Saturday, November 24, 2012
Thanks
Thanks.
Thanksgiving made me think a bit and realize we have a choice, either thankful or resentful in life. It either happens TO us or or it happens FOR us. I'll have the thankful, it happens for us attitude please.
What do I have to be thankful for? My family first and most, and sitting to dinner with them, even without mom was an hour of grace.
My sister Michelle (Shelly) has a little one now and she is too frazzeled to host, Derek is a guy, and Grandma and Grandpa are too old. I didn't want to lose the tradition though so I cooked. Scary, nerve wracking and tiring, but I did it!
It used to alternate between us, mom cooking and the grandparents, and maybe the odd year with some aunts and uncles, but now its just us. I didn't get too fancy, but bought a "natural" turkey, brined it in a garbage bag with fresh herbs, and did the normal mashed potatos, stuffing, yams and a green veggie. This year the green veggie was brussel sprouts cut in half and sauteed in bacon fat with onions and garlic.
It took me three days to shop, chop and cook and was over in an hour, but everyone got up and cleaned and I got to just chill and be thanked. I could almost cry from the feeling of having feed everyone and see how much they enjoyed it! Well actually I did a little but didn't let anyone see, don't want them to think I'm unstable! :) (little inside joke for those who know me)
But really it wasn't just the food, but the occasion and the people gathered together that made it so special. Families forget each other, take each other for granted, and don't realize how each of us are part of the foundation for the lives of the others.
I've got a good foundation.
Thanks (to whom? God? my family? cosmic consciousness? Whatever, just thanks)
:)
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Drunken Conversations
I had a short chat last night with a guy who I used to have a crush on when I was younger. It was apparent after a couple of lines that he was pretty drunk. I had had a couple glasses of wine myself and we said stuff that we may regret in the morning.
HE: i really need your help... please
Me: Yes? how what?
HE: Well honestly im super horny... could you help?:)
Now here is where a girl has to make a choice; do I want to be a girl that guys can just say that too? Do I want to play along and risk making a fool of myself? Do I really want to see inside the psyche of a drunk boy/man?
I played along a bit until it was apparent that he wasn't capable of playing the sort of mind game that a good chat is, teasing, innuendo, bold moves and good observation of where the other person is at in their mind. He was too drunk and didn't follow the leads I gave him to some hot chat sex.
I think part of it is that I am a word person and he is a person who comes across better in person. I love to play with words, use them on people. If he and I were in the same mood and physically in the same location, I bet he could have just looked in my eyes and I would have felt his need and been aroused myself. Shit I felt his need through his sparse, marginally coherent, one line chat responses!
But I'm a girl and I need more foreplay, words that tease with subtle meanings and suggestions, words that move feelings and memories around in my mind, I need to be feeling something too.
All I was feeling was tipsy and silly, although I did try to use my words to get him going;
Me: I'll be in my bedroom....I'll find something sexy to wear, maybe some transparent panties and some lip gloss? That do it for you?
Now to me that is a pretty obvious invitation to some hot chat! But he didn't really step up, but just replied
HE: What else would you do for me
Me? Whacha gonna do for me babe? He's not a word play guy. If I was him and wanted to play back, I would have said some thing like "oh yea! and I'll kiss that lip gloss off you and then your panties too!" Or "I'll come into your room with a feather to tease you, a body to please you and my passion to feed yours".
I know, I expect a lot. Thing is he's a great guy, nice, fun, decent. But still at that guy stage where he thinks too much with his dick. And there are times when a girl wants a drunk, physical, horny guy who doesn't have much to say or any claim on you. But it has to be inperson. Not in a chat!
I did what I had to do, and had a nice sleep. I hope he did too... :)
HE: i really need your help... please

Me: Yes? how what?
HE: Well honestly im super horny... could you help?:)
Now here is where a girl has to make a choice; do I want to be a girl that guys can just say that too? Do I want to play along and risk making a fool of myself? Do I really want to see inside the psyche of a drunk boy/man?
I played along a bit until it was apparent that he wasn't capable of playing the sort of mind game that a good chat is, teasing, innuendo, bold moves and good observation of where the other person is at in their mind. He was too drunk and didn't follow the leads I gave him to some hot chat sex.
I think part of it is that I am a word person and he is a person who comes across better in person. I love to play with words, use them on people. If he and I were in the same mood and physically in the same location, I bet he could have just looked in my eyes and I would have felt his need and been aroused myself. Shit I felt his need through his sparse, marginally coherent, one line chat responses!
But I'm a girl and I need more foreplay, words that tease with subtle meanings and suggestions, words that move feelings and memories around in my mind, I need to be feeling something too.
All I was feeling was tipsy and silly, although I did try to use my words to get him going;
Me: I'll be in my bedroom....I'll find something sexy to wear, maybe some transparent panties and some lip gloss? That do it for you?

Now to me that is a pretty obvious invitation to some hot chat! But he didn't really step up, but just replied
HE: What else would you do for me

- Me: A bottle of tequila and a sleeping bag out on the hill somewhere that looks over the valley and two people telling each other their shit...now thats real.
- Your drunk now xxxx. Just jack off and go to sleep.HE: No,,,,I want you now!Me: And xxx, I want you to write me in the morning and tell me all about it! Tell me what you imagined and how good it felt and all that!HE: What?
- What do you mean?
Me? Whacha gonna do for me babe? He's not a word play guy. If I was him and wanted to play back, I would have said some thing like "oh yea! and I'll kiss that lip gloss off you and then your panties too!" Or "I'll come into your room with a feather to tease you, a body to please you and my passion to feed yours".
I know, I expect a lot. Thing is he's a great guy, nice, fun, decent. But still at that guy stage where he thinks too much with his dick. And there are times when a girl wants a drunk, physical, horny guy who doesn't have much to say or any claim on you. But it has to be inperson. Not in a chat!
I did what I had to do, and had a nice sleep. I hope he did too... :)
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Ah School...
Back in the grind, autumn in full glorious last stages of leftover summer before the cool winds and rustling leaves come blowing by reminding of how life moves on never stays the same.
Run on sentences feel so good, stream of consciousness, alive and loving it in the face of the hideous oppression of structured writing to meet the dry expectations of grad student TA's whose only desire is the professors approving eye, a beer or ten, and a new crop of young women/girls to prey on.
Yea I'd fuck for a grade if I had to, but I don't, even though there are a couple of guys I wish would ask, as if guys ask instead of passive aggessivly maneuver and scheme, just ask guys, have some balls and say it, "I want your ass".
I'd have more respect if it was done direct and left alone if rejected, but then where's the fun in that? Too simple.
I need to write 4000 cogent words on mid seventeenth century literatures beginings, lots of poets, not too much in the way of what we now think of as literature, the novel and all.
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my lays.
Yea right, its work to read, maybe my attitude needs adjustment, a few beers would do the trick, but spend months on my hips too, wine perhaps in baccannal spirit, or harlots gin, and strip naked at Dr Andy's poetry night and read "Rape of the Lock" with my most drunken slur!
Wa dir oofeens frum amrus cusses srpoings...
And fall down to the applause, a performance piece macabre.
http://poetryindavis.com/ ?? should I? I probably won't, but sit mouse quiet in the back row and fantasize about having the courage to walk up front and do anything at all! Men are not the only ones living lives of quiet desparation, internal fantasy the only love known, unseen, not recognized for who you are, but just a blob of flesh, not even acceptably shaped.
Ah well. I have not lost hope. There IS joy in me, and things wanting to get out. This was some of it.
Luv ya.
Run on sentences feel so good, stream of consciousness, alive and loving it in the face of the hideous oppression of structured writing to meet the dry expectations of grad student TA's whose only desire is the professors approving eye, a beer or ten, and a new crop of young women/girls to prey on.
Yea I'd fuck for a grade if I had to, but I don't, even though there are a couple of guys I wish would ask, as if guys ask instead of passive aggessivly maneuver and scheme, just ask guys, have some balls and say it, "I want your ass".
I'd have more respect if it was done direct and left alone if rejected, but then where's the fun in that? Too simple.
I need to write 4000 cogent words on mid seventeenth century literatures beginings, lots of poets, not too much in the way of what we now think of as literature, the novel and all.
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my lays.
Yea right, its work to read, maybe my attitude needs adjustment, a few beers would do the trick, but spend months on my hips too, wine perhaps in baccannal spirit, or harlots gin, and strip naked at Dr Andy's poetry night and read "Rape of the Lock" with my most drunken slur!
Wa dir oofeens frum amrus cusses srpoings...
And fall down to the applause, a performance piece macabre.
http://poetryindavis.com/ ?? should I? I probably won't, but sit mouse quiet in the back row and fantasize about having the courage to walk up front and do anything at all! Men are not the only ones living lives of quiet desparation, internal fantasy the only love known, unseen, not recognized for who you are, but just a blob of flesh, not even acceptably shaped.
Ah well. I have not lost hope. There IS joy in me, and things wanting to get out. This was some of it.
Luv ya.
Monday, September 3, 2012
I saw her walking ahead of me
I saw her walking ahead of me in the Châtelet – Les Halles metro station, long legs, an Italian silk summer dress with a salmon and tea green print and some impossible heels the seemed too small to fit any woman's feet, but held hers like the hands of a foot fetish near orgasm.
I claim I'm not lesbian but the girl lust rose in me watching the sway of her hips and the long cool stride, the flow of her hair in the slight breeze of the metros ventilation, and the absolute confidence she had.
I imagined the silk she must be wearing under her silk, those kind of panties that are not at all tight, yet fit so close, feeling like air on the skin.
I had seen her before and smiled at her. She looked at me with a pleasant confusion, a concession to me in sometimes aloof Paris. My heart skipped a beat, or three.
Is she a model out shopping, I wondered, or a very expensive prostitue? More likely a beautiful accessory of the wealthy circles. A protected woman out in the edges of the real world where girls don't look like visions, money is a worry and life is not assured to be comfortable.
Long legs the opposite of short chubby me, with my rapidly locking dreads, and nouveau retro hippy blouses and skirts. I've figured out that I will never be long legged, slim and impeccable. Maybe more because I don't want to be. I do though, notice those who are.
A man a few days ago, a suit cut by scissors longing to make love to his body, hair kissed by the air, not fussy, no product! Ick. A gym member who doesn't flaunt it, not too tall and he smiled at the coffee lady as he collected his morning jolt and pasterie in front of me. I could have eaten him for dinner and had leftovers for breakfast!
So different from how I present myself, so different from how I want to be seen, and still so fascinating.
About 2 weeks into my adventure I decided to do dreads. I can't compete with french women at their look, so I went all Berkley, peasant blouses, short sheath skirts, sandals and me, pushing out the seams. So much for scarves and style. Its a look, suits me, and sets me apart.
They seem to understand when they hear my American accent... :)
"bonjour, je suis Chloé........... Oui... de californie"
So did I follow her, or him, like a puppy wanting attention? Yea a little. She noticed, he didn't.
I'll see her again.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
I'm moving in with a man!
Schools out. Yeah! But the bigger news is that I am moving into an apartment with a man! First time for me!
Little twist to it though, he's 73.
Remember I posted a while ago that I wanted to go back to France this summer? Well its on! I called some friends there and asked how I could go about getting myself a writers garrett and how much it would cost in Paris, and it turns out that it is ridiculous! Pretty much anything on the short term was over €1,500 a month. Thats $2000ish. And that is for a studio/room in a not so good neighborhood.
That would be stupid, worth it, but irresponsible. My budget is €3000 for everything, the whole summer ($3800). I've got an $1400 round trip flight, on Finnair via Helsinki! And heres the beauty, my friends know a man who has a 2 room apartment in the 14º Arrondissement where Hemingway, Henry Miller, Fitzgerald, TS Elliot, Alice B Tolkas and Gertrude Stein famously lived and wrote!!
€350 a month (X 2.5 months) for a nice safe quiet room and full use of the apartment!!! I'm going to cook myself, no money for eating out, but what I really want to do is discipline myself to write at a set time and for a certain number of hours or words each day.
For fun, I get to walk around Paris! I'll probably get a Metro pass too, but thats about it for spending. Food, Wine, and shelter and being in Paris should be a plenty rich experience.
My landlord/roomate is a fairly recent widower, so we have something in common, but comes highly recommended. He was a civil engineer and has lived in many different places, Morocco for a while and Algeria, and Tahiti. He speaks English too and is in good health and people say he is fairly mellow and will enjoy my company. I plan on getting him talking and maybe I can use some of his life in future characters.
My Grandma is worried he will hit on me, and that I will certainly get robbed if not raped if I am out in public after about 4pm, but those are risks that I take in San Francisco too. Well maybe not men hitting on me!! Secretly I sometimes even encourage that! And imagine a grandpa aged man hitting on me?!!? Actually I can! What I would like to experience is it done so well that I would consider it. I wonder if age and experience really can win over youth and vigor? Don't worry, I'm not going to encourage it there! But the thought of it...could be a novel? What was that old movie with the kid and the old woman? Wouldn't it be nice if relationships were primarily something other than a good match of physical attractiveness? (Note to Greta: something to explore).
I don't even know the man yet and her I go off imagining! Could be too that he is grumpy and doesn't like the sound of my fingers on keys for hours! I'll have to be Chloe the mouse and scuttle around tying to be inoffensive! Imagine! Me inoffensive? Ms Blunt who laughs like a horse!
So...I leave July 4th. Probably return mid September for school. Or maybe never be heard from again, vanishing into the world at large, so far from where I am known. Nah, gotta a book to write! Maybe this time even published by someone other than myself!!
Love
Little twist to it though, he's 73.
Remember I posted a while ago that I wanted to go back to France this summer? Well its on! I called some friends there and asked how I could go about getting myself a writers garrett and how much it would cost in Paris, and it turns out that it is ridiculous! Pretty much anything on the short term was over €1,500 a month. Thats $2000ish. And that is for a studio/room in a not so good neighborhood.
That would be stupid, worth it, but irresponsible. My budget is €3000 for everything, the whole summer ($3800). I've got an $1400 round trip flight, on Finnair via Helsinki! And heres the beauty, my friends know a man who has a 2 room apartment in the 14º Arrondissement where Hemingway, Henry Miller, Fitzgerald, TS Elliot, Alice B Tolkas and Gertrude Stein famously lived and wrote!!
![]() |
55 Rue Boulard, food vendors across the street in the park a couple times a week! |
€350 a month (X 2.5 months) for a nice safe quiet room and full use of the apartment!!! I'm going to cook myself, no money for eating out, but what I really want to do is discipline myself to write at a set time and for a certain number of hours or words each day.
For fun, I get to walk around Paris! I'll probably get a Metro pass too, but thats about it for spending. Food, Wine, and shelter and being in Paris should be a plenty rich experience.
My landlord/roomate is a fairly recent widower, so we have something in common, but comes highly recommended. He was a civil engineer and has lived in many different places, Morocco for a while and Algeria, and Tahiti. He speaks English too and is in good health and people say he is fairly mellow and will enjoy my company. I plan on getting him talking and maybe I can use some of his life in future characters.
My Grandma is worried he will hit on me, and that I will certainly get robbed if not raped if I am out in public after about 4pm, but those are risks that I take in San Francisco too. Well maybe not men hitting on me!! Secretly I sometimes even encourage that! And imagine a grandpa aged man hitting on me?!!? Actually I can! What I would like to experience is it done so well that I would consider it. I wonder if age and experience really can win over youth and vigor? Don't worry, I'm not going to encourage it there! But the thought of it...could be a novel? What was that old movie with the kid and the old woman? Wouldn't it be nice if relationships were primarily something other than a good match of physical attractiveness? (Note to Greta: something to explore).
I don't even know the man yet and her I go off imagining! Could be too that he is grumpy and doesn't like the sound of my fingers on keys for hours! I'll have to be Chloe the mouse and scuttle around tying to be inoffensive! Imagine! Me inoffensive? Ms Blunt who laughs like a horse!
So...I leave July 4th. Probably return mid September for school. Or maybe never be heard from again, vanishing into the world at large, so far from where I am known. Nah, gotta a book to write! Maybe this time even published by someone other than myself!!
Love
♥♥♥
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Telepathic rainbow unicorn named Clancy who serves me, and a male panther who shapeshifts into my occasional lover but has no name.
On a Facebook group, Vicki Ableson's Women Who Write ,http://www.facebook.com/groups/134766656603628/ Linda Sands, a woman who writes among other things, Linda-sands.com, asked for 10 people to answer 10 question in 10 words or less....fun stuff so I did!
http://linda-sands.com/authors/the-quick-fire-june-another-challenge-or-more-words-from-writers
Then, inspired by my last answer, wrote a little bedtime story for my kids, (hopefully it will be useful if I ever fall in love, have kids and remember where I filed it!)(Or get knocked up, abandoned by the guy and need something to swat the flys away from my brats in the single wide in Barstow)
Clancy was a unicorn. A rainbow unicorn. And he was telepathic too!
He started out at as a MyLittlePony toy of a little girl named Chloe, and grew with her feeding off her love, and her thoughts, until he was big.
Now he was 15 hands tall, bigger than any unicorn, in fact he was the size of a Horse!
Clancy glowed in colors, and not just one color at a time, but all the colors of the rainbow! And all at once too!
Of course only Chloe could see him. He was specially for her. He helped her.
If Chloe was sad, her trilled in the special voice that unicorns have, and pushed his colorful glow out of him as strong as he could! That alway made Chloe happy!
And when Chloe was happy, Oh My! Clancy ate up the happiness coming out of her and grew stronger and bigger and even brighter!
Chloe was happy a lot, so Clancy was big and bright!
Clancy had a special power too, that he only shared with Chloe, he could tell what other people were thinking. He used this power to help and protect Chloe.
When she was at school, Clancy could tell if there were any mean people around who might bully her. And if there were especially nice people around, he would make sure that Chloe met them and became friends.
Chloe had another special friend, but he didn’t have a name. He was a big cat, a black panther! He was scary to Clancy, because he had teeth! And eyes that stared without smiling too much. He looked like something that could eat a unicorn for breakfast!
The panther had a special power too. He could change shapes into a person for a short time. When Chloe was a little girl the panther would change shapes into a little boy sometimes and chase her and try to tickle her. Clancy didn’t like that! But Chloe did even though she pretended not to.
He couldn’t stay a person for too long though, so he usually was skulking around in the shadows where Clancy couldn’t see him.
Now that Chloe was grown up, the panther would still follow her, and sometimes he would leap out at her with the claws out and his teeth bared, and then at the very last moment, he would change into a handsome young man, and he would kiss Chloe.
Chloe still pretended not to like this, but Clancy could tell with his special powers that she really did. It still made Clancy uneasy though.
One day when Chloe went on a nice bicycle ride in the country, with Clancy trotting along behind and the panther sneaking from bush to bush waiting to pounce, a bad wizard and his minions jumped out from behind a tree, knocked Chloe off her bike, through a net over the panther and lassoed Clancy!
The pulled Clancy into a horse trailer and sped off before Chloe could get up and before the panther could bite his way out of the net!
Chloe was not hurt but she was so very angry and very very sad too. Clancy was her friend from when she was little and she knew the wizard would not be nice to him, and maybe even try to make him do bad things!
The Panther saw how sad Chloe was and he was angry too, so he shifted into his man shape, jumped on Chloe’s bike, told her to sit on the handle bars, and using all his strength, peddled so fast that they caught up with the wizard at the stop sign at the end of the road!
The wizard jumped out of the truck towing the trailer with Clancy in it and laughed at the young man and Chloe on the bicycle.
“Maybe you can catch me”, said the wizard, “but there is nothing a young man and a silly young woman can do to stop me!”
Just then the panther changed back into his panther shape, leaped onto the wizard and ate him!
Chloe set Clancy free and the wizard’s bad helpers all ran away in fear.
Clancy was so happy! And now he was no longer afraid of the panther either! He knew that the panther was his friend too!
So the three friends, Clancy, the Panther and Chloe went home to have some cookies and milk, some panther food and some nice fresh grass.
Now, and ever since the panther ate the wizard, when the panther burps, sparkles come out his mouth, even when he is in his human shape.
So if you see a cute young woman named Chloe, talking to someone named Clancy that you can not see, and waving her hand around in front of her face like she is trying to make sparkles go away, you will know the three friends are living happily ever after!
The End.
:)
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Taking a peek at what should remain unseen..
I'm not a normal girl, I think. (semi-colon? or comma?)
I think sometimes I am sitting on the edge of a precipice, that is the edge of the heights of sanity, with my feet dangling over the edge and my butt slipping and sliding precariously, while I hum a carefree little tune in my head and dream of things I want but do not create.
Below, a bottomless void of unknown, without features, with nothing that could be grasped to give reference much less support. That must be what insanity is, loosing all reference. Not just right and wrong, but reference to the shared experience of life. Culture, friendship and even more basic reference to the physical features of the world around. With out reference it would all be dream, or worse hallucination with no meaning.
I think some people never even realize the void is there. They are normal. Life is almost automatic for them, their thinking done for them by the culture they live in, by the also automatic decisions their peers make, and by the random coincidental stuff that seems to be a grand conspiracy by the overlords, illuminati and republicans.
I can't be normal, and don't want to be, but I dream of it. How easy it would be! How wonderful to live without knowing the void. Without having to face sanity knowing it is not the only choice.
There is danger in knowledge. Like the popular theme these days from "The Secret" and that whole line of thinking; you get what you put your attention on, manifest your dreams. Mini empires are built on telling people that too. I wonder what motivation is behind pulling back that curtain? Housewives wishing for new cars and an attentive husband, but opening the pandoras box of knowledge, knowing they can envision something, and if the vision is held, it starts to turn to reality. Are normal people safe with that? Or will human failings slip through that open door and petty jealousy's and minor slights motivate evil's growth?
.
Whoa. Dark. I better get myself a vente mocha latte, make sure my facebook is up to date and get to school! Or they'll throw a net over me and put me on a watch!
(Just being creative Greta, no worries... ♥ )
I think sometimes I am sitting on the edge of a precipice, that is the edge of the heights of sanity, with my feet dangling over the edge and my butt slipping and sliding precariously, while I hum a carefree little tune in my head and dream of things I want but do not create.
Below, a bottomless void of unknown, without features, with nothing that could be grasped to give reference much less support. That must be what insanity is, loosing all reference. Not just right and wrong, but reference to the shared experience of life. Culture, friendship and even more basic reference to the physical features of the world around. With out reference it would all be dream, or worse hallucination with no meaning.
I think some people never even realize the void is there. They are normal. Life is almost automatic for them, their thinking done for them by the culture they live in, by the also automatic decisions their peers make, and by the random coincidental stuff that seems to be a grand conspiracy by the overlords, illuminati and republicans.
I can't be normal, and don't want to be, but I dream of it. How easy it would be! How wonderful to live without knowing the void. Without having to face sanity knowing it is not the only choice.
There is danger in knowledge. Like the popular theme these days from "The Secret" and that whole line of thinking; you get what you put your attention on, manifest your dreams. Mini empires are built on telling people that too. I wonder what motivation is behind pulling back that curtain? Housewives wishing for new cars and an attentive husband, but opening the pandoras box of knowledge, knowing they can envision something, and if the vision is held, it starts to turn to reality. Are normal people safe with that? Or will human failings slip through that open door and petty jealousy's and minor slights motivate evil's growth?
.
Whoa. Dark. I better get myself a vente mocha latte, make sure my facebook is up to date and get to school! Or they'll throw a net over me and put me on a watch!
(Just being creative Greta, no worries... ♥ )
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Serious shit!
OK. You can't take shit too serious! (Chloe says in her best Jenna Marbles voice, with a quirky grin).
Yea. Fucking right!
Why? 'Cause, thats why. Just because you have a vagina doesn't mean you have to take shit all serious!
I'd like to be more like her, except she HAS a boyfriend and can say all the stuff she does because it doesn't matter to her! But she says stuff that I can relate to! And she makes a living posting on youtube!
I don't say fuck as much as her and I don't think that would help me either! The guys that are impressed with that are all busy masturbating to her anyway. But what I would like is her seeming detachment from the whole social/cultural mess we live in. Maybe its just that she can observe it in others even though her life is stuck in the goo of human intercourse like the rest of us.
Humour seems to come from seeing things a little different. She makes her observations with an innocence that lets her get away with crudities and low production values, and seem natural and girl-wise.
Maybe thats what I want, to be girl-wise. Innocent, funny, cute, and smart in a non-threatening-to-evolving-males kind of way..
Yea.
Yea. Fucking right!
Why? 'Cause, thats why. Just because you have a vagina doesn't mean you have to take shit all serious!
Read more about her..
I'd like to be more like her, except she HAS a boyfriend and can say all the stuff she does because it doesn't matter to her! But she says stuff that I can relate to! And she makes a living posting on youtube!
I don't say fuck as much as her and I don't think that would help me either! The guys that are impressed with that are all busy masturbating to her anyway. But what I would like is her seeming detachment from the whole social/cultural mess we live in. Maybe its just that she can observe it in others even though her life is stuck in the goo of human intercourse like the rest of us.
Humour seems to come from seeing things a little different. She makes her observations with an innocence that lets her get away with crudities and low production values, and seem natural and girl-wise.
Maybe thats what I want, to be girl-wise. Innocent, funny, cute, and smart in a non-threatening-to-evolving-males kind of way..
Yea.
♥
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Alone on Sat. night

Yea loser me.
But I have to look at it realisticly, I am the one who decides that when some guy acts like maybe he wants to talk to me, I look like I don't want to be talked to. Guys have fragile egos. Women are rejected all the time, you know, some guy looks at you for a second, and your self esteem gets ready to go up, and bam, he looks away like he didn't even see you, but you know its your weight/boobs/hair/ or worse, face.
We're used to it, but I think then we deal with it by being hard to get, or hard to get at, haughty, whatever. And lose out.
Guys are used to people, women people, listening to them if they act like they are going to say something. Guys don't notice when a woman person is acting like she wants to say something! Unless of course she has great boobs/face/sexual reputation!
ARRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!
So rather than getting out there ever optimistic, playing the game, here I am, facebook a dry well, TV too insipid to tolerate, and my own failings turning into pixels for the world to see. Invisible Chole, I feel like I could walk naked down a busy street and no one would see me.
Of course someone would, and it would be some total loser guy, too drunk to talk, too drunk to fuck, and too drunk to respect.
In other words, sort of like me.
Ah pity, sweet wine.
:)
Sunday, April 22, 2012
This summer, changepoint
I've decided. This summer I'm going back to Europe and its OK if I don't come back in the fall. Fuck school. Sure school's great, there are some inspiring people trying to excite young minds, but they are doing it in a system that is also trying to form young minds into the robots of commerce of the future.
They worry so much about our "careers" and "job opportunity", and that we have the skills to succeed that they lose track of our process of learning, exploring and maturing. "School" is an assembly line to mediocrity, in a factory making people that fit in.
You may think, "WHat!! what about occupy and protests and activisism and pepper spray!" I would say to you "what do those outlier events really mean? Are they the start of a whole way of life? Or just a bit of rebellion before the mortgage, family and faded dreams?" For some they will be a way of life, but consider; life lived trying to change others is of less ultimate influence than a life lived in your own unique and satisfying way, that broadens the scope of possiblilty and acceptability for others.
School should celebrate people who head off in new directions, pushing the envelope of life, in thought, in action, in lifestyle. It should not celebrate people acting like sheep, sitting to be peppersprayed in media events that try to affect change with negative means. Sure there is cause for revolution, but using force, even passive/aggressive force is not required here and now. Go out and live and create the world in the vision you have, rather than try to tear down your parents version.
So, I may not go back to school.
My writing is slow, too many distractions, and there is something about being is such familiar circumstances that sucks the inspiration out into the hazey california sky and makes me lazy.
I'm thinking renting a room in Paris, the writers garrett, and disappearing into my head for a time. Maybe if I can come up with some way of leaving my credit cards at home and living off a pittance, it will force me to spend time getting all these ideas, dreams and stories out of my head and onto paper.
Paper! Pixels really!
Last time I was in Paris I almost fell in love. Maybe I will meet someone and my life will turn on that and I will end up living there, raising a family, and leaving behind the wonderful comfort of being an affluent california girl, with all its materialistic temptations.
I've promised myself that if I get 50,000 words done, I will reward myself with a week in Greece, on the beach, sunburning my boobs like I did last year!
Ha!
They worry so much about our "careers" and "job opportunity", and that we have the skills to succeed that they lose track of our process of learning, exploring and maturing. "School" is an assembly line to mediocrity, in a factory making people that fit in.
You may think, "WHat!! what about occupy and protests and activisism and pepper spray!" I would say to you "what do those outlier events really mean? Are they the start of a whole way of life? Or just a bit of rebellion before the mortgage, family and faded dreams?" For some they will be a way of life, but consider; life lived trying to change others is of less ultimate influence than a life lived in your own unique and satisfying way, that broadens the scope of possiblilty and acceptability for others.
School should celebrate people who head off in new directions, pushing the envelope of life, in thought, in action, in lifestyle. It should not celebrate people acting like sheep, sitting to be peppersprayed in media events that try to affect change with negative means. Sure there is cause for revolution, but using force, even passive/aggressive force is not required here and now. Go out and live and create the world in the vision you have, rather than try to tear down your parents version.
So, I may not go back to school.
My writing is slow, too many distractions, and there is something about being is such familiar circumstances that sucks the inspiration out into the hazey california sky and makes me lazy.
I'm thinking renting a room in Paris, the writers garrett, and disappearing into my head for a time. Maybe if I can come up with some way of leaving my credit cards at home and living off a pittance, it will force me to spend time getting all these ideas, dreams and stories out of my head and onto paper.
Paper! Pixels really!
Last time I was in Paris I almost fell in love. Maybe I will meet someone and my life will turn on that and I will end up living there, raising a family, and leaving behind the wonderful comfort of being an affluent california girl, with all its materialistic temptations.
I've promised myself that if I get 50,000 words done, I will reward myself with a week in Greece, on the beach, sunburning my boobs like I did last year!
Ha!
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Soft power, quiet certainty
My dad got back from India last night! Hurray! I was missing him so much! (No silly thats Ramana, not Daddy! But he has that same look!)
I went to SFO and picked him up and drove him home in the rain. He said he wasn't sure if he even remembered how to drive! It was raining so hard all the way there and back. It was scary, driving in the dark and all the weekend traffic and the clouds of spray coming up from all the other cars, but I was so careful and concentrated real hard. I had precious cargo!
Its a funny feeling to be responsible for someone elses life like that, driving in bad conditions, knowing that if you screwed up, it could be bad. I saw like 10 ambulances with their lights flashing rushing to accidents too, and passed one where a car was turned facing traffic in the fast lane with a terrified woman being comforted by her man standing next to it waiting for someone to stop the traffic and rescue them. I am most cried seeing it! Well actually I did! They were standing on the thin little strip between the fast lane and the divider holding each other tight...
But we made it home safe, and I had a fire laid and even though Dad must have been tired he was excited and happy and we stayed up till after midnight talking.
We killed a bottle of Cab and he told me all about his trip. Well probably not all about it, but the highlights. He started with a Vipanassa retreat in Dharamsala which is in Northern India and real close to Pakistan =0 and when that was done, he did a touristy thing to some of the parks and conservation areas that they have along the base of the Himalayas.
Then he went into Nepal and climbed Everest....Just kidding! He just visited Katmandu and then went and stayed in local type places in smaller towns for a while. He says he meditated every morning and every evening the whole time, and sometimes even with other people he met.
After Nepal he went back down into India and visited the holy city of Varanasi, which is full of temples and is on the Ganges, and then to New Delhi for a week and back home from there. He said the flight home was full of people who work in San Jose in computers!
He's different, he's like real calm but sort of like more alive too. He used to be quiet and calm and steady and happy too, but its like he has his same calm but with a sort of excited ness about it too. Kinda like there is a bigger smile behind the calm. Not that he doesnt smile! He always smiles, but now its like there is a youngerness to it.
I'm so happy for him! I was worried he might get depressed like I do, with missing Mom and all, but he really never went there. Thats good too, 'cause I don't know what I'd do if he did!
I made waffles this morning, my favorite thing in the world for a sunday morning, and later I'm going to make him go to whole foods with me and reintroduce him to American culture! He says it will be fun!
Taking my Dad on a date to the grocery store, Oh Yea!
You don't realize how much you miss someone sometimes until their back!
:)
Saturday, January 7, 2012
New Year, new me
Its a new year and a new me. I am older, and not just chronologically. I had a wild ride over the last several years, and a pretty manic year through last summer and early fall, and then the fall. The inevitable fall that us bipolar types always deny is our destiny.
Lucky me I don't fall hard from my manic heights, I just go flat for a while. No great depression, no dramatic trips to the emergency room with crys for help expressed as destructive acts. I just retreat, fall silent, curl up with myself and live less vividly.
Of course this post may represent the start of a new manic phase, but my insight into myself is growing and I have a degree of detachment that allows me perspective. I am growing up, maturing as a human. It feels good!
Yeah.
I am a woman now, not the little girl of last year. Both metaphorically and physically. An allusion I need not expand upon, knowing the intelligence of my readers. But lets just say it was the right time and the right man.
Wise, gentle, and not hung up in the significance and the need for clinging after events. A person whom a partnership with would be out of the question and a friendship with is certain. Older, much more experienced and still playful like the childwoman I was.
:)
I had been so hung up on it being perfect, with some very rigid ideas of what would be perfection. Ideas that seem silly now, and complicating. Confusing love and sex.
I'm amused at myself looking back at how I thought about things and how it turns out as I live my life. I think there is a lesson there in the value of letting go of expectations in favor of simpler goals, less defined by the specifics and more by the arrival somewhere good.
I have arrived, yet the goal is not an end but just a point marked on a larger quest. Larger Quest, that sure sounds pretentious!!
So New Year and new me, settling into myself as a changable vehicle for living. I've gotten back into the habit of meditation and this grounds me some, although I like being manic, I like living large and wild and then the calmer periods. The cycles are a good thing not a disability.
Love you all! ♥
PS: Buy my book!
http://www.amazon.com/Far-Edge-Seventeen-Chloe-Smith/dp/1467965472/
.
Lucky me I don't fall hard from my manic heights, I just go flat for a while. No great depression, no dramatic trips to the emergency room with crys for help expressed as destructive acts. I just retreat, fall silent, curl up with myself and live less vividly.
Of course this post may represent the start of a new manic phase, but my insight into myself is growing and I have a degree of detachment that allows me perspective. I am growing up, maturing as a human. It feels good!
Yeah.
I am a woman now, not the little girl of last year. Both metaphorically and physically. An allusion I need not expand upon, knowing the intelligence of my readers. But lets just say it was the right time and the right man.
Wise, gentle, and not hung up in the significance and the need for clinging after events. A person whom a partnership with would be out of the question and a friendship with is certain. Older, much more experienced and still playful like the childwoman I was.
:)
I had been so hung up on it being perfect, with some very rigid ideas of what would be perfection. Ideas that seem silly now, and complicating. Confusing love and sex.
I'm amused at myself looking back at how I thought about things and how it turns out as I live my life. I think there is a lesson there in the value of letting go of expectations in favor of simpler goals, less defined by the specifics and more by the arrival somewhere good.
I have arrived, yet the goal is not an end but just a point marked on a larger quest. Larger Quest, that sure sounds pretentious!!
So New Year and new me, settling into myself as a changable vehicle for living. I've gotten back into the habit of meditation and this grounds me some, although I like being manic, I like living large and wild and then the calmer periods. The cycles are a good thing not a disability.
Love you all! ♥
PS: Buy my book!
http://www.amazon.com/Far-Edge-Seventeen-Chloe-Smith/dp/1467965472/
.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
I'm not a lesbian!
I'm not a lesbian. Some people have gotten that idea from some stuff I wrote and from knowing other stuff about me, but no, its not so.
Sorry. I know it would be fun if I were. What delicious scandal and gossip material! And easy solution to the relationship problem for me.
Not that I haven't wondered my self if I were. I have had feelings, but when it comes down to who I want to spend my life with, its gonna be someone with the differences that make things so exciting. The unknown of how a man feels and thinks, the texture and tight mass of the male body, and yes even the smells, the wandering attention and danger.
I know there are people who don't want me to talk about this, will feel hurt that I do, because of their own insecurities, their past relationships with me, and the loss when that ended, and the pure fear of their own feelings, but I AM bi.
So deal with it!
:)
Sorry. I know it would be fun if I were. What delicious scandal and gossip material! And easy solution to the relationship problem for me.
Not that I haven't wondered my self if I were. I have had feelings, but when it comes down to who I want to spend my life with, its gonna be someone with the differences that make things so exciting. The unknown of how a man feels and thinks, the texture and tight mass of the male body, and yes even the smells, the wandering attention and danger.
I know there are people who don't want me to talk about this, will feel hurt that I do, because of their own insecurities, their past relationships with me, and the loss when that ended, and the pure fear of their own feelings, but I AM bi.
So deal with it!
:)
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Side stories
I learned a new writing technique today, a friend told me about it; side stories.
Say you are working on a character and get stuck. You don't know how to move them through the situation you are in with them. White screen stares in your face saying you will never be a writer!! OMG!
Well you just open a new window and take your character on a side story! Say your character is a church going family man who never even thinks a bad thing, well, write him hiring an escort and killing a pedestrian drunk driving as a side story. Just make shit up! Outrageous ridiculous stuff that never would see the light of its ink on paper.
Side story. It gets the creative stuff moving again and no one has to see.
Funny idea, sort of like life and that old saying, life is what happens to you while you are waiting for your dreams to come true. Like me waiting for Mr wow to seduce me, or well you get the pathetic idea!
Life has side stories, stuff that doesn't fit in the grand scheme, but is there anyway, little diversions, hidden embarrassments, petty crimes, and sometimes big ones. I'm not in the mood to tell mine, but maybe tonight I will dream of being the escort in my characters little side story, or the pedestrian and I go to heaven. Yea right!
No big side stories for real me. I drive slow when I have been drinking. Like tonight, but I'm home. 2009 Ravenswood Zinfandel Old Vine Vintners Blend. $11.95. Daddy was out, it was cold and I was watching old french subtitled movies.
Désolé, je suis solitaire ce soir. Femme enfant solitaire avec un esprit agité
:)
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
I've been quiet
I've been quiet lately. Its the other side of the manic me. My summer was Chloe the go-bot, all doing this and thinking that, and I used up all the extra energy I had.
School has taken up where my leisure ended, and I am making a real effort to see if I can make it work for me. I am undecided still if its the path I want to go down. The obvious benefits are the acquisition of accepted experiences and formal validation. You go to school, you get a degree and people know you to be of a certain quality.
But what I see is a certain sameness and fear of not being previously validated, that feels to me like something I don't want. I think I want to write, but do I really need a degree, and then a masters, and some awards and participations in workshops to do that? Well yes If I want "those folks" to take me seriously. Academia can be a trap, or a sort of private club, or even a trade guild!
I so want to say "fuck you" to some of that. I'm lucky that I don't need to struggle to succeed just to feed myself. Whoring out my life, following the rules, because of fear of failure/starvation/homelessness. Yet I fear. Just the unknown of it, when the known path is right there in front of me!!
I've got time to figure it out, and support and resources too, so all the above is just intellectual goofing.
Dad came home a few weeks after me, and its been great to be around him. He's chilled and relaxed alot and isnt so sad anymore. He's wistful at times, but not depressed. We can remember mom and laugh at stuff she did or would have done and not "go there".
He is going to go to India later, maybe early next year or in the spring. He's going to do a meditation course, http://www.sikhara.dhamma.org/ and then travel a bit without too much planning. I think he's officially in his own mind, retired, although I suspect he will consult some now and then just because he loves it.
I wish Shelly would hurry up and have a baby! I think Dad would be a good grandpa. Or maybe I should just find some random guy and get knocked up with out telling him. That would give me something to write about! But then I have probably used up most of the family support karma I had, so maybe not. But if there are any applicants for the position, random knocker upper, I'll give it a look.
I've bogged on my Novel. I need to wait for the next manic attack! I've got a firm concept, a rough outline, and maybe 10,000 words from stuff I've already done that can be reworked into it, but still don't have all the plot elements in line. Tentative title; "Projection, an Autobiography", cause that's what it is! Have I mentioned the concept? I don't remember.. :)
Maybe I should just let it happen. I think what is holding me back is the lack of craft. I am enthusiastic, but when I read others work and see how tight and beautiful it can be, I hold back. I don't want to go halfway into something big and then be disgusted by my lack of skills.
Fear is a funny thing, it keeps me from going where I want sometimes, or makes me go where I don't want (school). Someone wise (Gangaji, a real cool woman, gangaji.org ) said recently to "go to the center of it and see whats there". Something I've tried a couple of times, and when I did go to the center of my fear, nothing was there. Its an illusion I create myself. Its kinda a lifting yourself by your boot straps kinda thing. Fear is an illusion created out of fear!
Maybe the rule I should make is that I should do stuff just because I fear it. We'll see how that goes!
:)
Monday, September 26, 2011
More thoughts
A little delayed reaction on my part, but I am sort of in the mood to think about my mom this past week. I posted on one of my other blogs, http://faredgeofseventeen.blogspot.com/ a post called Yesterday. It was the day after the one year anniversary of her death. I had felt like it was just yesterday that she died, but also so recent that I had been with her. Sorry for sad sounding stuff. It's not sad really, to remember her, but it is to miss her.
I wanted this blog to be a "moving forward" thing, but the past seems to follow me! If you want to see where I have been, again its backwards on a blog, the oldest buried at the bottom so START HERE: http://faredgeofseventeen.blogspot.com/2010/10/far-edge-of-seventeen.html I started blogging about a month after my mom died. I never really ever thought about blogging before and now I have 4!
And I am sort of working on maybe writing a book. Two years ago if you would have said I would be writing, I would have said "nuh uh". But now its something that fills a need. Of course if I keep getting C's in english, people will laugh at the idea of me writing! But writing for school requires following certains rules, so that the reader CAN GRADE YOU. In otherwords if you don't write like they think you should, down goes the grade. I am stubborn and write like I want. I write because I want to!
It gives me an excuse to go out and get in trouble so I can write about it! Well not in trouble, but do stuff. Like "oh I don't really like frat guys and the bro crowd, but maybe I'll go to that party for ideas and to see what its like".
Gotta live life.
My mom lived life. She had real adventures. Scary ones too, and did stuff I wouldn't do. Drugs, sex, cults, and also family and love and trying to make the world better.
I want to be like my mom. Maybe no drugs and cults!
:)
Don't worry I'm not taking this blog off into sad land! But just its on my mind right now. My trip this summer changed me a little but very subtly. I wanted to kinda be thrown into adventure, pushed and challenged. I wanted to learn more how to be with people, and I did, sort of. It was different than I expected, people are wonderful, even if they don't know you, they will take you in and give you a chance to be friends. That's what I learned. I didn't really ever have the feeling of being alone, even when I was. I was thousands of miles from home, but people were always around, and they weren't so different from me.
I don't think I can ever be like my mom was at my age, doing things that could go wrong in a bad way. Sleeping where its not safe, being on drugs. She was reckless and I'm not so much. But I think she was even more unhappy than I ever was. I was a mess at 16 and 17, but I had support she didn't somehow. I know she loved her parents, and they were good people, but she left home two weeks after she turned 18.
I could never do that, break off from family like that. But she came back eventually and made her life.
Maybe that is the thing I admire most about her, that she made her life on her own, and I have so much support. The part I want to copy is the variety and intensity of experiences maybe.
I came back from my trip with a better sense of myself and more confident, and had some good experiences and some more difficult.
I think I am off to a good start!
I wanted this blog to be a "moving forward" thing, but the past seems to follow me! If you want to see where I have been, again its backwards on a blog, the oldest buried at the bottom so START HERE: http://faredgeofseventeen.blogspot.com/2010/10/far-edge-of-seventeen.html I started blogging about a month after my mom died. I never really ever thought about blogging before and now I have 4!
And I am sort of working on maybe writing a book. Two years ago if you would have said I would be writing, I would have said "nuh uh". But now its something that fills a need. Of course if I keep getting C's in english, people will laugh at the idea of me writing! But writing for school requires following certains rules, so that the reader CAN GRADE YOU. In otherwords if you don't write like they think you should, down goes the grade. I am stubborn and write like I want. I write because I want to!
It gives me an excuse to go out and get in trouble so I can write about it! Well not in trouble, but do stuff. Like "oh I don't really like frat guys and the bro crowd, but maybe I'll go to that party for ideas and to see what its like".
Gotta live life.
My mom lived life. She had real adventures. Scary ones too, and did stuff I wouldn't do. Drugs, sex, cults, and also family and love and trying to make the world better.
I want to be like my mom. Maybe no drugs and cults!
:)
Don't worry I'm not taking this blog off into sad land! But just its on my mind right now. My trip this summer changed me a little but very subtly. I wanted to kinda be thrown into adventure, pushed and challenged. I wanted to learn more how to be with people, and I did, sort of. It was different than I expected, people are wonderful, even if they don't know you, they will take you in and give you a chance to be friends. That's what I learned. I didn't really ever have the feeling of being alone, even when I was. I was thousands of miles from home, but people were always around, and they weren't so different from me.
I don't think I can ever be like my mom was at my age, doing things that could go wrong in a bad way. Sleeping where its not safe, being on drugs. She was reckless and I'm not so much. But I think she was even more unhappy than I ever was. I was a mess at 16 and 17, but I had support she didn't somehow. I know she loved her parents, and they were good people, but she left home two weeks after she turned 18.
I could never do that, break off from family like that. But she came back eventually and made her life.
Maybe that is the thing I admire most about her, that she made her life on her own, and I have so much support. The part I want to copy is the variety and intensity of experiences maybe.
I came back from my trip with a better sense of myself and more confident, and had some good experiences and some more difficult.
I think I am off to a good start!
Friday, September 23, 2011
Thoughts
Wow! I wrote 16,000 words.
And they are all posted backwards. That's the bad thing about blogging, what you write, posts most recent on top, and if its a serialized story, its all out of order. Sucks. I tried to find a way to fix that, but oh well.
So Please start here: "What I Did This Summer" for my "What I did this Summer", not at part 5! Thanks. :)
I got sort of manic writing all that, and then started school this week. I really wanted to take one of Dr Andy Jones poetry classes but he didn't have one. I have expository writing with Martel. Hope he doesn't think I'm a silly girl and that all I have written so far is bad.
I know I write loose and kinda like I talk, rather than serious and well crafted. I want to learn the craft part too, but I DON'T want to loose the feeling. Know what I mean? There is a lot of feeling in my life, and right now that's what I want to talk about.
Writing can be something you do for other people, or that you do for yourself, and I do it for me. I get almost no feedback, and that's fine, because I don't know how I would handle it. Yea people say "I liked what you wrote", but that's politeness.
It would be hard to sit and watch the personal stuff I write torn apart.
And that's what happens when you write school stuff, so school stuff ends up being something different.
Not me.
:)
Pretty clouds, like my thoughts, noticed, enjoyed, then gone when I look again.
.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Le Grand Cercle
Leaving Paris was hard, but something I had to do. I had goals for the summer and one was to sort of follow in my mom's footsteps. So I would understand her better now that she wasn't around to explain herself. But then is there any explaination for what people do? Are? Feel? Unless you had the same experiences.
So here I was alone on a train, going to where it went, but not really having a destination. So I slept.
I woke up as the train slowed down coming into Strausbourg near the border with France and Germany. I know I had big plans to just find another train and stay on the train, but I didn't. I left the train station and saw a hotel and got a room for the night. I was tired, like I had just finished a busy time and needed to rest. Not really physically tired but tired from excitement. Funny that I had just had a super relaxing time and now was tired, but I just wanted to be even less busy. I stayed in the "Hotel Bristol" across the street from the train station. Nice, clean, real hotel and only about 35€. Fifty bucks.
I woke up in the morning feeling excited that I didn't have anything to do or anyone to coordinate with! I showered and dressed and went out in search of coffee! Found a McDonalds a block away and considered an act of liberation/vandalism, but was too mellow and went a few block in and found what I was looking for. A little place on a corner with lots of tables on the sidewalk and a canal and tons of people. I felt so free. I had two cafe au'laits and some pastries and sat for like an hour. I decided to stay for the day, and went back to the hotel and booked myself for another night, and then went exploring.
It was different than Paris and way different than the south! It was more german in feel, more business like and older too, like with midevil looking buildings. It is supposed to be where the europeon parliament is, but I never found it. I wondered around in the university area all day, looking into little shops, and pretending I was looking for a certain book in a big bookstore but really checking out the less nerdy looking intellectual seeming guys. No Hits. :( But some real cuties. I think my look is counter intellectual. More cute, young, dumb and looking for a husband. If they only knew what I am thinking sometimes!
I got totally lost! Somehow I got turned around and then lost the landmarks I had passed and the only direction I knew was up and down. It was an exhilarating feeling, being this one little point of something in the whole universe and like being completely unconnected to anything. It was like I could feel my own presence, but not any location. It could have been scary too, but it wasn't at all. I felt safe. I knew I could find out where I was, but I didn't want to. I wandered till after dusk, always in busy areas, watching people. Finally ate in a little place, I had a little onion and bacon tart and 3 glasses of Gewurztraminer. Then I asked the waiter "où est la gare". (The Hotel was across from the train station) Life is so simple sometimes. I was no more lost than a few words away from knowing where to go. I didn't stumble back, but was I was feeling pretty good. Stupid I know. Silly American teenage girl alone in some big city almost drunk, walking alone at night. Yea, well, get over it. It felt wonderful.
The next morning I scrubbed up extra good because I was still determined to do the train thing, just ride and ride and I didn't know when I would have my next bath! I was trying to circle France, but silly me the trains don't just follow the borders! Calais was my destination, but I ended up going back through Paris! And then changing one TGV at one station for another TGV and a station next door. Again the underground connecting tunnels. But it was fun. Seeing all the scenery out the window, fields and hilly areas and then Paris, then fields again.
Calais is like 35 miles from England but my rail pass was only for france and so I had dinner there, wonderful poached salmon in a sauce with just the slightest hint of lemon and dill, but the full richness of real cream and butter. Only one glass of wine. Some cheese. Some coffee and then back to the train station, no reservations. But still just early evening. Calais was total tourist city, good place to buy a t shirt and catch a ferry or have some sea food and move on.
I didn't want to go back through Paris again so I pieced it together from Calais to Roeun to Le Mans to Brest. It was like this endurance thing, train, wait in station, train, wait, eat sketch food, train, train. It was like a day and a half. Ok BTGTTS. Been there got the t shirt. It wasn't as romantic as I had thought. And I needed a shower. It was cool though. The "lunea" trains were the night trains and they didn't stop after midnight and until 5:30 in the morning so you could sleep. And they had a guy on the train just to help you out, like planning your trip or waking you up when you asked and stuff. If we had this in the US I would be all over the place.
I spent the night in Brest, but it was just like for the shower, then I did it for 2 more days! Brest to Nantes to La Rochelle to Bordeaux to Toulouse to Aix-en-Provence then back to where I started in Provence, and Daddy. :) It felt so good to see him!!! It felt like it had been longer that a week and a half! I think that I am in love with trains though. People were real nice, and there were kids running around screaming and enjoying their vacations, and old people and young people and it was like most people were in a good mood because it was summer. It was like this big sharred experience with people changing but the moving being constant. No creepo's hit on me. A few guys talked to me and I played on the floor with some little kids. I felt like a kid myself.
I stayed 3 more days with Daddy and talked ALOT! :) He's been meditating real well every morning but not like its a worry or duty, but good and fun and he says he writes for at least 45 minutes. I told him my adventures. Mostly everything I wrote about here. He's cool with me being myself and maybe saying things that some people won't like or feel is wrong. Some of my friends are freaked out that I tell him stuff I do sexually. But he's heard it all from other people and probably more interesting stuff than I know about. He just wants me to not get hurt. But the stuff that really hurts is all in my head anyway. I mean if something bad happens its just stuff in my head that hurts, the thought or memory, not the actual thing that happened. The buddhists call it attachment, you think a thing is a certain way, well then it is. If you don't attach stuff to what the thing was, well then it can be a neutral thing. Its hard not to attach stuff to things that are really deep inside, but meditating helps. Not that I don't want to feel stuff! But just be mostly happy and not let the experiences I have in life rule me. :)
Daddy wanted to drive me back up to Paris! It would have been cool, but I wanted to go all the way home all on my own, and I did. Trains to Paris Charles de Gaulle, Plane to San Francisco, shuttle from the Airport to home and my comfy room. I feel so grown up and independent. But still playful and eager to have more experiences like a kid.
Dad's still there for a couple more weeks and then he'll come home and then I don't know what. Yes I have the whole house to myself. No parties. I'm going to clean like Manon and I did so it will be like a new part of our lives when he comes home. Schools started so I'm busy.
Thats what I did this summer.
:)
So here I was alone on a train, going to where it went, but not really having a destination. So I slept.
I woke up as the train slowed down coming into Strausbourg near the border with France and Germany. I know I had big plans to just find another train and stay on the train, but I didn't. I left the train station and saw a hotel and got a room for the night. I was tired, like I had just finished a busy time and needed to rest. Not really physically tired but tired from excitement. Funny that I had just had a super relaxing time and now was tired, but I just wanted to be even less busy. I stayed in the "Hotel Bristol" across the street from the train station. Nice, clean, real hotel and only about 35€. Fifty bucks.
I woke up in the morning feeling excited that I didn't have anything to do or anyone to coordinate with! I showered and dressed and went out in search of coffee! Found a McDonalds a block away and considered an act of liberation/vandalism, but was too mellow and went a few block in and found what I was looking for. A little place on a corner with lots of tables on the sidewalk and a canal and tons of people. I felt so free. I had two cafe au'laits and some pastries and sat for like an hour. I decided to stay for the day, and went back to the hotel and booked myself for another night, and then went exploring.
It was different than Paris and way different than the south! It was more german in feel, more business like and older too, like with midevil looking buildings. It is supposed to be where the europeon parliament is, but I never found it. I wondered around in the university area all day, looking into little shops, and pretending I was looking for a certain book in a big bookstore but really checking out the less nerdy looking intellectual seeming guys. No Hits. :( But some real cuties. I think my look is counter intellectual. More cute, young, dumb and looking for a husband. If they only knew what I am thinking sometimes!
I got totally lost! Somehow I got turned around and then lost the landmarks I had passed and the only direction I knew was up and down. It was an exhilarating feeling, being this one little point of something in the whole universe and like being completely unconnected to anything. It was like I could feel my own presence, but not any location. It could have been scary too, but it wasn't at all. I felt safe. I knew I could find out where I was, but I didn't want to. I wandered till after dusk, always in busy areas, watching people. Finally ate in a little place, I had a little onion and bacon tart and 3 glasses of Gewurztraminer. Then I asked the waiter "où est la gare". (The Hotel was across from the train station) Life is so simple sometimes. I was no more lost than a few words away from knowing where to go. I didn't stumble back, but was I was feeling pretty good. Stupid I know. Silly American teenage girl alone in some big city almost drunk, walking alone at night. Yea, well, get over it. It felt wonderful.
The next morning I scrubbed up extra good because I was still determined to do the train thing, just ride and ride and I didn't know when I would have my next bath! I was trying to circle France, but silly me the trains don't just follow the borders! Calais was my destination, but I ended up going back through Paris! And then changing one TGV at one station for another TGV and a station next door. Again the underground connecting tunnels. But it was fun. Seeing all the scenery out the window, fields and hilly areas and then Paris, then fields again.
Calais is like 35 miles from England but my rail pass was only for france and so I had dinner there, wonderful poached salmon in a sauce with just the slightest hint of lemon and dill, but the full richness of real cream and butter. Only one glass of wine. Some cheese. Some coffee and then back to the train station, no reservations. But still just early evening. Calais was total tourist city, good place to buy a t shirt and catch a ferry or have some sea food and move on.
I didn't want to go back through Paris again so I pieced it together from Calais to Roeun to Le Mans to Brest. It was like this endurance thing, train, wait in station, train, wait, eat sketch food, train, train. It was like a day and a half. Ok BTGTTS. Been there got the t shirt. It wasn't as romantic as I had thought. And I needed a shower. It was cool though. The "lunea" trains were the night trains and they didn't stop after midnight and until 5:30 in the morning so you could sleep. And they had a guy on the train just to help you out, like planning your trip or waking you up when you asked and stuff. If we had this in the US I would be all over the place.
I spent the night in Brest, but it was just like for the shower, then I did it for 2 more days! Brest to Nantes to La Rochelle to Bordeaux to Toulouse to Aix-en-Provence then back to where I started in Provence, and Daddy. :) It felt so good to see him!!! It felt like it had been longer that a week and a half! I think that I am in love with trains though. People were real nice, and there were kids running around screaming and enjoying their vacations, and old people and young people and it was like most people were in a good mood because it was summer. It was like this big sharred experience with people changing but the moving being constant. No creepo's hit on me. A few guys talked to me and I played on the floor with some little kids. I felt like a kid myself.
I stayed 3 more days with Daddy and talked ALOT! :) He's been meditating real well every morning but not like its a worry or duty, but good and fun and he says he writes for at least 45 minutes. I told him my adventures. Mostly everything I wrote about here. He's cool with me being myself and maybe saying things that some people won't like or feel is wrong. Some of my friends are freaked out that I tell him stuff I do sexually. But he's heard it all from other people and probably more interesting stuff than I know about. He just wants me to not get hurt. But the stuff that really hurts is all in my head anyway. I mean if something bad happens its just stuff in my head that hurts, the thought or memory, not the actual thing that happened. The buddhists call it attachment, you think a thing is a certain way, well then it is. If you don't attach stuff to what the thing was, well then it can be a neutral thing. Its hard not to attach stuff to things that are really deep inside, but meditating helps. Not that I don't want to feel stuff! But just be mostly happy and not let the experiences I have in life rule me. :)
Daddy wanted to drive me back up to Paris! It would have been cool, but I wanted to go all the way home all on my own, and I did. Trains to Paris Charles de Gaulle, Plane to San Francisco, shuttle from the Airport to home and my comfy room. I feel so grown up and independent. But still playful and eager to have more experiences like a kid.
Dad's still there for a couple more weeks and then he'll come home and then I don't know what. Yes I have the whole house to myself. No parties. I'm going to clean like Manon and I did so it will be like a new part of our lives when he comes home. Schools started so I'm busy.
Thats what I did this summer.
:)
Monday, September 19, 2011
Back to Paris
I felt I needed to go back to Paris, at least just for the credit card gas for them! And Manon invited me to stay with her for a few days. She was in a little apartment with room mates, but they were away. It was more melancholy on the way back but in a nice way, kind of like when you know the day is over, but looking forward to going to bed. Thierry driving slower than on the way down and it was quiet in the car.
Marie seemed sort of subdued and a bit dreamy, I hope it was the afterglow of the whole thing. Her and Thierry certainly now knew each other in the way husbands and wives should. What am I saying so euphemistically, they screwed each others brains out! I don't have the experience to say whether or not it was enough, It was more than I thought a couple would do it for that period of time! But it sure took the edge off of Thierry. He almost looked dreamy too.
I kissed them both goodbye and told them again that if they could get to California, they had a place to stay with us. And Manon and I went up into her little apartment. In Paris everything is upstairs and maybe that's why Parisian women have good legs, all the stairs! It was a cute place, small, but with both a street and courtyard view and the buildings around were not as tall so there was some views out to the roof tops. No one else was there, but it looked like they had had fun before they left. Dishes in the sink, dishes in the living room, clothes in the bathroom, clothes on the floor! In other words how girls live on their own.
Manon gave me the option of the couch, which was old and hard looking, or her bed with her. I took her. I was feeling a little sad, that such a great time was over, that I was in the same city with a man I had feelings for, but no longer any connection to. I was a little lonely. I usually don't admit to myself that I need other people, but tonight I did.
It had been a while since I had had a close girl friend. Greta my therapist is my friend too, and we are very close because of what we talk about, but she is also paid to see me, and in her 70's and our friendship is more adult. Its different. Manon was young and our friendship was based on play and similar temperaments and situations. Manon had lost her parents when she was little and was raised by her grandmother. I think that's part of the reason she was the way she was, independent and imaginative, but also very protective and nurturing. Parents can be controlling in ways grandparents aren't. Grandparents are at the time of life when they have more patience and less worry and let kids be the people they are rather than trying to mold them into some idea of who they want them to be.
Manon's room was like her. Eclectic and warm and colorful and orderly and a little old fashioned. She had lots of books and a stuffed chair and a stand light, and big windows. It had the feeling of a toy box or treasure chest, with little objects, and a oriental rug that was worn, but clean and full of character. Her clothes were neat in her armoire, socks folded, and panties too. Mixture of little girl and old woman.
We went to sleep early, tired from the trip. She seemed especially content to be back in her own place. She said her brief words to god, bon nuit to me, got in on the left side just like before, and took my hand in hers and fell asleep. I couldn't sleep right away, maybe it was that I missed the sound of Thierry and Marie, or the smell of the country, but it was only for a few minutes.
I woke up to the sound of dishes, Manon was already up and cleaning! So I pee'd and went to help her, but when she saw I was up she told me to get dressed so we could get coffee. We went to a place around the corner and a block away and people greeted her like they had truly missed her and we ordered our coffee's, cafe au'lait, which is expresso with cream. Sort of miniature of Starbucks® without all the sugary flavorings. But the expresso is soooo good. Rich and smooth and deep sort of like how sharffenburger chocolate is compared to hersheys. And we had the chocolate thingys that are sort of a not curved croissant with little bits of chocolate in them. We sat outside and watched the people go by. It was a Saturday, so it was just people meandering, and walking their dogs and stuff.
Paris is a dog town. You see then in stores and in restaurants, and they let them poop on the sidewalks! You have to be careful walking. But they have these cute green streetsweepers like you would see on the street in San Francisco, but they were miniature and they did the sidewalks! One guy would have a big hose and squirt a lot of water and the sweeper would drive up and down the sidewalk scrubbing it!
I like dogs, but not the mess and the neediness. But its cool that people can do something so impractical in such a big city and have it be part of the culture. Like the coffee. And just sitting at a cafe for it, or for lunch or dinner and just chilling and watching the world go by.
I hadn't showered or anything so we went back up to her apartment and she started cleaning, so I just started helping instead of showering, and we ended up really cleaning the place up, including washing the woodwork where it gets hand prints, and cleaning the corners of the floors and taking the rugs out to the courtyard and beating the shit out of them. That was fun. Manon would be a bad person to get angry, if she had a stick in her hands! She would twist around and hit the rug so hard that I was afraid she was going to break some part of herself or strain herself, but she loved it and was laughing and beating and it was just play, not work. We really cleaned almost all day, scrubbing the tile in the bathroom and finding all the crumbs in the kitchen, and the place really felt good. Smelled good too and we were real proud of ourselves. Her roommates are sure lucky to be living with her.
It was like 3:30 or 4 when we took turns showering, and we were both hungry, so she grabbed a shopping bag like are so trendy here in the US now instead of "paper or plastic?" And we went to a store called Monoprix, and she bought nummy stuff. Cheese and 2 bottles of inexpensive champagne and a bread and little containers of olives and artichoke in oil, and one I think was some kind of preserved fish! It tasted better than it sounded, intense and salty. And we jumped on the metro across the river and she took me to Pere Lachaise. The cemetery! Sounds weird I know, but it was a perfect place for two quirky girls to get drunk and pay our respects to the dead BY BEING ALIVE! She showed me Chopin and Jim Morrison, who everyone goes to see, but also Balzac, and Jean de Brunhoof who wrote Babar the Elephant, and Colette, and Marcel Proust, and Oscar Wilde, and Gertrude Stein! and and and.
I've got an idea for a book and a general outline and I've writen some sketches of stuff I know will fit in, but its going to be work to put it together and make my idea really work. I'm not really educated enough yet to know if my idea is new or if someone did it before me, but I think its cool. I'm not really ready to say the idea, but I'm being brave and saying I'm doing it.
She knows about my book idea. I don't know if she was trying to tell me something about writers dying? Or impress me with the influence of Paris. I could so go back and write there. There is something about it. Maybe its that it is a different culture and its easy to be apart from it enough to see things about it you wouldn't about your own. Or maybe its the coffee and the way everything is so old that you don't have to be worried about it all changing real fast. But Paris is inspiring to me. As these thousands of words tell! I didn't mean to write so much. I worry that I'll use up all my inspiration on blogging and not put it into the book, but the book is going to be a few years of work and not so casual and stream of consciousness as blogging. Yes I do know there are typos and unacceptable, by any university standard, grammar and syntax.
But I'm not writing for a grade or approval and fame, but because I have this need too. Actually I need to confess that my "Far Edge of Seventeen" blog was partly school work. Greta and the counseling office at school arranged for me to do one of my classes as an independent study and I got 2 units for the writing on "Far Edge.." I also had to critique it, but that was easy as there was so much just simply bad mechanical writing stuff to point out. But all the writing was from the heart. And it was also sooo healing. But by doing it I now have the bad habit of externalizing a lot of my thoughts, and saying things that make some people uncomfortable. There are a couple of people who are real mad at me for talking about some stuff. One was once my best friend.
Manon kissed me after we finished the champagne. We were sitting on some steps in a quiet area and it was starting to get dark, and she leaned over and kissed me. Like the song says, I liked it. I liked it a few more times. I kissed back too. And yea she did her presence thing. The cemetery was already closed and we were pretty much alone. It was like we were the only two people in the world, and surrounded by all the dead heros. Two girl goddesses in their own world. Totally surreal and yet so comfortable. Peaceful.
She knew a way out and we threw away our bottles and trash and she folded up the grocery bag and we walked back to her apartment. It was like 2 miles and warm and the people on the street were in summer weekend mode, happy and active. She held my hand some of the time, or maybe I held hers, and we skipped sometimes like little girls and a few times we ran as hard as we could for a block and watched all the people look at us like we were crazy. It was one of the best days of my life and I spent most of it cleaning!
Her roommates had returned when we got back and there were a couple of guys with them and they were drinking wine and smoking and talking, and I had some wine and tried not to cough and occasionally they would talk to me in English, but usually they were speaking french too fast for me to even pick out the individual words, much less understand them. It was nice. Its nice when people are just being themselves and enjoying each other. Manon sat with me and we chilled and listened. I think that if I were not there, Manon would have done the same, just sit quietly smiling and listening, with her little songs in here head look. Not that she didn't jump in sometimes but she hardly ever seemed to need attention like I do.
The next morning I bought her breakfast at a cafe. Coffee again and some fruit and omlettes and toast with rhubarb jam, and it was sunny on us but not yet hot and stuffy. We sat around and had more coffee for a while. She had work the next day, and I knew I needed to kinda let her get back to her life, she wasn't on such a long break from real life as I was. I tried not to think about it and I think she was the same. I know she will be my friend for the rest of my life and that we will visit and stuff and bring our kids and husbands to each others homes when its like that, and still be friends when we are old. But I knew too that this first part of our friendship will be something I will always remember. It will be like, more real when I remember it, than it was when it was happening.
We went over to the Vareene's later in the day and brought some little gifts, lavender soap and sachets and a bottle of wine from where we stayed. We stayed for dinner and had a nice visit. Its funny how you get to know people, or how you get into their lives, just by accident, because I think I will know these people too for a long time. Its weird, being 18 now and starting to make friends and connections that are totally my own. I mean I have friends and acquaintances from home and school but those were situations I was put in by my parents, this feels different.
Leticia looked happy that I had enjoyed myself, Théo was a bit reluctant to chat too much. I didn't find out about miss pink hair until after I got back. I wasn't brave enough to ask about Nicolas, or too stupid. I do that a lot, run away from things I should stay around for. I'm learning that it just makes it worse. He was important to me. Not that I'm unreal about it, but we had connected in a way that I had really been wanting to connect with a man. Really it was the first time I had had a man connect with me where it was a strong mutual attraction, and emotionally intimate, and MATURE, and sexual too. Like the whole package. I joked before about little french babies, and really I knew that wasn't going to happen, but it kinda felt like it could have and it sort of hurts to get close and then nope. C'est la Vie. (I just used up my one legitimate use of the overused expression here, enjoy it!)
Manon left for work about 8 am and I spent the day looking at maps on the internet and at train schedules and trying to come up with some plan. Finally I decided that I would make a circle of France and try to take night trains every day! I had a 9 day rail pass and had only used 2 days of it!
Manon was the perfect friend for me. We were enough alike that it was sort of automatic between us, but enough different that we were interesting to each other. It was sort of like the Wizard of Oz, being friends with her, she gave me courage. But it was something that was already in me, just needing to be brought out.
Manon came home from work and went with me to the train station. There was a lot of crying. It wasn't easy and I wasn't running away, I was doing what I needed to do, trying to be independent and brave and living life, why I was in France in the first place. I was sobbing on the train as it pulled out and she was too. Silly girls. I watched her out the window as long as I could see her. I calmed down after a few minutes and the seat felt comfortable and I felt excited to be headed into the unknown. Trite phrase, but that's what it felt like. I imagined Manon smiling at the thought of me all alone and being brave, and walking home with a little tune in her head and warm memories. I know that's what she felt. Happy for me.
Next Le Grand Cercle
Marie seemed sort of subdued and a bit dreamy, I hope it was the afterglow of the whole thing. Her and Thierry certainly now knew each other in the way husbands and wives should. What am I saying so euphemistically, they screwed each others brains out! I don't have the experience to say whether or not it was enough, It was more than I thought a couple would do it for that period of time! But it sure took the edge off of Thierry. He almost looked dreamy too.
I kissed them both goodbye and told them again that if they could get to California, they had a place to stay with us. And Manon and I went up into her little apartment. In Paris everything is upstairs and maybe that's why Parisian women have good legs, all the stairs! It was a cute place, small, but with both a street and courtyard view and the buildings around were not as tall so there was some views out to the roof tops. No one else was there, but it looked like they had had fun before they left. Dishes in the sink, dishes in the living room, clothes in the bathroom, clothes on the floor! In other words how girls live on their own.
Manon gave me the option of the couch, which was old and hard looking, or her bed with her. I took her. I was feeling a little sad, that such a great time was over, that I was in the same city with a man I had feelings for, but no longer any connection to. I was a little lonely. I usually don't admit to myself that I need other people, but tonight I did.
It had been a while since I had had a close girl friend. Greta my therapist is my friend too, and we are very close because of what we talk about, but she is also paid to see me, and in her 70's and our friendship is more adult. Its different. Manon was young and our friendship was based on play and similar temperaments and situations. Manon had lost her parents when she was little and was raised by her grandmother. I think that's part of the reason she was the way she was, independent and imaginative, but also very protective and nurturing. Parents can be controlling in ways grandparents aren't. Grandparents are at the time of life when they have more patience and less worry and let kids be the people they are rather than trying to mold them into some idea of who they want them to be.
Manon's room was like her. Eclectic and warm and colorful and orderly and a little old fashioned. She had lots of books and a stuffed chair and a stand light, and big windows. It had the feeling of a toy box or treasure chest, with little objects, and a oriental rug that was worn, but clean and full of character. Her clothes were neat in her armoire, socks folded, and panties too. Mixture of little girl and old woman.
We went to sleep early, tired from the trip. She seemed especially content to be back in her own place. She said her brief words to god, bon nuit to me, got in on the left side just like before, and took my hand in hers and fell asleep. I couldn't sleep right away, maybe it was that I missed the sound of Thierry and Marie, or the smell of the country, but it was only for a few minutes.
I woke up to the sound of dishes, Manon was already up and cleaning! So I pee'd and went to help her, but when she saw I was up she told me to get dressed so we could get coffee. We went to a place around the corner and a block away and people greeted her like they had truly missed her and we ordered our coffee's, cafe au'lait, which is expresso with cream. Sort of miniature of Starbucks® without all the sugary flavorings. But the expresso is soooo good. Rich and smooth and deep sort of like how sharffenburger chocolate is compared to hersheys. And we had the chocolate thingys that are sort of a not curved croissant with little bits of chocolate in them. We sat outside and watched the people go by. It was a Saturday, so it was just people meandering, and walking their dogs and stuff.
Paris is a dog town. You see then in stores and in restaurants, and they let them poop on the sidewalks! You have to be careful walking. But they have these cute green streetsweepers like you would see on the street in San Francisco, but they were miniature and they did the sidewalks! One guy would have a big hose and squirt a lot of water and the sweeper would drive up and down the sidewalk scrubbing it!
I like dogs, but not the mess and the neediness. But its cool that people can do something so impractical in such a big city and have it be part of the culture. Like the coffee. And just sitting at a cafe for it, or for lunch or dinner and just chilling and watching the world go by.
I hadn't showered or anything so we went back up to her apartment and she started cleaning, so I just started helping instead of showering, and we ended up really cleaning the place up, including washing the woodwork where it gets hand prints, and cleaning the corners of the floors and taking the rugs out to the courtyard and beating the shit out of them. That was fun. Manon would be a bad person to get angry, if she had a stick in her hands! She would twist around and hit the rug so hard that I was afraid she was going to break some part of herself or strain herself, but she loved it and was laughing and beating and it was just play, not work. We really cleaned almost all day, scrubbing the tile in the bathroom and finding all the crumbs in the kitchen, and the place really felt good. Smelled good too and we were real proud of ourselves. Her roommates are sure lucky to be living with her.
It was like 3:30 or 4 when we took turns showering, and we were both hungry, so she grabbed a shopping bag like are so trendy here in the US now instead of "paper or plastic?" And we went to a store called Monoprix, and she bought nummy stuff. Cheese and 2 bottles of inexpensive champagne and a bread and little containers of olives and artichoke in oil, and one I think was some kind of preserved fish! It tasted better than it sounded, intense and salty. And we jumped on the metro across the river and she took me to Pere Lachaise. The cemetery! Sounds weird I know, but it was a perfect place for two quirky girls to get drunk and pay our respects to the dead BY BEING ALIVE! She showed me Chopin and Jim Morrison, who everyone goes to see, but also Balzac, and Jean de Brunhoof who wrote Babar the Elephant, and Colette, and Marcel Proust, and Oscar Wilde, and Gertrude Stein! and and and.
I've got an idea for a book and a general outline and I've writen some sketches of stuff I know will fit in, but its going to be work to put it together and make my idea really work. I'm not really educated enough yet to know if my idea is new or if someone did it before me, but I think its cool. I'm not really ready to say the idea, but I'm being brave and saying I'm doing it.
She knows about my book idea. I don't know if she was trying to tell me something about writers dying? Or impress me with the influence of Paris. I could so go back and write there. There is something about it. Maybe its that it is a different culture and its easy to be apart from it enough to see things about it you wouldn't about your own. Or maybe its the coffee and the way everything is so old that you don't have to be worried about it all changing real fast. But Paris is inspiring to me. As these thousands of words tell! I didn't mean to write so much. I worry that I'll use up all my inspiration on blogging and not put it into the book, but the book is going to be a few years of work and not so casual and stream of consciousness as blogging. Yes I do know there are typos and unacceptable, by any university standard, grammar and syntax.
But I'm not writing for a grade or approval and fame, but because I have this need too. Actually I need to confess that my "Far Edge of Seventeen" blog was partly school work. Greta and the counseling office at school arranged for me to do one of my classes as an independent study and I got 2 units for the writing on "Far Edge.." I also had to critique it, but that was easy as there was so much just simply bad mechanical writing stuff to point out. But all the writing was from the heart. And it was also sooo healing. But by doing it I now have the bad habit of externalizing a lot of my thoughts, and saying things that make some people uncomfortable. There are a couple of people who are real mad at me for talking about some stuff. One was once my best friend.
Manon kissed me after we finished the champagne. We were sitting on some steps in a quiet area and it was starting to get dark, and she leaned over and kissed me. Like the song says, I liked it. I liked it a few more times. I kissed back too. And yea she did her presence thing. The cemetery was already closed and we were pretty much alone. It was like we were the only two people in the world, and surrounded by all the dead heros. Two girl goddesses in their own world. Totally surreal and yet so comfortable. Peaceful.
She knew a way out and we threw away our bottles and trash and she folded up the grocery bag and we walked back to her apartment. It was like 2 miles and warm and the people on the street were in summer weekend mode, happy and active. She held my hand some of the time, or maybe I held hers, and we skipped sometimes like little girls and a few times we ran as hard as we could for a block and watched all the people look at us like we were crazy. It was one of the best days of my life and I spent most of it cleaning!
Her roommates had returned when we got back and there were a couple of guys with them and they were drinking wine and smoking and talking, and I had some wine and tried not to cough and occasionally they would talk to me in English, but usually they were speaking french too fast for me to even pick out the individual words, much less understand them. It was nice. Its nice when people are just being themselves and enjoying each other. Manon sat with me and we chilled and listened. I think that if I were not there, Manon would have done the same, just sit quietly smiling and listening, with her little songs in here head look. Not that she didn't jump in sometimes but she hardly ever seemed to need attention like I do.
The next morning I bought her breakfast at a cafe. Coffee again and some fruit and omlettes and toast with rhubarb jam, and it was sunny on us but not yet hot and stuffy. We sat around and had more coffee for a while. She had work the next day, and I knew I needed to kinda let her get back to her life, she wasn't on such a long break from real life as I was. I tried not to think about it and I think she was the same. I know she will be my friend for the rest of my life and that we will visit and stuff and bring our kids and husbands to each others homes when its like that, and still be friends when we are old. But I knew too that this first part of our friendship will be something I will always remember. It will be like, more real when I remember it, than it was when it was happening.
We went over to the Vareene's later in the day and brought some little gifts, lavender soap and sachets and a bottle of wine from where we stayed. We stayed for dinner and had a nice visit. Its funny how you get to know people, or how you get into their lives, just by accident, because I think I will know these people too for a long time. Its weird, being 18 now and starting to make friends and connections that are totally my own. I mean I have friends and acquaintances from home and school but those were situations I was put in by my parents, this feels different.
Leticia looked happy that I had enjoyed myself, Théo was a bit reluctant to chat too much. I didn't find out about miss pink hair until after I got back. I wasn't brave enough to ask about Nicolas, or too stupid. I do that a lot, run away from things I should stay around for. I'm learning that it just makes it worse. He was important to me. Not that I'm unreal about it, but we had connected in a way that I had really been wanting to connect with a man. Really it was the first time I had had a man connect with me where it was a strong mutual attraction, and emotionally intimate, and MATURE, and sexual too. Like the whole package. I joked before about little french babies, and really I knew that wasn't going to happen, but it kinda felt like it could have and it sort of hurts to get close and then nope. C'est la Vie. (I just used up my one legitimate use of the overused expression here, enjoy it!)
Manon left for work about 8 am and I spent the day looking at maps on the internet and at train schedules and trying to come up with some plan. Finally I decided that I would make a circle of France and try to take night trains every day! I had a 9 day rail pass and had only used 2 days of it!
Manon was the perfect friend for me. We were enough alike that it was sort of automatic between us, but enough different that we were interesting to each other. It was sort of like the Wizard of Oz, being friends with her, she gave me courage. But it was something that was already in me, just needing to be brought out.
Manon came home from work and went with me to the train station. There was a lot of crying. It wasn't easy and I wasn't running away, I was doing what I needed to do, trying to be independent and brave and living life, why I was in France in the first place. I was sobbing on the train as it pulled out and she was too. Silly girls. I watched her out the window as long as I could see her. I calmed down after a few minutes and the seat felt comfortable and I felt excited to be headed into the unknown. Trite phrase, but that's what it felt like. I imagined Manon smiling at the thought of me all alone and being brave, and walking home with a little tune in her head and warm memories. I know that's what she felt. Happy for me.
Next Le Grand Cercle
Saturday, September 17, 2011
What I did this Summer Part 3, I go South
It was a mistake. Not having gone upstairs with Nicolas and getting it done. Not fixing it up between us with the truth. Leaving town. Of course you don't really know how big a mistake you are making, while you are making it.
I do now.
When he said what he said, I should have just kissed him and told him why I was being hesitant. He had no way to know, I had satisfied him a couple times already with out even being asked, just not that way. I am an experienced woman and like sex, and wanted it with him, and even secretly had a goal of losing it this summer. It would have been perfect with him.
I don't even have a good reason why I was saying no to him, except that I had built it up into this big thing in my head and sort of wanted him to know that, but was too embarrassed to tell him. We had shared so much personal stuff in the short time we knew each other, the kind of stuff you only tell people you trust, like about our dreams and stuff.
I should have just gone upstairs and had the perfect experience it would have been and then told him. He would have got a tear in his eye and gazed longingly and tenderly at me, and then professed his eternal love, and we would have lived happily ever after, having little french babies and dying in each others arms at age 100.
Well thats one possibility. It would have been a treasured memory if it had just been a successful summer fling.
I think that I just wanted to have the person know it was important to me and I got scared. I have a way of screwing up good things and only later realizing how good it was. I did it with my friends in high school, I did it with my mom and my family, and I did it with really the first guy that I thought about having serious feelings for.
Margot was furious with him. Not that I said anything, but she could tell that something had happened and she knew that he was a man. I tried to tell her that I had messed it up with him, but I don't think she believed me. Especially when he called me to apologize and she heard his tone of voice, sounding guilty of something. Again stupid Chloe, doing silly little things that make waves that expand out into other people and have effects way past me. I hurt him. Or at least I think so, he sounded hurt when I told him I was going to go down to the south for a few weeks. A rejection of him. But really me, scared, to dumb to fix it, embarrassed, running away.
I hear he is going out with an art student with pink hair now. She does performance stuff where she takes her top off at sidewalk cafes in tourist areas and videos the peoples reactions. So I know I hurt him, because he is not a fool. But then she is probably not a virgin.
Monseiur Varenne had arranged for Leticia to get a bit of vacation with a young grad student and his wife, and another girl. Leticia was not to happy about it really, she just wanted to hang out and go out, not be with strangers some where out in the countryside. So it came up that maybe I could go. Maybe Margot thought it and suggested, trying to protect me, or maybe Leticia just saw the opportunity to have a win/win. I jumped on it.
So a couple days later Thierry and Marie, and Manon showed up in a little car jammed with stuff, and I added my stuff to it and got introduced and hugged and kissed and waved at, and I left Paris.
Thierry was a doctoral student in neurobiology, and worked at the university in some lab job, and Marie was his wife of 2 months. This was sort of their honey moon as they only had a long weekend away after their marriage. But since they were not too well off financially, Monseiur Varenne had arranged for Leticia to go along and help with the cost and Manon was a friend of Marie's. Sharing it 4 ways, made it possible for them.
Thierry was tall thin with dark hair and dark shadow of beard hair even after he shaved. He wore black rimmed glasses that were as plain as they come, but he was lively and intense. Not happy lively but just sort of energetic and hyper. He was a decent looking man if your into that sort of thin face, owl eye intense look. He was also super smart, although my first impression of him was that he needed to chill, and enjoy life. He looked and acted like he hadn't in a while!
Marie was gorgeous! Not skinny, but not at all overweight. Sort of thinly voluptuous, like a skinny girl with big boobs and a butt that wasn't big but really stood out. Sort of a barbie but not disproportionate. She was died blonde, but not really, and was smart and funny too, and way more chill than her poor husband. She is the kind of girl who is super sexy, but also down to earth and doesn't flaunt it. I got the impression that she knew how good she looked but was kinda embarrassed by it.
They were a good couple, you could tell they were bonded to each other and really loved each other. They sat up front.
Manon was in back with me. She didn't seem too friendly at first, but english was not her strong language. I later learned that she spoke Dutch, (she was a student in Paris, but from the Netherlands), French, German, some dialect of Dutch, a little spanish and Italian, and pig latin in all of those, which was so confusing for me when she did it! I couldn't tell what language she was talking or if she was having a seizure!
She was one of those quirky girls, sort of the kind that would look at you and giggle then look away off into their own world. She didn't talk much anyway, but smiled and giggled all the time. I even wondered if she was retarded at first, but no, definitely not I found out as we got to know each other. Her style was sort of like schoolgirl/anime mixed with hippy and second hand store. She was wearing a brown rough fabric dress with a piratey black cloth sash around the middle and some sort of clog shoes I had never seen before, and she had some sort of woven, beaded necklace and a blue scarf. With her pixie hair cut and her perfect madonna round face and green eyes like I would love to have, she was a totally unique person.
She looked at me up and down and met my eyes as I got in and said bonjour with a happy smile, but then turned away and looked out her window as we started to drive, as if she was listening to music in her head. She didn't say or even acknowledge me for almost a half hour of driving, even though I was in conversation with Thierry and Marie. But it didn't seem she was angry or anything. She was just the sort of person who was happy by themselves. Shy yes, but not so much as just content to remain apart. I'm like that too, and she and I soon found that we had a lot in common.
I had settled into my own thoughts after a while and was looking out the window when I felt her softly brush my arm to get my attention, and then started pointing out things outside the window and saying the french word for them. She had taken it upon herself to teach me french, like a little baby, but with the most gentle air of silliness to it that I could not have been offended. I was to learn that she was the most playful person I had ever met, but also had a massive imagination counter balanced by a keen observation of the world around her. She seldom made a mistake. She seemed to always know what was going on around her and acted appropriately. She just wasn't very verbal. The inside of her head must have been a gigantic playground that she only left when needed. Kinda like me.
After a few hours of driving we needed gas, and a discussion ensued up front. I heard numbers flying back and forth and worried looks on Thierry's face and soothing remarks from Marie and more discussion. I can count to on hundred in french just fine, but I have a hard time making out the numbers when spoken. In fact I had a special trick for when shop keepers talked to fast. My bonjour is good enough so the they don't know I don't speak french, but anything else, especially the listening part is horrible, so what I do is say "me parler comme si j'étais un infant", speak to me as if I were a child. And of course my pronunciation is so bad that they get the idea right away and talk slow and exaggerated, and the men usually smile at me sort of flirty. The first time Manon heard me use this trick she laughed so hard! She kept saying things to me over and over in a high pitched slow voice for a while after that.
Anyway we are at the gas station and Thierry turns and explains that their calculations of gas mileage, gas prices and such were a little off, actually 2.3 % off, they had plopped the numbers in to an algebraic equation, done in their heads and concluded that if they were 2.3% off going, then coming back would be similar and that they needed to adjust the food and entertainment portion by 4.6 %. Apologies to me that It may not be as deluxe a trip as I was expecting. Marie looked a little resigned, not sad but bravely happy in the face of it. Thierry seemed stressed. Manon amused but silent. Seems gas there is like 6 or 7 dollars a gallon and it was 50 euro to fill up the little 10 gallon tank. They had budgeted 200 euro for all the gas and any change in the budget had to be watched or they wouldn't have money to get home! These people were way to stressed! I would never do algebra on a vacation! But then I always had enough money.
Nobody said anything to me, but I got one of my cards out and asked Thierry if it would work for gas, and that if we put all the gas on the card we wouldn't need to worry about cash as much. He started to frown, but then smiled and said he would try, and yes you can buy gas in france on an american visa card. We filled up and got back on the road a much more relaxed foursome. Finally a problem Chloe can fix! Monon brushed my arm again and smiled at me and sort of did a little wiggle dance in her seat. She did that a lot, gently brush you to get your attention instead of saying something. Marie handed back snacks and it was starting to feel like vacation.
I've never had to worry about money. Not that we are rich, or not that we think of ourselves as rich. But Dad had always made a good amount and saved and invested, and mom had her business and her own investments, and money was never an issue. Part of the reason for that is that our family is not really all that status or material conscious. We had good stuff, but spending a lot always seemed to be sort of decadent. It was not the values my parents had. Mom had a mercedes slk as sort of an extravagance, dad usually drove his old toyota pickup that could carry a kayak or bike or camping gear, but had a Ducati in the garage under a tarp as his main extravagance. (I got the SLK for my 18th, but its too sad to drive still, because mom never let me when she was alive) Our house is real nice, but its paid for. Mom had received a $5000 inheritance from her grandma when she passed and invested in apple stock when it was like $10! and now it was worth hundreds, and she had other investments, and life insurance and her business, and all that was split between the 3 kids. Dads taking care of mine, but really I am financially in pretty good shape for an 18 year old girl. I have almost $100,000 of investments and own a mercedes. And Dad is paying for school too, because he did for the other kids. Some times I feel funny about it, but I have promised myself to not be stupid, and I'm not really a spender anyway. Its good for me to be in situations where I see how it is for most people, having to worry about money. What it means for me is that I can do things with my life that people who need to spend their life working just feeding and housing themselves cant. Intellectually I know I have a moral obligation to somehow repay the universe for my good fortune, but I'm not sure how yet.
But killing the stress on a road trip is a small start!
We ate food they had brought as we drove, and finally got there about 8pm. There being http://www.abbayesainthilaire.com in the "gite de murier" or mulberry suite. It was a cute little sort of apartment, a tiny bedroom and a living room with a kitchenette and a fold out bed/couch. Guess who got the couch? Manon and I. Thierry and Marie being married and the reason for the trip of course had the bedroom. Not that we couldn't hear everything! And they were making up for lost time the whole time we were there! At least twice a day, and during the day they would disappear for "walks". :) I hope I get it like that someday.
Abbaye Saint Hilaire is in Provence, and by coincidence only 50 km from where my dad was staying! Although I only went over and saw him once. Its about 30 miles from the ocean, so easy day trips to the beach! But its in the country, on the edge of vineyards and backed up onto a small forrest. I can see why Leticia was not too thrilled about it, but for me it was great. I like to walk and chill and meditate sometimes and don't need a lot of excitement and stuff. They had a restaurant there and a great pool with views into the countryside and hiking trails marked with colored signs like ski trails to let you know how hard they were. There was a little village about a mile away and bigger towns all around. Each Gite had its own table and chairs with umbrella outside and a barbecue stocked with wood, in addition the the cooking facilities inside, and I think this was part of the reason we were there!
Dining in France is expensive! Its not uncommon for dinner to be $30-40 euros, $45-60 dollars, although there are less expensive places and much more expensive! And you have to add wine to that too! So we cooked and barbecued most of the time. Its fun to go into town and buy dinner supplies and just make your day about eating and relaxing and drinking wine and laying by the pool. Manon was the best cook. She was so cute when she cooked, she would put a bandana around her head and hum little happy songs to herself. I think her cooking is why she was in the mix. I learned how to reduce wine in pan drippings and add some cream and make simple sauces from her, although they don't always gel for me, sometimes they separate. It sort of ended up with her and I being the cooks and since my skills are not up to what everyone was used to, I was her apprentice. But she was not a angry demanding chef! But like a 20 year old grandma, happy and nurturing, and she seemed to love feeding people. We ate chicken a bunch of different ways and fish a few times, but with the freshness of the food and the wonderful vegetables, it was like fine dinning, but more relaxed.
We sort of got into a routine of going for groceries everyday to different places that had the farmers selling and deciding on what to have for dinner by what looked best, and then buy some wine and bread and maybe pastries for the next morning, and maybe have a coffee and then back. It felt good to have something to do. We walked into town on some days, used the car some and hitched rides too. We tried to make it so that Thierry and Marie could relax and be together as much as possible and not have to worry.
Manon was good in bed too. :) I mean that she didn't seem to mind at all sharing a small by my standards double bed with a stranger. She didn't roll around or snore or hog covers, or mind that I didn't say a quick prayer before getting into bed! It wasn't always easy to get to sleep with the newlyweds in the bedroom, sometimes it sounded like someone was going to get hurt! We would giggle about it and listen like pervy voyeurs, trying to guess when it would "crescendo". Sometimes we would listen to each other after.
I slept better there than I had in a long time. I think I had been holding onto a lot of stress and anxiety over the last couple of years and it was starting to melt away. I mean here I was with total strangers in a strange country where I could barely talk, but I was more relaxed than at home. Maybe its just that at home you know what to worry about and there I was just out of it.
But part of it was Manon. We became friends the instant she started teaching me baby french in the car. Its like when you are 4 or 5 and some kid comes up and starts playing and instantly your are friends. We really didn't talk much, when we talked it was about practical things, what time we would do something or where to go or things to buy, but not ideas and feelings. And not about ideas and feelings because we seemed to know what each other was thinking and feeling with out having to verbalize it.
Manon had this amazing ability to show up. People call it presence, or charisma or personal power. She was childlike in her demeanor, but sometimes she would brush her fingers on your forearm to get your attention and you would look at her and it was like every fiber of her existence was totally focused on you. She was just completely present, and filling your attention. She could nod, or smile a certain way, or have some expression and you knew exactly what it meant and who or what it was about, and all without a word. It was almost as if she was telepathic or you were sharing minds with her. And then she would smile and her presence would fade back and you knew it was still somewhere, but it was like it was back in her own place.
This is going to sound silly, but I imagine Jesus or The Budhha being like that. Probably way more so, so much that they could do it for any size group of people, but the same sort of intense "being there". Manon didn't do it with more than one person, except sometimes with Thierry and Marie, and then it was like it was divided between then, and so, less intense. It was an incredibly intimate feeling, and very safe feeling when she did it. I wanted to ask her about it, to describe it in words but we didn't have enough language in common to really talk that deep.
It makes me think that there is some kind of god or fate or divine plan, that the universe arranges for me to have the experiences I do. Not that I believe in a god that is a person, or that watches over each and every second of our lives. But it make me feel like there is some more organization to life than what I know of. I needed a friend and "god" provided.
I am usually a fairly independent person. I'm quiet and keep to myself mostly, and I'm fine that way. Usually happier that way, than with a lot a people. I think Manon was like that too and even more so, but we sort of worked really well together, neither of us minded the other being there, or worried about what the other would think or want. It was just sort of automatic. We were together the whole time almost, we did everything together, and never seemed to need our time alone, like we normally would.
She was wickedly mischievous. Wickedly! One day we had gone into town and were walking around looking at stuff and went into the church there to see it, luckily I had a scarf! So versatile, you can express your self with it, bandage wounds and be holy in the sight of god with it on your head if you wonder into a church! There were people in front doing the talk to god thing, and we were being real quiet, she did the stuff your supposed to, sign of the cross, coin and candle , a touch of holy water, etc, and I followed behind knowing god didn't mind me not doing it because my heart is pure, (or at least it felt that way, that day). We went over to the side where the mary was and I sat down and she looked like she might be saying something to mary, and then a family came in and was pretty loud, the parents not watching the kids and saying things to them way to loud for the atmosphere. I mean people were praying! Just as the family passed Manon, the father in the rear, Manon farted the loudest I have ever heard a girl fart. Seriously it echoed! She looked like she had to strain to make it so loud! And just at the same time the Priest came out of the confessional booth and looked at the loud dad like he did it! And other people were looking at him too with total disgust on their faces! OM FUCKING GOD! It was sooo funny!
She made the sign of the cross to the mary and kneeled and then stood and turned and we walked out of there holding our laughter, but almost bursting! If there is a god, he had to be rolling on the floor too, it was so perfect. Manon had more innocent goodness in her than a whole sunday congregation, and her fart was so like an act of piety, not profane at all, like it was a holy fart that lessons could be learned from. It was less a defiling of the church than the tourists coming in disregarding the real meaning and use of the place.
We treated ourselves after that to some very nummy chocolate things with ground nuts in them, and very rich expresso. She was in a wonderful mood all day.
She was fearless. Maybe that is why I felt safe with her. I sort of followed her around like a puppy, even though I felt we were peers in some ways, she was the wiser, braver one. I am so naive sometimes and get myself into things that I don't know how to deal with, and have the linger tickles of fear in the back of my mind that I will do something stupid. She had none of that, like I say fearless.
One day we were exploring a town nearby, just walking around where the people lived away from the shops and stuff, and it was a little bigger town, and these two guys started paying attention to us, like watching us walk around and when we went by they said bonjour, and I bonjoured back, but she didn't say anything and we kept walking. A few blocks later, we saw them again, but in front of us, which meant that they had intentionally done it. Now I'm 5'3 and she is a little taller but we are not big, and we both could pass for 15, so these guys really had no business with us, but they thought they did, and started walking with us and talking and stuff. Manon did the little brush on my forearm thing and kinda put her lips together like "be quiet", and so we are walking along, looking ahead and ignoring them. These guys were probably mid 20's and I'm sorry but I have to describe them as greasy. Not dirty, but just sort of ewww. Insincere, vaguely threatening, stupid and obviously after a hookup without dinner and a movie. If they would have been smart and funny and joking and trying to make us comfortable it would have been fun, but that was not the vibe.
We sort of got to where we could tell we were getting out to the edge of town and were feeling that maybe we should turn back, and they knew that too and stopped, so that when we turned around they were in our way, and just stood there smiling. The less stupid one took a step towards us, kind of testing our reaction. EKKK! I was about to pee my panties, I didn't know whether this was it, rape time or just macho posturing or what. We just stood there and then Manon started smiling at them real bright and started to turn on the presence thing she had, where its real intense that she is so totally focused on them, and it sort of startled them. The she holds up her hand with her thumb and pointer about a half inch apart and looks down at their crotches! OMG! They weren't too bright and it took a few seconds for them to get it, but then you could see them turning red and the anger building. But she just was looking right at them and smiling. Then it was like something in them broke and they deflated. They said some nasty words at her, salope and puta and stuff, but they turned and left.
She wasn't so happy after that, not angry or scared, but kind of sad for a few hours. But she was back to humming to herself making dinner. I wonder if she knows men so well that she knew that would be the thing to do? Or was she just being defiant? All I know is she is fearless. I don't know what I would have done if I were alone, try to talk? Run? I don't think that I would have the guts to just stand there in their face and stand them down. She did.
There were things that scared her. Well one thing. Her body. She was very pretty, she had a better figure than me, perfectly proportioned for her size, not too big in the hips and thighs like me, nice breasts, not at all overweight and not skinny. Not a barbie like Marie, but certainly a nice body. And a very pretty face and cute hair, so maybe she wasn't spectacular, but a lot of girls would think she lacked imperfections. But she had a thing about people seeing it.
I noticed it the first time we changed to swim in the pool. We had pee'd in front of each other, it was just the one bath. Quicker that way, but that was with clothes still on. And we shared the bed in just panties and a cami, but I changed into my bikini in the bathroom and she was in there with me like it was not a big deal to see me naked, and I was sort of waiting for her to change and messing with my hair and stuff, but she wasn't changing, and gave me a look like she was waiting for me to leave, so I gave her her privacy and she changed and came out in her very modest one piece, and a cover over that, and a towel in front of her. I guess it was me stereotyping that europeans are all less modest.
She swam and played in the pool like a little kid, but when she got out she always put her wrap back on or the towel. Its funny how everyone has their own thing. I'll be naked in front of anyone basically. I've been to a nude beach, and have skinny dipped with friends, boys and girls, and It doesn't bother me at all. Stare if you want. Want me to pose? But it seemed painful to her to be in the situation where others could see her too much.
One day the manager came around asking everyone if it were ok to have a clothing optional day at the pool. Seemed that one family from Germany had thought that the pool was officially clothing optional and had asked if it had days and times. Well there was no official policy it seemed, and they were put out a bit, as they had expected it. The germans think nudity is healthy. The French just think it is fun. Well fun or not they felt uncomfortable if there was not a rule about it or some sort of policy, so the apologetic manager is trying to see if everyone is ok with it. Too funny, just take your clothes off and see if someone screams! But it ended up being an official policy that tuesdays, wednesdays and thrusdays were now officially clothing optional. Other days were topless ok, but not officially clothing optional. German problem solved and so we go out to the pool and there are the pink germans happily being healthy, and their kids being healthy and alls right with the world.
Until Thierry took off his trunks. Again OMFG! There is a video on the net with the drummer with a bunch of tats, from some band, tommy lee and his wife, and this drummer is like real long. Like when a horse drops, all hanging down, and swinging around, in a way most men don't. Except Thierry! Wow! And like Marie is looking pretty proud, and Manon is giggling openly, and I am taking off my stuff absent mindedly staring at it/him. And the german wife is kinda open mouthed, and her husband is turning red and kind of huffing and whispering to her.
Thierry had a bit of a smirk. Its not like he was aroused at all, just abnormal! The German man kept a magazine on his lap a lot. His was normal, and he was a bit heavy, so it was just a little thing above his testicles. Nothing that would swing! Too funny! And it was all his doing that we were naked! Thierry did have a couple of times when he had to jump into the pool, but really it didn't get much bigger, just started to not swing. I'm glad men have something to be self conscious about too, we have our boobs and our weight and our hair and our FACES!
Manon kept her suit on. She didn't seem to mind the nudity at all and was perfectly comfortable with me and Thierry and Marie and the Germans, but it stayed on.
Some of the best beaches in the world were just an hour or two from us and we went a couple of times, since gas wasn't a crisis. :) And I had said beforehand that I was going to go topless on a french beach never mind that I am fat right now! Actually I lost 15 pounds in France. I think I know what it is too, Starbucks®. I gained almost 50 pounds last year. I just lost control with all the other stuff in my life and in my head and I was drinking 3 or 4 starbucks everyday. Pretending of course that I didn't know that they were calorie bombs! Peppermint mocha, carmel mocha, white chocolate mochas, venti with whipped cream. Four would be an extra 2000 calories a day. It was like a drug, I was comforting myself and lying to myself too, because I was into healthy food, no McDonalds for me, chicken or fish and veggies and high fiber, less processed starches, salads and fruit. But now, no starbucks. Its been like 8 weeks since I had one, and its showing. Ok to be honest I had one when I got home from France. Just one.
We went to a little circle beach called la plage anse de magaud in Toulon, which was like 30-40 miles south of us. I was thinking that it would be terribly crowded and all, but it wasn't. It was a tiny little cove with a restaurant against the hill on one side, and it was mostly families and tourists of course, but more relaxed than I thought. We swam in the mediteranean and drank wine and snacked and laid in the sun, and I took off my top. Manon looked at me like I was silly, but not like I was doing something wrong. I think she kinda knew I was a little bit of an exhibitionist. Marie took off hers for a while too. Finally after I had looked at Manon expectantly she pulled hers down for about 30 seconds, made some wavy motions like "ok boobs, get some sun" and then pulled it back up. I didn't see any gross scars or birthmarks or anything, just normal girl parts. Its one of those things I think I would need better french to explore, her feelings about her body and I didn't try.
That evening we ate at the little restaurant, sitting on the deck watching the sun go down, well watching it get dark. Its a California thing to watch the sun go down, cause we face west! We drank wine and ate and sipped more wine and more food. I paid. Finally about 9:30 after coffee for Thierry (and us) we drove home. It was a beautiful day, nice drive, good company. Thierry and Marie of course did their duty before we all fell asleep. I would have been to tired.
We actually did that same beach thing twice, and drove around seeing wineries bit, and once all of us went over to see my dad and have dinner. The area is so much like the Napa Valley, except it is more open feeling rather than just between to strips of mountain. One thing the Napa Valley doesn't have though it the lavender. There are a couple of fields here, but in Provence it is an industry. They eat it and perfume with it and probably use the stalks like hemp for all I know! There is a lot of it and I love it. It grows in big long rows that will follow the counter of the land for acres. Its my new favorite scent. Feel free to sniff me, if you see me.
It went by quick. We stayed 15 days I think. For something so unplanned, it was the perfect thing for me. After the more hectic pace of Paris, and my blundering with Nicholas, this brought me back to a sort of calmness.
Next, back to Paris.
I do now.
When he said what he said, I should have just kissed him and told him why I was being hesitant. He had no way to know, I had satisfied him a couple times already with out even being asked, just not that way. I am an experienced woman and like sex, and wanted it with him, and even secretly had a goal of losing it this summer. It would have been perfect with him.
I don't even have a good reason why I was saying no to him, except that I had built it up into this big thing in my head and sort of wanted him to know that, but was too embarrassed to tell him. We had shared so much personal stuff in the short time we knew each other, the kind of stuff you only tell people you trust, like about our dreams and stuff.
I should have just gone upstairs and had the perfect experience it would have been and then told him. He would have got a tear in his eye and gazed longingly and tenderly at me, and then professed his eternal love, and we would have lived happily ever after, having little french babies and dying in each others arms at age 100.
Well thats one possibility. It would have been a treasured memory if it had just been a successful summer fling.
I think that I just wanted to have the person know it was important to me and I got scared. I have a way of screwing up good things and only later realizing how good it was. I did it with my friends in high school, I did it with my mom and my family, and I did it with really the first guy that I thought about having serious feelings for.
Margot was furious with him. Not that I said anything, but she could tell that something had happened and she knew that he was a man. I tried to tell her that I had messed it up with him, but I don't think she believed me. Especially when he called me to apologize and she heard his tone of voice, sounding guilty of something. Again stupid Chloe, doing silly little things that make waves that expand out into other people and have effects way past me. I hurt him. Or at least I think so, he sounded hurt when I told him I was going to go down to the south for a few weeks. A rejection of him. But really me, scared, to dumb to fix it, embarrassed, running away.
I hear he is going out with an art student with pink hair now. She does performance stuff where she takes her top off at sidewalk cafes in tourist areas and videos the peoples reactions. So I know I hurt him, because he is not a fool. But then she is probably not a virgin.
Monseiur Varenne had arranged for Leticia to get a bit of vacation with a young grad student and his wife, and another girl. Leticia was not to happy about it really, she just wanted to hang out and go out, not be with strangers some where out in the countryside. So it came up that maybe I could go. Maybe Margot thought it and suggested, trying to protect me, or maybe Leticia just saw the opportunity to have a win/win. I jumped on it.
So a couple days later Thierry and Marie, and Manon showed up in a little car jammed with stuff, and I added my stuff to it and got introduced and hugged and kissed and waved at, and I left Paris.
Thierry was a doctoral student in neurobiology, and worked at the university in some lab job, and Marie was his wife of 2 months. This was sort of their honey moon as they only had a long weekend away after their marriage. But since they were not too well off financially, Monseiur Varenne had arranged for Leticia to go along and help with the cost and Manon was a friend of Marie's. Sharing it 4 ways, made it possible for them.
Thierry was tall thin with dark hair and dark shadow of beard hair even after he shaved. He wore black rimmed glasses that were as plain as they come, but he was lively and intense. Not happy lively but just sort of energetic and hyper. He was a decent looking man if your into that sort of thin face, owl eye intense look. He was also super smart, although my first impression of him was that he needed to chill, and enjoy life. He looked and acted like he hadn't in a while!
Marie was gorgeous! Not skinny, but not at all overweight. Sort of thinly voluptuous, like a skinny girl with big boobs and a butt that wasn't big but really stood out. Sort of a barbie but not disproportionate. She was died blonde, but not really, and was smart and funny too, and way more chill than her poor husband. She is the kind of girl who is super sexy, but also down to earth and doesn't flaunt it. I got the impression that she knew how good she looked but was kinda embarrassed by it.
They were a good couple, you could tell they were bonded to each other and really loved each other. They sat up front.
Manon was in back with me. She didn't seem too friendly at first, but english was not her strong language. I later learned that she spoke Dutch, (she was a student in Paris, but from the Netherlands), French, German, some dialect of Dutch, a little spanish and Italian, and pig latin in all of those, which was so confusing for me when she did it! I couldn't tell what language she was talking or if she was having a seizure!
She was one of those quirky girls, sort of the kind that would look at you and giggle then look away off into their own world. She didn't talk much anyway, but smiled and giggled all the time. I even wondered if she was retarded at first, but no, definitely not I found out as we got to know each other. Her style was sort of like schoolgirl/anime mixed with hippy and second hand store. She was wearing a brown rough fabric dress with a piratey black cloth sash around the middle and some sort of clog shoes I had never seen before, and she had some sort of woven, beaded necklace and a blue scarf. With her pixie hair cut and her perfect madonna round face and green eyes like I would love to have, she was a totally unique person.
She looked at me up and down and met my eyes as I got in and said bonjour with a happy smile, but then turned away and looked out her window as we started to drive, as if she was listening to music in her head. She didn't say or even acknowledge me for almost a half hour of driving, even though I was in conversation with Thierry and Marie. But it didn't seem she was angry or anything. She was just the sort of person who was happy by themselves. Shy yes, but not so much as just content to remain apart. I'm like that too, and she and I soon found that we had a lot in common.
I had settled into my own thoughts after a while and was looking out the window when I felt her softly brush my arm to get my attention, and then started pointing out things outside the window and saying the french word for them. She had taken it upon herself to teach me french, like a little baby, but with the most gentle air of silliness to it that I could not have been offended. I was to learn that she was the most playful person I had ever met, but also had a massive imagination counter balanced by a keen observation of the world around her. She seldom made a mistake. She seemed to always know what was going on around her and acted appropriately. She just wasn't very verbal. The inside of her head must have been a gigantic playground that she only left when needed. Kinda like me.
After a few hours of driving we needed gas, and a discussion ensued up front. I heard numbers flying back and forth and worried looks on Thierry's face and soothing remarks from Marie and more discussion. I can count to on hundred in french just fine, but I have a hard time making out the numbers when spoken. In fact I had a special trick for when shop keepers talked to fast. My bonjour is good enough so the they don't know I don't speak french, but anything else, especially the listening part is horrible, so what I do is say "me parler comme si j'étais un infant", speak to me as if I were a child. And of course my pronunciation is so bad that they get the idea right away and talk slow and exaggerated, and the men usually smile at me sort of flirty. The first time Manon heard me use this trick she laughed so hard! She kept saying things to me over and over in a high pitched slow voice for a while after that.
Anyway we are at the gas station and Thierry turns and explains that their calculations of gas mileage, gas prices and such were a little off, actually 2.3 % off, they had plopped the numbers in to an algebraic equation, done in their heads and concluded that if they were 2.3% off going, then coming back would be similar and that they needed to adjust the food and entertainment portion by 4.6 %. Apologies to me that It may not be as deluxe a trip as I was expecting. Marie looked a little resigned, not sad but bravely happy in the face of it. Thierry seemed stressed. Manon amused but silent. Seems gas there is like 6 or 7 dollars a gallon and it was 50 euro to fill up the little 10 gallon tank. They had budgeted 200 euro for all the gas and any change in the budget had to be watched or they wouldn't have money to get home! These people were way to stressed! I would never do algebra on a vacation! But then I always had enough money.
Nobody said anything to me, but I got one of my cards out and asked Thierry if it would work for gas, and that if we put all the gas on the card we wouldn't need to worry about cash as much. He started to frown, but then smiled and said he would try, and yes you can buy gas in france on an american visa card. We filled up and got back on the road a much more relaxed foursome. Finally a problem Chloe can fix! Monon brushed my arm again and smiled at me and sort of did a little wiggle dance in her seat. She did that a lot, gently brush you to get your attention instead of saying something. Marie handed back snacks and it was starting to feel like vacation.
I've never had to worry about money. Not that we are rich, or not that we think of ourselves as rich. But Dad had always made a good amount and saved and invested, and mom had her business and her own investments, and money was never an issue. Part of the reason for that is that our family is not really all that status or material conscious. We had good stuff, but spending a lot always seemed to be sort of decadent. It was not the values my parents had. Mom had a mercedes slk as sort of an extravagance, dad usually drove his old toyota pickup that could carry a kayak or bike or camping gear, but had a Ducati in the garage under a tarp as his main extravagance. (I got the SLK for my 18th, but its too sad to drive still, because mom never let me when she was alive) Our house is real nice, but its paid for. Mom had received a $5000 inheritance from her grandma when she passed and invested in apple stock when it was like $10! and now it was worth hundreds, and she had other investments, and life insurance and her business, and all that was split between the 3 kids. Dads taking care of mine, but really I am financially in pretty good shape for an 18 year old girl. I have almost $100,000 of investments and own a mercedes. And Dad is paying for school too, because he did for the other kids. Some times I feel funny about it, but I have promised myself to not be stupid, and I'm not really a spender anyway. Its good for me to be in situations where I see how it is for most people, having to worry about money. What it means for me is that I can do things with my life that people who need to spend their life working just feeding and housing themselves cant. Intellectually I know I have a moral obligation to somehow repay the universe for my good fortune, but I'm not sure how yet.
But killing the stress on a road trip is a small start!
We ate food they had brought as we drove, and finally got there about 8pm. There being http://www.abbayesainthilaire.com in the "gite de murier" or mulberry suite. It was a cute little sort of apartment, a tiny bedroom and a living room with a kitchenette and a fold out bed/couch. Guess who got the couch? Manon and I. Thierry and Marie being married and the reason for the trip of course had the bedroom. Not that we couldn't hear everything! And they were making up for lost time the whole time we were there! At least twice a day, and during the day they would disappear for "walks". :) I hope I get it like that someday.
Abbaye Saint Hilaire is in Provence, and by coincidence only 50 km from where my dad was staying! Although I only went over and saw him once. Its about 30 miles from the ocean, so easy day trips to the beach! But its in the country, on the edge of vineyards and backed up onto a small forrest. I can see why Leticia was not too thrilled about it, but for me it was great. I like to walk and chill and meditate sometimes and don't need a lot of excitement and stuff. They had a restaurant there and a great pool with views into the countryside and hiking trails marked with colored signs like ski trails to let you know how hard they were. There was a little village about a mile away and bigger towns all around. Each Gite had its own table and chairs with umbrella outside and a barbecue stocked with wood, in addition the the cooking facilities inside, and I think this was part of the reason we were there!
Dining in France is expensive! Its not uncommon for dinner to be $30-40 euros, $45-60 dollars, although there are less expensive places and much more expensive! And you have to add wine to that too! So we cooked and barbecued most of the time. Its fun to go into town and buy dinner supplies and just make your day about eating and relaxing and drinking wine and laying by the pool. Manon was the best cook. She was so cute when she cooked, she would put a bandana around her head and hum little happy songs to herself. I think her cooking is why she was in the mix. I learned how to reduce wine in pan drippings and add some cream and make simple sauces from her, although they don't always gel for me, sometimes they separate. It sort of ended up with her and I being the cooks and since my skills are not up to what everyone was used to, I was her apprentice. But she was not a angry demanding chef! But like a 20 year old grandma, happy and nurturing, and she seemed to love feeding people. We ate chicken a bunch of different ways and fish a few times, but with the freshness of the food and the wonderful vegetables, it was like fine dinning, but more relaxed.
We sort of got into a routine of going for groceries everyday to different places that had the farmers selling and deciding on what to have for dinner by what looked best, and then buy some wine and bread and maybe pastries for the next morning, and maybe have a coffee and then back. It felt good to have something to do. We walked into town on some days, used the car some and hitched rides too. We tried to make it so that Thierry and Marie could relax and be together as much as possible and not have to worry.
Manon was good in bed too. :) I mean that she didn't seem to mind at all sharing a small by my standards double bed with a stranger. She didn't roll around or snore or hog covers, or mind that I didn't say a quick prayer before getting into bed! It wasn't always easy to get to sleep with the newlyweds in the bedroom, sometimes it sounded like someone was going to get hurt! We would giggle about it and listen like pervy voyeurs, trying to guess when it would "crescendo". Sometimes we would listen to each other after.
I slept better there than I had in a long time. I think I had been holding onto a lot of stress and anxiety over the last couple of years and it was starting to melt away. I mean here I was with total strangers in a strange country where I could barely talk, but I was more relaxed than at home. Maybe its just that at home you know what to worry about and there I was just out of it.
But part of it was Manon. We became friends the instant she started teaching me baby french in the car. Its like when you are 4 or 5 and some kid comes up and starts playing and instantly your are friends. We really didn't talk much, when we talked it was about practical things, what time we would do something or where to go or things to buy, but not ideas and feelings. And not about ideas and feelings because we seemed to know what each other was thinking and feeling with out having to verbalize it.
Manon had this amazing ability to show up. People call it presence, or charisma or personal power. She was childlike in her demeanor, but sometimes she would brush her fingers on your forearm to get your attention and you would look at her and it was like every fiber of her existence was totally focused on you. She was just completely present, and filling your attention. She could nod, or smile a certain way, or have some expression and you knew exactly what it meant and who or what it was about, and all without a word. It was almost as if she was telepathic or you were sharing minds with her. And then she would smile and her presence would fade back and you knew it was still somewhere, but it was like it was back in her own place.
This is going to sound silly, but I imagine Jesus or The Budhha being like that. Probably way more so, so much that they could do it for any size group of people, but the same sort of intense "being there". Manon didn't do it with more than one person, except sometimes with Thierry and Marie, and then it was like it was divided between then, and so, less intense. It was an incredibly intimate feeling, and very safe feeling when she did it. I wanted to ask her about it, to describe it in words but we didn't have enough language in common to really talk that deep.
It makes me think that there is some kind of god or fate or divine plan, that the universe arranges for me to have the experiences I do. Not that I believe in a god that is a person, or that watches over each and every second of our lives. But it make me feel like there is some more organization to life than what I know of. I needed a friend and "god" provided.
I am usually a fairly independent person. I'm quiet and keep to myself mostly, and I'm fine that way. Usually happier that way, than with a lot a people. I think Manon was like that too and even more so, but we sort of worked really well together, neither of us minded the other being there, or worried about what the other would think or want. It was just sort of automatic. We were together the whole time almost, we did everything together, and never seemed to need our time alone, like we normally would.
She was wickedly mischievous. Wickedly! One day we had gone into town and were walking around looking at stuff and went into the church there to see it, luckily I had a scarf! So versatile, you can express your self with it, bandage wounds and be holy in the sight of god with it on your head if you wonder into a church! There were people in front doing the talk to god thing, and we were being real quiet, she did the stuff your supposed to, sign of the cross, coin and candle , a touch of holy water, etc, and I followed behind knowing god didn't mind me not doing it because my heart is pure, (or at least it felt that way, that day). We went over to the side where the mary was and I sat down and she looked like she might be saying something to mary, and then a family came in and was pretty loud, the parents not watching the kids and saying things to them way to loud for the atmosphere. I mean people were praying! Just as the family passed Manon, the father in the rear, Manon farted the loudest I have ever heard a girl fart. Seriously it echoed! She looked like she had to strain to make it so loud! And just at the same time the Priest came out of the confessional booth and looked at the loud dad like he did it! And other people were looking at him too with total disgust on their faces! OM FUCKING GOD! It was sooo funny!
She made the sign of the cross to the mary and kneeled and then stood and turned and we walked out of there holding our laughter, but almost bursting! If there is a god, he had to be rolling on the floor too, it was so perfect. Manon had more innocent goodness in her than a whole sunday congregation, and her fart was so like an act of piety, not profane at all, like it was a holy fart that lessons could be learned from. It was less a defiling of the church than the tourists coming in disregarding the real meaning and use of the place.
We treated ourselves after that to some very nummy chocolate things with ground nuts in them, and very rich expresso. She was in a wonderful mood all day.
She was fearless. Maybe that is why I felt safe with her. I sort of followed her around like a puppy, even though I felt we were peers in some ways, she was the wiser, braver one. I am so naive sometimes and get myself into things that I don't know how to deal with, and have the linger tickles of fear in the back of my mind that I will do something stupid. She had none of that, like I say fearless.
One day we were exploring a town nearby, just walking around where the people lived away from the shops and stuff, and it was a little bigger town, and these two guys started paying attention to us, like watching us walk around and when we went by they said bonjour, and I bonjoured back, but she didn't say anything and we kept walking. A few blocks later, we saw them again, but in front of us, which meant that they had intentionally done it. Now I'm 5'3 and she is a little taller but we are not big, and we both could pass for 15, so these guys really had no business with us, but they thought they did, and started walking with us and talking and stuff. Manon did the little brush on my forearm thing and kinda put her lips together like "be quiet", and so we are walking along, looking ahead and ignoring them. These guys were probably mid 20's and I'm sorry but I have to describe them as greasy. Not dirty, but just sort of ewww. Insincere, vaguely threatening, stupid and obviously after a hookup without dinner and a movie. If they would have been smart and funny and joking and trying to make us comfortable it would have been fun, but that was not the vibe.
We sort of got to where we could tell we were getting out to the edge of town and were feeling that maybe we should turn back, and they knew that too and stopped, so that when we turned around they were in our way, and just stood there smiling. The less stupid one took a step towards us, kind of testing our reaction. EKKK! I was about to pee my panties, I didn't know whether this was it, rape time or just macho posturing or what. We just stood there and then Manon started smiling at them real bright and started to turn on the presence thing she had, where its real intense that she is so totally focused on them, and it sort of startled them. The she holds up her hand with her thumb and pointer about a half inch apart and looks down at their crotches! OMG! They weren't too bright and it took a few seconds for them to get it, but then you could see them turning red and the anger building. But she just was looking right at them and smiling. Then it was like something in them broke and they deflated. They said some nasty words at her, salope and puta and stuff, but they turned and left.
She wasn't so happy after that, not angry or scared, but kind of sad for a few hours. But she was back to humming to herself making dinner. I wonder if she knows men so well that she knew that would be the thing to do? Or was she just being defiant? All I know is she is fearless. I don't know what I would have done if I were alone, try to talk? Run? I don't think that I would have the guts to just stand there in their face and stand them down. She did.
There were things that scared her. Well one thing. Her body. She was very pretty, she had a better figure than me, perfectly proportioned for her size, not too big in the hips and thighs like me, nice breasts, not at all overweight and not skinny. Not a barbie like Marie, but certainly a nice body. And a very pretty face and cute hair, so maybe she wasn't spectacular, but a lot of girls would think she lacked imperfections. But she had a thing about people seeing it.
I noticed it the first time we changed to swim in the pool. We had pee'd in front of each other, it was just the one bath. Quicker that way, but that was with clothes still on. And we shared the bed in just panties and a cami, but I changed into my bikini in the bathroom and she was in there with me like it was not a big deal to see me naked, and I was sort of waiting for her to change and messing with my hair and stuff, but she wasn't changing, and gave me a look like she was waiting for me to leave, so I gave her her privacy and she changed and came out in her very modest one piece, and a cover over that, and a towel in front of her. I guess it was me stereotyping that europeans are all less modest.
She swam and played in the pool like a little kid, but when she got out she always put her wrap back on or the towel. Its funny how everyone has their own thing. I'll be naked in front of anyone basically. I've been to a nude beach, and have skinny dipped with friends, boys and girls, and It doesn't bother me at all. Stare if you want. Want me to pose? But it seemed painful to her to be in the situation where others could see her too much.
One day the manager came around asking everyone if it were ok to have a clothing optional day at the pool. Seemed that one family from Germany had thought that the pool was officially clothing optional and had asked if it had days and times. Well there was no official policy it seemed, and they were put out a bit, as they had expected it. The germans think nudity is healthy. The French just think it is fun. Well fun or not they felt uncomfortable if there was not a rule about it or some sort of policy, so the apologetic manager is trying to see if everyone is ok with it. Too funny, just take your clothes off and see if someone screams! But it ended up being an official policy that tuesdays, wednesdays and thrusdays were now officially clothing optional. Other days were topless ok, but not officially clothing optional. German problem solved and so we go out to the pool and there are the pink germans happily being healthy, and their kids being healthy and alls right with the world.
Until Thierry took off his trunks. Again OMFG! There is a video on the net with the drummer with a bunch of tats, from some band, tommy lee and his wife, and this drummer is like real long. Like when a horse drops, all hanging down, and swinging around, in a way most men don't. Except Thierry! Wow! And like Marie is looking pretty proud, and Manon is giggling openly, and I am taking off my stuff absent mindedly staring at it/him. And the german wife is kinda open mouthed, and her husband is turning red and kind of huffing and whispering to her.
Thierry had a bit of a smirk. Its not like he was aroused at all, just abnormal! The German man kept a magazine on his lap a lot. His was normal, and he was a bit heavy, so it was just a little thing above his testicles. Nothing that would swing! Too funny! And it was all his doing that we were naked! Thierry did have a couple of times when he had to jump into the pool, but really it didn't get much bigger, just started to not swing. I'm glad men have something to be self conscious about too, we have our boobs and our weight and our hair and our FACES!
Manon kept her suit on. She didn't seem to mind the nudity at all and was perfectly comfortable with me and Thierry and Marie and the Germans, but it stayed on.
Some of the best beaches in the world were just an hour or two from us and we went a couple of times, since gas wasn't a crisis. :) And I had said beforehand that I was going to go topless on a french beach never mind that I am fat right now! Actually I lost 15 pounds in France. I think I know what it is too, Starbucks®. I gained almost 50 pounds last year. I just lost control with all the other stuff in my life and in my head and I was drinking 3 or 4 starbucks everyday. Pretending of course that I didn't know that they were calorie bombs! Peppermint mocha, carmel mocha, white chocolate mochas, venti with whipped cream. Four would be an extra 2000 calories a day. It was like a drug, I was comforting myself and lying to myself too, because I was into healthy food, no McDonalds for me, chicken or fish and veggies and high fiber, less processed starches, salads and fruit. But now, no starbucks. Its been like 8 weeks since I had one, and its showing. Ok to be honest I had one when I got home from France. Just one.
We went to a little circle beach called la plage anse de magaud in Toulon, which was like 30-40 miles south of us. I was thinking that it would be terribly crowded and all, but it wasn't. It was a tiny little cove with a restaurant against the hill on one side, and it was mostly families and tourists of course, but more relaxed than I thought. We swam in the mediteranean and drank wine and snacked and laid in the sun, and I took off my top. Manon looked at me like I was silly, but not like I was doing something wrong. I think she kinda knew I was a little bit of an exhibitionist. Marie took off hers for a while too. Finally after I had looked at Manon expectantly she pulled hers down for about 30 seconds, made some wavy motions like "ok boobs, get some sun" and then pulled it back up. I didn't see any gross scars or birthmarks or anything, just normal girl parts. Its one of those things I think I would need better french to explore, her feelings about her body and I didn't try.
That evening we ate at the little restaurant, sitting on the deck watching the sun go down, well watching it get dark. Its a California thing to watch the sun go down, cause we face west! We drank wine and ate and sipped more wine and more food. I paid. Finally about 9:30 after coffee for Thierry (and us) we drove home. It was a beautiful day, nice drive, good company. Thierry and Marie of course did their duty before we all fell asleep. I would have been to tired.
We actually did that same beach thing twice, and drove around seeing wineries bit, and once all of us went over to see my dad and have dinner. The area is so much like the Napa Valley, except it is more open feeling rather than just between to strips of mountain. One thing the Napa Valley doesn't have though it the lavender. There are a couple of fields here, but in Provence it is an industry. They eat it and perfume with it and probably use the stalks like hemp for all I know! There is a lot of it and I love it. It grows in big long rows that will follow the counter of the land for acres. Its my new favorite scent. Feel free to sniff me, if you see me.
It went by quick. We stayed 15 days I think. For something so unplanned, it was the perfect thing for me. After the more hectic pace of Paris, and my blundering with Nicholas, this brought me back to a sort of calmness.
Next, back to Paris.
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