staying cool

You know how I said that this summer in Texas was hot, so hot in fact that the whole state just about burst into flames (this is no laughing matter, it really did), well it was, and it did. So basically The Husband did everything he could to stay cool, which meant water (I'm guessing his delicate French nature wasn't accustomed to the scorching Texas sun).

Here he is sliding down the slide.

And riding the floaty turtle.

Poor floaty turtle. 

C A N N O N B A L L !

And here he is staying cool and cheating on Fifty at the same time. Poor Fifty. But no worries, while we were on holiday in Texas, Monsieur Fifty was at 'camp'.

We went to the lake too, where we tried to cool off, but it's a little difficult when the lake has been baking in that scorching sun all summer, it basically turns into a lukewarm bath. It's kind of icky. So we opted for pulley fun time instead. 

That's me and Disco Gayle (who is currently with me in Le Petit Village, but at the moment she's sleeping so I'm typing as quiet as a little mouse) all set for pulley fun time...

W O O H O O ! 

We love pulley fun time!

Love it.

Until this happens...

{not happy}

Getting flipped off of a raft during pulley fun time, is not nearly as much fun in your thirties as it is when you're a kid. That sh*t hurt. 

And look who got to drive the boat...

But never during pulley fun time.

Never.

bisou

P.S. If you would like help the many people who lost their homes during the Texas fires and look super cool at the same time, click this link here, and buy yourself a t-shirt. They're awesomesauce.  

touristy bits & pieces

Behold...  The Husband's very first margarita. Ever. Almost thirty years old and never had a margarita. Deprived child. He loved it, which of course meant that he was trying to slurp it on down as fast as possible, but everyone knows that you can't slurp a margarita down without... dun dun dun... B R A I N F R E E Z E.
My mother's response to the dreaded brain freeze... "eat more salsa". She thinks the spice of the salsa counteracts the freezing cold of the margarita. Maybe in your mouth but not in your brain. Bless. (I have a feeling I'm going to be in trouble later).

The margaritas were had in downtown San Antonio on the Riverwalk. We decided to do our touristy stuff on the hottest day of the year (seriously, on the news later that night, they said that that day had been the hottest so far, which says quite a bit when the whole entire summer happened to be the hottest... aren't we clever to be out and about in the sun on that day... and could be a reason why The Husband was slurping that margarita so darn fast, poor guy was withering).

{h o t}

And of course we had to walk on over to see the Cradle of Texas Liberty, aka Mission San Antonio de Valero, aka the Alamo (just wanted to give you a little dash of Texas history... I'm not all fluff all the time you know). Heat be damned. And that scorching hot journey through history was followed up by the Tower of Americas which I had never been to before. Isn't it funny how when you live somewhere, you don't actually go anywhere. You know what I mean? 

{The Husband and new buddy at the Alamo on left, the Tower of Americas on right}

We finished off the day with a beer at air conditioned Hooters (which The Husband pronounces as 'Ewteurs'). I knew he had to see it to believe it. But honestly, I still don't think he believes it. 

You know what else is touristy in Texas... a high school football game. All the hoopla, the cheerleaders, the dance team, the crowds. The Husband was in awe that this was all for highschool. I was in awe at how young all the students looked, and how old I felt. Boo. That's not a fun feeling.

Anyway, here's me outside the stadium of my old Alma mater (I don't look too old, right?). Gotta love those Friday night lights. To quote the immortal words of one Tim Riggins...

"Texas Forever"

bisou

P.S. hang on in there... just a couple of chapters of Texas tales left to go

a day at the ranch

{Texas BBQ}

You would think that me being from Texas, and Papa being all about the hunting, that The Husband and I would be knee dip in camouflage, but nope, we're not hunters. But somehow we still found ourselves at a hunting exposition in Texas (a friend was putting it on), which was kind of fun for The Husband, he got to play with guns for the day.

They even had pink ones for girls (or for boys who happen to like pink).

.....................................................................................................................

Then next day, we went out to the ranch so The Husband could play with some guns for real. But first I needed to feed Kelly.

Kelly is a deer that thinks she's a dog. Although I'd never let Fifty eat out of my hands like that. He doesn't have Kelly's impeccable manners.

We loaded up the old Willys jeep (aka The Nazi Hunter) and headed out.  

Love The Nazi Hunter, but loving The Nazi Hunter means you have to love all of it. Even it's popping out of gear when you're almost to the top of a steep hill. Not that it's not fun sliding back down the hill, it is. But then you get stuck in a ditch and the tires spin, spin, and spin, and you begin to think that you're going to be walking all the way back to the ranch house in 100+ heat and that wouldn't be any fun at all, but then The Husband comes to the rescue jumping on the hood to add a little weight to the front tires.

My hero. 

After the rescue, The Husband did some target shooting for the rest of the afternoon and I hung out with Kelly, covering her little deer ears while the shots were being fired. I wish someone had covered my little ears.

Not too shabby. 

And you know what else isn't too shabby? 

A Texas sunset.

bisou

 

tacos & the walmart

I had tried to prepare The Husband for the heat but I don't think he was aware of how truly hot Texas can get, especially this summer (it was a scorcher... literally). All he wanted to do was sit in the pool all day, everyday. Fine with me, that gave me some one on one time with the Walmart.

We were there for sixteen days and we maxed those sixteen days out to the fullest (tried to anyway, when The Husband's pool schedule allowed). So I think I'll just tell you mini stories about some of the highlights, and show you some pictures too. (I wish I had all my pictures, but unfortunately a USB key has gone missing somewhere between my mother's house and Le Petit Village. For the record, I'm positive that it's somewhere in her house although she denies this, but whatever).
................................................................................................................

I brought The Husband to eat at a Cracker Barrel on our drive from Dallas to San Antonio, let's just say his first encounter with biscuits and gravy was pretty interesting. He stared at it for a bit with a strange look on his face while I sipped my sweet tea. Aw... Texas sweet tea... sweet nectar of the Gods.

And I basically ate my weight in Mexican food while I was there. I sure did. My plan was to eat it until I was sick of it. I succeeded by my last day there. The Husband couldn't handle it after day four. What can I say, I guess I'm made out of tougher stuff than he is.

On one of the many Mexican food nights, The Husband and I headed to a little local place for dinner, and as we got out of the car, my friend Texas Girl's mother, Kiki pulled up (you may remember her from this adventure) confirming that not only do I live in a small town in France, but I'm from one as well. We ate together and got all caught up. I love happy little accidents.

And The Husband got in on the Walmart fun too. He found this large jar of dill pickles...

and thinking that they were giant cornichons, he threw them into the cart (he later discovered that they are not indeed giant cornichons and made a yucky face). And then he added a gallon of ice cream to the cart too. So, The Husband was craving pickles and ice cream.

I wonder if there is something he needs to tell me.

bisou

P.S. Be sure to stay tuned for more Texas tales... pretty please...

we're hunting wabbit

We interrupt my regularly scheduled Texas posts for this post of scandalous happenings in Le Petit Village.

(Our little village sure does get a lot of action, doesn't it?)

You see, the week before we left for Texas, The Honey house was robbed. They were out working with the bees and came home to find that some jewellery and money had been stolen (and let me tell you, there can be a lot of money in honey). But here's the thing, because of how it was done (not going to go into details here) we all kind of assumed it was an inside job, because the burglars seemed like they would have had to have known certain things to pull it off. 

But then, last week, a holiday home down the road was robbed. Coincidence perhaps? Maybe not.

Fast forward to yesterday... a gendarme (police to you and me) helicopter was hovering over Le Petit Village (or as I like to call it, a ghetto bird). And because that is definitely not a regular occurrence, I had to go out and see what was the what (along with the majority of other villagers as well... we're a nosey bunch). 

So this is the what what... four men were spotted attempting to break into a house (a house that belongs to the nephew-by-marriage of my friend The Croupier's Aunt... got that? Good). And because some gendarme already happened to be in the area, they were on hand to nab the burglars (get this... there has been some crazy, drunk hobo wondering our little streets for the past couple of days, and the gendarme were called in to shoo him away... I swear it's true. I couldn't make this nonsense up if I tried). But they only nabbed two of the burglars, the other two made a run for it. One ran into the old village and was soon caught (I'm sure with the help of Medieval Banshee that lives in there) and another ran into the woods. That's when the ghetto bird was called in. 

But here's the fun part. Not only was this man being stalked by the ghetto bird, and the roads in and out of the Le Petit Village blocked by the gendarme (it really must have been a slow crime day in France), but all of the local hunters decided that instead of hunting boar, they would do a little burglar hunting. So off they went into the woods with their guns and their dogs, and more than likely, their pastis too. And do you want to know who went with him? Papa did that's who. Along with the brand new Texas Ranger badge with his name on it, pinned to his hunting vest (he thinks he's been deputized, he really really does, I don't have the heart to tell him it was a $5 souvenir from the Towers of America gift shop). 

If I was that burglar, I'd hope the gendarme found me first. 

And here's my two cents... I'm kind of thinking that this band of burglars has been on the prowl casing the village for quite awhile and it was them that got the Honey house because they were just super prepared and here's why... back in April, the day before The Husband and I left to go up to French Mommy's for Easter, there was a knock on the door. Fifty starting going nutty, barking his little head off (a bit more than usual to be honest) so instead of opening the door I pulled back the curtain and could see a strange man standing there (strange as in I had never seen him before, not necessarily that he was weird, and we don't usually see 'strange' people in these parts, except for tourists). I motioned for him to wait and kept the curtain pulled long enough for him to see an angry, going berserk, Fifty. I went over to the window, stuck my head out, and asked him what he wanted. He said he was selling calendars. 

Hmmm... strange man with accent that comes from a place far more east than France, selling calendars four months into the year, door to door in Le Petit Village. Yeah, nothing suspicious about that at all. 

I'm pretty sure that the strange man took one look at Fifty and crossed us off the burglarising list. 

So in my mind, Fifty totally saved the day.

At least my jewellery anyway.

bisou

P.S. Before I left for Easter at French Mommy's, I did let the Mairie (aka the town hall) know about the strange calendar selling man. 

P.P.S. The last remaining burglar was nabbed but I don't have the scoop yet on whether it was by the gendarme or the hunting party. As soon as I find out, I'll update my Facebook page. 

Me in Texas (an introduction)

{source}

My, my, my, how do you write a post as big as Texas?

A little bit at a time, that's how (and with absolutely no idea where to begin, hence the reason there's been nary a peep from me for a week). So since I've been having a hard time getting this going, I'm just going to go ahead and jump in all bumbly like.

Y'all with me? Good.

Let's talk Texas.

Or more precisely, me in Texas.

Apparently as soon as I step back on Texas soil I lose all my mojo. Any sense of coolness disappears and I kind of bungle about bumping into things and tripping a lot (my nickname in Texas is Handy... short for handicapped... I'm not joking. For the record, I'm pretty sure that if The Husband had met me in Texas, we never would have been. I'm that dorky there. For reals). And the way my lack of mojo-ness decided to manifest itself on my very first day back in Texas was through a random and strange swelling of my lips a few hours after I arrived (it may have been an allergic reaction to the mohair couch I was napping on, but we'll never know, and it doesn't matter, it doesn't change the fact that I looked like I had over done the lip injections... which kind of made me blend in a bit in Dallas, so kind of a bonus).

Yeah, so me and my big ol' lips went to dinner at The Porch in Dallas with The Husband and my dear friend, The Puma (last seen here). And you know what? Having big ol' swollen lips can really take it out of you, I was so exhausted, I couldn't even drink my martini (in fairness, it was like 5am French time, and I don't usually drink martinis at 5am). And while I was trying to keep my heavy head and big ol' lips upright, The Husband was tackling his over sized French dip sandwich and trying to figure out why it was 'French'. I told him to just go with it and enjoy the deliciousness. He did.

The next morning I woke up with normal sized lips in time for the drive on down to San Antonio. It felt good to be back on a large open road seeing Cracker Barrels and firework stands on the side, and once I cruised by Austin on I-35, I knew that I was home.

And as lame as it might be, that concludes the very first part of my Texas tale.

(but let's treat it as more of an introduction)

bisou

 

Avignon with the Ladies

I'm back y'all! Jet lagged and a bit all over the shop, but back. Plus, I brought a friend from Texas with me... Disco Gayle has descended upon Le Petit Village to reign down her loveliness and keep me company... a soft landing to get over the after holiday homesickness if you will (Disco Gayle last featured in a post here. And so you're in the know, she was The Husband's Best Man Girl at our wedding. And just in case you're thinking it, no, she has nothing in common with Disco Stu from The Simpsons. Just saying).

So yeah, back, and jet lagged (notice how I keep saying that I'm jet lagged... that's because I am) and busy trying to settle back in unpacking all my Texas goodies (re: find places in my small, not-like-Texas sized house to put all the stuff). And of course there is so much to tell y'all about Texas. So much. But first, I need to tell y'all about Avignon (notice how I'm still saying y'all, y'all?)

It went like this... awhile ago, Sarah from Texpats Abroad was sitting in London, feeling lonely, missing Texas, and had the brilliant idea of taking a little trip down south of France way to meet up with two other Texans; Aidan and yours truly. And because we all know that Australia is kind of like one big Texas, but with weirder wild life, B got roped into the adventure too (fabulous idea, know?).

So we descended upon Avignon all excited for our sleep over and an evening with girls and a break from the husbands, children, and dogs and what not because heaven knows, sometimes we need a break. And oopsy... since I just happened to forget my jammies wasn't that the best excuse for a pop into H&M where besides the jammies, I had to pick up a skirt and two tees (while the cats away...).

Fun.

And after a walk around, popping in and out of shops, giggling, and being girly we headed to dinner. Which of course we got all snazzy for like so...

{snazzy}

And do you see the one in the pretty cream dress looking all sweet and angelic like... that's Aidan, and it just so happened to be her birthday, so of course we made this happen...

{shell shocked}

Besides that large sparkler shooting off from her ice cream, we stuck those numbered candles into it too, which caused Aidan to exclaim, "why are there numbers on it?!" 

Because we're cheeky, that's why. 

And lets see... loads of drinks (duh), loads of laughter, and loads of inappropriate girly chatter; like maybe one of us (spurred on by the other three) googled their first boyfriend only to find out that he's now a successful orthopedic surgeon (could've, would've, should've) but I'm not saying who. 

Totally inappropriate. 

Totally fun.

bisou