Au revoir les Americans

I am moving to France. Pack my bags, get me on the plane, and who the fuck cares if I ever come back. All this because America Totally sucks!

Today I spent an hour on the phone with Sallie Mae, trying to understand why they are legally allowed to steal from me, wrote a letter to my Representative about how Sallie Mae is a thief. Contacted the Plainville police to fine out why they removed the plates from my car, then went to the RMV to sit for three hours to try to renew the registration on the car to get the plates back. While at the RMV I tried to argue with them that I should be allowed to renew my license which expires in a week, but they say that I can’t because they don’t have proof that I am legally married. ( By they way it will be five years in three weeks). Then back to Plainville to pick up my plates, I haven’t eaten, I haven’t had coffee in three days, and I haven’t completed any of the chores on my list, some of which need to get done in order for me to start work on Wednesday. Then on the radio I was listening to Fresh Air and they were speaking to someone who has experience with health care systems around the world and he was talking about all the other countires in the world that have universal non-profit health care, and that is when I decided I am moving.

I choose France because 1. universal healthcare 2. I could probably skip out on my loans and they would not find me 3. let us not forget coffee and pastry on every corner. Big deal I don’t speak the language, who cares that my family will miss me, and I am sure it doesn’t matter that I have no job or a place to stay, those are all details that can be worked out later. But what would I be giving up?

As I looked around the RMV I was struck with how cool is it that here we are in a room, all people, all ages, all incomes, and all races, and we are all having the universal experience of waiting at the RMV. Together we have a common enemy, and though we don’t really speak to one another, you can feel the connection that each and every one of us feels as we pointlessly and hopelessly wait, and there is something kinda romantic about that. Only in America, right?

I wonder if they have a RMV in France?

Greetings, New You!

After much debate and dragging of the feet I have decided to embrace my "official" return to work this fall, and for the first time I am excited. It has caught me totally off guard, but I have to say I can't wait to start. And to what do I owe this excitement? Could it be a change of heart, a better attitude, a reality check? Nope! I owe it all to a medium pair of black sequins leggings.

Today was really hot and being the dumb asses that we are who mistakenly think we are saving the planet by not turning on the house AC, we decided to cool off by taking a drive into the city to pick up my new glasses. On the relatively quick trip the girls fell asleep in the car leaving us with some downtime. Mike decided to stay in the car with the girls and enjoy the AC and a fantasy football magazine while I decided to take a walk up and down the street. I found myself wondering what store to go into, what craving of my senses to indulge in, grab a coffee, look at art, and before I even knew what was happening I was walking into H & M because of a pair of black sequin leggings I saw in the window.

Let me just end the suspense now by saying, yes I did try them on, no I did not by them. But there was something strangely liberating about those pants. I realized while I was in the dressing room that I was going to be going to a job where my husband's jeans and t-shirts would not be a suitable ensemble. I was going to be around human beings who were not going to spill, or step, or shit (literally) on me. I would be able to wear something nice and probably be able to keep it nice for at least four hours. And it was in that moment that I remembered that dressing myself and picking out clothes was fun. I spent the next 20 minutes, until I got the call saying the girls were awake and crying, trying on every single impractical, sequined, seethrough, sexy thing I could grab, and I was reborn.

I am really looking forward now to September 2, formally known as D-day, but now affectionately called, Me-day.