Monday, January 31, 2011

les chaussettes

Sometimes Fifty's little feet get cold, and we have to put his socks on...



That's not true at all. I don't know if his little feet get cold or not (he's never told me). But this is what happens when The Husband and I get bored on a Sunday afternoon. 

Five minutes to put on. Five seconds to come off. 


bisou


Saturday, January 29, 2011

la guerre des étoiles


(This post is brought to you in part by Aidan and Samantha, who through comments on this post, reminded me of what a total weirdo The Husband is).

Some of the fun of being married (or dating or involved with or what have you) to someone who is from someplace far away from where you're from, is discovering all their weirdness. Of course he doesn't think he's weird and I'm sure he thinks I'm weird but we all know that's poppycock. The Husband is totally the weird one. How do I know?

Well for starters, he had no idea who Oprah was. Can you believe it?! How do you not know who Oprah is? This weird discovery was made forever and a day ago when she popped into conversation (as she does), and The Husband said, "who?" and I said, "who who?", and he said, "Oprah" and I said, "WHAT?" So I gave him a rundown of who she is and such and how she has more money than God and what not,  so now he knows.
(And now I like to show him YouTube clips of those episodes where Oprah gives away cars and cruises and stuff and the audience goes balls out ballistic. Love those. It's pure consumer madness).

And let's see, now from what I've gathered from Samantha, this isn't all that uncommon among the French, but The Husband has never had a Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwich! How does one grow up without eating PB&J's (with the crusts cut off thank you very much). What were children fed here? Nutella that's what. See, weird.

But the true testament of his weirdness was revealed to me over Christmas; The Husband has never seen Star Wars. Not a single one. Shock. Horror. I know. How has he not seen a single Star Wars? And it's not like it wasn't out here, because it was, and it had the awesomely French name of La Guerre des Étoiles (c'est très romantic, no?).

So here's the thing, because I'd like to de-weird The Husband a bit,  I think that watching Star Wars might be a good place to start. But this is where it gets tricky; remember, for all of us 'adults' Star Wars started with Episode IV and then we saw Episodes V and VI years before Episode I finally came out. So in my pre-historic mind we'd watch it that same way. But get this, genius that he is at ten years old (and a Star Wars aficionado), I asked Nephew what Star Wars movie we should start with and without  any hesitation whatsoever, he said, "Episode 1" (duh). And he may have referred to me as Grasshopper after.

So what do you think?

Episode IV or Episode I?

Inquiring minds want to know

(you know?)

bisou


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Saturdays with Gypsies

Did you know that you can fit nine adults in a caravan for afternoon coffee? With three children running in and out of it too. Well you can. And I'm not talking about one of those modern super sleek airstream things either.

And did you know that Gypsies (my Gypsies anyway) speak loudly? Well they do. And it sounds even louder when you're in a teeny tiny space. They use outdoor voices, all the time.

Let's see, what else... oh... you get rum poured into your coffee whether you want it or not. Mr Gypsy insists. And it's not a little splash either, it's like a glug (you have to be pretty quick to cover your coffee before that glug splashes in there). And then Mrs Gypsy yells at him, grabs the bottle and tries to hide it (not too many hiding places in a teeny tiny caravan though).

Oh, and the Winter 2011 Gypsy style (judging by the fact that all five girls were dressed pretty much identical) is cropped black leather jackets, long fitted sweaters, black leggings, and black boots. Oh and lots of gold too (always with the gold). Of course this was the day I was dressed in creams and browns with my camel coat and pearl earrings (I did the opposite of blend). But luckily, that glug of rum helped me not care.

Thanks Mr Gypsy.

bisou

 

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

even more style


A thousand thanks to Biscuit from And They Lived Happily Ever After. Biscuit has kindly passing on this award to me. And can I say, I love the name of Biscuit's blog. I'm going to let you in on a little secret, every time I make a wish for something, like blowing candles out, or throwing a penny in a fountain, or what not, I always wish to live happily ever after, and Biscuit's doing it, so that's pretty great.

The Rules: Thank and link back to the person who awarded you this award (check). Share seven things about yourself (see below... check). Award fifteen recently discovered great bloggers (fifteen is a tad excessive... kinda check).
It's getting harder to come up with unknown tidbits about me because it feels like you guys know me up, down, inside and out, but I'm going to give it a go (apologies in advance for boring tidbits).
................................................................................................................

One: My favorite faux food is Haribo gummy/jelly candies (fun fact: there's a Haribo factory in Marseille). I can eat them all the time, day or night, and can often be heard moaning, "I'm full of jellies" as The Husband pries the almost empty bag out of my hand.

Two: When I met The Husband I knew he was 'the one' within the first five minutes. There weren't fireworks or rockets or anything, but a wonderful sense of calm and I knew. Strange feeling. It was like an instant recognition of my other half. I'm not saying that we knew each other in another life or are soul mates (hate that word) or anything. But it was like, "oh, there you are." Followed by, "where the hell have you been?"

Three: I miss my career and my city life. Even though I am totally happy with my decision to move here to the middle of ass nowhere, I still miss it. I miss the buzz. But as long as I can get to a city to run around in every few weeks, I'm OK. (fun fact: the bank that I used to work for ceased to exist as of 31st December. That's right, shut down thanks to the worst depression recession in Irish history. Or maybe because I left, it's a toss up).

Four: I wish I was one of those flawlessly put together girls but fail miserably when I try. You know the girls I'm talking about; perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect outfit, perfect home, and even, perfect blog. No matter how hard I try I will always be slightly askew somehow, like the little girl with the uneven pigtails, sticky with graham cracker crumbs and apple juice. That was me. Still is.

Five: In ten days it will be the sixteenth anniversary of the day my father slipped into a coma for 45 days. It also happens to be my birthday (not the best birthday present he's ever given me). But, the miracle is that the doctor told us he wouldn't wake up from the coma, and he did. Then they told us that he wouldn't live longer than a year, and he did. Sixteen years later... (he's very stubborn).

Six: My mother and I had the amazing fortune of visiting the Sistine Chapel and seeing it with only three other people inside. To have space and time to see the Chapel and Michelangelo's ceiling without being crammed with loads of other tourists, elbow to elbow, is a blessed occurrence and one of my most treasured experiences. And I am thankful to have experienced this with my mother.

Seven: I feel extremely blessed that as a woman, I was born in America and not someplace that treats women like it's the Dark Ages (Afghanistan and Sudan, I'm looking at you). And I'm constantly in awe of the fact that life and the luck of the draw can come down to something as simple as geography. The world is a crazy place.
................................................................................................................

Jenna @ jennaventures

Becca @ Wright at Home

Alex @ Mutual Weirdness 

It's your turn to share seven tidbits. 

bisou


Sunday, January 23, 2011

A Brazilian Holiday

No, The Husband and I aren't headed to Brazil, but me and all of you are taking a little trip down south (way down south) to Rio via American expat Rachel from Rachel's Rantings in Rio de Janeiro. Since Brazil's summer is in full swing, I thought it would be nice for all of us Northern Hemisphere people who are currently suffering from the post-holiday blues to live vicariously through Rachel and head out to the beach (ignoring recent riots and floods of course) with her tips on how to bathe like a Brazilian. Go ahead and grab your itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dots and let's let Rachel take us away...
................................................................................................................


Summer is quickly approaching in Rio de Janeiro and that can sometimes be intimidating for foreigners.  Bathing suits, for both men and women alike, are enough to make you run to your hotel/hostel pool and stay there with the other white folk.

Don't be scared! The beaches here are not just for the excessively toned and tanned!  Put on that Brazilian bikini, aka. post-its on string, and get your ass out there. You are not alone.


Every Brazilian body type, and there are many, sport the barely there suits on a beach.  Hell, even Great Aunt Julia, all 200 + pounds, is wearing a smaller suit than you.

Every time I suit up for the beach, I go in front of the mirror to pinch and groan. Oh how the glory days have passed.  Of course I suck it up and head out with the family.  Upon arrival, I look around.  Sure, there are the hot bodies and the not bodies, and everything in between.  It's enough to make this stomach obsessed girl from California finally breath.

The beach in Brazil isn't really about how hot you look, not once you pass 25 anyway.  It's about being there, enjoying it, and burning off the drama from the workweek.

In the words of the Caricoa: "There's nothing a good day at the beach can't cure."

Amen! And don't forget your sunscreen!
...............................................................................................................

For more Brazilian bits, check out Rachel here

bisou




Saturday, January 22, 2011

somebody won some candles...

{a little piece of Le Petit Village}

Congratulations Sini at Bons Baisers de France! According to the scientific random number generator (which picked number 65 out of 1 - 71) you are the winner of the Honey Jr. Candle Collection giveaway! I'll be posting a little piece of Le Petit Village your way.

On a completely unrelated note, The Daily Show, in English, is on my television, in my living room in France, right this very moment,  so I gotta go.

bisou

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

dull dull dull

{Le Petit Village in hibernation}

I don't know what the deal is around here but there is nothing to report at all (except of course the disappearance of two plastic ducks and all my family china being broken... and you'll be happy to know that Operation Superglue is coming along nicely).

Maybe it's because January is a dull month and Le Petit Village seems to be hibernating. (Apologies Capricorns.... or should I say Sagittarians, since according to the new Zodiac, Sagittarius now stretches through January, meaning that Aquarian me, is really a Capricorn. To which I say hogwash! That's poppycock plain and simple. I'm the Uranus ruled bearer of water, not a goat. My mother is a goat. I'm not. I'm an Aquarius, and I intend on staying this way). So January is dull around here, minus the Zodiac panic attacks of a girl covered in superglue and mourning missing plastic ducks.

Now that I have your attention, please don't forget to enter the Honey Jr candle collection giveaway here. And apologies that I am not actually giving away Honey Jr himself. I'll see what I can do for next time (but I'm thinking instead of a giveaway it could be an auction. Judging by your comments, this could be quite the entrepreneurial opportunity for me).

And does anyone have any thoughts about the new Starbucks Trenta? That's a whole lotta Frappuccino.

Hold the whip please.

bisou

 

Monday, January 17, 2011

Pinky & Blue

{random}

What can one say about Pinky and Blue? Sure they were a couple of plastic ducks living in Le Petit Village, but there has to be more to say than that. Maybe how they showed up unexpectedly, brightening up an otherwise boring and dreary day and my walk with Fifty. How they sat quietly and contently with their cheeky smiles, on that wall around the corner. Never whinging about the wind. Never complaining about the winter rain. How everyday Fifty and I would walk by and smile that they were still there, bright and cheery. They were my friends. Close friends I guess, since we saw each other  everyday. They were always there for me (well for a couple of weeks anyway) and then just as quickly as they appeared into my life they were gone. Cruelly snatched from this world (the wall anyway) before their time.

Pinky and Blue, wherever you are, 

I hope you are in a better place.

bisou


Sunday, January 16, 2011

raindrops on roses

And whiskers on kittens... you can't really think of that without it putting you in a good mood, can you? It's impossible to fight the cheeriness. Julie Andrews. Bless.

Super glam, Mama, at Fabulous! (pasta not included) has asked me about some of my favorite things. And since I've been awake since 5am on this Sunday morning and can't fall back asleep (grrrr... that's an unhappy noise), while The Husband is upstairs soundly sleeping, and Fifty is dozing next to me (and doing that doggy dream thing where occasionally he makes little breathy barking noises) I figure, it's a pretty good time to answer them.
................................................................................................................

My Five Current Loves: Reading. I love to read. Sometimes I go through periods where I don't read much, and then suddenly I pick up a book again, fall in love with it, and rediscover the relaxing joy. Last night was spent on the couch with Philippa Gregory's, The Red Queen. (I'm a sucker for historical fiction). In my relaxing state I was almost able to block out the exasperated noises of The Husband as he watched West Ham lose to Arsenal (my French husband is a West Ham fan. It's so so sad. And completely my family's fault. They bleed claret and blue).

Sunshine. I don't think I have SeasonalAffectiveDisorder or anything, but I have to say, I'm a whole helluva lot more productive when the sun is out. The sun has been shining brightly the past couple of days and I love it so very much. (Really hope I haven't jinxed anything).

Soap & Glory hand lotion. It smells really really nice. Since this blog isn't scratch & sniff, you'll have to trust me. It's like angels and roses. Delightful.


Date nights with The Husband. We've made a resolution that we would have at least one a month. This may sound easy and natural, but when you live in a very small place, in the middle of nowhere, it's hard to do anything without friends tagging along or bumping into them. Case in point: Friday night we went out to a restaurant in another village, after we ate and were walking out, we bumped into two friends in the bar. Yes, of course we'll stay and have a drink with you. For an hour. Date night over.

Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking Volume 2. This was a wonderfully thoughtful Xmas gift from my friend, J.R, who had already given me Volume 1 for my birthday last year. I guess she figured that since I'm in France and all...

Five Questions:
favorite makeup brand?
There isn't really any particular brand I'm loyal to, but I do love Benefit and it's packaging. Chanel makeup always makes me feel luxurious and ladylike. I think Bobbi Brown and MAC are great, and Clinique never fails to deliver. (ooh, apparently I'm a bit of a brand slut. Or salope as the French say).

favorite clothing brand?
Zara. Duh.

indispensable makeup product?
It's hard to pick one because without at least the following, I look like death:


As long as I have at least the above on, I can venture out without scaring small children. And can I say, I'd love to be a makeup person, but I'm not. I'm terrible at it. The smokey eye continues to allude me. (Mama totally has the smokey eye down).

What country would you like to visit and why?
Tricky. I'm lucky in that I've traveled quite a bit and I've been to the places that I really really want to go to. That said, I'll pick London (yes, I know it's not a country) because even though I've been loads of time when I was little visiting family, as an adult, I've never really done London (except for a quick two days with an ex a few years back). I want to go with The Husband and spend a day in Harrods (oh can you imagine the huffing and puffing in there? It would be glorious) and see a show and such.
I'm also going to say Sardinia. This is mainly because Papa, Papa's Wife and Brother-in-Law are obsessed with Corsica. They talk about it A LOT. They drink Corsican wine, eat Corsican sausage, Corsican cheese, and for some reason, home videos of Corsican holidays are put on for The Husband and I to suffer through. So now I say I'd like to visit Sardinia. It's a feather ruffling kind of thing. (If you live in the south of France you might be able to relate. What's up with all the Corsican symbols on so many cars? If all these people are Corsican, well I think they may have drastically underestimated the Corsican population).

What is the last concert you went to?
This one needs some serious memory digging. I'm not a concert person, I'm not that big of a music person. I like it, but I don't LIKE it. I like my ipod and all the music on it, and how it keeps me company while I'm jogging, but as for concert tickets, I'd rather spend my money on something else. So for me, spending loads of money on a ticket and then cramming into a large stadium with loads of other people and having to stand in line for the bathroom, having to stand in line for a drink, having to stand in line to leave... no thank you. That said, I think the last concert I went to was the Red Hot Chili Peppers in Phoenix Park, Dublin. This was like six years ago. And the only reason I went; The Pixies were opening up. The Pixies. That's a rare freaking occurrence. Seeing The Pixies is like seeing Hailey's Comet. Yeah, it's that rare (and I remember waiting in line to buy a beer F O R EV E R. I'm surprised I'm not still waiting).
(The concert I saw before that was the Beastie Boys, and I got kicked out. But managed to sneak back in. I'm a wee little devil).
................................................................................................................

I bet Samantha from Life Love and Living in France would have some good answers.

Samantha, would you be so kind 

as to tell me some of your favorite things?

bisou



P.S. don't forget to enter the giveaway here 

Friday, January 14, 2011

honey giveaway

Yes it's true, I'm hosting a giveaway. And it's a Honey Jr giveaway. Well I'm not giving away him per se, but some of his candles (I wonder how many entries I'd get if I gave away Honey Jr?).

{adorable honeyness}

Honey Jr has made beeswax candles with his own two honey hands and has kindly given them to me, so that I can pass them on to one of you. I had wanted to take a photo of Honey Jr with his candles, but you know, Christmas happened, and now Honey Jr has gone off to Thailand for three weeks (Fifty is beside himself with sadness). 
So allow me to present to you, the Honey Jr candle collection:

{made by Honey Jr's bees}

Anyone who wins these candles will be the proud owner of authentic Le Petit Village merchandise, made by Honey Jr and his amazing bees. To have a little part of Honey Jr sent to your home,  all you have to do is leave a comment. For an extra entry, become a follower and leave another comment saying so (and if you already are, which I'm guessing you probably are, leave a comment about that too), and for a third chance, become a fan on Facebook (and then leave a comment saying that also). Easy as honey pie. 

Contest is closed next Friday the 21st.

 The lucky winner will be announced 

Saturday the 22nd. 

(be sure to leave contact details).

bisou


P.S. Thanks for all the happy thoughts you sent me. 
Really and truly, thank you. 

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

shattered

Normally I like to keep Le Petit Village a happy-go-lucky kind of place, but I'm feeling shattered and broken and I can't think happy thoughts. Over the holidays I had the last of my things shipped from Dublin; mostly Waterford and china, wedding presents and family heirlooms. Almost all now broken, just like I feel.



When the delivery man dropped (literally dropped) the boxes off on Monday, ignoring the fragile symbols all over the boxes, I knew. I knew that all the bubble wrap, and extra bubble wrap and clothing I had wrapped all over everything hadn't mattered. And as I opened the first box and pulled out a shattered wine glass my heart fall, and as I pulled more and more broken crystal and china out I cried. I cried missing the Sunday dinners and holidays of my childhood, with both my parents and my brother all eating together, in the same room, same state, same country with that china, with that crystal, and knowing that my very own family in the future will never do the same. 

I've said goodbye to the crystal, it's already in the trash. But I'm determined to salvage at least some of the china. So if anyone needs me, I'll be the crazed girl with the superglue. 

Please send happy thoughts.

bisou



Monday, January 10, 2011

sweet


International Woman of Mystery at An International Affair has ever so sweetly passed on this sweet award to me. This one doesn't seem to come with any rules. I like that, especially since as many of you know, I don't follow them anyway (always the rebel). So instead of telling you secrets or philosophies I'm going to tell you some things that are happening right at this very moment as I'm typing (think of it like a 'recorded live' broadcast, anything can happen, at any moment, it's edge of your seat stuff). 

I'm watching Fifty sleep on the throw rug. He ate his bed, so now he thinks the rug is his bed. If he eats that too, we're going to have some words. (And I'm going to take this opportunity to let you know that in my house, I'm totally the bad cop. The Husband crumbles like a cookie when it comes to disciplining). 

I'm having my first sips of Monday morning coffee in my Starbucks City Mug - San Antonio edition, and am still a little fuzzy lingering somewhere between sleep and awake, and I have the bed head to prove it.  (Does anyone know if they are still making the  Starbucks City Mugs? I think they might have discontinued them in which case allow me to express this; why Starbucks, why? I only have San Antonio, Dublin, Berlin, and Bucharest. I'd like some more please. And while I'm addressing you, Mr. Starbucks, what is up with the new logo? It is U G L  Y). 

Since I'm talking about coffee, I will tell you that I'm enjoying the dash of cinnamon (or cannelle, en français) that I sprinkled in it this morning. 

I'm placing bets in my head on when the Canal+ cable guy will show up today. It's supposed to be sometime between 8 and 12. I hate that vague window of time they give you, and I always feel frozen and unable to go about my day knowing that at any moment he could turn up. Undoubtedly when I'm in the shower. But no matter what time, I will be all politeness and smiles. He's hooking me up with like five TV channels in English... yes, yes, I should only be watching TV in French to fully immerse myself... whatever. My whole life is an immersion, let me have BBC World. Who knows, I might even get to watch Eastenders.  
...............................................................................................................

That's pretty much all that's happening this morning. As you can see, it's non-stop excitement. I'm passing this along to these sweet blogs...

Amanda @ Amanda & Don. Amanda is an American army wife living in Germany with her two adopted Great Danes and holding down the fort until her husband finishes his deployment.

Honey @ I'm An Outlaw Not A Hero. Honey (And yes, Honey is her real name! Are we totally supposed to be friends or what? And if she wasn't married, you know I'd have to set her up with Honey Jr.) is a fellow American expat living in France. And she writes about cheese about as much as I do. Cheesy goodness.

Deanna @ Mellow Fever. Deanne and I share a hometown so naturally, I like her (yeah, I'm biased, so what?). Plus her blog is really pretty.

That's all I got today.

I'm off to do something about the bed head,

don't want to freak out the cable guy. 

bisou

Saturday, January 8, 2011

things I learned on holiday

AYE A FUCKENMUCKENNUCKEN! This is the new word I learned while I was in Dublin. It's the noise/ sound/ word that popped out of my mother as she plunged her hand into a sink of boiling water (It should be noted that she hadn't intended on plunging her hand into a sink full of boiling water. And it also should be noted, for future reference, that I get my clumsy, bumbling gene from her). But I kind of like it; aye a fuckenmuckennucken, it's a pretty good word.  And I learned a bunch of other stuff while I was there too like;

The best way to get a turkey down the steep, icy, snow covered hill to my mother's house is via a sled, with Niece holding on to it. Except sometimes when you hit a bump, and Niece is wearing mittens that don't give a good grip, the turkey pops out of the sled. (I should probably say that at this point the turkey hadn't been cooked yet).

Oh, and when I spend the night sleeping in the bottom bunk of Niece and Little Niece's bunk beds, I will undoubtedly wake up and not have a clue where I am, until I bang my head on the ladder. And that houses where children live usually have the heat cranked up HIGH, at all times. It felt like I was in the jungle. I guess there little bodies get cold. And sometimes the kids can wrestle the skateboard away from the old people long enough to have a little fun themselves.

{three kids, one skateboard}

The Husband learned that it's not wise to try to keep pace with the Guinness drinking, even when out with my female cousins. Those girls can throw it down. (I chose to daintily sip a Kir Royale. Because I'm so dainty like). 

Bringing the kids to see Megamind 3D first thing on a Tuesday morning is a fantastic idea, because sometimes you get to be the only people in the entire theatre, which is pretty cool. 

{that's right, we own the whole theater}

And then I learned that my heart will melt, absolutely melt and go all gooey when Little Niece wants to sit in my lap during the movie for a cuddle. 
Movie popcorn and Little Niece cuddles is really the only way to go. 

The best time for me to take a snap of the city at night is not when I'm walking from Yamamori Sushi on the quays over the Millennium bridge to the Octagon Bar when it's freezing, and I know that my martini which I've been waiting for since May is only a few minutes away, because the photo will basically end up being a blur of city lights like so...

{blur}

And that sometimes I can have a lost in translation moment, even in Dublin. Which is odd, because I was speaking English and the bartender was speaking English but somehow he didn't understand me when I told him that my barely half full martini was a little on the small side (and for €12 it really shouldn't be). But then instead of filling it more, he poured it into a different chilled glass. FAIL. But luckily for him I was far too happy being out on a date night in the city with The Husband to wreck the place (lucky lucky bartender). 

Not going out on the town on New Year's Eve can turn out to be the best way to start off the New Year. Especially when you spend it at your Auntie's house with some of her friends. And you play cards and you end up walking away with €30. Starting 2011 with more money in your pocket than you had at the end of 2010 has to to be a good omen right? (It should be noted that my mother started 2011 by shattering a wine glass. That's probably not a good omen. Sorry Mom). 

And I learned something that I have long suspected;  walking around a city, shopping, Starbucks cup in my hand, really is my happy place. Provided that he who huffs and puffs keeps the huffing and puffing at bay. Behold... me in my happy place (ignore fuzziness of photo, the huffing and puffing caused shaky camera)...

{me, in my happy place}

And I can pinpoint the exact moment when that wonderful holiday feeling left me; it was on the motorway back to Le Petit Village from Nice Airport, and we were stuck behind a woman at a toll who was arguing through the intercom with the toll people on the other side, screaming that she didn't want to pay her toll because there had been traffic (???). And at that very moment I knew I was back in France. 

Holiday Over.

bisou 

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

A Christmas Eve Miracle

The holiday adrenaline has left me and even though I feel like a little fat slug, I'm still going to tell you all about my week. Let's see... where to start... how about with Dublin's insane snowfall? The most snow they've had for many, many years (too lazy to look it up, but trust me, it was a lot).

Dublin doesn't usually get snow, maybe some flurries here and there but this year they got SNOW. And so did London and Paris, and that meant that all the airports went a bit haywire. And on the 23rd my panic set in as Dublin Airport would close, then open, then close again, cancelling loads of flights and shattering many a Christmas dream. Well they weren't going to shatter mine. No-Sir-Ree-Bob.

Since I can't actually control the weather (but oh how I have tried) and I don't drive the snow plow at Dublin Airport, I did the only thing my control freak could do from 855 miles away; I followed the airport on twitter and obsessively checked their feed for updates (handy little tool twitter is). Eventually I had to let my control freak rest and call it a night. But then on Xmas Eve I woke up to find out that Dublin Airport had reopened after being closed during the night. Can I get a H A L L E L U J A H?!

The flight was delayed. I can handle a delay. I can even handle the plane being rerouted to Shannon Airport (being the control freak girl scout that I am, I had printed out the Shannon to Dublin train schedule just in case). We made ourselves comfy in the bar and to stop the imminent huffing and puffing from you know who (The Husband is who in case you are a new reader... and if so, hello and welcome), I told him to think of this as a little date instead of a delay. We were in a bar, without The Spaniard, Honey Jr, or Brother-in-Law (a rare occurrence). Besides it was Xmas Eve, and the bar was full of Irish people. Irish people are fun in a crisis. Provided there's a bar. And sure enough, within the hour the bar sounded more like a proper pub with all the chatter and the barman who had been looking quite bored before, found himself rather busy continuously restocking the Heineken cans (tap had already run out). I took a photo for evidential proof of the restocking:


{evidential proof}

So we sat and had a little Xmas Eve party of Heinekens, Pringles, and bad Merlot like so...

{airport picnic}

And I was happy; bad Merlot and all. See below for proof of my happiness:

 
{happy: bad Merlot and all}

See, I told you I look happy. And I was, because I knew that Santa wasn't going to let me down and no matter what, I was going to Dublin that night even if he had to swing by and pick me up himself.

And then my Christmas Eve miracle occurred when they announced that our flight was boarding and it was only three hours delayed, and then, even though it was night time, I was still able to order a full Irish breakfast on board (miracle number 2 thank you very much). And when we landed, it looked like we landed in Siberia instead of Dublin, but it was Dublin, and we found out that ours was one of the very last flights to land before the airport was shut down again for the whole night. No more flights until after Christmas. Thousands of passengers were stranded that night, but not us.

Thank you Santa.

(Now if you can do something about that 'bun'

like we discussed, that would be great) 

Sunday, January 2, 2011

How Come I Didn't Get One?


A Hello Kitty skateboard has to be one of the coolest presents for six and eight year old girls to unwrap on Christmas. I mean, if I got a Hello Kitty skateboard I know I'd be pretty stoked.  

And I'm thinking my 75 year old uncle really wanted one too because he took the skateboards, and went for a little belly ride (70+ year old men require two skateboards. I'm happy to report I only needed one)...



That's how he rolls

(on a little girl skateboard with pink wheels)

bisou

 

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