Shamrocks and shenanigans

Oops, sorry, my pretties - it's been rather a while since I posted, but I hope you'll forgive me as it's all a bit of a blur at the moment while I deal with all the things I have to do before I move away!  But Miss K has plenty to tell you - in addition to running around Paris like a maniac, checking things off my "must-see/do-this-before-I-go" list, I've been on road trips to the Loire Valley and to Normandy on the last two weekends, and as soon as I sort through the bajillion photos I took, I'll be sure to tell you about those rather fabulous adventures.  

But in the meantime, here we are on St Patrick's Day, and as it's my third (and final) one in Paris and I've posted about the last two (I still can't believe there was reggae in 2010 and  The eyes have it. Well, they used to in 2011, which happened right after St Paddy's Day, so let's count that as my entry from that year, shall we?), I should probably keep on with tradition and post about this one too.  Well, gentle readers, pray for me and my liver, because this year, I am spending St Paddy's with actual Irish people (and plenty of them)- which bodes extremely well for a good time, but I shudder to anticipate what sort of state I'll be in tomorrow!    Well, as long as there's no black eye this year, it will all be grand.  I'll let you know how it turns out as soon as I can string together a coherent sentence, so....probably somewhere around Tuesday? 

Letters from London #3

Okay, tomorrow I am definitely getting back to Paris-related matters, but boy, it's hard for me to resist the lure of a) reminiscing and b) being able to post just by pasting in something I already wrote.  Sorry, gentle readers, you know I love you and of course I want to put in all sorts of effort for you...but not today.  Hee!

December 2000:

1. Housing: Obviously there was some sort of major computer malfunction at the North Pole this year, because even though I've been very naughty, Santa still brought me a great big apartment as a Christmas gift!  Yes, it's true.  In the great tradition of seasonal miracles, I was rescued from the Dickensian misery of the hostel in the Jolly Old Saint Nick of time.  The apartment is in a cool area, it's huge, in a great building with a very large garden, and it's affordable.  Of course, this probably means that my roommates (English guy, Australian girl) will turn out to be devil-worshippers who sacrifice goats and howl at the moon every second Tuesday, but as long as they don't expect me to bear Satan's child, we'll get along fine.  Yes, I did watch "Rosemary's Baby" recently, why do you ask?

2. Theatre: Last month, in the pursuit of cultural enrichment, I attended the theatre in the company of three other refined ladies out for an evening of intellectual stimulation.  Yes, it was that masterpiece of Australian theatre: "Puppetry of the Penis".  Well, what can I say?  The ad is not misleading in any way -- there are indeed two men, there are definitely two dicks, and there are no pants whatsoever.  It's a little bit hard to describe what they do, other than to say that they manipulate their genitals to look like landmarks, animals, and objects (and there is a very large video screen so that you don't miss a single close-up detail).  The two gentlemen involved seem to possess a great deal of, er, flexibility in their parts, because the aforementioned parts were twisted, bent, wrapped, curled, stretched, and even tucked away completely (and not the way you might think) in the course of an hour and a half.  It was very strange and very amusing, indeed.  Actually, my big worry after the show was whether or not I would ever be able to look at male genitals again in real life without a) laughing hysterically, or b) asking if it does tricks. 

3. This occurred to me the other day, and I find it mildly alarming: I have not had an alcohol-free day since I got here.  In Toronto, I used to go months and months without drinking (of course, this would usually follow an intoxicated binge where I completely disgraced myself, but that's totally not the point), but it's so much a part of the culture here to go for a few with your mates every night that you don't even think about it.  If I don't smarten up, my liver is very shortly going to be the size of my head.

4. I leave you with this final thought -- I saw a homeless man sleeping on the street the other night.  Suddenly, a mobile phone rang.  Was it mine?  Nope, it was his. London is an odd, odd town....

Feeding the animals

A couple of weeks ago, I went to a party with my Australian friend Mr Sydney.  We had to stop at a supermarket along the way to pick up some booze and I must give credit where it's due - Mr Sydney was the one who spotted this rather amusing sign.  In case you can't see the photo clearly, the "animal food" section is entirely stocked with beer... 

Happy New Sneer

Well, my pretties, the holidays are over - I hope you all had a lovely break and spent some quality time with your family and friends.  In my case, I had originally planned to ignore the whole thing, but then I decided that it would be far more fun to sulk my way through it and really embrace my inner Scrooge - and here I quote the fabulous Charles Dickens:

"Every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart."

Hee!  So I laid my Grinchy little plans accordingly - to stay home, cook up a festive feast for myself on the 23rd (so that I could eat leftovers and not have to lift a finger for the 24th and 25th), watch lots of Christmas movies (but skip all the endings with their festive, life-affirming crap), and drink a ridiculous amount of wine.  And you know what?  That's exactly what I did and it was awesome.  It was made even more awesome because two of my lovely friends back in Toronto sent me a surprise care package of chocolates and champagne, which arrived on Christmas Eve morning (and was therefore my breakfast - well, obviously).

Seriously, this was probably the most relaxed Christmas I've ever had - didn't go anywhere, so no travel stress; didn't buy a single present, so no shopping stress (all right, being totally broke is kinda stressful, but I'm used to that by now); didn't have guests over, so no entertaining stress.  I didn't even bother to get any form of Christmas tree - I thought I might throw some tinsel at my ficus ("throw some tinsel at my ficus?" Well, there's a nifty phrase - it sounds vaguely filthy, doesn't it?) but I couldn't even be bothered to do that.  I ate and drank and watched exactly what I wanted, I skyped and socialized with a few people so that I wasn't a total hermit and generally had a terrific time.  But it's all about perspective - about fifteen years ago, I spent Christmas Eve in the hospital having a big needle shoved into my spine, followed by a week of headaches so severe that the pain kept making me vomit.  So, for me, any Christmas not involving a spinal tap is a damn festive one...

Bah. And also? Humbug.

Well, it's four days until Christmas and I couldn't care less.  Normally, I love Christmas (food! drink! presents! sparkly dresses! pretty lights! parties! friends! family! whee!!!!) and am more festive than a giddy little elf all hopped up on the 'nog, but this year?  Nope, I just can't bring it.  I think it's partly because this has been a crappy year for me, and I can't wait for it to be over and partly because I can't afford to get back to Canada for Christmas, which is the first time I haven't been able to go home in about eight years.  So I'm stuck in Paris (and yes, I know no one will sympathize because it's Paris and I am therefore obligated to enjoy it even if I'd rather be somewhere else, I know) with no money and most of my friends out of town, so I was planning to huddle around a candle for warmth and eat a festive bowl of gruel this year, but  I ran into an friend at a party last week and we had the following conversation:

Him: What are you doing for Christmas?

Me: Nothing.  You?

Him: Working in the morning, working in the evening.  Want to go to a pub and get revoltingly drunk in the afternoon?

Me:  Yes!!!

So I might have a plan after all, and it sounds like a damn fine one...

It's a brocante thing (Part 2)

So, gentle readers, yesterday we learned about things you might see at a brocante.  Today is a continuation, along with some handy tips:

1) take cash, it's easier to haggle.

2) try to keep in mind what you need, as opposed to what you want (which will be many things - not good when one is on a budget).  I finally found the perfect wineglasses at this brocante (yes, after three months of making do with the martini glasses I told you about in Apartment, bitches) and restricted myself to those, but if I actually had money to spend?  Dang!

3) if you are a reasonably youthful, moderately attractive female by yourself at a brocante, it may be that the female vendors will be snippy with you, and it may be that the male vendors will try to work some flirting into the haggling.  At a previous brocante, I cheerfully bartered a kiss on the cheek for a few extra peacock feathers (hey, they're expensive!), but I drew the line this time when the guy got a little handsier than necessary when "helping" me try on a necklace.  Just saying...

4) keep your eyes peeled - not only for the cool things around you, but also for people with strollers and tiny dogs - possibly not a tripping hazard for the likes of you, but for anyone as clumsy as Miss K, it's a damn minefield.  

Just a few little tips from me to you, now on with the photos:

The sign is cool enough, but WITH the wooden gorilla looking at it?  Way cooler.

Zillions of teeny-tiny adorable doorknobs. 

Not just books, but books with a big horned animal skull underneath.  Awesome.

Arfully patinated chairs, cool vases, groovy old paintings, pop-art Marilyn AND a little wooden tiger.  Couldn't love it more if I tried.

Love the jaunty sailor painting but REALLY love the totally over-it dog.

Funky tiled table, 4' tall inflatable phone, and freaky puppet head.  No comment.

Very much liked this chest-of-drawers, but REALLY wanted the big metal cheetah.  Ahhh, someday.

Do you see it, at the back, beside the teacups?  A KNIGHT'S HELMET!!!  By the teacups! So. Damn. Cool.

I like these guys, just chillin'.

Putting the giant lion's head on top of the Union Jack stool? Genius. And please note the adorable little dog top of the photo just for added cuteness.

FINALLY!  I can drink wine like a civilized person again - from my €2 glasses, which are crystal, no less!  Worth the wait...

APARTMENT, bitches

As I was saying, it's time to tell you about my new apartment.  It's about 30 square metres, a one-bedroom, located in a buzzy, vibrant neighbourhood, but in a quiet street.  It's in Montmartre, historical home of artists, can-can dancers, writers, drunks and debauched deviants of every sort - in other words, it's perfect for me.

And because I moved at the beginning of July, I was able to take advantage of the sales - in France, stores are only allowed to have sales in January and July (they slip a few small sales in under the radar at other times of year, but the big sales only happen twice a year), so I have been running around like a maniac to every homewares store in town to pick up some bargains to kit out the apartment.  If I hadn't done it now (in spite of my lack of money), I wouldn't have been able to afford it until January, and that would have sucked.

So, after all the horrible months of oh-crap-I-have-to-move-again-where-am-I-going-to-go, I have been concentrating on making this place a peaceful little haven that I will really enjoy living in.  Because it's mine - for the next year, it's MINE.  The lease is signed, my name is on it, I don't have to worry about roommates or crazy landladies or sub-lets.  And what makes it all the more amazing is the fact that it's impossible that this could have happened - many landlords in Paris won't rent to you if you're a foreigner, most won't rent to you if your monthly salary isn't at least three times the rent they're asking for (which mine isn't), and even if you pass those hurdles, nearly all of them still want a guarantor (which I don't have).  So the fact that I got this place is...miraculous.  It's more likely that I could have won the lottery.  It's more likely that I could have married George Clooney.  Hell, it's more likely that I could have seen a two-headed giraffe riding down the Champs Elysées on a purple motorcycle, singing "Hello, My Baby" in Yiddish.  You get the idea, yes?

Anyway, so hopefully you'll now understand why the first item I bought for my new, impossible apartment was a cocktail set (which, to be fair, was on sale for 18 euros, down from 65 euros). Okay, yes, the fact that the first thing I did was to set up a bar in my new home does make me feel slightly as though I am a couple of sharp suits and a penis away from actually becoming Don Draper, but like I said, it's Montmartre - drunken debauchery is not only acceptable but expected.  And after the stress of the last few months, it's time to celebrate...

Welllllll...

Okay, I am a big liar - no photo for you today. But the reason why you don't get a photo is because I am having a horribly rough day and right now, I'm at Tiny Dancer's place being looked after. First she took me out for a very lovely dinner, and now we are at her place, drinking champagne and watching trashy tv. More details later, but this is it for now - sorry!!

Favourite Paris photos - 32

Social butterfly? Yeah, kinda...

Gentle readers, I do apologize - I know the content of my posts has been pretty thin this week, but that's because this week has been part of what I like to refer to as the birthday "season".  Which involves going out far too often, drinking far more than is good for me, and basically partying in a manner for which I'm way too old.  Oh well, I'll sleep when I'm dead...

So the week kicked off last Saturday with some leaving drinks for friends who are moving to Berlin.  This carried on until 6am (6am!!!), and here's a little tip for you:  if you ever want to get a photo of yourself in front of Notre Dame with absolutely no one else around, that's the hour to do it.  Sunday and Monday were spent recovering from Saturday.  On Tuesday, English Rose came over for lunch, which started at 1pm and ended somewhere around 7pm and involved three bottles of wine between the two of us.  Well, she is English (the clue is in the name) and I did spend nine years in London, so that kind of drinking is pretty standard for us, really.  Wednesday was spent recovering from Tuesday (what? I'm old, I already admitted that) and on Thursday for my actual birthday, Tiny Dancer took me out for a rather magnificent lunch (which also went on for several hours if you include the subsequent visits to three bars).  Friday was Southern Belle's "welcome back to Paris" drinks, as previously mentioned.  And on Saturday,  The Redhead had a few of the gals over for a fabulous girly brunch/champagne/movie affair and brought in a beautician to give me a much-needed pedicure as an extra birthday treat.

So, needless to say, I am simply shattered.  I am very lucky to have such awesome friends and I am sooo grateful for all my lovely treats, but I have to admit that I'm glad my birthday season is done for the year - my liver (and the few brain cells I have left) just can't take the pace anymore.  I do have a quiet week coming up, but let's see if I can't dig through my recent photos and find some Parisian things to tell you about anyway...

My Top 10 (so far)

I was looking at my blog stats today, and it's quite interesting to see which posts have been the most popular with you, gentle readers.  And since it also seems that I've had an influx of new readers recently (welcome!), I thought I would let you know what this blog's  Top 10 All-Time Most Popular Posts have been thus far:

10.  No surprise that another compilation made it into the Top 10 - I had so many left-over photos of crappy outfits from 2010 that I needed to do a whole extra post just to share them all:

Totally crap outfits of 2010 (previously unseen)

9.  Ahh, the glamour of living in Paris.  You seemed to enjoy hearing about how moving is just as stressful here as it is anywhere else...

Déménagement

8.  Not much in the way of writing, but some of my prettiest photos ever:
Jour Blanche

7.  Same again - minimal writing in this travel post, but y'all sure seemed to appreciate the photos:
Charming Chartres

6.  One of my sillier moments, but I had fun writing it and it seems you also enjoyed this story of doomed feline romance:

"Tails" of romance from the City of Love

5. Another post about travel - I personally think you only liked it because you're all now hooked on cheese crack:

Why the Belgians are better than the French (Pt 2)

4. Aaaand you're back to the topic of love (although human this time, not feline); coming in at Number Four, my romantic travails in the most romantic (yeah, whatever) city on the planet :

Paris: City of Love. Really?

3.  Seriously, you guys?  This is what you clicked on enough times to put it into third place?  Jeez.  Glad you were all so amused at my hideousness.  Hmph.  And I'll have you know that my eyelashes are, in fact, growing back - I expect to look human again sometime around the end of...erm...June, or thereabouts...
The eyes have it. Well, they used to...

2.  In second place, one of my more educational and well-written (if I do say so myself - it amused me to re-read it, which is always a good sign) posts, featuring the ever-popular Tiny Dancer (previously known as Miss A before I decided I had to give people proper nicknames):
Nature Capitale

1.  And at Number One, this is hands-down, by-a-mile, the most popular blog post I have ever written - I don't know if it's because it features the awesome Mr and Mrs Redneck, or because I took some mighty pretty photos, or because the subject matter (champagne) is interesting to a lot of people, but whatever the appeal is, here it is again:
Reims with the Rednecks

So, having seen what you like (not all of which would have been in my own personal Top 10 of my best work, I have to admit - which goes to show how little I know of popular opinion!), I must conclude that you're totally down with my pretty pictures, but not so much with my yapping.  Hmmm - I am not sure if I should consider that a big "yay!" to my photographic skills and a giant "booo, you suck!" to my writing skills, but I'm hoping it all just averages out over time.  Regardless, thanks for following/subscribing/visiting, and I'll try to keep up with your high standards, gentle-but-demanding readers!  Much love, Miss K

Things you might see from your window

This morning at about 10am, I glanced out my window and saw one of my neighbours across the street starting off the day with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.  Yep, just another day in Paris...

Picnics in Paris

The whole concept of springtime in Paris is a bit overrated, for the very good reason that it doesn't really exist.  Seriously, one day it's winter, and the next thing you know we've skipped right on through to summer.  Well, whatever - the important thing to know is that as soon as it's warm enough, it's picnic season!  My friend Southern Belle was in town a couple of weeks ago and we made an attempt at the first picnic of the year - it wasn't particularly amazing food-wise (see photo below), but since it was the 16th of March and we were still wearing coats, it wasn't a bad attempt!

However, today it was sunny and 24 Celcius and I met up with English Rose to kick off the picnic season properly.  She has the same kind of part-time work hours as I do, and we agreed that the only real benefit to being so poor and under-employed is the freedom to spend random weekday afternoons in the park (beside the Louvre, I might add), enjoying the sunshine while more gainfully employed people are stuck in the office.  Of course, this is the only kind of dining out that we can actually afford to do in Paris, so just let us have our little moment of smugness, okay?

Picnic #1 - bottle of wine and bag of chips. Not quite gourmet, but still delicious!

Picnic #2 - much more respectable, and even a few healthy items.  No wine, but that was only because of our hangovers from the day before...

Why the Belgians are better than the French (Pt 5)

From the title above, you might be thinking that Miss K had paid another enjoyable visit to the fine country of Belgium, as my last trip there yielded several posts on this topic (Why the Belgians are better than the French Pt1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4), but this is not the case.  In fact, I am speaking of a particular Belgian, who will be referred to as such until I decide on an appropriate nickname for him.  

What happened was this: a mutual friend in London asked me if I could have a drink with The Belgian when he was in Paris this past weekend, since he doesn't know anyone here.  Being a friendly sort (not to mention always being agreeable to having drinks bought for me), I said yes.  So I met up with the Belgian, we had a drink and then moved on to dinner, which is where he managed to use the word "rectum" in conversation - within two hours of us meeting for the first time!  I ask you - when has this become acceptable dinner talk?  Y'all know I'm swamp trash, but even I have standards.

And yet - put together someone who has absolutely no filter on what they say (him - "rectum", "semen", and the complete rundown of every sexual experience he's ever had) and someone who mocks unmercifully (me - I threatened to nickname him Rectum Guy on this blog, and really, nobody wants to be that guy), and you have an extremely entertaining evening.  Hence the title; no French guy has ever amused me that much - yet.  If that changes, I'll be happy to re-title the post...

Another little story about zombies

Well, when it's time to end a detox, it's time.  A friend of mine ended up with some extra cash and decided to blow it on fancy cocktails for both of us - woohoo!  Anyway, let me just give y'all a little piece of advice: when your drink comes in a tiki head that's the size of your actual head, and is on fire, and is called a Zombie?  There's a pretty good chance it will turn you into one if you have too many - just saying...   Goodbye, detox!  Hee!!!

Tiny Dancer and the furry man-whore

For those of you who are long-time readers of this blog, you may remember my post from last year on the subject of Valentine's Day.  If not, or if you are new here, I am attaching the link: Paris - City of Love. Really?  

So, have things improved for Miss K in the romance department?  Well, let me tell you how I spent Valentine's Day this year.  First, I went for dinner with Tiny Dancer - and you know, she's more delightful than a box of puppies and all that, but she's not a hot man.  Nonetheless, we had a lovely evening - I had been detoxing for nine days and wasn't planning to drink, but Tiny Dancer made the excellent argument that a single girl can't possibly be expected to get through V-Day without the benefit of alcohol, and that surely there is some kind of amnesty granted for such an occasion.  Doesn't that make sense to everyone?  Yes, I thought so too.  So we had pre-dinner aperos, a bottle of wine at dinner, champagne with dessert, and a post-dinner nightcap.  Hee!

And then I went stumbling home to my furry little feline man-whore.   Of course, he doesn't just love me, he'll basically fling himself at anyone who walks into the apartment (hence his reputation as a furry man-whore), but it's still nice to come home to.  And this is the snuggliest cat in the world - you can pick him up any old time and he looooves it.  Most cats would claw your face off if you tried that, and granted, he is a cat and therefore unpredictable (which probably means he'll claw my face off about ten seconds after I write this), but he's still adorable.

Soooo, was this year's Valentine's Day an improvement over last year?  Well, admittedly there were still no hot men romancing me, but a fabulous girly dinner with the awesome Tiny Dancer and then having a furry little feline man-whore snuggle up to me in bed?  Hell yeah - definite improvement!

Totally crap outfit of the week

Okay - is it just me or does this combo of the red hat and the green jacket remind anyone else of a great big martini olive?  Mmmm - martinis...  Well, honestly - if I had to go and have a cocktail after seeing this outfit (and I'm not saying any such thing, of course), who could blame me??

Tales from Toronto (Part 3)

Yes, yes, I know I left Toronto two weeks ago, but I was sifting through my photos and they were making me laugh, so I just had to do one more post about my wonderfully weird hometown before getting fully back to the goings-on in Paris. Yes, I'm going to be one of those annoying people who make you look at their holiday photos - sorry!

This is a little family Xmas tradition - the building of the gingerbread houses.  There were five of them this year (so it's a bit more like building a whole gingerbread suburb, actually) but this was my favourite house - please note the giant plume of icing "smoke" coming from the chimney, and the chocolate-button bosoms on the gingerbread lady.  Hee!  Outstanding...

A lovely friend, whom I have known since I was eight years old, took me out for a very boozy lunch one day (ahh, she knows me so well) and this little piece of weirdness was on the wall of the restaurant bathroom.  And I think I speak for us all with a resounding "Huh?  Why?  What the -?  Why would you -? Huh??"  See, I told you before that Canadians are slightly strange  - in the nicest possible way, of course.

On another day, I was out for a very boozy dinner (yes, apparently there was a theme to my Toronto visit) with some other friends, and we went to this lovely restaurant.  Isn't it nice?  Doesn't it look like a reasonably sophisticated dining establishment?  Well, scroll on down to the next photo...

...because this is the outdoor seating area for the above restaurant.  Yes, those are hay bales.  Hee!  So. Freakin'. Awesome. 

For those of you who don't personally know Miss K, here's a bit of info about me: I hate dry food - things like toast are my idea of hell.  Ugh.  But I love sauce, gravy, everything like that (at family holiday dinners, I'm actually not allowed to have the gravy boat until everyone else has their turn, because I would cheerfully just take it all),  so when dining out, I always ask for extra sauce - and in Toronto, when you ask for extra, they give you extra.  Heaven...

In case you're wondering what the hell this is, let me enlighten you.  It's a Christmas tree made entirely of snowshoes, it's in the poshest department store in Toronto, and it's awesome.

All right, technically I should have used this photo for a Totally Crap Outfit of the Week post, but it makes me laugh so much -  I just had to keep it with the rest of the Toronto photos.  Look at him - he's all: "Ooooh yeah, fedora, big scarf, fur coat,  I am one pimptastic bad-ass mofo, that's right.  I'm so bad."  And then he goes and slings a Jamaica backpack on top of it all like a total doofus.  Heeheeheeheehee! 

All right, so that's the end of the Tales from Toronto for another year, I hope you liked them (although I am still totally kicking myself for not getting a photo of the chandelier made entirely of hockey sticks - if any of you TO readers know the restaurant it's in and you send me a photo, I'll publish on here and give you full credit!).  We now return you to your regular Paris programming...

Fried. Turkey. Parts.

Was this what we had for the redneck Thanksgiving?  Alas, no (but it's such a great title, I couldn't waste it).  Mr and Mrs Redneck had originally planned to deep-fry some turkey parts, since their apartment here in Paris doesn't have an oven, but they went with pre-cooked poultry and just heated it up.   Although, quite honestly, I'm amazed that any of us could eat our main meal considering that the pre-dinner snacks consisted of: nuts, olives, chips, popcorn, veggies and dip, two kinds of sausage, five kinds of cheese, and a five-layer Tex Mex dip.  Then there was: turkey, cranberry sauce, creamed corn, regular corn, macaroni and cheese, mashed sweet potatoes, stuffing and a cranberry jello salad sort of thing (which was actually much nicer than the jello salads I used to encounter when I was growing up in swamp country, so clearly, rednecks are a step up the culinary ladder from swamp trash like me!).

I was so busy cramming my face with food that I didn't even manage to drink all that much wine, but not to worry - Mr and Mrs Redneck are having another party tomorrow afternoon, which will be followed by a visit to the Paris Wine Show.  Yikes - you just know that's not going to end well for my liver...

Thanksgiving - redneck style

One of the wonderful things about living in Paris that you make friends with other expats.  In my case, the vast majority of my friends here are American.  I've never had American friends before (well, a long time ago there was that gorgeous American boyfriend who looked like a young Elvis Presley...sigh... Ahhh, back in the day Miss K had some game, let me tell you.  Ahem.  Moving on...), which you might think odd, since I'm Canadian and we're national neighbours, but Americans don't really seem to like crossing our border all that much.  I don't know if it's because they think they'll be eaten by moose, or seduced by socialized medical care, or freeze to death in July (because, hey, everyone knows it snows in Canada all year long, right?), but I just never met all that many when I lived in Toronto.  Also not when I lived in London, but in Paris?  The place is swarming with Americans, and may I just say, I am delighted to have made such wonderful, fun, generous, kind-hearted friends. 

So the point of this is to say that the awesome Mr and Mrs Redneck have invited me to my very first American Thanksgiving dinner tonight and I am in a state of excitement akin to a small, hyperactive child on a sugar high on Christmas morning.  Now, if you recall my post about Canadian Thanksgiving last month (thanksgiving), being in a foreign country poses certain challenges for such a celebration, so I can't wait to see what the Rednecks have come up with.  One thing I know they will come up with is a ton of alcohol, so I may not report until my sure-to-be-monumental hangover subsides tomorrow, but there will be a report and I'm betting it's going to be worth reading, because a Redneck Thanksgiving?  This is going to be FUN!