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!

Things you might see on the street

Well, normally I would say that this dog is thinking "Sweet lord, the shame in having to go out in public wearing a doggie parka - kill me immediately."  But this is a Parisian dog, so he's probably thinking "Mon dieu, where are my tasteful little booties to match zis élégant little jacket I am wearing?  Ze shame in having to go out in public not properly accessorized - kill me immédiatement."

Walk of shame

Are you perhaps thinking, from that title, that Miss K might have a little salacious something to confess?  (Not that I would tell you if I did, but I will most certainly complain about the fact that I don't!)  Alas, no.  I went to a very good party with Tiny Dancer last night and we left just a little bit too late to catch my metro connection home.  So I ended up crashing at her place (and I slept in a child-sized bunk bed, no less), but at least I had an adorable kitten to keep me company, and they made me a rather splendid breakfast this morning.  So the shame part of my walk of shame home this morning is that it was completely not shameful.  I mean, really.  There I was, at a party where I saw several people couple up and leave with clearly amorous intentions, but me?  Rien.  Disgraceful!  Shouldn't I be living a scandalous, decadent life here in Paris, in the classic tradition of writers?  Clearly I'm not doing very well at scandal and decadence -  which really is a shame!

Awesome outfit of the week

Oh, I love a stylish man - even when he is over 80.  Seriously, this lovely old chap was fantastic - dark green shirt, bright red scarf - I tried and tried to get a shot from the front so you could see the whole ensemble, but no such luck.  So you will have to make do with the elegant hat and this coat, which is possibly the most awesome thing I have ever seen a man wear.   Swoon.  Yes, I know he's over 80, I don't care - swoon...

Where's the love?

I've been writing this blog for exactly one year today - this is my 177th post, which averages out to one nearly every other day.  So even though I haven't always been the most...erm, consistent, shall we say?... blogger, that's not actually a bad track record.  And I seem to get quite a reasonable number of hits, but not many actual followers (although to those of you who do follow? Thanks!) appearing on this page.  Now, gentle readers, Miss K is a hardy soul, but I could still use a little ego-boost from time to time.  So if you lurk out there in cyberspace and drop in once in a while to see what's happening in my random life in Paris, and if you enjoy my silly ramblings, I would take it as a personal favour if you would put yourself down as a follower.  It only takes a couple of mouse clicks, and you can count it as your good deed of the day - show a humble blogger some love, people, because it's hard to stay motivated when you feel like you're just talking to yourself all the time... 

Things you might see on the street

Okay, Miss K cheerfully admits to being low-class swamp trash, but even I would not be caught dead in a vehicle like this.  I can't really criticize carrying your furniture strapped to the top of your car, or covering your seats with crappy blankets (since those are both things that my low-class swamp trash family was known to do back in the day - ahem!) but the paint job?  Which looks like it was done with the brush from a bottle of nail polish?  That just ain't right.  The pink would be vile enough on, say, a scarf or a blouse (or anything in the world ever), but you know, I just have to respect the commitment to detail - not only painting the bumper, but also the matching accents in the centre of the hubcaps.  Niiiice...