Pollution, orange hair, sexism and whatnot

Sometimes when I sit at my desk to write, I put my glass of water on the ledge next to the open window.  When I pick up the glass to take a sip, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes later, there are oftentimes tiny pieces of grayish soot floating around in it.  Then I remember Paris is a huge polluted hellhole and run to close all the windows.  The kids are forced to stay indoors for the rest of the day and must breathe through respirators attached to their heads with giant rubber bands.

Between the cars and the smokers, mama's lungs probably aren't lookin' so hot.  But you know what IS lookin' hot, literally?  Mama's hair.  My hairdresser decided to dye it orange at our appointment this week.  I keep diving into the shower after catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror because I think my head has caught fire.

The good news is Alex loves the hair because he thinks it makes me look like "a girl who really knows how to party."  Lucien said it's pretty like a rainbow.  Coco threw a ball at my face and ran away but I think that's just Coco being Coco and not a critique of the hair situation.

 Do you like it?

People have started viewing the apartment.  Our landlord isn't sure if he's selling it or continuing to rent it when we leave, which means we have a parade of real estate agents and interested renters or buyers or whatever they are tromping through at all times.

I have to be here for the appointments because the lady from the agency doesn't have a key.  This would be fine if she would just 1.) show up at the appointed time and not an hour late OR 2.) show up, period.  Twice today there were appointments where no one showed and no one called.  It's not cool to be stuck in an apartment when I have a million things to do, on an eighty-degree day with no open windows on account of the flying soot problem.

Let's counter that crappy news with some incredible news.  Hot Thing One and Hot Thing Two did NOT move away! (story of HT1 and HT2 here and here and here)  They're still right down the street!  They've been on a three-month-long vacation which included the entire first month of school (those hot sexy bastards) so everyone just assumed they were gone.

But here's the even more incredible part.  When Hot Thing Two saw me, she waved excitedly and pushed through people to give me the bisous!  She kissed me on both cheeks!  I think that means we're married now.

The bisous are serious business.  French parents don't just hand out the bisous willy-nilly to everyone at school.  You have to earn your school bisous; you have to be part of the inner circle. Well it looks like I finally made it, people.  All that saying stupid stuff to the hot people has paid off -- they finally love me.

My girl is about to turn two.  Our Coco girl.  I went shopping for her yesterday at the Bon Marche toy department and my head nearly exploded when I saw not one, not two, but THREE toy vacuum cleaners in the sickeningly pink "girls" section.  When I see all those pink plastic cleaning and baking toys next to all the fun stuff in her brother's section she REALLY wants to play with, I feel like punching a Polly Pocket.

Coco is much more than a bread-baking, doll-nurturing, vacuum cleaning machine (especially since genetically she comes from me and I suck at all those things.)  She's a ninja, so give her ninja toys.

My in-laws are coming next week to celebrate Coco's day, then immediately afterward Alex and I are hopping on a plane to go celebrate our ten years of wedded mostly-bliss.  Immediately after that, two of my favorite Seattle ladies are coming to visit.  Then immediately after that, my best college dude friend -- we'll call him "Chicago O" -- is coming to visit.  That's a lot of joy for one month.  And then October will be over and I guess November will be the month to actually get stuff done.

Speaking of favorite people, I got this email from Virginia Mom last night --

"Top Gun is on Channel 11 right now.  Watching Gooz and Mahv-reek doing some crazy sh*t en francais.  You're welcome."

She emailed later to say that while Top Gun was atrocious in French, "the volleyball scene did not get lost in translation."

You know, I just might miss that woman.

Sad sigh.  Off to drink my grimy glass of window wine,
MJ