From Espresso to Coffee with Milk: May 2006

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

D - 3

D - 3: My mom will be arriving in exactly 72 hours. I'm stressed. My life will come to an end. Soon. I feel dizzy.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

D - 4

The countdown has begun. My dear mother will be moving into my apartment in 4 days. In 4 days, on June 3, 2006 at 3:30 p.m., my freedom will come to an end....

Labels: Mommy dearest

Friday, May 26, 2006

Ascension Weekend

Today is the day of the Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ.

On this day, let me send my love and support to my beloved friend X who has the same name as JC who's stuck on Amsterdam/121st between the RAP and the octogenarian rule.

Πιστεύω εις θεòν πατέρα παντοκράτορα, ποιητην ουρανου και γης. Και εισε Ιησουν Χριστòν, υιον αυτου τòν μονογενη, τòν κύριον ημων, τòν συλληφθέντα εκ πνεύματος αγίου, γεννηθέντα εκ Μαρίας της παρθένου, παθόντα υπο Ποντίου Πιλάτου, σταυρωθέντα, και ταφέντα, κατελθόντα εις τα κατώτατα, τη τρίτη ημέρα αναστάντα απò των νεκρων, ανελθόντα εις τους ουρανούς, καθεζόμενον εν δεξια θεου πατρός παντοδυνάμου, εκειθεν ερχόμενον κριναι ζωντας και νεκρούς. Πιστεύω εις τò πνευμα τò αγιον, αγίαν καθολικην εκκλησίαν, αγίων κοινωνίαν, αφεσιν αμαρτιων, σαρκος ανάστασιν, ζωην αιώνιον. Αμήν.

Amen

Labels: Wash away my sins...

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Football, the French Version

Tonight 8.00 p.m. is the kick-off of the Arsenal v. Barcelona Champions League Final.

Not that I know anything about it, not that I care ... but just wanted to complain that enough is enough, all those slobby men in yellow acrylic T-shirts bearing the logo of their favorite team, marching and singing like barbaric demonstrators, beer in hand. Well, at least I won't have to queue for the treadmill at the deserted gym tonight.

Labels: Parisian life

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Morning Aggression

I like the smell of coffee in the morning, the smell of shampoo and the smell of soap. I like to be surrounded by morning commuters who are fresh and clean having taken a shower from head to toe.

But Paris smells in the morning of unwashed hair, unclean armpit, unbrushed morning breath. Every morning at 9.30 a.m, I know that the cleaning guy in my buidling is doing his shift because he leaves his strong odor of sweat in the elevator. I have to stop breathing at the risk of being nauseous. In the Tokyo subway, there are women-only cars during morning rush-hours to protect women from male molesters. I think Paris should create smell-free cars to preserve me from morning olfactory aggression... That's the least the Paris metro authority can do for a EUR 1.2 subway ride.

Labels: Parisian life

Monday, May 15, 2006

The Unexpected News from Ex...

I got a call from A., my ex of five years. While we were chit-chatting on random issues of his daily life working in a high-profile manhattanite corporate structure and earning an indecently high salary, he suddenly burst out the unbelievable and unthinkable news I wasn't at all prepared for, at least not that soon. He announced that he had finally decided to get on with his life and embrace the future, meaning... moving out of his one bedroom apartment on 38th Street and Lex to Morton Street and Hudson. You were probably expecting to hear something else like a wedding announcement. Not of that sort. Him moving out of his Murray Hill high-rise building to a brownstone in the West Village is more damaging to my heart condition than him announcing that he is getting married. Let me explain. To make a long story short, when A. and I were still together, we did what most couples do after a couple of years. Move one step ahead, i.e., share the rent, the soap, the fridge, the laundry, and all the marital obligations such as informing the other if one wanted to have a guys or girls' night out etc., basically, living in sin. Moving in together is all pretty on paper by reality is not that simple. All the troubles started with apartment hunting, or rather, neighborhood hunting. No way I was going to live above 14th street. Since living in Brooklyn was out of the question for him, I suggested downtown with the view to the Hudson river, Tribeca or West Village. Unfortunately, A. didn't want to go below 14th street. He would rather stay on Upper West Side to be as close as possible to Zabar's as he could not live without his lox and the outrageously-priced delicacies, or within walking/cycling distance to Grand Central where his office is located. No way he was moving downtown, the chirp of seagulls was too aggressive to his sensitive ears. Appalling to live in the West Village, overly crowded with drunk NYU students (A. was not the festive kind), and too far a commute, having to travel on two subway lines (1/9 and the Shuttle) during suffocating rush-hours. A. vetoed each apartment we've visited in the West Village, including one on Morton Street. I vetoed every single apartment on Upper West Side and Murray Hill. Our stubbornness was so fierce that neither of us wanted to compromise on a beautiful apartment facing Gramercy Park. While I was out of town one weekend, he signed the lease, without my consent, for a one bedroom in a Murray Hill building I was most reluctant to live in. Despite the fact that the apartment was light, quiet, spacious with a view to a private garden, I felt I didn't belong in there. I wasn't posh enough for my impeccably dressed neighbors who continuously scrutinized me and my visitors. Five months later, I walked out of 38th street and his life and moved downtown near the river. My life was complete, convinced I had done the right thing until A. announced he was moving to the West Village, in the very same street I had an eye on and which he had firmly vetoed.

It's not a big deal you'd say. I know. But it's just a matter of principle.

Dear A:
You never go below 14th street. Next time you'll tell me that you are moving to New Jersey in a house with a wife, two kids, a dog in a SUV (all the things you find utterly uncivilized). That'll be a real shock. Until then, enjoy life in the West Village, my friend.
Best,

Labels: Relationships et al., Self derision

Friday, May 12, 2006

Yearning for the Vanished Youth....

As I was heading home thinking of what I could have for dinner to accompany my vodka martini (pasta with tomato sauce or pasta with pesto sauce??), my friend C. called to take me out to a farewell party of a former colleague of ours, a firm we had both left 6 years ago. A bit unconvinced, I went there and saw faces I had not seen for the past 6 years. And there he was in the middle of the crowd, hard to miss as he is big and tall compared to the French mass, Mr. X, who hasn't changed a bit, a few wrinkles and a few kilos, perhaps, but the same old, same old Mr. X... I've always had a crush on him, his slight British accent was a charming appeal to me. A sweet moment with him, one single night, 8 years ago when he asked me whether he could kiss me, in the darkness of a nightclub during a firm event. I was drunk, as usual, but I do remember how sweet it was, the kindest kiss ever, demurred and civilized, nothing more, just an innocent and tender kiss, felt like kissing for the very first time ... Nothing else happened, but after 8 years, I still do remember this one night kiss, as a gentle memory. It was nice to see Mr. X again and catch up, but awkward, I was. After a polite but nostalgic conversation, I left with a little twinge of sorrow.

Good old memories should be kept in the past... or maybe not? When you are in your mid-thirties, you got to make a move. After all, what do I have to lose? Worse case scenario, he is married, with kids. So what? It's not that I'm flirting with him... Okay, I will drop him an email, a silly one: "Hey Mr. X, it was good to see you again! Let's organize a alumni reunion with those who were present yesterday!" How pathetic. No. I won't make a move, as usual. "That's why you are still single," my friend C. says.

Labels: Relationships et al., Self derision

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

What Will I Do Without Her # 3

My mom called me to say that she quit her job, understandably so since she hates her job and has far reached the age of retirement. Go for it, enjoy life, paint, practice yoga, I'm totally supportive of the idea I told her, until she announced, out of the blue -as always- that she was moving to ... Paris, the city where I live now. What the ....!!! Silent panic attack on the phone. My face yelling of hysteria but my voice remained mute. A breathless silence... "Where are you going to stay, well... live?" I broke the silence, finally. "Guess where?" she says, "with you!" (What? with me, in my small one-bedroom apartment? 24/7?!! ) She carries on: "Oh wouldn't that be great, I will cook for you, I will iron your shirts (Mother, I pay a housekeeper for that), oh well, it's all temporary, 3 months until my Parisian apartment is refurbished." (What did I do to deserve this??)

I know I've only got one mother, don't get me wrong, I love her but I love myself more and cherish my own privacy. With her, I have no personal life. It's a complete devotion to Mother Icon from morning to night. She continues talking: "Well, I guess you won't be able to invite your friends over at your place for 3 months but you'll see, it will pass so quickly." (No mother, 3 months with you means a non-stop continued presence of yours for a quarter of a year. By the time you finally move out of my apartment, the leaves of the trees will turn red.)

No, I am not a disgraceful daughter. Seriously, will you be able to live with your mother for 3 months in a one-bedroom apartment after having enjoyed life as a single person for the past 15 years? I need a strong coffee to deliver myself from this nightmare. No, a strong drink.

Labels: Mommy dearest, Self derision

Friday, May 05, 2006

Welcome to the "divorced with kids" box

I have two fantastic girlfriends from college, R and A. I've known them for the past 15 years. I don't remember how our relationship grew so close since we were (and still) so different. R and A are blonde, beautiful, with stiletto heels, but nonetheless super clever. R used to be a party animal, always out on "school nights," choosing her curriculum according to the time schedule: should the class be offered late afternoon/evening the better, never registering for the morning classes. My friend A was a flirt, jumping from one man to another. I was the serious, conservative (not to say uptight) friend. But somehow, they loved me. I loved them too. Now they are happily married, with two kids (one of them is expecting her third), have chosen their personal life over their too-demanding jobs. I became their only single girlfriend that they like to see, when they are fed up with baby talking and diapers. My singledom entertains them and they envy my reckless lifestyle. However, they feel somewhat insecure about the fact that I am still single, and thus have a passion for fixing me up on blind dates with their male friends. The downside of being single at the age of thirty something (okay mid-thirties) is that I am really not spoiled for choice. According to my girlfriends R and A, their single male friends are "fabulous, in good shape, the perfect age for a long-term relationship, now single freed from a recent relationship, and want to have a family." Translation: "fabulous at heart but not too good looking, short, between 40 to 45, recently divorced, with kids." When I shared this story with my mom, she said: "Welcome to the 'divorced with kids' box! Now you realize that the clock is ticking (Mom, which clock???), I was worried you were forgetting your real age." Did I miss the boat? Where was I when those supposedly fabulous single men were really single with no strings attached? Oh yes, I remember...! I was snowed under with my 6 digit salary, without seeing the daylight from my stale office.

Labels: Relationships et al., Self derision

Thursday, May 04, 2006

On-Line Shopping

I often wonder how life at work was before Internet was launched. When I am bored at work, I browse the Net. When I need a general information on a topic I need to write on, I brainstorm with Google. The Weddings & Celebrations section of the NY Times is my Monday breakfast partner. When I cannot concentrate on my work assignment, I shop on-line. When I a need a sugar shot but cannot violate my diet restrictive program, I salivate in front of Krispy Kreme. When I am hyped up with French tea-spoon sized espresso and long for a much wanted coffee with milk, I have a nostalgic moment with the Dunkin' Donuts screen. When I have a moment of illusion for a "Someday my Prince will come, someday, I'll find my love...," I look up the Cartier engagement ring site, before returning to the world of desillusion. I still haven't figured out how people entertained their boring business hours before Internet. But what I have figured out is the reason why I leave work every night after 10 p.m.: I lose my precious billable hours while browsing the Net...

Labels: Professional hardship

Baby Talk

How to raise a child in a two-language home?

My sister, who lives in Paris, is married to a pure Frenchman. He only speaks French. The fruit of their love (or sex, should I say) is my nephew. He is a bi-racial, bi-cultural 2 year old kid. How lucky he is to grow up in a multilingual environment you would say. Stop there!! I must interject. My nephew is, to much of my regret, not bilingual. My sister and her husband have decided to raise my nephew in French. Hence, my nephew only understands French. If I tell him: "hey baby, you know I have a bag full of chocolates" he would simply ignore me. (I will test him next time I see him). On occasion, I teach him that French is not the official language on this planet. He can now alternatively use the term "sakana" (fish in Japanese) or "poisson" (fish in French) when referring to his favorite pet. He can also "high five." When I say: "gimme five" (in English), he claps my hand with his small palm while repeatedly yelling: "five, five, five...!!" He knows how to count from one to ten: "owaan, tooo, tree, fo, five, six, sevane, eigh... ten!". Somehow, he always misses the "nine" part. Is it a mistake for bi-cultural parents to raise their kid in a monolingual home in this steadily growing world-wide international communication environment? Is it too demanding for parents to condition their kid in such a young age to switch from one language to another? Will it not put a brake on the child's educational undertaking and language skills? Having grown up in a Japanese home, educated both in an American and French educational system, I must admit my Japanese, French and English drafting skills are not up to the level of the native Japanese, French or English. I know parents who have a totally opposite approach in the way they educate their kids. A francophone couple now living in France (French and Belgian) but both having lived and worked in the U.S. have decided to raise their kids exclusively in English. Is their method over the top weird?

I have the perfect solution for my unborn (unconceived) kids with my future unmet Greek husband for our imaginary household on planet Mars. Our kids will speak Japanese and Greek to us, receive a catholic and greek orthodox religious education (so that they eat the Easter-lamb twice during the Easter season) will master the subtlety of King's English thanks to their education at Oxbridge and will speak French in past-perfect and past-conditional in case they are to marry the offspring of the genealogical line of descent of the no longer existing decapitated King of France. Mom, your grandchildren will be perfect Martians. How cool is that.

Labels: Self derision

Monday, May 01, 2006

Hoboken, Belgium not Jersey

My friends all think that I have a sexy lifestyle with a high profile job because I travel business class. Well, my dear friends, at the risk of disappointing you, there's nothing sexy traveling business class. I don't sip burbon in first-class lounges. I don't get first class service from leggy blonde crew members. I only travel to industrial cities of Northern England or to gloomy villages in Belgium. How sexy is that? Okay, I admit, twice, I flew business on an international long-distance flight. The first time I was so tired I collapsed once I got onto the plane and woke up when I reached the final destination. I didn't have the opportunity to enjoy the glass of British Airlines champagne that they serve before take-off and the on-flight first class English service. The second time? Wasn't great... I didn't get the attention business class travelers usually get. I was the only woman on board the business section and by far the youngest by one generation. The flight attendants probably thought I was graded up... Ladies and gentlemen of AA, let me assure you that I wasn't graded up. I paid (well, the firm paid) full price so I deserved full service like anybody else !! I don't really blame AA for having mistaken me for a graded up tourist. While my fellow business travelers were all reading the Wall Street Journal and examining their files, I was listening to my iPod...

All this to say that I don't travel to sexy places. The other day, for instance, I was forced to travel in a remote area of Northern Belgium near Antwerp. Not exciting at all. While driving there, I passed by a city called Hoboken... What?!! Hoboken, N.J.?? What the ....!!! what am I doing in NJ, I said to myself for a nanno second, but I realized I was in Hoboken, Belgium. I got curious of this Belgian Hoboken and drove around, not knowing what I was looking for. And suddenly, I saw, in amazement, in the center of the village of Hoboken, Belgium, a disgustingly looking, old-fashioned motel/restaurant called... "Garden State." I started to crack up.

Dear owner of the "Garden State" motel/restaurant in Hoboken, Belgium: I am not sure your fellow villagers have understood your sense of humor...

Labels: Professional hardship, Self derision

From Espresso to Coffee with Milk

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

D - 3

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

D - 4

Friday, May 26, 2006

Ascension Weekend

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Football, the French Version

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Morning Aggression

Monday, May 15, 2006

The Unexpected News from Ex...

Friday, May 12, 2006

Yearning for the Vanished Youth....

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

What Will I Do Without Her # 3

Friday, May 05, 2006

Welcome to the "divorced with kids" box

Thursday, May 04, 2006

On-Line Shopping

Baby Talk

Monday, May 01, 2006

Hoboken, Belgium not Jersey

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