2 Drink Minimum

At the hospital-- again. I feel like Im here all the time. Maybe I should take up residence? Its close to my office in Levallois, the café here is great, and most everyone speaks English--fluently.

During my last visit, I accidentaly called my Doctor "dude." So I guess you could say we've grown quite close as I usually save that term of endearment for my brothers, my sister, close friends, my parents and business associates.

The Doc asks, " Are you still smoking?" And I reply to her like I would my own Mother. With a looong drawn-in breath followed by an even deeper, and overly-exaggerated exhale, "duuuuuuuuuude." And then we share a laugh and that's that.

Maybe its these nice moments that keep bringing me back or maybe its the fact that Ive been urged to come in to make a mammogram apearance. But as long as Im here I thought Id pick up a prescription for an upper of some sort and am also thinking of going back on the pill. And statistically speaking through my thorough calculations and research, it appears as though I was having a lot more sex when I was on the pill before. I stopped taking it when I got to France, so actually, now that I think about it, what brought the slow spell on? The pill or the France?

My original theory to go back was out of sheer optimism but now that Im having second thoughts maybe its better I go off the French? Maybe Ill look into some import/export action? I have had my eye on this kiwi for a while now. Maybe its time to flirt with that disaster for a while? And by disaster I do mean me. This man has me shaking with excitement lately and I dont really know what to do about it for once. All I know for certain is that Id much rather be in Australia with him than sitting in the waiting room of this fucking hospital. Oh God I hope I dont have to do any needle blood stuff today. bah. See its happening. The longer I sit here, the faster and further my mind wanders. Needles, plastic thingys, charts, graphs, and swabs- I hate it.

More than this though, I hate waiting! Why havent they called me yet? Im so tired.I could just take a little napper snapper while Im sitting here bored. The AC does feel nice and my legs are already partially numbed from the increasingly uncomfortable chair im sitting on. A little doze might be fine, then again, I snooze, I lose and I might miss my turn. Ok new plan.
(clear throat, sit up straight) Look alive!
Too bad my Doc is a woman. If she were a man I could just flash some cleav-o and be on my way. Not to mention I am the only "un-prego" bird in this place. At least I think! Fingers crossed and add that to the list of things to sort with her today.

Lets see what else do I need? what? I mean as long as Im here and all... Its like stopping at a 7-11 on a road trip. You may not have to go pee now, but you certainly will as soon as you pull out of the lot. Guaranteed. Same goes for canned coffees and sour patch kids. Yes you just had breakfast but inevitably it'll be time for a snack. So get 'em while the gettins good! Thats what I always say. (Actually Ive never said that before, but it did seem to work nice in the context). Lets see what else have I never said? "If you cant beat em, join em!" "Take time to smell the roses!" OK Im sufficiently bored now and in desperate need of a nap. If anyone is still reading, please accept the following: "On behalf of Diane and I, we'd really like to offer you our sincerest apologies for boring you while we wait for the dude." Which by the way, Where is she? Does she have other patients or something? Im clearly irate now.

[30 minutes and one successful disco nap later!]

"Deeaahhne Meeshelle? ... Deeaahhne Meeshelle?"

Oui Oui! salut!

In I go.

We ca va and how are you for a few minutes before we get down to business. (At the AHP, American Hospital of Paris, its not enough to just " its good" in French. you must also "its good" in English. Its a bi-lingual comfortable thing I think) Anyway, Ill tell her Im here for the 6h30 Mammo (yes I call it that) and she shakes her head No and then asks me what Im doing here? She says, " oh well honey, you need to be over in radiation for that. We dont do that here."
I look at her with complete disbelief and fascination.

"Well how was I supposed to know that? I told your lady friend out there in the front office with the phones and files that I was here for my mammo appt and she didnt say a word! Did she not think that supplying me with that bit of valuable information would be important for me today, or...?"

"Oh," she says, "I dont know. You know how it is."

Actually I didnt. But whats done is done.
"Ok, well lets come back to that. Ive got a lot of other ground to cover with you today. First off, I never received that upper prescription you were supposed to send me in the mail a few weeks ago? Also, I think I need to go back on the pill. For regulation and optimism purposes only. And actually while we are on the subject of babies, you think you have time to check on that last bit? Ive actually missed a couple months..."

"Sure! she says. "Go take your pants off and put your feet up!" This is also what I imagine the dialogue to be at both the Playboy mansion and the seedier parts of Bangkok. Both comfortable and awkward at the same time...

Ok so up-up-up(this is my newest and latest french-ism. its sort of like tac-tac-tac). Anyway, she works her magic and does some investigatory research, and suddenly says,

" Well, you're pregnant."

I gasp in horror, voice raised well over louder than appropriate, "What? What!!!!!!!!!!"

I mean I wanted the test, but truly didnt think that a positive result would even be an option. I just like to be sure and cover my bases and well Ive only had one close call in the past couple months so... I mean Ive never in a million years thought this would be possible. Not now! I mean, this kind of stuff doesnt happen to me. It just doesnt! The panic set in, Im closing in on tears, and then the vomit started to crawl up into my throat... and finally

"Just kidding," she says.


And at this I am completely dumbstruck.My mouth hanging open. I look at her. I look down. I look left. I look right. Back and forth trying to find the words. I couldnt speak.

"Oh," I say slowly. "Well... if its a reaction you were looking for I guess we got one didn't we?"

"yeah, really!" she says.

And then in the next breath, I kid you not, she says, "So...are you stressed?"

"um yeah. Remember me? Im deeahhne? We spoke about 5 minutes ago about you giving me an anti anxiety prescription? I said I wanted to be medicated and thought coping through drugs (read: and alcohol) would be a great idea for me and you said fine... Any of this ringing a bell or were you too busy plotting out your next one-liner?"

So the rest is downhill, all went fine, but still no mammo, so I have to go back yet again in the next couple weeks. Obviously I'm really looking forward to it.

Who knows though, maybe the technician peeps in radiation have a stage and lights for their comedy routine... 2 drink minimum please.

Cocktail Napkin Fiction

I brought in some old writing to the office today. The half filled notebook my friend Sean gave me before I left SF, the random paper menus and napkins Ive scrawled on across various cafes and bars through all of Paris, the scratch paper, the ancient notebooks...the gum wrapper. Yes the gum wrapper. At one point, apparently my thoughts were so important and in need of etch, I scribbled on the back a of a Hollywood gum wrapper.This is just one of the reasons I can continue to call myself a writer and believe it. A true scribe. Maybe a gum scribe, but one nonetheless.

So here I am. Faced with hundreds of thousands of words needing online translation. And here I am again, tirelessly faced with the fact that I need an assistant. Ill get to it. But heres the thing...

I recently finished the new David Sedaris book, "When You Are Engulfed in Flames" and I cant help but think...I love this gay man.

Seriously though, his writing is truly inspiring to me. I have read every single one of his books at least twice, some of them 3 times. I read his articles in New Yorker and Esquire. If he is published, I have read it. He is the only writer, present day, that truly keeps me motivated to continue writing. To finish my work, to find a publisher, to be able to quit my job and to become famous.

Alors, I have begun to compile my short stories, my long stories, my nonsense and my gum wrapper thoughts. Its here that I think I found my niche. Who else is looking to publish "cocktail napkin fiction"(ps. thats a working title for the book. you like?)

In Cocktail Napkin Fiction we discover a beautiful and charming girl's journey into what its like to grow through SF to Paris in a matter of months. This compilation of short stories aims to be funny, hopeful, fashionable, and very real. I want to capture the essence of what its like to not only be me (bc I know a lot of you have been wondering) but to be me, here. Here by myself. Here alone.Its amazing what solitude and an abundance of french wine can do to a person's psyche in just 10 months, truly. And its confusing. And its real. Its very, very frighteningly real.

But funny too.

The other part of this motivation to publish the book is due to the fact that my beloved French Toast got burned. Thats right folks. Its still in the pipeline somewhere, but between the CBS merger and the Americans, French Toast has been shelved. The France office wanted to incorporate the show on chow.com in the US. They said if Chow is in, we're in. Sure enough, Chow has its own niche that doesnt include me (go figure) so I remain bummed and furious with America. What? I can do that now. Im French!

Shhhhh!

Occasionally I am called upon by my fellow French co-workers to translate copy in English. Today one turned to me and asked,
"Deeahhne, what is gooks and nips?"

"Eh hem? Excuse me? What do you want to know?"

He says "gooks and nips." Totally straightfaced.
So I ask him to send me a link as these requests usually accompany an online article from the US or UK. I must not be hearing him properly. I couldnt possibly be...

So he looks at me, deadpan, and says again pretty loudly, "pakis, blacks, gooks and nips..."

"ok okok ok stop!"

Im sure I turned bright red and I looked around to see if anyone else was noticing this rather profane language spouting from my general direction. And of course, no one. Not one person even turned a shoulder or batted an eyelash. it was amazing and eye opening. I mean I could literally say anything I wanted to and no one would be any wiser. (Not a good point for me to be aware of, truly.)

So I ssshh'd my co worker and had him send me the link. Sure enough, he wanted me to translate for our music site what was the latest news on pop sensation Amy Winehouse. Wow. And there it was. In song none the less. Only in France. Well and in UK too I guess.

Heres the article:
http://news.aol.com/entertainment/music/music-news-story/ar/_a/winehouse-apologizes-for-racist-video/20080608170309990001

Stroking the Butterfly

For those with the faint of heart, please take caution when reading.

My recent depression has taken me pretty far off the chain. Its truly poetic. Everyday I wake up and my heart is broken a little more. I cant sleep. I cant stay awake. Im lost in a cloud that tends to haunt me wherever I go. Im tormented by my inner dialogue. I dont even know how to answer anymore. I cry. I yell. I get pissed. I watch too much Sex in the City and read too much chick lit. Its depressing.

My Mom says I need to be medicated.

I cant find anyone to blame and I cant find my dream. Where did it go? And to make matters worse, on top of this, I havent been able to write for shit lately. Weefee is one thing, but I think Ive been avoiding a connection at home, because well, I havent wanted to be connected.
I know. This is weird for me too. Its so not me and I cant imagine what you all must be thinking right now. How can she not be making it work? Designers, I'm just not. My thoughts are so lucid and fucking depressing Ive been avoiding pen to paper. Well with the exception of actually admitting how I feel and shaking down some thoughts on tear stained sheets of scratch paper once my bottle of wine has dwindled. Im like a paper-sacked hobo with better shoes and a nice apartment.

I succumb to a glass of dry, white cry. Again.

So what now? At the suggestion of a friend, I looked online to try to find a group of like-minded expats like myself. Theres got to be some people in Paris that are looking for some English American companionship right? Let me go back.

I have friends here. I have many French friends. They are great. They take me out to fun parties and dinners, and if ever there is someone in the group who is an English speaker, they are instantly at my hip. Most of the French love to practice their English. Its a sign of intelligence here, I think.
Anyway, they are all great, but its so much effort. Sometimes I just want to speak without having to think about it. Off the cuff, honest and probably a little sarcastic. My best self.

So I go to craigslist.org. to see whats out there. If anything Im sure I can find someone to amuse me with their own patheticness. Heres what I found. Actually Ill let the links below speak for themselves and you tell me...

Tea for Two
http://paris.en.craigslist.org/grp/700704086.html
Womyn???
http://paris.en.craigslist.org/grp/690962870.html

I know! What am I supposed to do with that? I dont care for tea and I cant be friends with a person who spells woman with a Y and demands sisterhood of me without even a thumbnail photo. Sorry its just not gonna happen. And theres others!Like wear a crazy Tshirt and meet at an Irish pub in Paris, treasure hunts and comedy shops... No thanks. Doesnt anyone just meet for a drink anymore? Arent there people out there who just like to meet after work for a cocktail?


If I wasnt so high up on my self pity high horse, I may consider posting an ad myself asking for just that. An American in Paris who likes to drink and sit on la terrace and chain smoke. Its the perfect ad really and had I not written it, (in theory of course) Id answer it in a heartbeat.


There was a recent bright side of the coin that came from an art showcase I attended with my friend Eva on Friday night. (Eva is a wonderful friend to me, who also happens to be my ex-boyfriend Nico's sister) So we are at the carousel at the Louvre for this Artist showcase. The show wasnt so great, but its a great opportunity for new and upcoming artists to show their work. Anyhoo, we are walking the show, champagne in hand, when I hear "Deaahnne! hey!" I look over and see this woman Natalie, whom Id met at another art party a few weeks back. Talented, charming and English speaking. She gave me a hug and we "ca va'd" and caught up for a few minutes. I introduced her to my friends and finally felt like I had contributed.

This my friends is what I live for. I miss being "the seen" on the "be seen scene." The one to know. The one to meet. I strive for recognition wherever I go, and obviously its difficult for me to have this here already. I can walk down rue de la roquette and get shout outs from every other shop keeper along the way, and thats nice, but this is social. This is my inner ego. I need my social butterfly stroked once in a while and I finally got it. It felt fantastic. This my friends, is how low I have gone. Thats all it takes these days-- Shout my name across a party and you've literally made my month.