The Parisian 'Burbs and Social Event of the Season

First of all thanks to everyone who has started to follow this blog! Hopefully, I'll be able to keep up the low brow entertainment level for your pleasure. It's a bit tough being here, in that, all the conversations I have are either in broken French (on my part) or broken English (on their part). So all my thoughts throughout the day are splattered onto this blog, in an attempt to compensate for lack of conversation. I am not complaining, it is what it is and we'll both get better at the speaking the other's language.

Secondly, in response to many requests from friends attempting to capitalize on my humility...NO I WILL NOT TAKE A PICTURE OF MYSELF IN THE ONE PIECE BATHING SUIT. Really?! I let you in on my most humiliating of moments and you are asking me to take it one step further with photographic evidence. Well, I respectfully decline such delusional requests. However, the malliot-de-bain is safely tucked away in my room. I will take it back out when the time is right. That will be the day I leave France for good. I will go down to the city center of SGeL, light the disposable one piece on fire (I am sure it's quite flammable anyway) and belt out a few verses of from Les Miserables "Who Am I?" replacing Jean Valjean with 'Kathleen Meyers'!!! Followed by an encore presentation of Uncle Ted Nugent's 'Stranglehold' where I'll tie a bandana around my head and raise the American flag. Quite unsure where this burst of nationalism came from, but it's quite entertaining to think about.

Back to reality...yesterday, Sept. 2, was pretty easy. Michele was still off of work and it was the kids last day until school started, so they literally played all day and I was able to catch up on a few things. I went on a jog up to the forest and took pictures around the town, which I have posted (the picture above is of my house, from the street). The village is perfectly quaint, as you can see. Other than that, it was pretty calm, with a minor meltdown by The Mouth later that night. I also had a meltdown yesterday, as the constant frustration of Skype phone calls had me fed up and I shed a few tears. You have to understand, the only escape from the world of four year olds and French, is this computer and its connection to the internet, so when a call was dropped for the 5th time yesterday and I couldn't get a Wi-Fi connection, I pulled a Marine minus a few 1,ooo tears and my wailing was a bit softer.

However, today was the French social event of the season, as kids returned to school in the morning. Parents and kids were everywhere and the village was alive with rolling backpacks (they are a hit here), kids sobbing, parents yelling and, of course, the French bisous. I think the parents were more excited than the kids, as they were all chatting up a storm. This is not your run of the mill Woodvale Elementary drop of, this is a social gathering. Moms here don't have to-go coffee cups and wear their workout outfits and the typical baseball cap, oh no! The moms were all dressed, some in heels and just the nicest outfits they could muster, with a fresh face of make-up. I missed that memo, as I looked like death warmed over, sans make-up, with puffy eyes and frizzy hair. Tangent Alert: For some reason, though there is NO humidity to speak of here, my hair still finds a way to make me look like a disheveled mad scientist. I don't understand how it constantly goes from zero to frizz in a matter of seconds. Atleast the McKay one eyebrow is fixable with a bit of wax, but the Meyers "white man's afro" gene runs rampant in my genetic coding and has become the bane of my existence.

When we got to the school, the kids were all running around and they posted the list of who had what teacher. Boy, were there tears. One girl was not in the same class as her friends and was comforted quietly by some of the other girls, "Domage Celia, ca c'est mauvais pour toi." I was instantly rushed back to Elementary school where the frantic wait for who-had-what-teacher was the cherry on top of the summer. If you were in the wrong class, it was like the apocalypse was nearing. When we got to The Tornado's building, he went peacefully and with little protest. It was as if someone tranquilized him, because he stood still and barely uttered a word - which was impressive considering some of the other kids were sobbing and pleading (or what I assume was pleading) with their parents not to leave.

However, I have always wondered about French women. Are they all skinny? Do they all smoke? Do they all carry quilted Chanel bags? The answer, in Mariel-Marly, is NO! Most of the moms were just your average female, which was quite refreshing. Then SHE walked up and shattered the mold. A mother so fabulous, we will call her "The Unicorn" because there is no way she is real. The Unicorn glides up on her patent crocodile flats as if she were Carla Bruni-Sarkozy arriving at a state dinner. Effortlessly, she surveys the situation while keeping her kids at bay. She is atleast 5'11'' with legs no rounder than my left (non-dominate) wrist, jeans that wouldn't have fit over my right ankle, a gauzy white t-shirt and black leather motorcycle jacket. Her hair was like Carine Roitfeld's, editor of Paris Vogue...with the perfect mix of dishevled perfection every female strives for (I'd like to see her handle the Meyers White Man's Afro for one day, then come talk to me...doubt she could hang.) She did look like the first lady of Paris, only missing Carla's signature Dior Haute-Couture, which suprisingly French people don't wear everyday...domage.

Then, something like nails on a chalkboard reaches my ears, something so familiar, yet foreign at the same time..."MAAAAAAARRRR-CUUUSSSSSSS, COME HEEERE, RIIIIIGHT NOW!" Could it be? Was my mom in France yelling at one of my brothers, do I have a brother named Marcus, I can't remember? There is no way, women in France yell like that, or have the lung capacity to do so...AND IN ENGLISH? Oh yes, there was an American woman dropping off one of her children and then, instantly I was back at Woodvale or L.J. Alleman with flashbacks of my mom contantly shooting eye daggers at us, while we continue to misbehave - but if we were being unruly it was undoubtedly, my brother, Andrew's fault. There are stories from our old neighbors on Greenbriar Road, about the breaking of the sound barrier coming from the Meyers house - involving the four kids screaming and the parents vocally repremanding us - again, safe to say it was ALWAYS the boys fault, pas moi! Hearing that sudden burst of English was quite fun and gave me a good laugh for the day. So I guess, no matter how far you go, there's always a little something to remind me of home - even if it is loud yelling in a school courtyard.