How to survive a long-distance relationship during the holidays

DON'T imagine your significant other drinking way too much wine and champagne and laying a big wet one on the only single girl/guy at the New Year's Eve party.

DON'T get upset when your hunny didn't call at midnight his/her time the way you all had agreed you were going to do the day before.

DON'T send him/her a sarcastic text message saying how he/she must have been too busy to call you when the New Year rolled in.

DON'T get all paranoid and swear to yourself that you're going to have a blast at your New Years Eve party, not call him/her and make out with a hottie -- because if he's/she's doing what you think he's/she's doing, then you can do it too...only better.

DON'T obsess about the New Year's Party he's/she's attending with all his/her friends and that annoying single woman/man friend you keep hearing about, who you think is on the prowl to snatch away your man/woman.

DON'T let your paranoia consume you and make you write a blog post about surviving a long distance relationship.

So, what you should do is...

DO send him/her sweet text messages that wishes him/her a BONNE ANNEE and tell him/her that you hope he/she is having a great time at his/her New Year's Eve party.

DO trust him/her and enjoy the New Year festivities.

Finally...

DO try to stay calm and not overreact...if you're still obsessing, keep the bottle of champagne very close to you! Just don't drunk dial or answer his phone calls if you're feeling like spilling all your frustrations!!

BONNE ANNEE, HAPPY NEW YEAR AND HAU'OLI MAKAHIKI HOU!!

I'm Googleable!

What a strange feeling it is! I just started a new job in my home state since returning from France and because it is a pretty in-the-public-eye position, I've just become the first listing (and second, and third) on the Google search results after tapping in my full name.

It's scares the bloody boogers out of me! Think about...you meet a guy while hanging out with your friends -- he Googles you! You go for a job interview, they Google you! Nosy high school classmates want to know what you've been up to, they Google you! I don't know if I want even that bit of attention. If you're computer literate and can navigate the Internet search engines well, you can figure out where someone is going to be on Saturday night at 8 p.m. and with whom. Thanks to Google, Myspace, and Facebook you can even deduce what they plan to eat for lunch tomorrow. Seriously, I've done it.

One can find out any amount of information on a person if their names are listed on Google. I know. I do it all the time -- after a date on Friday night, after interviewing someone (during a former job position), and yes, when I get bored, I Google the hell out of my former friends' names.

I Google my boyfriends name every week. Only because I care about his well-being and I don't want his name to be used improperly. I'm not nosy or insecure. Really.

I'm connected! But, change in blog theme

Everywhere!! I have my snazzy t-mobile shadow smartphone conveniently tucked away in my purse or, rather, glued to my hand because I can't miss an email or phone call from my petitescargot; and, I was finally able to hook up a wireless router to the broadband modem set up this morning. Woo-hoo! I'm stoked.

Because I am not in France anymore, I won't be blogging as much about my "French" experience -- obviously ; however, France is and will always be pertinent to my life story. I've left behind a man that makes me feel so comfortable, intelligent and beautiful (hint: that's why we're still together), a caring family of four from Montbrison that taught me everything about what it meant to be French, from the politics to the food, and wonderful memories and experiences that I hoped to incorporate into my life -- a life that must begin anew.

I haven't decided which avenue I want to steer my blog toward: the daily journal of an island girl in a long-distance relationship with a frenchman, living on opposite ends of the world; the difficulties of returning to a life of friends and family that went on without you, or the daily accounts of supernatural occurrences in my house -- for real!

Have you missed me?

I'm back and ready to take on another chapter of my life of total incomprehension, only this time on that tiny dot to the left of that gigantic wall map I know you have in your bedroom. I'm sure all you inquisitive computer junkies are girating in you seats like a bitch in heat because you can't stand the anticipation!

A short update (I'll go into more detail later): I was forced to leave France to avoid finding my tushie in a French prison and I just really wanted to go home to normalize my life. I also missed my sisters and nieces terribly!! My petit escargot and I decided to stay together...so, raise your glasses to long-distance relationships!!

I survived the journey from France to Hawaii without being interrogated by the deportation police! Thank goodness. I was really in shambles the week leading up to my departure date, but gorging on surimi sticks and kebabs helped me through the trying times.

I'm typing on my new T-mobile Shadow Smartphone, so I have to make this short. It takes me about three minutes to tap in an apostrophe -- more rants about this burgeoning love/hate relationship with my brown shadow.

ALOHA!

Tar and Ashes

Taking a break from reading my email in the cafe down the street, I grabbed my Marlboro's and lit up, placing the brown filter in my mouth with my left hand and typing my website address with my right. Inhaling slowly and exhaling quickly while scanning my life on the tiny screen in front of me, I noticed from the corner of my eye a creepy, old man to the left of me throwing furtive glances my way. I reached across the table with my left arm to ash my cigarette until I realized that it was my cup of green tea. I pulled my hand back quickly like a child that just touched the hot stove because she really, really wanted to know if it was hot.

I glanced up to see the dirty old man smiling and laughing. I smiled back, then attempted to search for the ashtray. As the dirty old man got up to leave the cafe, he approached me and gave me some helpful advice. "It's better if you put you cup to the right of your computer, then you won't ash your cigarette in it." Wow, brilliant. He even moved it for me.

I thanked him, smiled knowingly and took his hand when he shoved it in my face, and nearly breaking the personal bubble rule.

At that moment, I quit smoking. The horrid image of the four remaining teeth in his mouth with black, tar-like substance oozing out of the crevices is still haunting me.

Screwed (and not lauging)

To answer my last blog post question -- which I temporarily took down because I had a paranoia moment in which I thought that I shouldn't be telling the whole world that I will soon be in France illegally -- there is a whole lot to fret about. I decided to re-post my horrible disregard for serious situation's today because I'm already screwed so what does it matter if everyone knows about.

I really shouldn't have been so flippant in my last post. It's karma. Earth is screwing with me because I jokingly forecasted a dire future for myself and wrote all kinds of fun things about alcohol, cigarettes and sex.

Honestly, I wasn't too worried in my last post because I have -- HAD an open flight paper ticket to get back home at the end of my three-month journey here, which is creeping up on me. Yes, had.

When I wrote the previous post, I was warned by a friend of mine that my time is running out and I should leave soon, so I freaked out a bit because I wasn't sure if the date had passed, wrote a fun "what if" post after reading horror stories online, and began packing and gathering my documents that have been camping out on Soco's desk. I searched calmly for the paper ticket that should have been with my ticket to France. I searched, I searched and I searched. Oh, yes, time to freak the fuck out!! All I could find was the empty envelope that I used to carry my plane tickets to France. What the hell! I sat down and tried to relive the past three months and pinpoint exactly where I may have put the tickets. Uh, oh...I vaguely remember doing a major clean up of the desk and throwing a bunch of useless papers. Royally screwed.

As I sit here writing this blog, I'm picturing a crisp plane ticket worth a thousand dollars lying somewhere in a dump or wherever trash goes to in France. I'm sitting here, knowing that I will have to pay for my stupidity when I leave the country. I'm sitting here, trying to figure out if I can afford another ticket to the island in the pacific in the next three days to avoid breaking the law. I'm sitting here, and I want to cry all over again.

I've tried to contact the U.S embassy in Paris with no luck. Tonight I'm going to purchase the cheapest and earliest flight home I can find, which will probably have me overstaying my welcome. All I can do right now is hope for the best and enjoy my last days in Europe because I probably won't be back for about 7 years or so.

Today's lesson: Karma is a bitch.

Tourist Visa and all that Jazz

After realizing that I could be gagged, tortured, belittled, reprimanded, pay a fine and/or banished from this country at either the European airports or the American airports for leaving after my three-month tourist stay, I searched every drawer, purse and crevice in the apartment for a cigarette to calm me down -- I even sifted through the ashtrays for a half-finished cancer stick. Yes, I know, I'm a disgusting little chimney puffer.

I finally had to give in and pull on my jeans and coat, check my face in the mirror to make sure it looked presentable in public and walk to the nearest Tabac. "Hmm," I thought as I walked past the grocery store of my favorite Arabian man, "What would go great with Marlboro lights at a stressful time like this? A bit of nipple eye fondling, maybe? No, too much effort to unbutton my coat. Perhaps, the smooth, creamy texture of liquid slithering down my throat? Oh, yeah, that's it." I snatched me a bottle of Kasteel bier, brewed in Belgium and oh, so yummy! It's better than sex. Far surpasses the taste of -- come on -- did you really think I was going to write that. Too easy.

The alcoholic in me also begged for a bottle of red wine, so I submitted to her...his...it's request and purchased a cute, curvy bottle of JeanJean Merlot. Don't ask me why I bought it or how I come to choose such a fine wine because, um... I don't. My wine choosing system works like this: "Wow, that bottle is really pretty. It's less than 5 euros, too. And, people have been buying it. OK, I'll go with that." Usually they taste like crap, but after two or three glasses, you're not drinking it for the taste, right?

As I sit here writing this blog, sipping my second glass of wine at 5 p.m. in the afternoon, I'm not too worried about paying a huge fine at the airport, being deported from France and/or banned for seven years. Wanna know why? Because I have my cigarettes, my wine, the cold air nipping at my frozen toes...and I'm gonna get laid tonight, and tomorrow, and every other day until I leave. So, what's there to fret about?