I Got My Truck Driving Licence

I have no idea if that's the way you call it in English but i don't really care. I spent 2 weeks training like crazy to present my exam to get my driving licence to drive trucks and i got it.

I freaking got it at my first attempt.

When we first started the training, we were in the classroom for about 15 minutes when the instructor said, i'm presenting yourself for the theory in a week. OK. Wait. WHAT? In a WEEK? Like in 7 days? After only 5 days of training here with you? Are you out of your freaking mind?

Needless to say the tension got up one notch. At least for me. There were only 3 of us for that session at the beginning of August and the other 2 were 2 young guys who drove trucks before so i guess they weren't freaking out as much. But that was still a shit load of stuff to learn and know in a short amount of time.

And that's when you notice that we truly are all different people. The two guys maneuvered the truck like they were born driving it whereas i was excelling in all the writing tests and the learnt-by-heart texts we had to say during the exam. So they spent time in the classroom and i spent time on the practice track polishing my reverse (slalom) driving and parallel parking skills!

On the day of the exam, i was sick i could have puked. I didn't. We presented the exam in alphabetical order hence, me first. I also had the horror honor to pick the maneuver we were gonna have to do: right side parallel parking. FUCK.

It all went well until my first attempt at the maneuver. I exceeded the allowed time and i was only half way through. Took a deep breath, drove back to the departure point, put a smile on my face and tried again. All in one go, like a freaking PRO!

We spent the rest of the second week driving the truck in traffic and it went rather well. That's when you're behind the wheel of a 19 tons truck that you come to realize that car-drivers are assholes who believe they own the road. Being on the other side has transformed the way i drive my car now and i like to believe i'm not the potato head i used to be.

I presented the driving exam on Tuesday. I so very nearly avoided a crash with a dick in a delivery van who probably thought that staying behind a school truck for 30 seconds was already outrageous enough and cut me up without a care in the world. 

The Holy Grail came in the mail 2 days later ... 

I am officially a TRUCK DRIVER!

I Drink Boiling Water

When i drink coffee, or tea, or soup, it always has to be boiling hot. I've never really question it, it's always been that way i've liked it and well, it has to be that hot for me to actually enjoy it. I also take showers that are probably hotter than most of anybody's morning coffee cup but that's another story.

So i never really paid more attention than that to the fact that i drink pretty damn hot liquid. Up until my man actually made me notice it. He wondered why. I had no answer, it's just always been that way. 

Then one day, we were at my parent's house and i realized, after a comment my dad made, that my mom also drink super hot coffee. And i thought that, there you go, i must have gotten that from her! Mothers and fathers pass on habits to their children and i did just that. And i immediately thought, well, then, problem solved (supposing that's a problem, which i don't think it is in the first place!)

Drinking boiling water being an established fact now, my man and i didn't fuss about it any longer (nor that we even did before). At least, not up until my aunt invited us over for lunch at her place. She's my mom's older sister. 

We have lunch together, and then she obviously offers coffee or tea at the end. I chose tea and notice that she poured boiling water in my cup. I smiled at my man and told him, see, it's obviously running in the family, we must have gotten that habit from my grand mother then! 

And that's when my aunt told me: you don't know why, on this side of the family, we drink boiling water? I was shocked: WHAT? there's actually a REASON behind it?? AWESOME. I want to know!!

My grand mother was the 12th child of 12 and her mother died when giving birth to her. So she was brought up by one of her elder sister. In 1918, there was this massive flu pandemic in Europe (we call it Spanish flu in French but not too sure it translate that way in English) that took the life of millions of people (between 50 and 100!!) and lasted for about 2 years! After it was "over", one of my great-grand-aunt prided herself on making it through because she always drank her coffee and her soup BOILING HOT. So all her brothers and sisters (my grand mother included, even thought she was just a child back then) started to drink super hot in order not to be infected if that dreadful flu would come back.

Let's be honest, drinking that hot is USELESS. But it's a family tradition that has passed onto 3 generations now. After i heard that story, i even remembered my mom telling me to drink extra hot when i was sick (cuz it would supposedly kill all the germs!!).

I don't know if i'll pass it on one day too. But i love that kind of old story ... It kinda give me a feeling of belonging to a clan that's long gone. Grandma, i think of you everytime i drink my tea. Of you and all this gigantic family of yours that i didn't get the chance to know.

Long life to the boiling water drinkers clan!! :D

I Said No For the First Time

Today, i'm feeling so proud of myself because just a few minutes ago, i dared to say no to someone. It's not like I've never said no before but when it comes to customer service for example, i'm a wuss and i can't really say no. One of the many reasons i don't like to have vendors around when i shop (or stroll in a store). Well today, i stood up on my grounds and i said no. Who to? To a hairdresser. 

I need a haircut. To say urgently would be an understatement. I died my hair a dark shade of red a few days ago but the haircut i currently have looks like nothing. So i went to my favorite hair salon (it's my favorite because it's very affordable and you sit on a massaging seat while getting your hair shampooed! OMG just for the massaging chair it's worth the trip) in order to check if i could get a haircut today, like right now (cuz i generally don't make an appointment to have my hair cut, bad habit i got from Mexico, where you can show up and get attended!). Thing is, i have been twice to this salon. The first guy who cut my hair did an amazing job and i absolutely LOVED the result. So it was with high hopes i went again some time later but to be taken care of by another guy whom a) i didn't have a good vibe from him and b) who kinda messed up my cut. And trust me, with that amount of hair on my head, when there are different uneven layers of hair, it shows.

So when this second dude came to attend me when i was standing at the entrance of the salon, i thought, shit. The other guy was there, just finishing a cut. Dude told me he had room within an hour and then, i don't know where it came from but i asked him: who will that be with? And he answered myself. He also added: do you have a preference? And that's when i had this leap of courage and told him: I'd rather go with him (pointing at the guy who was attending his client). Dude left, looking slightly annoyed and Pascal (because i know his name now) broadly smiled at me and set up the appointment for later today.

I have never done something like this before. I generally don't say anything when i don't like the haircut or if my meat is too cooked at the restaurant. I don't know why. Maybe i don't want to appear as picky or bitchy but when i think about it, what is the point? What is the point of not telling when you're not happy with something you're actually paying for? You don't have to be mean or bitchy when you speak up your mind. And that's what i realized today. You can be firm but pleasant. 

Anyway, can't wait for my appointment now. Hopefully, i'll come back with something edgy. Maybe something like this ... Who knows!

My New Project

I always have so many projects going on in my life and in my head and i'm always extremely excited about them all. Tonight is no different and to say that i'm excited about this one would be an understatement.

A few weeks ago, or maybe it was a few months ago already, a friend of mine did an outstandingly awesome artwork for his parents-in-law and then another one for his wife and in all honesty, i was green with envy. And i kind of felt a pinch of jealousy as well, not having that kind of gift myself. Well that was until tonight. 

I was chatting with a friend of mine and we were talking plants, garden and my wish on growing heirloom vegetables instead of the traditional ones you get to find at your local supermarket or grocery store (for those of you who don't know what heirloom veggies are, they are what we call in French "forgotten vegetables", those veggies that are old as dirt but that nobody else but passionate gardeners grow in their garden). 

She said it'd be a great idea and deplored the fact that she can't grow any kind of plant, even the easiest to care for. And that's when i remembered 2 things: 

- i do have green thumbs and can grow any kind of seed (with the exception of flowers, i'll work on it, i promise, but for now, flowers are definitely not my thing)

- a friend of mine had the same problem with plants and i actually care for her plants every time i was visiting her.

And i thought ... why not doing this "i take care of your plants" thingy again. Problem is: my friend is living pretty much on the other side of the world. We're not on the same continent and there's the Atlantic Ocean in between us two! 

That's when "i live in the 21st century" actually is an awesome thing: i can video call with her, i can send her written tutorials and genius idea: i can make little videos and send them to her with some basic advises for whatever plant she's willing to grow.

She sounded excited about the idea - obviously i was even more excited than she could ever be!! - and she's going to the nursery on Monday. I've never wanted it to be Monday that early in the week-end! I don't even recall wanting a Monday to arrive earlier EVER! LOL.

Obviously, since i'm still living in that rabbit hole, i won't be able to make video tutorials just yet but i don't care, i have this awesome project to help my friend sort her problem with growing plants and that's so exciting. Projects are fun. And this one is like doing my own garden already - but long distance. I can't wait to see the results. I'm sure she'll do great!

We're starting off easy, with cactus and perennial plants. Then we'll move on. Maybe one day i'll even managed to help her grow flowers! Who knows!

My Cat Has Hepatitis

As you sure know by now, i have 3 cats and all 3 of them came back to France with me last year. Things have been going on pretty good with one little drawback: they can't really go outside. We don't have a garden and we live in a residence that has a major traffic road passing right in front of it. And so many stupid ass drivers who thing the parking lot is a race track. Anyways.

Needless to say that my cats have no idea or concept of what cold weather might be so they didn't build up that extra thick fur when the temperatures dropped at the beginning of the winter. Hence the salad they make to keep warm!

My oldest cat, Psycha, is a fat lady. She was weighing 6.5kg (about 14 lbs) when we got back from Mexico. 

before

At the end of November, we got this pretty cold weather, with temperatures in the negative (i'm talking Celsius here!!) and she started to get thinner. I thought that, well, she was digging into her fat to deal with the cold (even though they were inside at all time, you can still feel the outside coldness on the floor and at the window). I started worrying when she kept on dropping weight at an unusual pace. At one point, i could see pretty much every single of her back bones as well as her shoulder blade and hips. One night, i realized she wasn't eating anymore and i picked her up and that's when my heart broke into pieces. She was lighter than a feather and the second she was on my lap, she rolled herself up in a little static ball and cuddled up to me. It's heart-wrenching to realize that one of your pet is actually dying. At least that's the feeling i had. She was passed the stage where you actually fight for your life, she had given up.

after

When the vet saw her, his "oh yeah, she's not looking good" turned my blood to ice. Trying to keep my composure, i followed him for the weighting (she was a worrying 3.3kg), the ultrasound and the blood testing. And that's when the verdict fell: she has hepatitis. Behind the scary word lies something reassuring: the hepatitis is a disease of the liver and the liver is this amazing auto-regenerating organ. So with a couple of shots and some pills to stuff down her throat for a couple of weeks, she should be good to go pretty soon.

We went back after 2 weeks for check-up, a second shot and another round of pills and then again after 2 more weeks. On the scale, she was up to 4.3kg and the vet told me: she can go up to 4.5kg and she'll be great. 

Allow me a little laugh ... I weighed her 3 weeks after her last visit, so roughly 2 months after she got diagnosed with hepatitis, she's at 5.7kg and counting!

You go my little fatty. I'll love you no matter what!

That's her now ... does she look like she cares about how much she weights?? (wink wink)

Bronchitis, Yet, Again!

I'm sick ... like i'm-dying-come-help-me sick. 

I went to the doctor.

It's bronchitis.

Again.

Third time in two years. Fourth if the pneumonia i got also count in the lot!

FUCK. THAT. SHIT. 

My New Year Resolutions

What? It's January 22nd? OK and your point is?? :D

I remembered recently about the Mexican tradition of NY celebration and resolutions. I actually wrote a post about it (and you should definitely read it, obviously, since i'm an awesome writer and shit!). So i was thinking, hum, i didn't do a "things i want this year" list for 2014. Maybe going to bed at 11:30pm on the 31st of December, saying to my man, happy new year and good night pretty much at the same time didn't set the right mood for it. 

So anyway, i was thinking about what i might want the other day. As i said a few years back, i don't feel like i need anything. I'm happy with what i have right now. Obviously, getting a job that earns me big bucks would be awesome (instead of working 2 jobs for a shitty wage), moving apartment would be amazing but apart from that, well, i couldn't think about much more.

But i still came out with something. After spending a week-end at my uncle's, talking about this insane relationship with my mother (whom we all agreed, is a bully), we've set a goal for 2014: being able to tell my mom to fuck off. But maybe that's not the kind of new year resolution or goal that fits in the books. 

So on a more serious point of view, i'd like to write more. To write and to read more. I love writing in my blog, i have internet at home now which means i have no excuse for not writing more often. I have various topics i can discuss and write about and well, not another reason than laziness not to do it. So i'm gonna try to write at least once a week. That'd be better than once every trimester!!

Same for reading. I have a zillion books to read, a subscription to the local library and i don't take time to read. What do i do instead? I play on my cellphone. This is TRAGIC. But i have already started to try to change this and i put a book in my bag. So now, when i'm waiting wherever i need to wait, i read instead of playing. I guess it's just a habit to re-establish in my routine.

So there, my NY list of resolutions: write more, read more and standing my grounds more against my mom.

Happy New Year everybody!

I'm Gonna Be A Samourai

I have had that wish of practicing a Martial Arts since forever. And my man being a Karate, Thai Boxing, Full Contact and Karate Contact teacher (among other stuff i can't remember just now), a lot of people seemed to assume i would go that way too. Things is, Karate and all these mentioned arts are HIS domain, not mine. That's his life, his passion, his leisure, his friends, and definitely not mine. Moreover, i didn't want, on top of it all, to become his wife at the dojo. So i said sod it, i'm not doing this.

That's when i realized i never really got attracted to Karate and kicking with my feet and hands. The only combat sport i considered once was boxing because i had just seen "Million Dollar Baby" and i was dying to get Hillary Swank's back!!!

No, what I've always found appealing, were weapons and in particular SABERS. The idea of learning how to properly use a saber to slice people up was definitely a turn on. Moreover, in Japan, it's the noble art. The art of the saber. So yeah, i was going to do just that. 

So there i was, at my free try-out class of Kendo. And even though i don't actually slice people up (it's kinda hard with a bamboo saber!!!), i learn how to hold it, how to hit someone on the head (with the idea to cut him/her down to the eyes), how to cut people's wrist, how to stab someone in the throat, and more generally, how to slice someone vertically and horizontally. And in all honesty, it's freaking AWESOME.

There is something liberating in hitting someone with a saber. Especially since we have to shout at the time we actually do it. So you shout out your rage and physically hit someone on their armor like you're on for the kill. 

Even though the way of the saber is considered the noble art, it still is a martial art hence subject to rules and protocol. You learn respect towards the elders or the higher ranked, obviously big respect to the Senseï, you salute your opponent, you respect in religious silence the moment each person suits themselves up with the armor, you thank your teacher and your fellow companions and you show respect to the dojo your practice into, every time you enter or exit it. All of this ceremony has something sacred in it. It's a feeling i find hard to describe, yet a feeling i truly like.

We all have some rage and anger inside us. And being able to lash it out is soothing. I get out of the class drained, both physically and emotionally and it feels goooood. 

I Can't Find A Title

Maybe because no title is good enough. I don't know. I swore i would at least try not to ramble on and on about my brother being gone. And in all fairness, i think i've been pretty good so far. I don't bother people with my pain and my loss, i don't mention him often on social medias either and in all honesty, i try not to think about him too much either. Needless to say i fail miserably on that last point. I think about him every single day that passes. And when i haven't, there is always something to remind me of him. A song, a smell, a clothe, a detail on the street that he would have noticed and loved, anything.

I don't know if you ever get over the loss of a brother. You learn to live without but you don't get over it. It's just not possible. It's like a piece of you is missing. I've been through thousands of pictures, old ones of when he was just a little boy, recent ones i found on his computer, ones of vacations he took to come visit me in Mexico. I even have one of the rare picture of us two together on my computer's wallpaper. And sometimes, i stare at my screen and this massive anguish crawls into me, and this dreadful thought, this horrendous reality hits me: he is gone forever. I will never hear him talk, or laugh again, i will never hold him again, i will never see him again. And that's when this gigantic oppressive ball is building in my throat and when the floor disappears under my feet. It's a pain no word can ever describe accurately. It's a hole that nobody nor anything will ever fill up.

Every time i visit my parents, every time i see his pictures spread all over the house also reminds me that i don't have a brother anymore. Well, i do. He was, is and always will be my brother. But he's not with us anymore. Nor will he ever be again.

I miss him more than i can tell. As i said earlier, i don't want to bother people with it but sometimes, it's a fact that's so overwhelming that it overflows me and i don't know what to say, or do. In those awful moments, i feel completely lost. And i wish i could understand why was he taken from us so soon. Why couldn't he meet the wonderful man i share my life with, why couldn't we spend another family Christmas, why won't he ever meet the children i might have one day, or why can't i be his kids's favorite crazy aunt.

Life is a bitch. And even though i do have this amazing capacity to see the good in every situation i come across with, sometimes, i just don't get it. I know it might sound childish but i just wish he was still here with me.

I Weight 72kg

Trust me, it came as a shock for me too. I was sick last week so i went to the doctor and naturally, he asked me to step on the scale. And BAM, 72kg. My first thought was, his scale is completly wrong, it can't be accurate, no freaking way i weight 10 more kilos than 6 months ago. And since i was visiting my parents just a few days later, i hopped on their scale, just to check (up until that week end, i didn't own a scale). And BAM, 71.3kg. On their other scale, 71kg. Right out of bed, with no food in and after the mandatory morning bathroom stop.

HOLY. MOTHER. FUCKING. CRAP.

It's just a number, it's just a number, it's just a number. I have to convince myself it's just a number. Cuz end of it all, it is. Just a number i mean.

My mother is OBSESSED with my weight. I've never been thin, never been fat either. I'm just naturally well built, with meat on my bones and a fair enthousiasm when it comes to eating. But i do sports. And honestly, i do quite a fair bit every week. I do 30 minutes of crossfit 5 days a week and i walk a good 15km (if not more) distributing all my publicity. I eat well, and by well i mean well-balanced, i don't drink sodas, i don't eat junk food, i have the occasional piece of chocolate, i don't put too much sugar in my tea and i don't eat like a dog. But still, my mom thinks i need to watch my weight.

Well you know what? This is the heaviest i've ever been in my entire life. Yet, this is the best i've felt in my entire life. I do have a little belly i could do without but i've never been stuckier, firmer and fitter than i am right now. I feel good in my own skin, i like what i see in the mirror, i'm happier than i've been in a long time and i have more energy than most people half my age. So yeah, the number on the scale is just that: a number. And i'm not gonna let anybody making me believe i need to go on a diet cuz i don't. Not even you, mother.

Now if you allow me, i'll go indulge on a piece of chocolate :P

I Can Hear My Neighbor Pee

I know, i know, that doesn't sound glamour whatsoever but it is unfortunately true. The studio I live in is so freaking small and the walls are so freaking thin that I can pretty much hear anything that is going on in the building. OK, maybe i'm exaggerating a little. But just a little.

I have quite a few neighbors since there are 20 studios in the building. Let's not talk about the dirt-bag in 42, just mentioning it might give my man rashes. But the girl just above us uses heels to walk (and it's annoying you have no idea) and I can hear when she pees. It's kinda gross and I thought, ok, let's just imagining that she's doing the dishes but the water falling in the sink does not make the same sound as the piss hitting the water in the toilet! On the plus side, I can't hear when she poops, thank God.

The neighbor just next to her, so not directly above us, is apparently a gamer. We can hear it cursing at his computer when he loses, especially in the evening. He drives this big ass jeep/pick up truck and drives in the parking lot like a maniac.

We also have an old man who makes me sad every time I see him because it's a residence for students mainly and he doesn't seem to have friends, a single dad who gets his kid once every fortnight, a slightly handicapped guy who always wants to sell me his furniture (especially stuff I so don't have room for like a couch and a washing machine (no idea how he fits it in his studio!!)), a couple of “doudou” as we call them (they're from Martinique), a guy who must be playing soccer since I always seem him with a big sports bag and a ball, a student whose mom and younger sister come visit on the week end, a guy with a scooter that he locks on the bar of his window, a cherry tree, a stray cat, an occasional hedgehog and magpies my cats are dying to catch (I don't think they've ever seen a bird that big).

All in all, a pleasant place to live, if it wasn't for that ass in 42 and for the 20 square meter we live in.

Massive Ranting (And Yes I Feel Good About It)

I was thinking about writing this post in French, for a change, but i realized that the people who it is aimed at probably don't read anyway.

There's this big controversy in France about the national soccer team and the national anthem. To make one long story short, they don't sing it. Apparently, only the soccer players don't sing. When you watch a rugby match, everybody in the team sings it. Well, I normally don't talk politics, economics or religion in this blog, let alone on Facebook. I don't think it's the place for it. But again, it's my humble point of view. But I've have it up to here to hear people complaining about it so I wanted to use my blog to express what I think about it all. OK, fine, to complain about it all ;)

I don't care if people sing or not the national anthem. Well, I do care a little. You're representing a country and the least of the courtesy should be to sing its anthem. If not, if you don't feel like you belong to that country, well, you shouldn't make the team in the first place. But a national team is made of people who are BORN in that country. Whereas you're from different origins is not the point. You're born in France, you're French, period. When I was in Mexico, I always said I felt I was born in the wrong country and I felt more Mexican than French. But that didn't make me Mexican. And when France played against Mexico, I felt Frencher than I ever felt before. And I sang the anthem.

But that's not the point i'm trying to make here.

People complain about those players (we're talking football here, I mean football soccer) who earns big bucks and don't honor the country they're playing for. To begin with, 80% (if not more) of the French team is made of players from foreign origins (and mostly people who are the grand-children of people from countries France colonized in the past). And when you live in a country your ancestors are not from, you often build up a strong bond with that other culture of yours. But again, that's not the point i'm trying to make.

If you're tired of seeing those dumb asses millionaires representing poorly your country and your values, then stop promoting it. Stop watching the games on TV, stop going to the stadium, stop buying jerseys for hundreds of euros, stop idolizing people who are incapable of putting two sentences together properly, stop treating them like gods. You're upset they don't sing? You're upset they pretend to be injured on the field to get a fault towards the other team? You're upset they make 10 times a year what you'll make in a lifetime working? Then STOP PROMOTING IT.

Go watch your local team instead. Go cheer on people who still do it for the fun of it and not for the money. Go take your children with you and show them what sport spirit really is about. National soccer teams (and i'm talking about the French one but I guess it also applies to other countries) are not the best example you can set. It's a bad-to-the-bone rotten mafia. Is that what you want your children to grow up with? Thinking that if you're famous enough and rich enough, you can get away with it all? It's the path of a handful of people in this world. The vast majority of us will remain the small people, with humble incomes. And sadly, we're the ones who pay for these moron's astronomical wages. You can do something about it. But ranting about it on Facebook and the social media won't do the trick.

Shut Up And Give Whatever You Got

I have been crossfitting for just over 4 months now and even though I saw the changes on my back and arms spectacularly quickly at first, the changes I was so looking forward to see on my hips, thighs and stomach have yet to show up. I have now reached a plateau and I don't know how long it's gonna take for me to see any more changes. Obviously, going to my parents or my in-laws every second week-end is NOT helping (they tend to stuff ourselves every time with gigantic but delicious meals!!)

What I really like about crossfit is that it's not a competition. Well, it is for some people but for normal folks like myself it's not. Well, it is. But not against someone. It's against my own worst enemy, a.k.a. MYSELF. It's about finding the time but above all, the WILL to do it and outdoing yourself. And that, for me, is the hardest.

My man is also my coach. And let's be honest, if he hadn't pushed me at the beginning, I would never have gone that far. I don't need his cheering to get off of the couch anymore. He still does my program but I find my own willpower to get in my outfit and give my all. I believe that's the hardest to deal with. Finding the willpower to START. Once you've began, it goes down easily. Well, some days more than others!!!

My motivation is the picture I built of what i'll look like some time in a (close I hope) future. And THIS, is gonna be me soon:

When I do squats, I picture this:

When I do abs, I picture this:

When I do push ups or bench press, I picture this:

Trust me. It's a hell of a motivational silent speech.

But let's be honest. I do it 5 days a week for a maximum of 30 minutes a day. And most of the time, my actual workout doesn't go over 15 minutes. The rest is for stretching. I've done it in the morning, I've done it in the evening. Sometimes, I had to DRAG myself out of my comfy sweat pants or PJ to do it but I've always done it. And I've never regretted it. Even the days I was feeling heavy, or sick, or exhausted, I did my workout. Slowly but surely. The competition is only against yourself. I've read before that it takes 4 weeks for you to notice your body changing and 12 weeks for the rest of the world to notice it. I'd say it takes 4 weeks to get used to it and 12 weeks to get addicted to it. After 17 weeks, I don't question it anymore, I do it because it has to be done.

And I love every second of it.

There's A Monster In The House

My cats are scared of the vacuum  And when I say “scared”, I mean TERRIFIED. The second I pull it out of the storage closet, all 3 of them vanish in less time than I need to actually write it. It's like the vacuum was this gigantic 3 headed cat-eater monster spiting fire from every single one of its pore, with teeth the size of a samurai saber and blood-injected eyes.

The funny thing is that I don't even have to turn it on. So I think it's actually more the actual object than the noise it makes. Obviously, the noise does NOTHING to help them accept it any better. It's loud. It's high-pitched. It sucks stuff up it's trunk. And to top it all, it has wheels.

As I probably mentioned before, I live in a 20m2 flat so needless to say, vacuuming doesn't take a lot of time. But it seems to be way too long for them!

So today, as it was vacuum cleaning day, I (as expected) witnessed my three cats running into hiding (normally, all 3 of them under the couch) the nanosecond they saw me grab the evil-reincarnated object. Which, in a way, is cool. I don't have to push them or move them to vacuum under where they're sitting or laying. But what I always find hilarious, is when I'm done with the hoovering. They always wait a few minutes, just in case I turn it on again (you know we all do it, because you see a spiderweb on the ceiling, or the pair of shoes you dropped on the floor left a stain of dirt on the floor, or whatever crap you didn't see the first time and you see so much better now that you've almost put it all away!!). Once they realize that you're finally done with that thing from hell, it's like they have this silent cat reunion to decide which one of them is going to be sent as a scout to check if all danger is now gone. In our family, generally it's the oldest who gets stuck with it, the biggest, oldest, fattest cat of them 3: Psycha. And I must say, she's quite THE scout.

She pulls out of behind the couch, slowly, checking from afar and then very very slowly, starts to go around things and sniffs everything she normally hangs by, just like if she wanted to make sure the things she knows and the smells she's used to are still there, intact (probably not but hey, I do have to clean from time to time!). It's only when she's done patrolling that the other 2 dare to show the tip of their nose. And they do just like her: sniffing everything around, investigating like we've just made it to a new place.

Needless to say I can't wait for the day we'll have a garden and the day they'll see (and experience) snow the first time. I promise i'll videotape them!

I Work With Buggers

By buggers i mean i'm working with kids. Yes, me. With kids. Between 8 and 10 yrs old and sometimes, with younger shrimps as well. What do i do? I supervise them on their lunch break – which is divided into 2 parts: playing time and lunch time. At the canteen.

I've applied for the job not too convinced i'd get it but the City is looking for staff like this so badly (they told us they needed about 300 people) that they didn't have much choice than to take all the candidates who actually showed up. And that included myself.

I don't mind kids. Well, let's put it this way: i don't mind kids when i don't have to take care of them. So me being responsible for a dozen of crazy hyper active 9 years old can seem totally surreal. And trust me, it is.

I've only done 2 days so far. It's 1h30 only and 4 days a week. So i'm not gonna break my back over it.

Kids that age are fun. They want to show you what they can do. I already had a hula hoop show (i was actually quite impressed)!! But what kinda shocked me a little is the attitude of the other women doing what i do. Yes, cuz we're 6. Since we cannot legally be responsible for more than 12 kids each, there are 6 of us. And i'm thinking i'm either being overcool when it comes to authority or they may be some sadistic power-tripper bitches.

I understand kids can be draining. And tiring. And that they run and scream and shout and laugh loud and cry and shit but i mean they're not monsters and i don't think you get much by screaming at them the way they do. Or make them stay perfectly still in silence before they could get out to play after lunch and before class.

That's my point of view anyway. I refuse to be a sadistic bitch. I'll be their favorite. And even if they put hair in the waterjug again, i'll just tell them it's disgusting, go clean it and change the water and i'll move on with it all. In the meanwhile, i get some serious hula hoop training to do if i don't want to be laughed at again tomorrow!

My Man Makes Me Tea

I started drinking tea when i was 20 and god knows i drink a lot of it. One liter in the morning and then some in the afternoon, depending. When i used to be in Mexico, it had become a ritual with a colleague of mine and myself to drink cups and cups of tea all day long. He couldn't handle drinking coffee any longer and i was only too happy to oblige and accompany him on his tea drinking.

When i was a student, i always enjoyed drinking tea in the afternoon, or before going to bed. Even when i was younger, it was part of a ritual at my aunt's, to have a cup of chamomile tea before bed.

So tea goes a long way back in my life.

And a few days ago, my man offered me tea after dinner. I was so pleasantly surprised that i said yes, of course. There is something sacred about drinking tea. Even if it's in a Homer Simpson mug :/

He's been making me tea after every meal ever since. It's been 3 days already. I feel special. I know it sounds stupid but i really do. Not only is he cooking for me every single day of the week (lunch and dinner) but he's making me breakfast as well and now, he's also making me tea.

One thing is certain ... he's a keeper.

I Am Your Mailbox's Worst Nightmare

I am working! YAY.

I haven't been working since i got back to France. Which means i've been one of the many unemployed people who is living on the state's welfare. Don't take me wrong, I don't enjoy it. Yes I receive money to do nothing at all all day but it's far from what i'm expecting from life.

Being unemployed is depressing. You turn around in your living room (in my situation, in the 20m2 studio we live in), you read (a lot), watch stuff on the computer (even more than reading), you play Candy Crush or Angry Birds and there goes your entire day. Next morning, you press repeat. Trust me, you'd kill yourself for less than that.

So one night, I was browsing the internet for ideas and job opportunities. I saw that they were looking for people to distribute commercial flyers into people's mailboxes. In a few words, they were looking for people to contaminate people's mailboxes. And they were going to pay me for that. Badly but still. It's 10hrs worth of work that would get me just a notch more than what I get from the government.

So I sent back my application, got the interview on Monday and started the job on Tuesday. I had 709 sets of 15 flyers to put together and then distribute before Wednesday evening.

I know it sounds easy. Trust me. It ain't. It's hard. Not Einstein hard. It's physically demanding. At least, a lot more than I expected. Standing in front of a table an entire day to gather all this paperwork together in one set. It's repetitive. It's a bit like a cashier at a supermarket. You're doing the same gesture over and over and over again. I was stiffed the following day you have no idea.

I had 468 kilos of flyers to move. And god knows you're moving them A LOT.

From the pallet to the table (1), from the table to the kart (2), from the kart to the car (3) from the car to the kart (4) from the kart to the mailbox (5), FIVE time (and that's without counting when you're dragging the kart from mailbox to mailbox adding so many kilometres walking) Which makes a grand total of 2 tons and 340 kilos. And I “only” had 709 mailboxes. Some areas have 1500!!

Talking about working out.

So next time you get these damn commercial flyers in your mailbox, think about that poor boy or girl who had to drag his/her fully loaded kart all the way to your mailbox. And if you really don't want any, put the “stop pub” sticker on your mailbox instead of spitting at our face. It's not an easy job. But for some dark reason, i kinda enjoy it ...

French Are Good

Unfortunately, it's not always a good thing. To be good i mean.

So i've been back for almost 4 months now and i've hence had my share of French people. Some cool ones, some unbearable ones, some quiet ones and some extrovert ones but all it all, a good slice of the French population. And even though it was quite something to readapt to all the rules and laws that you live under as well as speaking French all the damn time, the transition went quite smoothly.

However, there is something i kinda knew already but honestly didn't think it was THAT bad ... OMFG how much French people complain. They complain all the freaking time about absolutely EVERYTHING. It's either the weather, the prices, the economy, the quality of the food, the waiting time, the traffic, other people, EVERY-SINGLE-THING on the face of the Earth.

How can you live this way? How can you find the will the get up in the morning? Is their coffee not warm enough as well? The bread not crusty enough? The jam too sweet? The more you complain, the more you find stuff to complain about.

I don't have a job, i live in a 20 square meter studio with my man and 3 cats and without enough money to move to a bigger place, i freeze my ass off in my own country, i don't have my own friends and not much of a social life and yet, i find a reason to smile and be happy every single day of the week.

Maybe it's because i have a great man. Maybe it's because my cats are awesome. Maybe it's because there IS a reason to smile and be happy every single day. But when you focus on the good, when you see that every single little detail around you can be a reason to smile or be pleased, then and then only, will you be as happy as i am.

Some think i'm an utopist, others think i'm over-optimistic. I'm not. I'm just gifted at seeing the good in every situation. Even the darkest ones. So to all my fellow-countrymen, stop complaining all the time. As long as you have a roof over your head, something to eat in your plate, a good health and as a little plus, some friends or family to hang out with, what difference does it make if you wait 3 minutes or 8 minutes in line at the bakery and get a baguette instead of a loaf of bread.

Life is good :)