A Modest Goal

Blog. Every. Day.

A brief explanation to anyone who followed this blog as “Countdown to 30,”  — I really loved doing it.  I loved blogging, and counting down to something tangible was a great gimmick, even greater because it was natural, built in. I miss it.

But now that I’m 30 (plus a couple or more months), it’s gotten hard to get back into blogging.  It’s hard without a goal in sight.  I tried something out on Blogger (http://serendipitousparadox.blogspot.com/), but it didn’t stick.  I did transfer the best posts from there over here today, so enjoy my sickening descriptions of the south of France, eating sheep unmentionables, making bizarre ice creams, etc.

So I’m back — with the same URL — this blog has remained somewhat popular on stats, so why not?  I love you WordPress!  There is no blog platform like you!  Even though it’s not legal to advertise, and I won’t even be able to attempt to make spare change for coffee!  It’s cool.  You rule, so what can I say?

Welcome back!  Enjoy some fantastic videos, why dontcha!

The Year of Being Brave

(Re-posted from September 20)

My time spent in Jerusalem over the weekend was just lovely. Always much fun, much comfort, much laughter. And excellent food. My good friend and usual J-lem hostess, the Queen, is an exceptionally good cook. Three kinds of chicken, a ridiculous lot of veggie dishes, and a very special very fresh spinach and shitake mushroom soup that had some gorgeous little slices of Jerusalem artichoke in it.

As we drank and laughed and smoked into the night, someone came up with the phrase, “the year of being brave…” How right a motivation is that. How right. Instead of focusing on overcoming fears and getting through the tough days, how much better would it be to concentrate on being brave. Everything from the huge stack of dirty dishes, to the next huge career move, to confronting my family, to forging forward into the industry of love (that be “dating”…something that just popped into my head). Even though getting through or getting by are difficult enough, if I can see it from the perspective of tasks that require immense bravery, why, that would be something to be proud of!

So, this year, I will continue to be brave. Every day. My immediate goals? Not to stress out over work and money, while still acting and chugging along responsibly in those areas. And the biggie – I need quite desperately, to enjoy myself. And with my last-minute, crazy brained trip to France this coming Friday, I have the perfect opportunity. My instinct will be to fret about all the work I’m not doing, and how much money is going down the drain. Sure, I’ll have a decent time overall, but the act of releasing tension, of sitting back and doing nothing and allowing that to be not only OK, but the complete goal of it, is the absolute key.

I’m imagining myself dressing up and looking absolutely fabulous, in some svelte outfit, with a bright colored scarf, wearing my sunglasses, and just sitting at an outdoor cafe in a medieval square. Yes. I’m sitting, basking in the autumn sun, sipping a strong coffee (or something far stronger), nibbling a croissant, and merely in that act, becoming the goddess of French courtyard cafes the world over. I must pull out my black leather fuck me Nazi boots. I always feel like a goddess in those. Yes. France will be divine. Wine, cheese, croissants, sun, high heeled boots, a scarf, and sunglasses. Life is beautiful. Indeed it can be. All it takes is some gumption. And butter.

Red Light Marseille

(re-posted from September 25)

And as I sit here, wrapped in a towel on the bed of my very budget hotel, the sounds of bad, cheap, XXX porno is blasting into the very pretty residential courtyard outside my open window. Rhythmic pumping and screaming. You can just feel the bleached blond leopard-print magenta-ness of it all. Unfortunately, this is no bad dream. My hotel sits beside a whore house.

For the moment, I’m not dealing with my feelings about this unexpected situation. The hotel is clean enough, and I’ve got my own bathroom and even a kitchenette. I am very sore, blisters popping out all over my hands, starving to death; but I’m pretty content, and relieved to be so.

It was not an easy journey from Tel Aviv to Marseille. I have never seen an airport so crowded or chaotic in my life. I’ve had the good fortune of never needing to travel anywhere on Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve. But this was just so much worse. I got the airport more than 2.5 hours before my flight. And by the time I got through security, then check in, then more security, then passports, it was almost time to board my flight. I was bitchy, angry, frustrated, and none of this was helped by the fact that I had not slept in over 24 hours.

And then I realized that in my haste to pack and repack and get everything fitting just right, the thing I rely on most when I am abroad, the thing that I would give up clothes and footwear for, and maybe even lose a credit card over, my beautiful new guidebook had been left behind.

So, it’s throw my hands up in the air and surrender time. So, I’m living next door to a whore house. I can close the window and turn on the AC to hopefully drown out the whinnying. At least there’s oodles of hot water. So, I don’t know the first thing about Marseille. Big deal. So I’ll wander.

I don’t have control. And there’s nothing I can do about it. And with that realization, my anger, fatigue, frustration, and stress kind of petered out. I’m here. I might as well get dressed, pick a direction, and get something to eat. It’s by water, so I know there’s great fish. Did someone say Bouillabaisse?