Longing
Me: It is starting to hurt my spirit.
Christian: The lack of neo-classical buildings in Melbourne?
Me: Yes.
Must outdo the Death Book
A week from today it is Christian’s birthday.
Last year, I bought him something hard to find that he really liked (and a watch, just because I wanted a back-up present in case he didn’t like the first one. I’m chicken that way).
If you have seen ‘Road to Perdition‘ (Christian and I have and it is one of his absolute all-time favourite films) you might remember in Jude Law’s apartment some crime scene photographs hanging off the wall. It turns out, they’re real – real New York Police Department 1920s crime scene photographs. And they were compiled into a book called ‘Evidence‘. So I tracked down a copy and gave it to him for his birthday (I flipped through first, to make sure it wasn’t hyper hyper gross. Err, maybe not but still really kind of graphic. Anyway).
He opened it and looked through and said ‘What is it?’. So I explained. And then I asked him if he liked it. He thought about it for a second, then said ‘You bought me a Death Book! Yes, I like it.’ He even said it was really thoughtful.
For next week I have something for him and I’m getting really jittery he won’t like it (I get present anxiety just before giving, always). I have been forbidden to buy anything else – he gets really embarrassed by gifts so one is about his limit.
If I am going to openly rebel and spend more money, it has to be on something as good as the Death Book. Or better. I’m in a tight spot (as George Clooney would say in ‘Oh Brother‘): you see, a Death Book is hard to top.
And yes, we have ‘Road to Perdition’ on DVD already. I really am in a tight spot…
Cheap thrills
I am right now thoroughly enjoying a bowl of beetroot and corn, and wearing one of my favourite pieces of clothing (a white blouse with some circular embroidery going on all over).
Now usually, when I eat beetroot, I put on an apron. Yep. Because I’m kind of clumsy. But today against my better judgement I am relishing the laziness and have skipped the apron. So I’m eating something purple that stains like nothing else, and wearing white.
It makes me feel like I live so dangerously and on the edge. Yep. Sad.
All the landmarks and airports a baby would need to know about
My gorgeous friend Jess sent me this the other day.
To put it to good use we just need to:
*Make up our minds once and for all whether we want children.
*Agree on names – which have to work equally well in both French and English AND have the same spelling in both languages (because I don’t want my children to have a multiple split personality thing going depending on which language they introduce themselves in), not end in -ie for girls (Christian’s foot down) or be Charles or Félix for boys (Christian’s foot again, based on mental connections with British royal family which he’s not fond of, and tv show ‘The Odd Couple’).
*Agree on number of middle names – 2 (my foot down, because in France we have at least that number).
*Agree on where we want them: Europe (yes, yes!) or Australia (far, far – from family and cousins – but current foreseeable country of residence).
You know what? That cute Paris map also comes printed on a bag. I think I’ll take that instead for the moment. And keep on bugging my sister to have a second baby :)
So he didn’t marry an axe murderer
Christian had a dream last night that I was a psychopathic killer (we watched Dexter just before bed, so it may have something to do with it).
Apparently the dream was horrible, so he woke up feeling very relieved (I didn’t kill him in the dream in case you’re wondering, but I was offing other people left right and centre).
I can’t help feel just a little bit dissed though. Because when I looked at him and said ‘It’s ok, I don’t kill people sweetheart… Or do I?’, he laughed (with his eyes as well: he was really amused) and said ‘No, you really don’t.’
Let’s face it: I don’t even project the slightest doubt of unhinged or potentially dangerous. That’s what you get for marching on the spot when you’re excited I guess: you’re just not bought as a potential vicious murderer.
(Image is from here)
What am I doing wrong?
1.Boil water.
2.Add water to instant coffee (organic and fair trade I might say) and a teeny bit of cocoa powder.
3.Stir.
4.Add soy milk.
5.Microwave 1 minute (soy milk was straight out of fridge).
6.Taste: beurk*. Big time. Every time. Honestly!
Am I the only person in the world who cannot turn instant coffee into a decent cup of café au lait?
*Just in case you need to confirm your suspicions of what I am trying to say.
(Image is from here)
Mimi the doggie
There are so many reasons why Mira is awesome:
*She has a beard. Which she occasionally uses by putting it in my face to wake me when she wants in under the doona during the night. Always cute in the morning (during the night, meh).
*When she is in the back seat of the car, she leans into the turns (I call it ‘Surfing’).
*She is tiny and that alone cracks me up. My father nicknamed her ‘La Petite Peluche’ (the little soft toy) and this is how she is referred to by my whole family in France.
*She is the most loving, yet insistent (read pain-in-the-ass) little animal. So I guess that makes her me in dog form :)
*She makes me watch my language in the kitchen while I’m cooking because she knows if she hears swearing, I’ve dropped something on the floor (and whatever it is would disappear beyond that beard and get scoffed). She also occasionally stands at my feet for 20 minutes on end, waiting for things to drop.
*She fake kills things when she is playing with them and she makes it look adorable.
*She does the cutest little jumps and 360 turns.
*She loves to lick ice cubes when she’s very hot.
*She has a heightened sense of self after getting a bath (which results in even more insistence).
*She single-handedly made me a dog person, when before I only swore by cats.
By the way, this is how I am brushing up on my Sesame Street characters. And I honestly don’t know how I managed these pictures while laughing so hard and how they don’t look completely blurry. Christian wasn’t helping by narrating a fake wild life photography commentary in the background.
(My title was inspired by this song).
A little French number
There have been many things to adapt to for me since moving from France to Australia, and this is the beginning of an attempt to explain.
Christian says the concept of ‘bis’ puzzles him. Even after having lived in an 11th arrondissement Parisian apartment located at number 30 bis.
I don’t think I can explain because for me it’s one of these things you accept exist and never question: two houses or buildings have the same street number and the second one is ‘bis’ so as not to be confused with the first one. It’s not a weird urban planning concept, a strange way to divide land lots (all Christian’s chain of reasoning and probably valid points), it just is.
And it makes for pretty signs mixing numbers with letters.
This one is from a house in Albert Park and I always slow down to look if I’m driving past, or clap my hands and go ‘French number French number’ when Christian is driving. It doesn’t get old for me (for him, probably).
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