I Heart Paris

I got back on Sunday from a 10-day trip to Paris (yes, the one in France). It was a wonderful trip and I had an awesome time.

Part of what made the trip so wonderful is that the people of Paris are so nice. Really, they are. Forget everything you've heard about them hating Americans; it's just not true. Or at least, that was not my experience.

If you walk into a shop that sells clothing or fine linens while you are carrying a cup of coffee from Starbucks (yes, it's available), you don't say "Bonjour" to anyone, and you begin to demand immediate attention, you will get the stink eye. And you should. In America, where the customer is always right and the shops are staffed by people who are often trained only to use the register, that behavior is tolerated. (It's still horribly impolite, however, and please note that if I am in the shop at that time, I am judging you.) In France, where shopkeeping and waiting tables are professions, and people are proud to do an excellent job, it is not.

I found that making an effort to speak French (and my French is very, very limited) was appreciated. Most people switched to English immediately and seemed happy to do so. Maybe they wanted to practice their English, maybe they wanted to make things easier -- or maybe they just couldn't stand to hear me butcher their beautiful language. But they were polite and friendly about it, and I appreciated it.

Bottom line: in this, as in so many other things, your mother was right. Manners count.

Pack In The Presence Of The Passenjaire

I don't even OWN any of these garments.

A lot of people have been asking me what I'm packing to wear in France, and it's really beginning to stress me out. You would think that after years of knowing me, my friends would understand the care and feeding of a neurotic person. Which, in case you were wondering, precludes things like repeatedly asking them what they are packing to go to Paris because said neurotic person starts thinking what you're really saying is that they look like dog vomit most of the time and will embarass the entire country with their hillbilly ways.

So now I'm dealing with a case of Packing Paralysis. I think about packing. But then I get nervous and jittery and find something else to do. Which brings me around to these:

My niece Katie wanted me to bring something representing her to Paris. I thought what could be better than Katie on a Steek? So I made a couple of them.

This one was a Halloweeen costume, but I thought it would give that haute couture look, especially since she looks exactly like a runway model: giant head and stick body. I think Katie on a Steek will enjoy having adventures, just like Catwoman does. I even have experience in this area as I have helped with a few Catwoman photo shoots.

Incidentally, I am bringing pajama pants but they are cute and have Hello Kitty on them and I plan to wear them to sleep in, not to wear out and about. I don't think they even have Walmart in France.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

It's time to unveil the biggest news since... well, since I went on my big trip across the country.

I'm going to Paris in April.

I know. I can't believe it, either.

A friend (who prefers to remain nameless on this blog, but who is awesome) invited me to spend 10 days in a luxury apartment in Paris. A. Luxury. Apartment. The closest I normally get to that is the "shabby chic" of my own apartment or the glamour of the Motel 6 in Van Horn, TX. How could I say no?

I couldn't. So I'm going, lack of employment be damned. Yay!


Image: Bigfoto.com

Roadtrip: Day 8

Forgive me, gentle readers, for taking some time to finish up my road trip saga. I've spent the past three days sleeping. I'm finally shaking the malaria or typhiod or whatever it was we had, and starting to feel like myself again. Also, I had a boatload of laundry to do.


We got a really early start on our last day. It was a race to get me to a train headed to Rhode Island. It was also a race against a possible snowstorm. We did see a little snow in New Jersey, but I made it stop using my psychic powers. It's just another service I provide.

We were only in West Virginia for a short time before we got to Pennsylvania -- as you can see, the sun was just coming up.

The state of New Jersey has their welcome sign in the middle of the highway, which is just wrong. But it was a beautiful day in North Plainfield, which is the birthplace and childhood home of Monica of 5 Cats Shy. There wasn't a statue or even a plaque commemorating her birth at the hospital there, which is also just wrong.

Soon it was time to say goodbye to Monica and the kitties, and head home via Amtrak. It was a long eight days; at the same time, it went by in a blur. I guess time is always sort of elastic when you are away from home and your usual routines.

I've been telling a few people about the trip and everyone says "I'm sorry it was so awful." But it wasn't. Yes, we were sick, and yes, we got hemmed in by Snowmageddon. But we also had a lot of laughs and a lot of fun.

I guess when you're with a true friend, even difficult circumstances can turn into good times.

Roadtrip: Day 7

Sunrise at the South Carolina state line.

We got on the road before dawn, excited to be heading north after so many days of an eastern trajectory. The cats were happy to be singing along with their favorite tunes.



We crossed into Virginia (cue the happy dance) and entertained the patrons at a Waffle House off I-81 by walking the cats in the parking lot after we had lunch.


The drive through the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenendoah Valley was so pretty. The roads had signs stating that speeders would be caught by aircraft enforcement. I viewed this as a challenge and I kept telling Monica I wanted to see a Bear In the Air in action. She thought I was kidding, and then wondered how we made such good time.

When we arrived in Woodstock, VA, Monica got in touch with the Collegiate Membership Coordinator at the Sigma Sigma Sigma Sorority National Headquarters, who very kindly offered to give us a tour. The house was built in the late 1800s. It's beautiful, and full of the rich history associated with the sorority, which was founded in 1898. Monica loved it because she is a Sigma and she was at the mothership; I loved it because I enjoyed the old house filled with antique furniture, china, jewelry, and history.

Roadtrip Day 6

We got another early start and headed toward Mississippi. By midmorning, the cats were getting restless (did I mention we were traveling with two cats?) and needed a potty stop. We also took them out on their leashes for a little stroll in a gas station parking lot. Ringo (left) betrayed his paternal alleycat origins by insisting he check out the dumpster. Seamus was more cautious, preferring a very short stroll near the car.

We got back on the road with the cats in their carriers, singing along to Monica's mix CDs. Seamus likes to sing along with Meatloaf's "Bat Out of Hell;" Ringo enjoys singing along to Buddy Holly's "Every Day" and The Beastie Boys' "Girls" (Ringo is a xylophone man).

The next thing we knew, we were crossing the mighty Mississippi River.

I did my Crossing Into A New State Dance (patent pending). We recited "M-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter-I-Humpback-Humpback-I." And we drove on.

When we reached Alabama, it was a beautiful day -- more like spring than midwinter.

Finally, we made it into Georgia and headed for Atlanta. It felt like a really long day. I'm not sure why this one in particular felt long -- since they have all been long -- but it did. We staggered into the house Monica shares with her friend Karen, went out for a quick bite to eat, then went to bed.

Roadtrip: Day 5

What happens when you go off-roading in a Hyundai Accent.

Our day did not start off well. We overslept until 8:00, and shortly after rushing out the door, ended up stuck in a snowbank. You see, there was a huge puddle in the road, and since we had already sailed through some very deep ones the day before we decided to go around. Getting back onto the road proved problematic.


We called for roadside assistance and then waited. We were first approached by an old man who lectured us before trying to help. Then two guys turned up and as they were discussing what to do, another truck came by. He had chains, so the two guys hitched us to their truck and pulled us out. I wanted to hug them. Who knew that when angels appeared, one would be a redhead smoking a cigarette and the other would have a mullet?


Later in the day, we crossed into Louisiana. We took pictures at the border and did a litle dance by the side of the road. Texas was awesome, and I want to go back someday. But seriously, it is a big state. Getting across it felt like it took forever.


We rolled into Monroe, LA at around 6 p.m. and then went to dinner at the Cracker Barrel across the street from the motel. Sometimes you just need meatloaf.

Roadtrip: Day 4

We reluctantly bid a fond farewell to room 14 at the Motel 6 in Van Horn (conveniently located right next to room 41) and headed down the road toward Abilene.


We followed a snowstorm into east Texas, and were hoping to arrive after it was cleaned up. We saw a lot of cars and trucks that had gone off the highway in the storm, but the highway was clear. Local roads, not so much.


We arrived in Abilene in the middle of the afternoon. We got lunch at a local greasy spoon and then went to K-Mart for snacks so that we could skip dinner and not be on icy roads after dark. Our tasks accomplished, we went back to the motel. I decided to take a nap. When you're sick and driving across the country, you take any sleep opportunities that arise.

LA to San Diego

Gentle readers, now that I feel like I might not actually die of influenza (more on that later), I'm going to try to catch you up on the highlights of the past week or so. These posts will read in order; future posts will be at the top of the blog as usual.


After a quick trip to the Wizard of Bras In LA for a photo op, my brother and I headed to San Diego to spend the afternoon with my aunt, uncle, and cousin. I got to meet my cousin's girlfriend (she's totally cool) and we had a wonderful lunch at a Mexican restaurant.

After lunch, Aaron and I took a walk down the pier at Ocean Beach, and then headed back to spend a little more time with our relatives. It was great to see them. All too soon, it was time for me to meet Monica so Aaron could go home and we could begin preparations for our excellent adventure.

I met Monica at her favorite restaurant where she was saying goodbye to people she saw there evey week. We also made a couple of new friends. This is Howard and Estelle. I didn't really get a chance to get to know Estelle; she was just so awesome I had to get her picture.

San Diego: Day 1

After spending my first morning in San Diego getting hopelessly lost (Verizon's VZ Navigator is cheap for a reason), I finally found Balboa Park. I wandered around looking at art and jewely in the artist's area. Then I grabbed my Nook, got a snack, and settled on a bench to listen to a guy playing music and read for a while. While I was there, I had a nice conversation with a homeless guy named Teddy.

The park is huge. Everywhere I turned, there was more to see: a desert garden, a rose garden, and then the vistas beyond. Inside the park are theaters, and a conservatory of music type of thing where kids take music lessons. It's like a beautiful world that is completely separate from the bustling city. Which was really nice because driving in California completely stressed me out. Everything you've ever heard about Californians being lad back is a lie.

Later that afternoon, I picked up Monica at work. She said her goodbyes to her friends in the Radiology department. She was sad to leave, but we were excited about our upcoming excellent adventure.

San Diego: Day 2

Monica and I spent the day getting things organized, mailing boxes of clothes to her home in Atlanta, and returning her cable box. We had dinner at the Pizza Grotto, and when we went home, we felt unusually exhausted. We decided to go to bed early so we could get up early, get packed, and go. We wanted to be ready to work at peak efficiency the next day.

Roadtrip: Day 1

When we woke up on the first of February, we were out of options. Monica's lease was up, so despite illness and the weather, we had to pack up and go. We got a late start, but we were on our way.


The sun was shining, mountains and desert rolled by, we were listening to Anna Nalick. Things were definitely looking up.


We were excited to cross into Arizona. It felt like the road trip was starting in earnest. Catwoman was so happy she jumped into this shot.


We drove through Tucson and on to Benson, where we found a Motel 6 and settled in for the night.

While there, we made an archaeological discovery. My research indicates that it is an ancient form of communication.

Roadtrip: Day 2

We woke up in Benson, AZ to discover that an unprecedented cold front had swept through the West while we slept. We're pretty sure we were the cause of it since nothing about this roadtrip has gone as planned. I think the plagues of locusts are scheduled to arrive over the weekend.

Bowlin's Continental Divide Trading Post was heavily advertised on billboards for miles before the exit: "Snakeskin Belts!" "Agate Bookends!" "Mexican Pottery!" "Turquoise Jewelry!" "Grab & Go Snacks!" The appeared to have everything. We had to stop.

It was there that I ran into a guy I went to high school with. He lives nearby and works at the trading post. I figure the odds of that happening are even greater than the odds of Mother Nature deciding to send the worst winter weather in history on the same week we decide to drive across the country.

Monica and I bought matching mood rings at the trading post. Right now, according to the key, mine is the color of "mixed emotions." It's been like that a lot, actually. We're sick, we're stressed, and we're laughing hysterically over everything that keeps going wrong.

We pushed on and had lunch in the west Texas town of El Paso. We drove another hundred miles or so and, with the help of Monica's awesome sister Michelle (who was at home answering our calls and searching the internet on our behalf), we found a motel in Van Horn. When we arrived, we discovered that we got there at just the right time. The motel was filling up with locals who had no heat or hot water due to frozen pipes. I'm beginning to feel like we owe the entire country an apology.

Roadtrip: Day 3

Beautiful Downtown Van Horn, TX.

We woke up in Van Horn, TX feeling sick. After checking the Weather Channel and realizing we really couldn't make much progress through Texas anyway due to storms in the Dallas area, we decided to stay in Van Horn and begin life anew. We figured that a teeming metropolis must have lots of opportunities for a couple of women with skills and moxie.


But first, we went back to sleep for four hours.

After breakfast, we surveyed our new home. I thought this might be a good place to get a job, assuming they were only closed temporarily due to frozen pipes. At the shed in the back of the lot there was a sign proclaiming that they also sell books and do upholstery by appointment. I just want to work at a place where I can answer the phone "Fancy Junk, how may I help you?"

A short drive around Van Horn revealed that the town did not have certain things that we felt all towns should have. So we decided that if the weather kept us there forever (and it looked like it might) we would open Bark-n-Bowl Pizza & Hot Oven Grinders -- a combination bowling alley, pet store, and pizza place. Monica pointed out that nobody in Texas would have any idea what a grinder is; I felt that the curiosity factor would be a key to our success.

We had dinner at the Hotel El Capitan, which is beautiful, and was also interesting to me because I once knew Henry Trost, the grandson (or maybe great-grandson) of the Henry Trost who was one of the great architects of the west.

At this point, it didn't even strike me as an odd coincidence.

Rock On

In my continuing quest to share with you the awesomeness that is The Madonna Inn, I'm going to show you a selection of the extremely popular "rock rooms." This one is called "Caveman." It's one of the solid rock rooms with a waterfall shower. The bathroom also features a caveman stained-glass window, which makes me happy beyond all reason.


Too bad I can't sing. I'll bet that bathroom has some fun acoustics.

I love how the leather furniture in the Caveman room is dyed to look like pelts. Obviously, no effort was spared in creating as authentic a cave home as possible. I never realized our cave-dwelling ancestors had it so good.

This one is called "Yosemite Rock." It features a sort of Wild West theme and a huge rock fireplace.

I just realized that all these rooms, regardless of color scheme or decoration, have bright yellow bath towels in them. I can think of no explanation for that.

This room, called "Rock Bottom," looks like it's the home of the Phantom of The Opera in the basement of the Paris Opera House. That fact alone makes it easily my favorite of the rock rooms. I hope they have a dry ice machine in there someplace.

All Images: www.madonnainn.com

Take The Long Way Home

Image: Mechanix Illustrated 1973

When we were about ten years old, my next-door neighbor, Cathy, and I decided that the year we graduated from high school we were going to spend the summer traveling across the country in a Winnebago. Undoubtedly, the idea was prompted by hip ads such as the one above, where people are clearly having a lot of 1970s fun in their swimsuits, eating puffed Cheetos and drinking Coca-Cola out of glass bottles. That kind of glamour would turn any little girl's head.


Of course, it was a pipe dream. Cathy and I had no idea how much a Winnebago cost. We hadn't yet figured out that we were ill-suited to be neighbors and friends, let alone traveling companions for an entire summer. Eventually, we drifted apart and I don't think I ever gave the dream a second thought -- until today, when I started pricing flights to California in preparation for the drive back to the east coast with my friend Monica.


It's funny how, when I think about myself at the age of 22, I don't even know that person. But when I remember myself at age 10, I can see that girl in me. I know her. It's like I got lost somewhere around early adulthood and since then I've been trying to figure out what the hell happened.


I guess it doesn't really matter what happened. It doesn't matter that I got lost for a while. What does matter is that I am unearthing a dream I've had since I was 10 years old. And that's pretty cool.