Lay it on me, Ernesto

When things do happen, they hurricane. Or tropical storm.
In any case, shortly after posting the last entry, I made the mistake of going west of the intracoastal for a doctor's appointment, around the same time it became apparent we were going to be hit by Ernesto.

Chapter 1: In which I consider jumping out the window.
Scene: My OB-GYN's waiting room.

Seeing as the tropical storm/Hurricane was now impending, every single pregnant woman and every single FAT NEW YORKER decided to run to the OB-GYN's office. So, imagine the room is elbow to elbow in estrogeny or estrogen-replacement cranked-up women. Essentially, the 7th circle of hell.

As I scan the room, I see that these fat, wrinkly, (dear-god-why-are-they-at-the-OBGYN?!) old New York women have the only two acceptable magazines in the waiting room. I'm left with "Parenting" and "Healthy Baby," Shoot me. I soon hear that I have to be subjected to their banal observations about pop culture. Keep in mind it's obvious that these women can't possibly know each other-- they just share the sisterhood of "We're here to die and we'll annoy you until you do the job for us."

So they begin squawking to each other like migrating parrots: "My GAWD, How YOUNG Blythe Danner looked at the Emmys, and oh, that she MUSTA had collogen injections in her hands..." Then, they add their criticisms of Jane, my favorite magazine, that they held in their grubby, fake-nailed hands. (On a side note, why do strangers talk to each other here?! WHY?! I can't wait to go to the UK, where, they tell me, this kind of thing doesn't happen.)

"AW GOWD, LISTEN TA THIS.." one says, reading a letter in Jane. "I'M FINE WID SLEEPING AROUND IN MY TWAN-TIES, I FIGURE WHY DO I HAVE TO HAVE TO SETTLE DOWN YET?..."



"SO SHE'S SAYIN' SHE WAHNTS TO SLEEP WITH 50,000 MEN. UNBAHLIEVABLE."

...I stare down at my shoes uncomfortably, and think of moving one of my rings over to my ring finger.

So, yada yada, finally my name gets called, and I sprint out of the waiting room on the way out, still afraid to catch their eye.


Chapter 2: Ernesto gets ready to lay down the lovin'
Scene 1: driving around Del Boca Vista

Americans are especially good at two things. Consumption of food and consumption of gas. Throw in an impending hurricane and BAM! We surprise even ourselves.

I decide not to wait in a 2 hour gas line, but hedge my bets, and decide to fill up the car later. My dad hears we have a half-empty tank and flies into hysterics. Seriously-- If we're all destroyed WHY would we need to drive anywhere, anyways? The logic escapes me. (People tell me later that it's because when the power goes out, stations can't pump for days, weeks. Whatever.)

By the time I make it to the grocery store, every single desirable item is GONE. People are filling entire grocery carts to the brim. Do people really think food will cease to exist after the storm? OR (in some cases) that they really need to be eating that much?! No.

As I ask the large check-out man what he thinks of the storm, and we both decide this is a non-event. As if he were a part of this, the guy behind me in line (with a dozen or so candy bars in hand, might I add) decides to chime in.

"Well, the storm could go either way, HONEY."

HONEY?! Getting honey'd by a stranger was the last straw. I can't wait for this storm to be over.

Although I do enjoy a little tropical stormage.

My life as a schnook.

So there's been a definite lack of posting recently. Hard to explain other than the fact that nothing's been particularly "funny." I'm surrounded by the people I love the most, and feeling warm and fuzzy inside doesn't make for a good blog.

This said, I've been watching a lot of mob movies recently. When everything falls apart in my life, I always turn to organized crime movies. Gives me a sense of order in the universe. It also made me realize that I've been living in a world akin to the Witness Protection Program. Anonymity. Absolute security. NOTHING happens here. So, I give you the Ray Liotta quote that best summarizes the transtion from Paris to Delray Beach.

"Everything was for the taking. And now it's all over. And that's the hardest part. Today everything is different; there's no action...I have to wait around like everyone else. Can't even get decent food - right after I got here, I ordered some spaghetti with marinara sauce, and I got egg noodles and ketchup. I'm an average nobody... I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook."

Because I can't take it anymore, I'm moving to London. To have massive amounts of financial and personal insecurity. But at least I won't be living like a schnook.

Alumni of Sciences Po, unite and serve

Okay, so just kidding about having "The Fallout." For about the first week, I enjoyed a sort of touristic sort of awe about home. All the American accents! All the fat people! AND All the central air conditioning! But then, of course, all this must sour. To summarize the past couple weeks,

July 12-August 1: The Great Tits-Uppage of 2006. Where everything in my life, in short, goes tits up. War, tears, much gnashing of teeth, etc. Essentially, all the elements of a telenovella-- a really bad one.

August 1- Present: Despite being 'tout sur le dos' I decide to actually do things. Mainly, try and find desirable job for next year, and go to gym for a while to not think about how I don't have a job. Oh, and watch lots and lots of bad TV and movies.

Marking the end of this current period was our recent family wedding in Denver, CO.
My mom's side of the family, a bunch of lovely and crazy francophones, made this highly enjoyable. Highlights and Lowlights:

Highlight:
My grandmother, whispering to me during the wedding: "The last time I saw the bride, she was about 10 pounds heavier, she looked good. It didn't make her nose look so big. Oh, maybe I shouldn't be saying that."

Lowlight:
Being the only single woman, besides my 10 year-old cousin, to stand there and catch the bouquet. Luckily, she caught it.

Highlight:
Having an actual French waitress serving us at the wedding.

Lowlight:
Said waitress graduated from Sciences Po with a degree in Carrieres Internationales. I shit you not. The conversation went as such: "Vous etes diplomee de Sciences Po?!!" "Oui oui" (she says, in waitressing outfit)...

My parents' eyes sort of glazed over. THIS is what we're sending our daughter to Paris for?! Mention de chomage...no joke...

Luckily, she went on to say how she pursued hotel management after graduation and had an eye for moving to the States for this stuff. Still, made me kind of nervous. I'm not killing myself to eventually land a menial job in the suburbs of Denver.

On that note, wish me luck.
Cheers, y'all.