A 3 year sentence

While boyfriend and I were getting ready for bed, brushing our teeth I'm doing some calculations in my head. We've been telling people we've been together for 2 and 1/2 years, but we've been saying that for awhile. With a mouthful of toothpaste I blurt out that we've actually been together for over three years. "Hmm, yeah, I guess so" he said (in French).

As we crawl into bed, we try to agree on when we actually started dating. He believes it was in March of 2002 when he let me borrow his hat to go on my business ski trip. I think its in May when after months of back and forth unsure "high school" esque dating, we're in our local, I buy him a drink and he says "You shouldn't pay for me, I guess I'm a pretty crap boyfriend" (in English, with a very thick French accent). His first admittance that we were "boyfriend/girlfriend.

So we suggest to make up an anniversary date of April 1st, a compromise. But then he says, "No anniversaries, Anniversaries are just a pretext for couples to remind them that they love eachother. We don't need that. (pause for effect) We're not in love."

After calming down from my tears of laughter, I whisper to him, "I don't love you with all my heart".

He may not be the most romantic, but who needs romance when you've got a French comic in your bed.

This one goes out to my teacher friend

Take the quiz: "Which Full House Character Are u?"

Becky
You're the normal one in the family..heh


The quiz is quite see-through, but I thought I would have been someone a bit more interesting than Becky. Ugh, I have such a quiz addiction. And I used to have a crush on "Joey". There. I said it. Are you happy? Thats right. Dave Coulier. Love him. Deal with it. I'm sure you have a shameful crush as well. Oh come on. Cut. It. Out.

Push it baby, harder

I had my first lesson with my personal trainer, who is an adorable gay man, with killer abs and who says "oh, Bless" after everything. He's fab.

He had me hanging upside down by my feet doing sit-ups. He says, "You'll really start to feel that in your abs". I give him a murderous red faced glare "What do you mean "start"" and burst into a grin. His reply: "Oh bless".

At one point I have my ass hanging off of a giant green bouncy ball doing crunches while holding a dumbell in my hand, he asks me, "is your ring Tiffany's"? "Why yes, my Mom has the necklace that matches" "oh wow. I've had my eye on that ring" "They're soo comfortable" I reply. I had a suddent urge to take him out of that sweaty gym, get all dolled up in kitten heels and shiny pants, go for cosmos and good old fashioned girl talk in some swanky bar. Instead I let him talk me into taking his spinning class. Now the last time I took a spinning class I had a full Wolfgang Puck's meal in my belly and was two glasses of chardonnay to the wind. I ended up falling of my bike, badly scraping my leg and ran out of the class. I made it this time. All grueling, chest burning, thigh aching 30 minutes of it. I need to quit smoking. I also now have sore bike riders crotch which is never worth it if not accompanied by an orgasm. Oh Bless.

Pinch me

Lately I've been having very vivid dreams of a fairly bizarre nature.

Don't worry. We all know how boring it is when a friend makes you sit through a long winded, unsure, backtracking dream, honestly thinking their nocturnal mini-theater is as interesting to you as it is them, so I'll spare you all the details.

Here are the highlights:

Spending a laboriously long time trying remove spinach from my teeth

Watching my boyfriend reluctantly massage a naked (and very demanding) Farrah Fawcett who had barged in our home uninvited with her 8 rowdy male offspring.

Being forced to wear a very short and tasteless white dress with fur trim that was designed by Madonna to my prom.


Ok. So here is my theory (also held by my boyfriend): There is too much light in our apartment. The shades are not dark enough causing a light sleep and vivid dreams that leave lasting mental imprints. In Paris we slept in complete (cannot see hand in front of face) darkness. It was a time when my teeth were clean and my dreams devoid of popular resurfaced 70's and 80's icons.

Or perhaps I am slowly going insane...? Some of course would say dreaming of Farrah naked would be an improvement. I don't know. I just want to get some rest.

My new favorite commercial

So some may say that I am blatantly showing that I am unemployed, bored and glued to my TV by having a post about my favorite commercial. But here's what I say to those "some": Screw you.

The commercial. It is for a starburst-esque candy called Fruitella. Two young boys in a cinema, their candy (Fruitella) comes to life in animated form and starts running around causing havoc in the theatre. It then jumps up on stage in front of the screen, turns around, takes the bottom part of his own packaging and reveals the stack of square candy underneath. In effect, this animated piece of candy has mooned the two boys. He showed them his candy ass. Hilarious. The catch line for Fruitella is "Cheeky, but chewy". Love it. LOVE it.

Um, yeah, so like, uh, how cute is Harry Potter? ohmygawd

I just spent 10 minutes crying after finishing Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Am I actually a 12 year-old girl?

If anyone out there has finished and wants to wallow in it with me, please email. Obviously I don't want to give anything away but I am dying to talk to someone. Ok, yes. Thats it. I am officially a 12 year old. Help.

A typical Friday night out in Nottingham

Once we finally left our friend Colin's birthday celebrations at our local pub around 1:30 , I dragged Stephane with me to try to find the Harry Potter party, (the sixth book was just published). The release-party was at a book store further away, so I decided to call it a night. However, on our five minute walk home from the bookstore, we ended up running into a near fight as a bunch of drunk kids fell out of some aussie bar. The fight was contained, so we continued walking where we then had the pleasure of witnessing a girl in a white mini skirt squat down in the middle of the sidewalk right by the bar (that I'm sure had working bathrooms rending her forthcoming act of indecency unnecessary) and piss on a pile of vomit. Now we did not get there early enough to see if the vomit was in fact her own. If in deed it was she is perhaps to be applauded as a resilient girl who is willing to save the street cleaners the nasty task of washing up her spewed up kebab and white wine spritzers by clearing it off with her own flow of urine. However the other theory is that this girl was so drunk that she didn't even realise that she was in the middle of popping a squat in the middle of a busy street over a pile of some stranger's vomit. And you thought there weren't any good tourist attractions in the East Midlands.


Here is where the Harry Potter party wasn't, but where I bought the book the next day for an over-priced £11.99 instead of the £7.97 I could have paid. Lucky for you, I didn't have the guts or the stomach to take a picture of peeing on vomit girl. But I'm sure I've left you all with a nice visual image.

A couple that rows together...

Last weekend Stephane and I went rowing on the University lake. Its not as easy as it looks - especially for Stephane. I, however, kicked that boats butt. The boat lady who rents them out was very frightening. Stephane thinks its because she has a thing against the French. She yells at people accross the lake when they break the rules. She never had to yell at us though. But she still scared us.



I fed the squirrels. One of them came straight up to my hand and ate my nut. The second time he bit my finger. Then Stephane and I had to run away because the squirrels got scary.



See?

Revenge is Sweet

Wearing aforementioned fabulous skirt that boyfriend does not aprove of in Nottingham's city centre a (presumably) gay man said as he walked past me "You know your fashion honey". Ha! Take that! I am fashionista galore.




Finally, I give you the skirt. Perhaps I will one day take a picture of me in skirt, but it is late in the afternoon and I haven't even showered yet. Not a pretty sight and certainly not one I'm willing to share.









Lauren Poulin

But I wanted to be Oreo...

You Are Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

You are kind, popular, and generous. You tend to be successful at anything you try. A social butterfly, you are great at entertaining a crowd. You are most compatible with strawberry ice cream.

What Flavor Ice Cream Are You?

Ooops...

Imagine my shock when I go to check my hotmail account, which has over 250 saved messages from friends and family, and I find only TWO messages. I stare in disbelief at my computer screen, and then quickly send a nasty email to MSN to make sure they are aware that I am holding them responsible for this loss. I realize that there's not only a sentimental value to these emails, but I have also sent myself numerous important documents from my previous email address that I had yet to save to my computer. I explain all of this to Stephane, that my life is near ruined and that the only reason that I am not in hysterical tears is because I can't yet grasp the magnitude of what this loss represents for me, when he looks at the screen and informs me, "Lauren, you're looking at my email box - the one I started only two days ago" Oh. Ooops. Boy, was my face red. If the person working at MSN who had to deal with my angry email happens upon this, I'm sorry for being so rude...

Don’t cry over a bruised skirt

I’d had a low day morale wise. No job, no girlfriends, and I had finished the entire season six of Sex and the City so I knew I had nothing to look forward to (is it a bad sign that every episode made me cry?). So what does any girl do when she’s feeling a little blue? She puts on her favorite outfit. For me, this is my big 1950’s style hot pink skirt from H&M with snug black cashmere cardigan. The skirt is overflowing with extra fabric, so bright and pretty that I feel like a little princess. I was prancing around for Stéphane once he came home from work, showing off my twirl “oh! I’m going to wear this out to the pub Friday night!” she said with hope and glee. And that’s when I saw it. His face. It only appeared for a brief moment, but I caught it. It was a look of disapproval. Stephane doesn’t like my skirt. Tears welled up in my big blue eyes, and I cursed him for ruining my favorite pick-me-up outfit. Oh, how could he take that away from me? Of course now every time I wear that skirt, despite the fact that I know I look fabulous in it and practically everyone that has ever seen me in this skirt knows I look fabulous in it, I will always be thinking about how my own boyfriend does not find the skirt fabulous on me. He better be prepared to buy me a new favorite outfit. And Stephane - it better be expensive too.





Lauren Poulin

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!

After three weeks in a row of losing the Johnson Arms Tuesday night quiz by ONE POINT we have finally won! There was much gloating (mainly by Stephane - who is more of a sore winner than a sore loser) and huge smiles (by me) and humble grunts by our English friends who are apparently genetically incapable of gloating. The pressure is on to defend out title next week.

To give you an idea of how difficult this quiz is, here is the dingbat that was one of the questions we had to answer:

iiiiiii
bean
hand
air

See if you can figure out what popular phrase of famous person that could represent.

We did however only win by 1/2 point. Stephane and I ran into our new original style skin head (the peaceful non natzi type) friend (who stephane is convinced is in love with me) that informed us that our 25 1/2 points only narrowly beat his 25. We'll all be reading up on our encyclopedias before next Tuesday to ensure our team, Le Crepe's, position as champions.






Lauren Poulin

Three Brits a Frenchman and Me

While the rest of the world was riveted with Live 8, I set off to sail through narrow canals curving through the English country side in the company of four fine men and plenty of beer. The boat was cozy and quaint and if I actually knew anything about boats I would tell you what kind it was, but all I know is that it is long and blue with gold trim, can get up to a heart racing three miles an hour, is home to one of the four fine men aforementioned and is named the Clam. Dr. D and I almost decided not to go on the outing as we were both feeling fairly rough from the fine German lager the night before – but I’m quite glad we went. Dr. D proudly steered the boat and tooted the horn as we inched along the waterways of Nottinghamshire. For the first time in my life I got to go through a lock. I remember learning about them in school, how finally people could travel by boat to places never before thought possible thanks to these water locks. Quite an ingenious contraption; huge doors allowing the water to flow in or out, feeling the boat rise and fall. We even had the benefit of a small audience who commented on our every move. As we were leaving, an old man sitting on the banks asked me if it was my first time going through a lock – I guess it showed. After the lock we eventually made it to our destination of a tiny town called Sharlow and the two pubs that we decided to spend our day at, the Malt Shovel and the New Inn. It goes without saying that we preferred the Malt Shovel – if you’re going for old English charm, I think you’d be hard pressed to find it in a pub called “New Inn”. After too many pints of bitter (well at least for me and Dr. D – we made our last drink a coke – still can’t quite keep up the pace with our new English friends) and some fabulous dog sightings* we decided to head back as we didn’t want to be caught navigating the boat in the dark, especially not after a handful of beers in our belly. We made it back in one piece, enjoying the flora and fauna along the way. I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t get to see one of these river rats that the boys were telling me about, but I did get to see ducks, swans, moorheads, (or as Dr. D likes to call them – Water Chickens) and their babies.

Once we got back in the marina and docked the Clam, we sat outside drinking and listening to music as the sun went down, gently swaying along. A lovely ending to a lovely day out. But damn, I can’t believe I missed the Live 8 concerts on the telly.





* Quite literally we saw the biggest dog I have ever laid my eyes upon – butterscotch in colour, legs the size and girth of a donkeys, shoulders wide like a linebacker’s and a massive wrinkled old face. I wish he were mine. I also wish I had at least taken a picture of him.



Lauren Poulin

Smorgasbord of Scientists

There was German yodeling; piles upon piles of sausages and sauerkraut, a kiddie pool of ice filled with various bottles of German beer. There was reluctant participation in a acappella rendition of the Chicken Dance. I actually listened to a very stereotype perpetuating conversation between two young promising scientists (both of whom I find very kind, so if they read this, don’t take offense) about the movie, Dungeons and Dragons and why it was such a disappointment. Basically, everything you could ask from an Oktoberfest in July thrown by the Biology department of the Hospital known for one time healing a sickly Prince Charles. It was fabulous and I had a wonderful time.







Lauren Poulin