Crunch crumbs on her chin
and long whiskers don't matter.
February 2008 Archives
Crunch crumbs on her chin
Sylvain is in Sweden again and I suspect the in-laws think I'm pining away in our apartment without him, if the type of phone calls I've been getting from them is anything to go by. But I'm hardly at a loss for things to do at the moment. In between missing Sylvain and wishing he was here to take his share of Symphony cuddles at night, I have been drinking juice, watching movies (and OMG there is a musical, how much do I want to see that?), learning lines for a play, shoe shopping, getting my hair cut, podcasting, reading and having adventures for the podcast, learning new expressions, saying goodbye to friends who are leaving France, making plans for the summer, booking concert tickets and scribbling in notebooks.
Oh, and organising a trip to Venice for our upcoming wedding anniversary.
Even though there appears to be a problem with mud. That's going to be fun.
When I was little, we were allowed to watch tv after school, but only from 5pm onwards. This meant we had to spend at least an hour playing outside or doing other activities. I think it was a pretty good plan, considering (in my mind) the shows before 5pm were for babies anyway. But between 5 and 6pm, we were treated to weird and wonderful programming on the government channel, the ABC. I grew up watching a mix of BBC and Japanese Anime shows, with a few North American ones thrown in : The Mysterious Cities of Gold, Grange Hill, Astro Boy, Monkey Magic and Degrassi, interspersed with episodes of DangerMouse, Roger Ramjet and The Trap Door.
After 6pm, the programming became less kid-oriented, and whilst we were sometimes thrilled to be treated to episodes of The Goodies for a couple of months at a time, there were sometimes other, less palatable programs on offer.
This is where my inexplicable fear of Doctor Who comes in.
I'm not sure what caused it, but just hearing the name made me shudder in my boots for almost 20 years. It used to be shown in the 6pm timeslot on the ABC, and (never mind whether my sister wanted to watch it or not) I was so scared of it that I had to turn the tv off before the opening credits came on otherwise I would be traumatised by the opening bars of the theme song. It just had to be done.
So, imagine my horror, nearly 20 years later, when I realised they were coming out with new episodes. When friends talked about settling down to watch some of the new series way back in 2005, I shut out the conversation in my head and sung a song to myself so I wouldn't have to hear them talk about it.
But the idea of being so inexplicably afraid of a television show perplexed me for the longest time. Until I was browsing Amazon last week, looking for a new tv series to get into (we watch most tv series on dvd), and I finally decided I would confront my fear and order the first season. After all, it's science-fiction and Sylvain loves any science-fiction, even if it's just two blobs screaming at each other in blob-talk for half an hour.
The small, innocuous box arrived this week, and I hesitantly put it in the dvd player. Sylvain got settled in to watch, excited as usual about anything related to science-fiction. The highly-recognisable music started to play, and I shifted uneasily in my chair, suppressing the urge to race across to the television and turn it off like I did so many years ago.
40 minutes later and I understood why I was so scared when I was a little person. Aliens and monsters and strange creatures, all popping out of seemingly safe situations.
And whilst I am still having a hard time not running across the room to turn the tv off when I hear the music, I have ordered seasons 2 and 3. Embracing my fears. And Sylvain is hooked.
It helps that the aliens and monsters and strange creatures look like they've been borrowed from the set of Buffy.
Now I have to confess I'm curious to see one of the original episodes again, to see whether I've really conquered my fears or whether it will see me a quivering, sobbing mess in the corner of the lounge room.
I woke up yesterday morning (ok, so it was closer to lunchtime than breakfast, but at least it was before noon), and walked into the bathroom, blurry eyed and feeling fuzzy. I splashed some water on my face and looked in the mirror.
And immediately descended into panic. My neck had turned a sort of grey, all splotchy, with darker bits and lighter bits and in-between bits.
I poked and pressed and wondered how on earth I was going to get to the hospital considering Sylvain wasn't there to take me.
The panic evolved into full blown hysteria. I began thinking about random diseases. Eczema. Leprosy.
I decided that I needed to go to the hospital immediately. Who knew how quickly it would spread onto the rest of my body and what the consequences would be? I began imagining Sylvain coming home from Sweden in a week to find me lying paralysed (or worse) on the bathroom floor.
In the spirit of putting new underwear on when you go to the doctor, I decided to wash my neck before I went to the hospital.
To my surprise, the grey began to wash off. The splotches became less prominent. I scrubbed my neck furiously, and bit by bit I washed away the grey.
This is what happens when you wear a new black feather boa to Rocky Horror Picture Show the night before.
Me and my blue lagoon
Don't mess with Kim and Kyliemac
Me and a Very Excited Frog with a Blog
I received a phone call from Australia this morning.
An excited girl, leafing through a Lonely Planet Guide : France, came across numerous references to a "hippodrome".
In her joy, she rang me, asking whether this was, in fact, a reference to hippopotamuses (or hippopotami). Perhaps a special place for hippos, or something.
I replied that "hippodrome" actually referred to a racecourse.
Not for hippopotamuses. Or hippopotami.
And that as far as I was aware, no hippo have ever been involved in hippodromes.
She was disappointed, to say the least.
I feel like such a bubble burster.
It's that time of the year again. Sylvain is in Sweden, this time for nearly a month.
What does this mean for me? Well, spending time apart only makes the time we spend together better. In everyday life, we each do our own thing (I never reproach him from spending hours on the Wii and he never reproaches me for spending hours reading in the bath), but we also love to spend time with each other. So, in an extended fashion, there are a few advantages to some "me time" for a few weeks.
Firstly, I get to eat spaghetti bolognaise as often as I want. I swear, if I could eat it every day for the rest of my life I would not be unhappy.
Secondly, I get to watch all the chick flicks I could possibly want. So far, I've seen In Her Shoes, Dirty Dancing and Bridget Jones' Diary. I'm off to a good start.
Thirdly, I can leave all my socks lying, discarded, around the lounge room. I'll have to pick them up when guests come over, but I don't have to hurriedly shove them under the couch when "he" comes home suddenly (and then promptly forget about them for months).
Finally, I can go to the toilet any time I like. It is a very strange phenomenon, but we always seem to have to go at exactly the same time, and it is a relief not to have to race him to the toilet for a few weeks.
But it also means that I'm on full-time Symphony duty. She sleeps with me all night, every night. Climbing in and out of bed 600 times a night. And I will be spending Valentines Day all alone. Again. And I don't have my favourite person in the world around to talk to/sing to/chatter to/listen to at the end of the day.
And I have to take the bins out all by myself.
Time to make some bolognaise.
I've been a little slack on the blogging front lately, mostly because I've been tremendously occupied with a huge project that has taken up much of my (our) time and energy - the redesign of the katia and kyliemac podcast website, along with the creation of two new podcasts, k&k learn french and k&k tourist tips. A GIGANTIC job, but one that we're really proud of and excited about.
But that was launched today, and apart from the usual podcasting, it can all basically take care of itself from now on. So I can get back to regularly scheduled blogging.
I've been squirrelling away anecdotes and stories for the last few weeks, writing random notes in my agenda, amidst To Do Lists and notes for the podcast, and I can't wait to sit down and record them all properly.
My life here seems to be a whirlwind of microphones, random snapshots, kaffir lime leaves, scribbled notes, kitten hugs, orange juice, yoga poses, dramatic moments, twitter notifications and moments of discovery that I can actually speak French, a little. Even after 6 years of living here, the adventures haven't stopped. They've changed, a little, since the beginning, but they haven't stopped.