picture of the Eiffel Tower for the zillionth time, who aren't afraid of a little rhum-rhum (or beer, or vodka/orange) and who don't mind occasionally shelling out 20€ on a glass of champagne and a plate of macarons just to check out the latest fancy bar on the Champs-Elysées is, more than anything, what makes living in this great city so much more like being at home. I never imagined my life with friends here. I guess I always figured I'd live my life here, meeting French people from work or school but spending my free time with Guillaume and his friends. Envisioning a large group of intelligent, adorable and generous (English-speaking) women available for happy-hour, house parties, movies and lunching, was never even in my periphery. I feel like I've hit the jackpot in the friend department!

But, beyond my newfound social life, I'm still trying to get into a routine with my "professional" life. After mulling it over in my head and soliciting advice from my well-informed friends and my practical-minded husband, I've decided to put my career ambitions aside for these next few months while I focus on conquering the ever-frightening French language. I've been on a few interviews for really decent job positions, but each time my lacking French skills were what kept me from getting the offer (or so they told me, anyway - maybe they didn't like my shoes or haircut - I wouldn't blame them, I'm in serious need of both). And, when I eventually found myself applying for a really great job teaching business English, I felt a twinge of relief and excitement that I'd finally found something to challenge me, get me back to work and help me gain some experience. But, even though it would have ideally been a perfect solution to my unemployment problem, in the end, I decided that taking on 20 hours of French courses a week was enough to keep me busy without the added distraction of a challenging part-time job. I guess a lot of other factors weighed in there, too, but I know keeping French classes at the top of my priority list is the best route for me to take for now, and so I'm taking it.

Still, I'm managing to keep myself occupied these days as a volunteer for an English-speaking non-profit organization in Paris, and above all it's been a really great place to keep my normally sharpened computer skills from getting too rusty. I'm getting a good idea of what it would be like to work with French folks, too, and on more than one occasion I've found myself on the receiving end of a phone inquiry in French, in which case my limited skills are definitely being tested. I don't mind that. And, it makes me feel quite good when I can get a point across or at least tell the person to hang on long enough to fetch someone who can understand them.

Summer's come and gone (in a blink, it seems), and there are a lot of changes going on in Paris and in my little life. It's getting colder, streets are full of people, shops are donning knee-high boots, wool coats and chunky sweaters (yay!) and I'm starting to get a taste of what it's really like to make a life here. I'm finding my groove, setting up a routine, and making myself at home. And, it's actually rather nice.

Things have been unusually exciting around these parts lately - well, things in my little life, not necessarily in Paris (an update on my little life is coming soon). Although, last weekend all of Paris (and I believe the rest of Europe, too) was treated to a rare a peek into the usually formidable, mysterious and often private palaces, monuments and government buildings in and around the city. I honestly couldn't say I know much about the event, but Gui was all over checking out a few government palaces, so that's how we spent our Saturday.

We got a late start and only made it to two places, the Assemblée Nationale and the Bank of France. The Assemblée was interesting, and the 30 minute wait we had to get in was worth having a glimpse at the huge, ornate palace where laws are made in France - a place that I often see on snippets of news pieces.






The bank tour was pretty lame. We didn't have to wait in line, but we realized shortly after walking into the place that our "bank" tour was simply a tour of the Galerie Dorée, no money making or counting in sight. Borrrring. The closest we got to seeing gold was this gilded room that reminded me of a room I saw in the Vatican.

But the best part of our day was getting there. We decided to Vélib between tours, which is something that I've been dying (and a little scared) to do since arriving in Paris. For a measly 1€ a piece, Gui and I made our way around Place de la Concorde, and up to Palais Royal without a hitch. I was surprised at how scared I wasn't, in the end. Afterwards, Gui and I talked about taking regular Vélib rides through Paris on the weekends. There's always more to see than we realize, places we have yet to uncover and our favorite spots we don't see often enough.

Now that I can finally benefit from what many consider the best health coverage in the world, I'm making overdue appointments with doctors to get back on track with my santé. The first order of business is replacing embarrassingly old "two-week" contacts that I've been using for over a year. Yes, a year. I was without health insurance for more than a year, and there was no way I was going to afford a $400+ doctor's appointment plus the price of new lenses or glasses on my barely sustainable salary living in L.A. Plus, my contacts have been working fine, and there's no reason to fix something that ain't broke, right? Despite my valid reasons, my mom and husband have been on me since forever to get some new lenses, so needless to say, it was first on my list of doctors to hit up with my shiny new securité sociale.

On Saturday, Gui and I went to see his good friend, who also happens to be an outstanding optician, at his place of business to get me some new eyes. I had spoken to him at the wedding we went to in La Rochelle last month and he was completely lost for words when I explained my long-term relationship with these two-week contacts. "You must come in and see me so I can at least give you some sample contacts while you wait for your carte vitale," he had instructed me, after getting over the initial shock of my statement. So, there we were, and after taking off my lenses, he lead me to a tiny room that had a familiar big machine which I attached my chin and forehead to and read letters on a wall from. It was clear after a few moments that I'm basically blind. He gave me a 12-week supply of a stronger-than-before prescription of THREE-week contacts with very clear instructions to change my lenses after three weeks, not three years. Then, he gave me a couple of names of ophthalmologists, who he said were the best in town, but who would likely have a 1-2 month wait to see. Apparently, an optician can't give me a prescription for glasses, so seeing an ophthalmologist is necessary before I can get glasses or purchase contacts.

Gui called the doctor right after we left, and keeping in mind that this is a Saturday, he was greeted with a chipper (well, as chipper as a French secretary can be) scheduler who notified us that the doctor had just had a cancellation and could see me on Monday - that's in two days! Sweet! But, after booking the appointment, we realized that I'd have to go solo, as Gui would be doing a team-building thing off-site that day and couldn't accompany me to translate. I was a little intimidated, but not enough to keep me from going. Facing my fear of French is the only way I'll ever conquer the language.

So, giving myself plenty of time, I took the bus a short ride away to the doctor's office that was really just a converted couple of apartments on the second floor of a random building. I read the signs carefully, pushed the buttons to get through the door and waited patiently as the secretariat finished a call with an annoying woman who didn't want to wait for the médecin to call her back about an emergency she was having with her eyeballs. After a quick check-in, I sat down on one of the three chairs in the small secretary's office until she told me that I could wait in the waiting room, if I wanted. Waiting room? I had no idea. So, I made my way back to the hallway where I discovered a sign directing me to the salle d'attente - doh! I walked in, smiled at the elderly lady that looked up at me and took a seat. Every time someone else walked into the room, they broke the silence with a bonsoir, one girl saying it rather boisterously before looking around at everyone for a response. I mumbled a soft 'soir, but no one else looked up from their interesting magazine. I think it's kind of funny to greet a room of waiting patients, but it is polite, so now I know not to make the same faux pas on my next doctor's visit.

I was the second person called by the doctor, who was middle-aged, well-dressed and rather kind. He took me to his office which was a large, dark room with piles of books and papers, and had a large machine by the hidden window. We sat at his desk and discussed the history of my eyesight, while he jotted down a few notes in scribbly French. I apologized for my bad French and he seemed amused that I was even trying. His office seriously reminded me of a Charles Dickens book - it was old, creeky and untidy with a dissected eyeball on the desk and several piled books in the glass-door bookcase. It was lit almost entirely by a vintage desk lamp and the light coming from the big machine being reflected high on the wall. Every time he paused to scribble something down, a hypnotic tick-tock from the desk clock broke the silence. I could practically see Bob Cratchit burning the midnight oil in there.

I took a few tests with the swiveling machine in the corner, and he checked my vision as I wore a pair of funny metal glasses; he chuckled a few times at my grammatical errors (someone saying "more better" in French is just as funny as it is in English, apparently); and we there were a few awkward moments when I didn't know what line (if any) I should be reading on the wall or whether I was saying the letters in French or English.

The visit went smoothly, and I felt a little proud of myself for having accomplished such a task completely solo. But, the best part of the visit was when I paid. The total bill for nearly 30 minutes of the doctor's time and expertise was 37€ (roughly $50). That means, if I didn't have insurance and I wanted to get a prescription for glasses and contacts, I'd be out a measly 50 bucks! Since Gui and I are covered under his insurance plan, we'll be reimbursed by direct deposit the 37€ plus however much my glasses and contacts will cost us. I know my mom will be very happy to hear that I'm no longer torturing my eyes, and with amazing health coverage like this, I don't really have an excuse for not keeping myself in tip-top shape from head to toe!

There's been a lot going on around here these days. Most of my usually free time has been occupied with job interviews and bouncing around the city with France's latest transplant, and my now partner in crime, Juliet. What crime, you ask? Well, between massacring the French language and boozing it up on red wine at several outdoor terraces a day, I'm sure we're culpable of a few infractions.

Meanwhile, I've been dishing up a few missed favorites at home while my family and friends back in Texas get hit by hurricane Ike. From what I've heard, even Austinites have been affected by the hurricane. For those of you back home, I hope you're staying dry and safe and I'm keeping y'all in my thoughts!