on prend des week-ends à l'etranger.

January, in my opinion, is the most depressing month in the northern hemisphere. Christmas is over. The lights are down. It's just cold and grey and spring is at least three months away. So, I'm trying to take some preventative measures to keep my mind off the fact that I'll be wearing leggings under everything till March.

1. Actually reading the books the I buy from amazon. I'm finally finishing the second Game of Thrones book (four months after the fact...) and have just ordered the next in the series as well as The Hobbit because I'm thinking that seeing the movie first was probably a mistake. 
2. Cooking new things. Ok, I know was making dog sandwiches when I first arrived in France due in part to homesickness and in part to being and good-for-nothing lazy cook. But this year, I'm making an honest effort -- I made a decent pork tenderloin recently and despite the fact that the quality of the veg and potatoes suffered as a result of my obsessively checking to make sure I didn't overcook it, I think Jon appreciated it. I'm actually feeling a little more confident in the kitchen (thanks to you Nigella, you garlic-loving saucy broad). 
3. Travelling. You know what depresses me? I tell people back home that I live in France and their first question after "wait, are you kidding?" is generally "wow! you must travel all the time!" Yeah, I sure do. If by travel, you mean to Spain... I'm really good at visiting the Costa Brava in the summer months. And the truth of it is that there is so much goddamn awesomeness that's just a short plane ride away, I'm kind of ashamed of how little I've taken advantage of this. So, I'm doing it. Fuck it! I'm doing it!

Bring on the negative temperatures and too-cool-for-school Swedes! I'm going to spend a weekend like Lisbeth Salander -- by that I mean eating lots of sandwiches and drinking an inordinate amount of coffee.  JA!!!

christmas in pictures

No, I'm not depressed that Christmas is over. Yes, I'm also lying.

les chats français ont des grosses couilles.

When I sit at the kitchen table for my phone lessons or am happily woofing down my third chocolatine of the day, often I gaze out the window and often see a kitty whom I've decided to call, "the cat with a death wish." (see below)

He strolls across the tiles like it ain't no thang, chasing after pigeons unsuccessfully and somehow managing to skirt death every time. And when I watch him, I'm constantly thinking that this is gonna be the time he falls -- oh sweet jesus, I can't watch this. 

Oh, by the way, I live on the 4th floor of my building. For perspective:

That's a long way to fall, kitty. 

soulagée, rassurée, detendue

This morning at 6:00 am in France, I cautiously opened the NPR news app on my phone with my eyes squinted in the dark and my breath stuck in my throat. Thank goodness I woke up to this. 

I think the people of France (myself included) can exhale a collective sigh of relief today.