Ce N’est Pas Facile D’etre Français
1.) Let’s start off by saying that Starbucks, after our little domestic dispute last week, has heeded my warning and the way I see it is no longer the way anyone is seeing anything. Holiday cups have been introduced this very morning (in Boston at least). My first glimpse of someone holding the beloved red cup on my walk to work invoked a smile in me (hard pressed as I was after a 15 hour work day yesterday).2.) Just when you think the French can’t get any more ridicule, they go and top themselves. Don’t get me wrong, I love France. My best friend is French and if I could, I would live permanently in Paris, looking the other way at the fact that I would be living with crazy Socialists and that with the slightest physical ailment I could conceivably die because their health care system is as infamé as their manners and La Pantranque.
“You know what really pisses me off? They never EVER acknowledge the fact that there is a strong military presence of the French in Afghanistan.”
My French friend is right, naturellemon. Why is it that we have this mental image in our heads of the French not caring about what’s going on with the war? We picture them over there all day just sitting around with funny hats on, eating leek soup and drinking pastis, saying, war?! Quelle surprise!
Either way, one has to wonder how long this will go on for. After all, it’s the French fighting the French, and the only question one can’t help but ask is: who is going to surrender first?
3.) The deadline for columnist submissions for an online magazine is this weekend. I’ve been working hard to get this sucker out all week that hopefully, it will be brilliant (1,170 words and 5 days of work it had better be). However, I have a feeling this will end up like most of the things I spend time writing and sending out: left neatly saved on my newly acquired key drive, a reminder of the things I’ve tried that haven’t worked out.
4.) Will be sure to drink heavily tonight with Sweet Girl at our weekly Pig outing in an attempt to forget about this rigorous work week and drowning my lost hopes for publication in the strong vodka sodas that Matt the bartender makes for me at half price.
And anyway, it’s like Audrey Hepburn said in Sabrina in 1954, there’s always Paris.
I hope.
posted by Victoria Comella @ 11:41 AM
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