An American in Provence

Her Royal Crabiness.

A bad case of the crabs.

No, not THOSE kind of crabs.

The kind of crabs where basically you don't want to be around anyone, and more importantly, nobody wants to be around you.

Less than 3 weeks until my big USPTO (United States Patent and Trademark Office) exam and I am stressed.

Putting in 50 hour work weeks, plus trying to get ready for Christmas.

Hoping that we do not get stuck in an airport somewhere like Christmas 2006 when we got stuck in Chicago due to a blizzard in Colorado.

For the first time I absolutely cannot think of what Christmas presents to get for Alain's family, and he is no help either.

Plus beyond the point of caring of what state the apartment is in.

Sigh. This too shall pass.

In the meantime, a friendly warning: Stay off the roads between Aix and Marseille, especially between 5-7:30 pm.

Because you might see some blond woman screaming her head off because some guy cut in front of her in the line to get over the overpass, then burst into tears, then say "Why the hell am I crying?" while listening to her Patent Bar course on her Ipod.

I'm just sayin'.

Sunday evening Alain and I made the trek to Célony, right next to Aix, for the Anglo-American Group of Provence's Thanksgiving dinner.

I had reserved our spots at the beginning of November, finally got around to sending in the check (23€ each, ouch). We debated about whether or not to invite Alain's family to come along too, but finally decided that they probably wouldn't be comfortable with everyone speakin' 'Merican.

The aperitif began at 4, but because of some dilly dallying and traffic jams, we didn't get there until almost 5, when the meal was supposed to start. Yep, eating at 5 pm, another cherished American tradition.

All the way there in the car we had a discussion about which country's dessert was the worst:

Alain: Why do you Americans eat pumpkin pie? It is terrible!

Megan: Yeah, well why do you French have to eat clafoutis? They are terrible!

Alain: No they are not!

Megan: Yes they are!

Alain: I don't see why I have to go to this thing. I'm not American!

Megan: Well tough! When you signed the papers you agreed to go to Thanksgiving and eat pumpkin pie!

Alain: It didn't say that in our Contrat de Mariage!

Megan: Yes it did, you just didn't read it closely enough!

Alain: There was nothing about having to eat pumpkin pie in it!

As you can see, he quite dislikes pumpkin pie.

We got to the banquet hall and it was quite crowded. It came time for everyone to take their seats, and only single seats at different tables were left.

They finally pushed over and put another chair at one of the tables, so we were able to sit together. None of the younger couples that we met at the welcome dinner were there. At our table was a couple from Texas, a couple from Colorado, an Irish guy (what was he doing there?), a woman from Minnesota, and women with two little girls.

The turkeys were brought out, along with the green beans, mashed potatoes, yams, bread, red wine, stuffing, and cranberry sauce.

The food was good, but afterwards I wasn't stuffed like normal after Thanksgiving dinner.

The girls had a fabulous time taking the napkin rings and putting them on everyone's heads. It's a crown! It's a headband! It's a ponytail holder! It's an earring!

This got old after an hour.

By this time, I was well into my third glass of wine. We were done with the main meal when the hostess came to our table, gathered us together and said "One of you lucky people is going to be able to take the turkey carcass home."

I said, a bit too loudly, OH BOY!

I couldn't imagine what in the world anyone would want the turkey carcass for, unless to feed a dog. (which would most likely result in cleaning up after the dog afterwards. no thanks)

She seemed a bit offended and said that they make excellent soups. Nobody at our table jumped on the chance, so some other lucky person at a different table got to take our turkey carcass home.

Pumpkin pie was served, to Alain's ENORMOUS delight, but they forgot the whipped cream. Even pumpkin pie lover that I am, I have had better. The pumpkin pie was obviously made from scratch. A good attempt, but I like the canned stuff better. Alain took one bite and gave me a pleading look that said "Do I have to eat this?" I took his piece and he took a piece of apple pie (à la française, not an American Apple Pie).

After the dessert, an announcement was made that a special surprise was in store. A group of traditional Masai dancers was in the area, doing performances, and one of them had agreed to come to the meal and then afterwards do a short presentation of some dances.

The dance floor was cleared, everyone gathered round, he changed into his costume, and the lights were dimmed. The performance lasted about 15 minutes. He was an excellent dancer and very fit. All of the women were surely thinking "What is he wearing under the lioncloth?" and all the men were thinking "He isn't THAT much more muscled than I am."

It ended before 8 and we headed home.

It was a good time and we will probably go again in the future. Though I know now not to try and force Alain to eat the pumpkin pie, not say anything when the turkey carcasses are being offered, arrive before 5 pm, and bring my own whipped cream.

Yep, there is another female totally smitten with my husband.

When these drawings started showing up on a regular basis, I started to get suspicious.

-How old is she? Five.

- How did you meet her? She's in my twice-weekly karate class.

She is, apparently, "folle de lui".

While I don't exactly blame her, I made it quite clear to him that 5 was my other-girlfriend age limit.

We now have a growing collection of pictures of: hearts with eyelashes; flowers; princesses; and princesses along with hearts with eyelashes.

Little girls seem to adore Alain- Manon (who is also five, hmmm...) adores her uncle.

Woke up this cold Thanksgiving morning, got dressed, went to my car (which I had parked illegally last night- hey, no choice sometimes). As I passed all the other illegally-parked cars, I got a bad feeling- each of them had a ticket tucked merrily under their windshield wiper.

Uh oh.... I guess the cops came by last night.

Got to my car- yeppers. Happy Thanksgiving!\

The most annoying thing is that I would LOVE to be able to buy a parking spot or garage but there JUST AREN'T ANY FOR SALE. Talk about supply and demand.

A parking spot can go for as much as 15,000 €, and a garage for twice that. Those that have them hang on to them like gold.

It is a strange feeling to have the money to buy something, but not be able to because there are none on the market.

So you have to expect a parking ticket every now and then.

Actually, it isn't too bad. In the two years we have lived here, we have only gotten about 5.

As long as I get less than three a month, it is worth it not to rent a parking spot, which is 100€ or more per month.

A few months ago we had an opportunity to rent a spot- back in February I had put our name on a waiting list for a nearby garage. Months went by and we hadn't heard anything, so we pretty much forgot about it until one day they called and said a spot was available if we wanted it. We hemmed and hawed for a weekend, and finally decided not to take it. It wasn't particularly close by and I am usually able to find a not-so illegal parking spot. I have classified parking spots into three categories:

1) an actual legal spot

2) an illegal spot (on the sidewalk, on a crosswalk, etc) that the cops will usually overlook unless they are looking to raise some cash for the city

3) totally illegal which will most likely get you towed- in front of a garage, double-parked etc.

I am usually able to find at least a Category 2 parking spot. It is strange because only a few streets over is a Category 3 area- almost all the cars are double parked. The owners usually leave a piece of paper on their dashboard with their phone number. Supposedly, if you are blocked in, you are supposed to call them and ask them to come move your car. Which is usually faster than calling a tow truck.

If we lived in a Category 3 area I would definitely have gone with the parking garage.

Alain has it somewhat easy, since he can put his motorcycle anywhere he wants. Of course, he is freezing cold in the winter and soaking wet when it rains, but hey, he wanted the motorcycle.

The city really needs to do something about the parking situation, yet when they come around for opinion polls, all the elderly people (who do not have cars and do everything by foot) vote against new parking garages, underground parking, etc.

Well, I am still pretty much at the "A wine is a wine is a wine" phase, where pretty much all I can taste is "um, I'm going to with grape here?"

There was an embarrassing moment when I exclaimed to Alain "Guess what!? There are different TYPES of grapes!" Uh, yeah, didn't you know that? Well, no, I thought it was pretty much limited to red grapes and white grapes.

And Cabernet and Merlot are actually, get this, THE NAMES OF THE GRAPES.

Amazing how much we can learn when we read.

Being pretty much a wine novice, when faced with the large number of different Beaujoulais Nouveau bottles to choose from, I did what any self-respecting woman would do when faced with such a dilemma,

and after a careful reading of the descriptions, chose the one with.....

The pinkest, prettiest label.

Wine aficionados everywhere are screaming in pain upon reading this blog entry I am sure.

The wine itself you ask? Very purply-red and best drunk after about 3 glass of some other wine.

In other news, today is my 3 year blog anniversary. You poor people.