Welp, I guess I'm gettin' hitched

It's on Facebook now so it must be true: the boyf will soon become the husb. By soon I mean in approximately 1.2 years, when we have returned from FranceyPants. I'm planning to do a large post that details everything you're burning, needing, or just slightly interested to know. But part of our pre-nup states that I must give the gent prior review of posts that are at least 20% about him, and he doesn't get back from Minne till Sunday.

For now, feast your eyes on this gorgeous wedding look that Anna was kind enough to design for me:

I could only DREAM to look that good on the big day.

My new mac book pro arrived!

My new Mac Book Pro is officially here! She traveled all the way from Shanghai, that sassy beast. Look at how beautiful she is. I have been waiting for this moment to come since I read on mac rumors that the new Mac Book Pros were released last Tuesday. An update long overdue, mind you. The last time I bought a mac was December of 2004. That's a LONG time ago, and a long life for a mac. Now it's time for one that will actually house all of my music, allow me to stream videos and instant Netflix online, let me video skype with my niece, and - gasp - edit video and audio!

It's going to be REALLY hard to concentrate at work today.

Meet Lounge.

I'm just going to come out and say this. I'm dating a part-time improvisational lounge singer.

He's Lounge-asaurus Rex. He hosts events, performs at shows, and creeps audiences out far and wide. I first saw him from a distance. I was a shy audience member, dazzled by his chunky, jeweled rings and flaming red collar that stretches for miles. His slicked-back hair and proudly-displayed chest is enough to make any girl blush. His tight pants and female sunglasses elicit some sort of hipster/hippie/night fever combination of terrifying-yet-awesome.

This weekend we were on a 15-hour car trip and he was feeling loungy and I was feeling radio reportery so I whipped out my digital recorder and asked the man, nay, the legend, a few questions. If you're lucky, you might even hear him sing a little ditty for you. But be careful...your ears might bleed from too much sexy.

Listen here.

I'm proud to introduce to you...Lounge-asaurus Rex. The man. The myth. The witty banter machine.

Fuh-rahnce!

Due to some technical difficulties I haven't been able to smooch you beloved readers for a fortnight, but now I'm back. Hi! Hi. Hi hi hi hi hi hi. Or perhaps I should say... BONJOUR MES AMIES! (Picture me saying it with this face. It's at least 10 times or 30% funnier, depending on whether you use the metric system).


Brief aside: That is what I picture myself looking like had I made my first voyage to France circa 1982 and it was such a defining time for me, full of self-growth and self-realization and self-blossoming into a vraie femme, that I continued to dress like this forevermore to remind myself of those halcyon times. Not unlike a certain French professor with chunked bangs and a coiled bun I used to know...

But I digress. Dudes, I have super-hyper-mega-cool news: I'm moving to France! I've had to keep this a secret from you for so long, but now I can shout it to the world! France! France! Let's dance! Let's prance! Let's...um... eat macarons? Yes!

Almost exactly a year ago the gent casually suggested that we hop the pond for an extended stay. A  good friend of mine named Sarumph had recently spent the year teaching English to adorable French school children, and that seemed as good a way to go as any. We decided to keep things very hush-hush just in case it didn't work out.

Matt quietly started taking French classes at the community college (why? because...er...he likes Proust?) and I quietly started reading books about French etiquette and the problems Americans generally encounter when they go to Cheesy Wineland (why? because...er...I like stuff? and things?). I started working on the arduous application in October and finally got it submitted around New Years. This whole time I was just bursting with this news,  and I couldn't help myself from spilling the beans to select friends and family (OK...everyone) when I was home for the holidays, always cursing myself afterward because I knew I'd feel like a prize idiot if I didn't end up going.

Shortly after returning home I just had to tell my boss, because giving anything less than eight months' notice is criminal, right?

But the word finally came down on Wednesday that I have been accepted to the glorious Académie de Dijon, which was my first choice due to my great love of mustard. I could end up anywhere in that pink part of the map, from tiny Sens to Dijon proper. I'm hoping for the latter, because it's a mere hour-and-a-half train ride from Gay Pareee. And, like I said, mustard.

I'll find out where I'm going sometime this summer, as well as what age I'll be teaching. Sometimes the school is great about finding a place for their Americans to take shelter, and sometimes they're on their own. It's all very up in the air until I get that letter.

My manfriend and I had a meeting with the Consule Honoraire yesterday to discuss visa options for him to get over there. She suggested that he let me go first so I can get settled and figure out what's what, and then he can join me a month later on a visitor visa. When those three months are up he'll go home again for a month or two, and then come back for the remainder of my stay on another visitor visa.

"I see it all zee time," she said. "Zees will eezhair make you strongair, or he finds anozzer American girl while you are gone, and you find a beeg French hunk and zat's zat. Or maybe he mees you so much when he come he ask you to marry. I jus speak ze troof! I don't know!"

She also suggested that he learn as many Bob Dylan songs as he can before going because les francais ADORE him. She admitted to having translated "'undreds!" of his songs into french when she was a young filly.

Some housekeeping notes: Due the fact that I will probably have something new to blog about every hour, I'm planning to store those insights on a new blog solely dedicated to my time in France so I don't clog up TP with my transliterations and franglais.  I'll let you know when it's up and running so you can decide to follow or ignore it at your pleasure.

I'll leave you with a tale of Mirelle, a woman who, like me, possesses "long, slender fingers" and "a certain fondness for poking fun." When I return from France it is my hope to have completely morphed into this modern-day Bardot.

French in Action

I read a mind this week!

I was in my improv class on Tuesday and something incredible happened.

We were doing a montage of two-person scenes and my character was upset with my friend Drew's character for standing on her lawn. He was playing a sort of weird, perhaps drunk hobo-type guy. We're working on integrating more specific detail into our scenes so, for example, if you're saying something like "Can't you remember what kind of car you have?" we would say "Can't you remember that you have a yellow Thunderbird GT?". We're also working on naming people and sticking to those names throughout a scene.

I needed a name for my character's family land as her anger for his being on her lawn was heightening, so I quickly racked my brains and came out with this: "How dare you defile the Torkilson estate!" Now, I'm not sure where that name came from because I don't think I've ever heard it before, but before I could even think about it it just came out of my mouth, and I referenced the name a few more times in the scene then we continued with the montage.

After our montage, we all sat down to go through notes with our teacher. He mentioned that he liked the specifics of the names in our lawn scene, and Drew tells us that it was a really weird scene for him because when he entered the scene, he had an image of his friend Bobby Torkilson in his head, and was loosely modeling his character after him. While he was playing his character, he kept thinking "Bobby Torkilson. Bobby Torkilson." and then when I blurted out that last name, he was stunned.

WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How? How? How? How? Why? How?!?! How did that happen!?

Muddy ride into work today.