Checking in here from Hostess land, where I have been on a marathon French touring adventure with Husband and his family. We have walked every inch of the city and climbed every tower, steeple and arch. There have been day trips to Versailles (drop-kicked tourists as necessary), hours spent in museums (where my 7 year old niece…
Of all the wondrous things to do in Paris this summer (eat duck fat fries, ride bikes, drink champagne), I keep finding myself back at the fête foraine in the Jardin de Tuileries. Why? Well, it could be the kitschy rides and alluring smell of barbe à papa. It might be that I have a…
Today might be one of the saddest days of my life. Right up there with the last episode of Law and Order and the time my pony died and my dad came home and said, “Yeah, the old girl is headed to the glue factory!” Here’s what happened: Despite drinking a margarita the size of…
I really don’t like feet. Especially other people’s feet. And I also really don’t like toenails. I can’t put a finger (heh, finger!) on exactly why, but other people’s pieds just kinda gross me out. So the gods of love must have had a good, long laugh when they paired me with Husband: Man of…
So it’s almost August, which in most places doesn’t mean much other than hot sticky weather and maybe a trip to the beach. But here in France, it means we’re on the verge of something akin to apocalypse. By all accounts, the city will be deserted, all the restaurants and shops will close and nothing…
So you know when you eat something just so utterly delicious, so extraordinarily drool-worthy, so flipping awesomely good that you really just can’t find the words to describe it? Well, yeah. That’s an American problem apparently. Because here in France they have hands down one of the best sayings on the planet to describe that…
I’ve been really homesick lately. There. I said it. I’m in Paris, watching fireworks over the Tour Eiffel, galavanting on the Cote D’Azur, and all I really want is to be home in the sweltering mid-atlantic of the good old U.S. of A. I feel guilty just typing those words. But it’s true! I’m missing…
So I think I owe you a little story about me handing out gift bags at the Ambassador’s house last week. Let’s set the scene, shall we? It’s Wednesday, two days before I’m about to go on vacation. It’s disgustingly hot (which I know garners no sympathy from my DC friends. But at least you…
Ok so it’s not technically Friday yet. But that’s cool, because I’m not really giving you any vocabulary this week. I’m going on vacation instead! I’m not leaving you empty-handed though. Spend this 4th of July weekend thinking about how I’m going to tell you one helluva story about me volunteering to hand out gift…
Yes, that is a Sephora box you see there. Of course I still hate them, but it just so happens that they’re the only people who carry my most favorite shampoo, so I have to cross the picket line every now and then in the name of good hair. Good hair that I almost lost…
Unlikely Diplomat 