Last Friday, we were at the birthday party of a cool friend of ours, whose friends are really cool, and who was having a birthday in a cool bar. On Friday afternoon, I ran into my fat body in the mirror and realised that looking cool myself wasn’t going to be easy. However, I had forgotten that being pregnant in a bar is already almost subversive here. Moreover, I think I nailed the following steps:
– think “Whitney Houston” when you leave the taxi and enter the bar, even if you have previously spent the whole trip whining about how your stomach cramp and thank god it’s only stomach cramps and not haemorrhoids)
Below, a sponsored add on my (private) Facebook account.
I wonder what I find the most depressing:
– the fact that Brad is apparently leaving Angie,
– the fact that there is apparently such a website as goodhousekeeping.com, or
– the fact that I immediately fall into its potential audience …
We just came back from Tennessee. And Tennessee :
– is the home state and BB King, Elvis, Johnny Cash and the others, and at this point I realize that I am not going to fool anyone with my three vinyls: I still have a lot to learn about good music
– which makes it a good occasion to take my three babies/toddler to a country concert. The audience is mostly over 75 and wearing cowboy boots. At this point, you probably wonder why. But as Nayla would say: Yiiiiiha !!
– the highlight, though, has nothing to do with music, it was simply an “overweight? here is why” moment. We are trying to reheat Yann’s bottle in our Airbnb in Nashville. The microwave does have a “kid’s meals” option. I press it. Sub-menu: ‘for chicken nuggets press 1. For French fries press 2. For frozen sandwiches press 3. For hot dogs press 4″. After a moment of nervous laughing, I decide that after all, formula probably tastes like french fries the most.
And while the rest of the world is collapsing, I am having the time of my life.
1- we saw Woody Allen’s Manhattan on a rooftop (actually, the terrace of the Yotel). Champagne, earphones, recliners. That feeling of flying transatlantic with PanAm in the sixties, except everybody was posting selfies on Facebook. After the film my husband told me sweetly “never had a better time with you darling”. I purred. Then I realised that had both been wearing earphones and none of us had said a word. Not that sure he likes it when I talk after all.
2- we saw Goran Bregovic at the Lincoln Center. Didn’t expect such a good concert when I walked in. Quite a bunch of self-righteous-pearl-necklaced-50ers. My neighbour had apparently eaten rotten onions. And the security was out of control. No camera, no dancing, no standing, no walking in the aisles. However, after thirty minutes and rightfully so, Goran had turned the Lincoln Center into a stadium. Everybody was dancing and sweating, the whole audience was screaming in serbian, including the self-righteous-pearl-necklaced-50ers. As for my neighbour, he turned out to be a Goran exegete. Unfortunately, there was nothing Goran could do about the onion smell.
Feed your baby with quinoa on the very day you have finally mopped the floor (and it took you 2 hours)
Please vote for the most frightening moment I have endured over the last few days (my life being a kind of boring horror movie).
1/ that moment when you realize that your daughter, whom you though was on spring break for two days, is actually on spring break for A WHOLE FUCKING WEEK. Which means you will have to deal with her for two more days, while you have exhausted all your tricks ‘swimming pool / theater / please go to your room, find yourself something to do and come back in three hours’.
2/ that moment when after pretending for 9 months that you didn’t care, you finally convert your weight in kilograms. Yep, 170 pounds IS a lot, and not just in pounds.
3/ that moment when you are alone for the night and you cannot find the remote control of the apple TV. And you are too fat to look under the couch, see previous paragraph.
* swimming pool when you are 9 month-pregnant: a moment of pure glamour.
For a long time, I thought that Facebook’s sole purpose was to have me waste endless hours. But this was before my friend Flo introduced me to Facebook’s coolest feature: a secret group for women working in human rights. Let’s call it Zorro (its actual name is even cooler).
Zorro has 1,576 members. All women. All fond believers in women empowerment. Their CV sometimes includes a PHD, often fellowships at ICC in the Hague, always a few years in underground and exotic war zones. The group is a kind of salon, and you get invited to participate to seminars on domestic violences in Ukraine, or to do drinks in Lesotho, or to answer dashing job offers in Bangladesh. Very much like the fellowship of the ring, except more striking.
I ended up doing drinks with Zorro in New York.
20 girls, including me, had apparently decided to do some wild job hunting. We were threateningly circling the two girls who did have a job and just wanted to have a drink (poor them). Talk about empowerment if you wish, life is a freaking food pyramid.
For the first time in history, my OB hasn’t told me I’m too fat. If you are looking for me, I’ll be at the coffee shop around the corner, eating chocolate chip cookies to celebrate.
Two months ago, I had to read a book I hated and most of my book club enjoyed (apparently the New York Times enjoyed it too so maybe it’s me (or new-yorkers)). It contained paragraphs like this one.
“I read a study once about sleep deprivation. The researchers made cat-sized islands of sand in the middle of a pool of water, then placed very tired cats on top of them. At first, the cats curled up perfectly on the sand and slept, but eventually they’d sprawl out and wake up in water. I can’t remember what they were trying to prove exactly. All I took away was that the cats went crazy.”
(Department of speculation, Jenny Offill)
Then I read another book, which I found pretty awesome (the New York Times too, but also the rest of the world). I thought the following excerpt applied pretty well to the first book…
“You can’t even read American fiction to get a sense of how actual life is lived these days. You read American fiction to learn about dysfunctional white folks doing things that are weird to normal white folks”
(Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie)