Pop Goes the Pie

Treats

This weekend I ate my recommended daily allowance of chocolate for the year. On a trip to Bruges with C's family, we asked the lovely, multilingual waitress at De Stove to help us find the best pralines in the city (there are like 5 confiseries on every block), and she sent us without hesitation to Van Tilborgh (Noordzandstraat 1b, Phone: 050/33-59-04), a family-owned shop whose Easter window display featured an enormous chocolate cock. It's a male chicken, you pervs. I'm not sure what goes into her pralines, or just how much of the 1 kg box I, personally, ate, but oh my god the woman who makes these is a genius and I will be sending her my Jenny Craig bills. If you go there, ask for the walnut shaped pralines that are half milk and half white chocolate and are filled with something divine that tastes just like butter and probably is. I'm usually a bittersweet girl, but these babies made me see the light.

Changed Forever

We were going to walk all the way to Wilma and Titi's house but then it started to rain and then there was thunder and the sky turned yellow and then I saw a rainbow and it was perfect and my life will never be the same.

Unbranched

This is the first time I have been connected to the Internet in 48 hours and it feels like trying to use your voice after not speaking for a long time. Cami is away at a conference for a week, and I've been camping out on the futon, because I don't like to sleep in the bed without her, and so I can watch TV a lot. I am eating most of my meals there too, and by 'meals' I mean for the most part a glass of cucumber and carrot sticks with a palette of dips: fromage blanc mixed with herbs, pre-made taramasalata, mustard-dill sauce, peanut butter. I make a pathetic bachelor.

The weather in Paris is impossibly beautiful, 20c/70F with a light breeze. I find this kind of day almost unbearable -- so much pressure to spend every moment frolicking under the blue sky. Yesterday, I gave in and took a walk to the Parc Montsouris in the 14th, where everyone looked cheerful all the babies and dogs and pigeons and ducklings, like a scene out of a Technicolor movie. But today, I don't know. I might just have to get out of the sun, slip into a cinema and watch a real one.

Jodie Update

I am eternally grateful to all of you who have offered your support and prayers during this trying time. Jodie will most likely come out of this challenge perkier than ever, but it pains me to report that she must remain in inpatient care for at least three weeks under the watchful eye of the mac geeks at the Aldorande repair center in the 3rd arrondissement. I hope they will give her a room with a view of the recently-inaugurated Place Olympe de Gouges, where we spent our final moments together enjoying the brilliant sunshine before I dropped her off. Get well, soon, Jodie!

You Want the Bad News First or the Good News?

Okay, bad news first.

My other girlfriend, Jodie the iBook, is in a coma. She started flipping out in bed last night around 11 pm, and then when I tried to reboot her, she just wouldn't turn back on. It was so sad. She made the exciting mac-powering-on sound, but her screen just wouldn't light up. Chris at Apple Care was really nice to me (kids, listen up; always pay for the extended warranty) and directed me to a licensed repair shop in Paris. Apparently the poor thing's logic board "went up." No idea what that means, but I know it's serious. I haven't brought her in yet. This morning I had to spend some time cleaning her up to get her ready for her big operation. I even carefully popped off each of her little demi-transparent keys to clean underneath the keyboard. Who knew so many of my eyelashes were trapped in there?  Please, everyone, send Jodie some good vibes this week. Let's hope she pulls through.

Pop Out

It has now officially been too long since the Pie has spent a weekend night doing anything other than (a) watching a movie, (b) eating an elaborate meal, or (c) both of the above. Not there’s anything wrong with these thrilling activities, but Spring is soon upon us, and it’s high time we stripped off the fleece pajamas and went out dancing among our people.

For homos who think outside the pink triangle, nightlife in "Gay Paree" leaves something to be desired. Most of the bars and cafes in the Marais feature wall-to-wall bourgie (boozhee) fags -- skinnier, Eurotrashier versions of your typical Chelsea/Castro/WeHo/SoBe clones. Okay, so there are plenty of sex spots for the guys (it’s just so much easier, like, logistically, for them), plus at least a few decent dyke bars and a smattering of lesbionic nights at dance clubs. So it’s not like there’s nothing to do; it’s all just a bit...predictable.

For all the queer boys, girls and trannies of Paris who actually want to *gasp* hang out together, while listening to music that does not sound like a jackhammer or a back hoe, it is all about the PopinGays, the city’s only indie-pop-and-rock-lovers’ gay and lesbian association.

Good Humor

This morning I went to a very nice psy to get a refill of my magical pink chill pills. I am very proud of myself, as the prospect of explaining my mental health history to a stranger in French has long been one of the things that's kept me up at night while counting sheep reviewing my Things I Must But Really Do Not Want To Do list.

The weather is much warmer today. Sky is still the color of pigeon, and there's a light rain producing precious negative ions in the air.

Mood: Code Green, for now.

Pie *hearts* Courtepaille

The drive back to Paris took twelve hours. You name a hazardous road condition, we encountered it: Blizzards, freezing rain, falling rocks, avalanche warnings, icy roads, dangerous curves, deer crossings, scary axe murderers following us with their brights on.... Fortunately, C's dad is the calmest driver ever, so the ride was not nearly as terrifying as it could have been. Curled up in the back seat, I watched snowflakes the size of swans come down and listened to Jane Austen's unabridged Persuasion on my iPod.

The best part of the trip was our meal at Courtepaille, my new favorite highway restaurant chain in the whole wide world. Courtepaille is pronounced, roughly, court-a-pie. It means "short straw" or, in my franglish translation, "short pie." Their motto is On n'a pas inventé le bonheur, mais les grillades qui vont avec! -- "We didn't invent happiness, just the mixed grill that comes with it!" Really, could you possibly think of a better slogan?

The Hills Have Pies

So we didn't mean to go skiing during the coldest week, like, EVER in France, but here we are at Serre Chevalier -- myself, Cami and her Papa -- bundled beyond recognition. Somehow, even though there are 200 million centimeters of snow in Paris and in Marseille, there is no snow in the Hautes Alpes. It is, apparently, TOO COLD FOR SNOW here. Lucky for us there are these dudes who spend every night getting high and making snow on the trails so we can participate in masochistic downhill gliding activities. My ass is killing me.

I was thoroughly traumatized to miss the Oscars for the second year in a row Sunday night. In the spirit of interactivity, can those of you who watched the ceremony give me a rundown of the highlights -- the best and worst dressed, the most hideous sycophantastic speeches, etc.? Thanks. I love you all.