Wednesday, May 30, 2012

while we should have been packing


Hi kids, remember me?

Here I am, typing away at Papa's house because the internet won't be setup at the new chez moi for another week. That's right, I'm already at my new house in the new Le Petit Village, and while I'm knee deep in unpacking, I thought I'd take a breath and tell you all about my weekend... which technically should have been all about moving, but Mr. London and The Husband had other plans.

We weren't supposed to have the keys to the new house until Monday (as in day before yesterday, Monday) but on Friday, in a very un-French-like fashion, we got a call to say we could have the keys on Saturday. A whole two days early... can you believe it? I still can't.

But then Mr. London called The Husband and put the kibosh on that. He phoned and said, “hey, why don't you come down tomorrow and watch me play in the quarter finals against Racing Metro?” And then The Husband, clearly unaware that we were supposed to move two days later said, “Oh what fun, I'd love to, I really don't think that there was anything that I needed to do this weekend, and if there was, I'm sure I'd remember. Ooh... can I bring my hetero-life-partner, Gatz, with me? We hate being apart, and if I can't, I'd just spend the whole time talking on the phone to him anyway.” “Of course you can bring your hetero-life partner, we'll have a party... WOO-HOO!

(the above is all paraphrased but it's how I like to imagine that the conversation went down).

So yeah, I was a little peeved because although I had been very diligent about packing little by little everyday since the beginning of May, it was getting down to the nitty gritty bits and I kind of wanted The Husband's help with it. But figuring that there was no way I would stay behind and do the nitty bitty bits by myself, and leave my poor cousin, Mrs. London, with The Husband and Gatz (because that would be cruel) I went too.

Off we went to Toulon but on the way, I finagled a stop in Aix to visit my friend Zara where I picked up this bag...


because that's how I negotiate... impromptu rugby weekend for him = new handbag for me.

We arrived at Chez London to find Mrs. London hiding out in her kitchen while some Monaco rugby players commandeered the living room. She was clearly relieved to see me. Pop went the Rosé bottle... ahhh... the sound of happiness.

A few hours later and we were seated at the match watching one big ol' nail biter of a game. That was until Mr. London scored a try and we all breathed a sigh of relief and then Toulon won. Of course we just had to celebrate.

N I G H T C L U B

Where we got to watch The Husband and Mr. London dance on podiums. And when Mrs. London and I went outside to get some fresh air, and a flirty guy approached us, we told him that we were married and when he asked where our husbands were, we said downstairs, you know... that big group of rugby players. The look on his face was priceless as he bid us adieu and slowly backed away. Bless.

And just like the last time, somewhere around 3:30, Mrs. London and I noticed that The Husband and Mr. London were missing, and once again, we found them behind the counter in the snack shop across the street stuffing their faces, so we rounded up our troops and headed home.

We got a whole three hours of sleep before heading back to Le Petit Village for a fun filled day of moving.

I'm lying, it wasn't any fun at all.

bisou
 

Thursday, May 24, 2012

about No.7


Let's talk about number seven.

I'll start by answering your questions:

Meredith: Ooh where are you moving to, closer to those of us near Aix I hope?
Actually yes, I'll be 8km closer to Aix and trust me, every step closer to Zara counts.

Abbey: AND THE MOVE!?!?!??!?! Is it official???
Yes Abbey, it's official, but unfortunately not to where you're thinking.
(See, Abbey was hoping that me and The Husband were moving close to French Mommy's because she lives just around the corner, and there's nothing that a Texas girl in France wants more, than another Texas girl around the corner... except for decent Tex-Mex of course).

Ella: Moving to Paris?
Oh that's hysterical! I can't even imagine Fifty in a city like Paris. He would have to pee on E V E R Y T H I N G before he began to feel even remotely comfortable there. But the thought of Paris does makes my city girl heart sing. Maybe next time.

And then the rest of the questions just wanted to know where, and don't worry, I'm getting to it.
(Clearly I'm trying to draw this thing out as long as possible, and it also should be noted, that I have absolutely no idea how to write this post).

So yeah, we're moving. A whole 10km/ 6mile journey down the Luberon a bit and through the forest away. That's it. (not very exciting, is it?)

You're probably wondering why we're bothering moving at all... why leave beautiful Le Petit Village and it's zany cast of characters? Because it's zany and terribly inconvenient that's why. There I said it. I bashed The LPV.

Where as this here, The LPV, will always be The O.G. LPV (the O.G. stands for original gangsta, in case you didn't get that), we're moving to a new one. And while the new Le Petit Village is bigger than The O.G. LPV, what with it's 500+ inhabitants, it still has less than a thousand so that's why I remain, Sara in Le Petit Village.

Here's a fun fact for you... the new Le Petit Village is usually about 2°C warmer than The O.G. LPV, so if it's 20°C here and 22°C there, then that really means that its 70°F here, and 74°F there, which is actually four whole degrees warmer, not two, and that's a lot (that my friends is Sara Louise logic). So there's one reason why we're moving.

Also, there's the house. Truth be told, I hate my house, H A T E it. It was only supposed to be for a few months but we got sucked into time and it's been almost two years. Almost two whole years of living in a house that is crumbling and feels like it's made out of swiss cheese when the mistral blows against it. And the kitchen. Ugh, the kitchen... my kitchen has about one square foot of workable counter space and a stove top with only two hobs that blows a fuse every time you try to use them both at the same time. So for someone who likes to cook like me, it's a freaking nightmare.

The new house does not feel like it's made out of swiss cheese and crumbling, is not facing into the direction of the mistral, has a proper kitchen (I can't even begin to tell you how excited I am about this) and added bonus... has heated tile floors! Fifty's little feet will be in heaven this winter.

But, I am sad to leave here.

I like having Honey Jr and Honey's Honey next door, and opening the door to let Fifty run around and play outside when his friend's come a knocking. I'll miss the beautiful Le Petit Village scenery passing by when I'm out on my morning jogs and it's so quiet that it feels like I'm the only one here.

But, it's time for a change, and new adventures. Honey Jr and Honey's Honey will come over, Fifty will make new friends, and the new Le Petit Village is beautiful too... because yeah, it's Provence. 

It's pretty much beautiful everywhere.

bisou
 

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

ode to thee

source: you had me at bonjour
I know I left you guys on a cliffhanger with my last post, but there's just something else I want to say today and I promise to tell you all about my move next time. However, I will leave you a clue... I am staying in Provence. 

I'm feeling mighty blessed.

When I started this blog, I did so merely as a means to keep me sane, something to keep me busy when I first moved to The LPV two years ago. I had never even read a blog before and I had no idea of what I expected to happen. I definitely didn't expect that I would meet people and make friends, but I did and that's what this here today is all about.

You see, yesterday I received a package in the post from Ireland. I opened it up to find a lovely note and bags upon bags of Barry's Tea from Sharon of La Vie en Rose. Sharon is Irish, therefore Sharon knows that the only tea that really matters is Barry's and she also knows that little old me, living here in The LPV, can't get Barry's, so Sharon not wanting me to suffer through life without a decent cuppa, sent me some (if any of you even think of mentioning Lyons Tea, well to this I say hogwash).

And those tea bags got me thinking about this blog and all of the wonderful things that have come from it, so I thought I'd write something dedicated to my blog and to you, because without you, it would just be me, typing to myself, and that would be sad.

A few months after I started this blog, I received an email from a French girl named Sophie. Sophie had recently moved back to France after years in the U.S. and feeling a little bit homesick, decided to reach out to another homesick girl. We started emailing and occasionally skyping, and then one day, since Sophie is a French teacher, she said; why don't I help you with your French, and I said OK and that is how Sophie became La Professeur. And last weekend, The Husband and I paid a visit to Sophie and Sophie introduced us to Stellina Pizza, home of last year's world champion pizza maker (I had the Pizza Abruzzo... porcini mushroom cream sauce, fresh tomatoes, and a drizzle of truffle cream sauce… I'm still dreaming about it). So without this blog, I never would have met the world champion French teacher, and the world champion pizza maker. Thank you blog.

Remember when all of my china and Waterford that had been shipped from Dublin arrived shattered? I do. But besides the heartbreak of discovering all of those broken memories, I learned how supportive and loving the blogging community was. Not only did I receive 62 comments of support, encouragement, and advice, but a few days after, a package arrived in the post. Inside was a book called The Bronze Horseman. A girl named Bec had sent it with a note. The note said that she was so sorry for the loss of my crystal and china and if the same thing had happened to her she would curl up and cry, and when something does make her want to curl up and cry, she reads her favorite book, The Bronze Horseman, to make her feel better, so she thought it might make me feel better too. And it did. Not only did it become one of my favorite books ever, but Bec became one of my favorite people, and we met and became great friends and spent great times together, until she moved back to Australia (now we have great chats together on skype). Thank you blog.

Then a couple of months later when my Dad passed away, you guys were there. I was far from home, and your comments of love and warm thoughts and prayers meant more to me than you will ever know, then I ever thought. Thank you blog.

And of course there's Aidan. Without my blog I never would have met that other Texas girl who moved to Ireland before moving to the South of France. Sometimes I don't even think it's possible that we've only known each other for a little over a year because she feels so much like family. She's become my big sister and she makes living in France a lot easier and a whole lot more fun (even if her dog did eat my glasses). Thank you blog.

Then there's all of you. All of my blog friends, some I've met, some I haven't, but all friends. You have made my life here in The LPV so much more exciting. Because of you I write. Because of you I don't view any strange, inconvenient, or bizarre occurrence here as an annoying pain in the petunia, I now see it as a story, a tale to tell, and it helps me grin and bare the sometimes difficult times of being an expat in a teeny tiny village on top of a mountain in France. Thank you blog.

And thank you too. 

bisou
P.S. Oh, and one more thing... because of this blog, Fifty now believes he is a celebrity and can be rather difficult to live with at times, so yeah, thank you blog. 

Sunday, May 20, 2012

versatile: life captured


Look what I got. Thanks to Shauna of Life Captured , I have been deemed Versatile. I'm always chuffed when I get one of these so thank you Shauna, from the bottom of my heart here in The LPV.

Now, I'm suppose to pass this award on to fifteen bloggers, but I've decided to divide that by three and go with five, because I'm quirky like that.

Abby @ J'Adore Ma Vie
Sharon @ La Vie en Rose
Mark @ Our Simple Lives
Meredith @ Talking Story in Provence
Amanda @ Travels with Persephone

And as always, I must share seven completely random facts about myself, but since seven can't be divided by anything (except of course by one and seven but that's not cool) I'm sticking with seven. Here we go...

1. France has just finished three weeks in a row of three day work weeks thanks to the faire le pont. I got to be honest with you, I'm kind of glad they're over. The schedule change has been messing with my mojo big time (hence the reason that today is Sunday and the last post before this was Wednesday... so many barbecues... so little time).

2. My mother told me the other day that she might be coming for a visit in September. We're all super duper excited about this, especially Fifty. Fifty likes having new people around to lick.

3. Here's something completely random... I'm terrified of the ocean, and I don't like sand. So I'm not really a beachy girl, although I love the idea of it. And I like restaurants and bars on the beach where I can see the sand and the water but I don't have to actually partake in it (and I miss driving my jeep onto the beach in Port Aransas, Texas... those were the days).

4. I feel like my French has kind of halted and it's time for me to go back to class (Professeur, I'm looking at you). And it definitely doesn't help that I spend a bunch of time with Aidan, Kirsty, and Mrs. London because even though all that English is wonderful it's totally detrimental to my French.

5. I've been watching The Cosby show lately. It brings me right back to my childhood... I can picture myself in my old living room in New York, laying on the carpet about a foot from the television, listening to my Dad rummage around the kitchen while he was cooking dinner. Total happy place. If you want to be happy with me, you should watch this:

{classic}

6. The Husband has been jogging with me in the mornings. Since I tend to be a tad competitive, I like to hang back and draft behind while he and Fifty cut through all the wind, and then towards the end, I flip my booster switch on (yes, I have a booster switch) and sling right past them and 'win'. This is my favorite new way to start the day. #winning

7. I'm moving.

bisou

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

you had me at bonjour


"Kirsty, do you want to bed with me?"

This is what my friend Kirsty thought The Husband said to her while we were having lunch last weekend.

Understandably, she almost spit out her Rosé.

What The Husband actually said was, "Kirsty do you want to bet with me" (as in place a bet).
Ah, the joy of accents, never a dull moment.

We were having lunch with Kirsty and her three perfectly behaved, perfectly adorable children (well four really, but since one is still too little to even sit in a chair, we'll go with three or three and a half) to kick off our twenty four hours together in Le Petit Village. Kirsty's husband wasn't with us for lunch but would be joining us later because get this... he was cycling from their home outside Aix-en-Provence up to Le Petit Village. Clearly he's an Aussie masochist, because as if that 57km/ 34 mile trek uphill through the Luberon wasn't enough, he decided to go a crazy out of the way, way bringing his total cycling time to five hours. Masochist.

And since he wasn't there, Kirsty's two year old decided that The Husband should be his new Daddy and proceeded to call him 'Daddy' from across the lunch table. I think I actually saw The Husband's biological clock tick tock all over his face (boys can have them too you know). Bless.

After the Kirsty bunch got settled into their gîte, Kirsty and I set off on a wander through Le Petit Village and I got to give my first tour of the season. I was more than a little rusty, which was sad because by the end of last summer I had it down pat... like could maybe start charging, down pat, although I would never do that... that would be tacky.

The Husband and Fifty met up with us along our tour, and Kirsty got to discover that Fifty does indeed in fact exist, he's not just a character (but Fifty was more than a little peeved that he wasn't asked for an autograph). And she also got to discover that Fifty does not like it when you hold a large black camera up to your face. Basically, Fifty thinks that you've morphed into some strange robot or something, with a large lens for a face. Cue the barking (he also doesn't like people on bikes... in his little puppy brain, it's like a person is half human/ half bike... it's freaky).

Then The Husband got Kirsty to do something I would never ever do (no, not bet with him). They both entered the very scary teeny tiny door that brings you into the medieval wall of the village, and then climb smelly old topsy turvy stairs up out onto the walkway on top and next to the campanile. Uh, no thank you. But Kirsty did it! (Clearly she is not afraid of Nazi Ghost Zombies). And when she was up there she snapped the picture that is on top of this post. Of course as soon as Fifty saw the camera he barked like a lunatic.

See, it looks like he's smiling but he's actually barking. 

bisou

P.S. For Kirsty's take on the weekend and lots of pretty photos of Le Petit Village, pop on over to see the post on her blog, you had me at bonjour.

P.P.S. Check out Yummy Laura to see what I and four other expat bloggers have to say about living abroad. 

Monday, May 14, 2012

my honey

Winnie the Pooh: Christopher Robin, I think the bees S-U-S-P-E-C-T something. 
Christopher Robin: Perhaps they think you're after their honey. 
Winnie the Pooh: Well, it may be that. You never can tell with bees. 

- Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree


The Husband got to be an honorary Honey for the day. 

And he only got stung three times.

bisou

Friday, May 11, 2012

do you know the homemaker man?

{La Petite and her Tonton co-chillin}

Oh yes I know the Homemaker Man but if you don't you should because he's capital F unny, a fellow Beastie Boy lover, and in his own words; Mr. Mom with two very young kids, one wife, three cats, a large dumb dog and a pink house so old the original title was held by a tyrannosaurus. That's right, Homemaker Man lives in a pink house which if it had purple shutters, would be my nine year old self's dream house.

Well Homemaker Man has tagged me to answer a bunch of questions and Friday seems like a good day to answer them so that's what I'm going to do.

1. Have you ever stolen anything in your life (don't answer this if it's a felony still under the stature of limitations. Disclaimed)? I refuse to answer on the grounds that this may incriminate me.

2. Can you read my mind? Maybe.

3. Coopon or Q-pon (there is a correct answer here)? Coupon. Although I swear when my Nana used to say it, it sounded like Q-pon, which is funny since she was from Massachusetts and Homemaker Man is from Massachusetts so maybe it's a Mass accent thing. Like pahk the cah (for those unfamiliar with the accent, that is actually, park the car). Wicked.

4. Medium rare or vegetarian? Medium rare or en français, saignant

5. How many angels fit on the head of a pin? Infinity.

6. What's the frequency, Kenneth? I don't know, ask Dan Rather.

7. What does it have in it's pockets? It doesn't have pockets.

8. If you were ever sent to prison, and you couldn't get your hands on a spoon or a toothbrush, out of what would you fashion your shiv? Everything can be used as a weapon if held correctly. True story.

9. If you could 100% ensure your children have one specific quality when they grow up, what would it be? That's a tough one. I want to say ambition but what if they are ruthless about it, so maybe confidence, but what if that makes them cocky, so I'm going to go with honesty. If it's good enough for Abe Lincoln, it's good enough for me.

10. In order to save the world, you have to do seven minutes in heaven in a broom closet with either Vladimir Putin, Newt Gingrich, or the corpse of Elizabeth Taylor. Who do you choose? If it wasn't the corpse of Liz, I'd flip a coin between her and Vlad but since it is, I'll have to go with Vladimir. Sorry Newt, I'd rather let the world end.

11. What is your desert island ice cream brand and flavor? Häagen-Dazs dulce de leche.

Now I'm supposed to come up with my own questions to ask but to be honest, I don't feel like it. So how about this... you answer this one question for me right now below in that space that's called, comments. OK? OK.

What's your favorite book ever? 

(and don't go getting all highfalutin on me 
and say something like War and Peace or Ulysses
if it's really something like The Italian Duke’s Virgin Mistress... 
no judgement.)

bisou
  

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

you can't, you won't and you don't stop

W H E W !

It's that season again here in The LPV... BBQs, BBQs, and more BBQs. Not that I'm complaining, but sometimes a BBQ during the day turns into a party at night and then I tend to end up a big ol' M.E. double S, never being at home, neglecting a sad Fifty and an abandoned blog.

So without further ado, I give you a little rundown of the latest news of my life in Le Petit Village.

{source}
++ France has a new President elected by 51.63% of the vote. Allow me to introduce you to François Hollande. Good luck François, you're going to need it.

++ Hollande got 60% of the vote here in The LPV... not too shabby, but keep in mind that in the first round of voting, he only got 20% while the Communist candidate got 30%. That's right, I said Communist. The LPV is as red as Hugo Chavez's shirt.

++ The Husband and I spent Election Day at Papa's house. We ate homemade pizza and awaited the results. It was very dramatic. Even though the polls close in France at 8pm (earlier in some places), the winning candidate is announced at the same time with an estimated count. A countdown begins on the television screen and about thirty seconds before the announcement, pictures of Hollande and Sarkozy alternate flashing on the screen... until dun dun dun... at exactly 8pm, Hollande's photo stood alone. There was something very Hunger Games about it.

++ Yesterday was a holiday here in France, V-E Day (Victory in Europe) but because yesterday was a Tuesday and it's kind of dumb to have a weekend and then go to work on Monday only to have off on Tuesday, a lot of people got Monday off here too. They call it faire le pont which means, make the bridge. We made a bridge last week too, because the 1st of May, Fête du Travail, happened to fall on a Tuesday as well. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind making bridges every week.

++ Here in The LPV we celebrate bridge making with BBQs. On Monday, Brother-in-Law hosted one. Because no BBQ here could possibly go off without some sort of strange activity, The Husband and Gatz got into a wrestling match, crashed into a fence taking it down, and also, crashed on top of poor Honey's Honey (The Husband made a very embarrassed and chastened apology to her yesterday morning).

++ And yesterday we went to a BBQ at The Cousin's in Avignon where all the boys took turns shooting at frogs. I wish I was joking, but I'm not.

bisou

Sunday, May 6, 2012

sometimes, they get up to no good


Another weekend, and another trip to Toulon. I'm talking about last weekend, not this one. Friday afternoon, The Husband and I headed down south, picked up my cousin, Mrs. London, and went to dinner.

Whenever I'm in this part of France, the Côte d'Azur, on a port, surrounded by palm trees and looking out at the Mediterranean and boats of all sizes bobbing on it, it feels like I'm on holiday even if I'm only two hours from The LPV. But alas, a night sipping Mojitos while staring out to sea was not in the cards. Mr. London was playing in a very important match against those boys in pink, Stade Français, and it was our duty to cheer him on.


And guess what? Our cheering clearly works because Mr. London scored a try within the first few minutes of the match. He's a quick one that Mr. London. What to do but celebrate the try and the win, right? So that's what we did.

First with a few drinks outside the stadium so Mr. London could mingle with the other players and some fans and pose for photos (and a couple more Mojitos for me and Mrs. London), and then on to a nightclub.

I guess that The Husband and Mr. London worked up quite an appetite dancing because when they went missing for a bit, Mrs. London and I found them in snack shack across the street, behind the counter, making the sandwiches themselves. I guess the snack guy was happy for the break. And for the record, Mr. London and The Husband didn't bother making any sandwiches for us. Thanks guys.

The Husband and Mr. London being mischievous little monkeys, jumping behind that snack shack counter, pretty much set the theme for the weekend... the two of them getting up to no good.

Like when Mrs. London and I spent a nice afternoon on Saturday having a leisurely lunch and sipping Rosé, our two mischievous monkeys setup camp in the bar next door with a handful of other rugby players (including a couple of the boys in pink). We popped into check on them at one point and where did we spot Mr. London... behind the bar serving drinks.

And when Mrs. London and I had a nice leisurely dinner with some more Rosé (are you noticing our own theme here?), the boys had once again setup camp in the bar next door. We stopped in to say hi (re: check on them) and there was Mr. London... behind the bar serving drinks (I was beginning to wonder if he had a part-time job there).

Then, later that night at a club, while Mrs. London and I continued our day of Rosé, while we shaked our groove things in our six-inchers (we always seem to be the tallest girls in nightclubs here), The Husband pointed out Mr. London to us. Yes, Mr. London had found another bar to play Cocktail at. Oh what a surprise.

On the drive home back to Le Petit Village, The Husband turned to me ever so seriously and said that he knows what Mr. London should do when he retires from rugby. I looked over at him and he said, "work behind a bar".

Gee... ya think?

bisou

Thursday, May 3, 2012

bees and then the honey


You know how we've had birthdays out the gazoo here in The LPV lately? Like first La Petite turned one, and then Honey Jr. had a birthday (although I didn't blog about that one, but Fifty did buy him a bottle of Jameson), then The Croupier got her Party Rock on, and of course Gatz, with a trip to the wine bar, followed by the impromptu dinner party... well we're not finished. Honey's Honey got to blow out the candles last week too when she turned the ripe old age of 24 (24... I remember turning 24... kind of).

Honey's Honey left the planning of the night up to The Husband which I thought was kind of funny but happily went with it realizing that if it's up to The Husband, then it's really up to me, so back to the wine bar we went then.

We rounded up Gatz, Brother-in-Law, and Child Bride to celebrate, but unfortunately, Honey Jr would be working and wouldn't be able to join us until much later (personally, I think the bees could have waited but that's just me), but a friend of Honey's Honey, Mimi, came and she was so lovely, that she more than made up for Honey Jr's absence (for me anyway, not so much for Honey's Honey... poor Honey's Honey). She was so lovely in fact that I'm planning her wedding to Gatz. I just need to get their OK first.

There was a Chanteuse serenading us that night, and all I'm going to say about her is that us singing happy birthday, actually sounded better. It was that bad.

But despite the serenading, it was another great celebration. We got to stay after closing which meant that I was able to walk around and pay extra special attention to all of my friends.


See that one in the middle? On my next visit, me and that one are going to spend some quality time together. 

And The Husband was having a good time too. Besides wine, the wine bar has a handful of artisanal whiskies in stock (The Husband L O V E S whiskey) and the sommelier brought out a Japanese one for him to try. They looked at it and sniffed it and the sommelier told The Husband that it was made from old corn. The Husband walked over to Brother-in-Law to let him try a sip, Brother-in-Law swirled it, sniffed it, looked at the sommelier ever so seriously and said, "I smell corn, old corn." Clearly someone had been dropping eaves (never a dull moment with that one).

But something was still missing. Where oh where was Honey Jr.? And just when we thought he had chosen the bees over his honey, he arrived and Honey's Honey got her birthday wish. 


The end.

bisou
 

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

versatile: family

{La Petite and her Tonton}

Jersey and the Monkey was so kind as to pass on the Versatile Blogger award to me forever and a day ago, and since I'm only back from a weekend with my cousin Mrs. London, I thought I'd make the seven secrets about me, all about my family instead. Because you kind of are your family anyway, it's a DNA thing.

...................................................................................................................................................................

1. My mother is one of eight but my father was an only child so my family is totally lopsided

2. And out of those eight Irish children on my mother's side; one moved to South Africa, one to London, another to Scotland, one to America (Hi Mom!), and one sailed the seven seas and came home calling himself the Duke of Marmalade. true story. We have accents out the yingyang.

3. My paternal grandmother's family was written about in this book and I think that's about the coolest thing in the whole wide world.

4. One of my first cousins (he's 21 years older than me and used to change my diapers) was one of Margaret Thatchers speechwriters. This is one of those things that is kind of cool and kind of not if you get my drift.

5. My father marched in Selma and on Washington with M.L.K., and in J.F.K.'s funeral procession. It absolutely kills me that he won't be there to tell the stories to my future children. (Sidenote: my father's mother, marched along with him on Washington and when I asked her to tell me about it, her response was, "it was hot". Thanks for being so succinct Nana.)

6. My mother is so smart she graduated school at 14. Hello Doogie Howser.

7. My brother is an actor and it's pretty surreal to be watching something like The Tudors and go, oh look, there's my brother.
...................................................................................................................................................................

You are born with your family, can't change them, and are stuck with them forever, but I have to say, if I had to handpick my family, I would have picked the exact same people. 

They're totally coo coo for coco puffs,
 but I wouldn't have them any other way.

bisou
P.S. There are so many things that I would like to know about all of you, so if you're feeling versatile lately, and would like to share some facts, then this Versatile Blogger Award is passed on to you. Thanks for playing.


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