My Beatiful Pink Renault Twingo

Oooooh La La. I was in France but a few weeks when I realized that I was not exactly the back packing train riding type. I would often times overload my backpack with food as I was paranoid at the though of having to actually stop at a French restaurant. The additional cargo weighed me down even further making walking and hiking from my small little flat to the various train stations a seemingly impossible task. Impossible as seen through my eyes anyway. So...I was going to require some mode of transportation of my own.

I went first to a small farm house advertising what looked like a kind of scooter. It was sort of like a Vespa but actually had bicycle type petals include, im supposing for thin folk or overly ambitious chubbies. I've never really been the overly ambitious type and so when I learned that you actually had to pedal the hybrid vehicle from time to time, I thanked them kindly, finished eating the baguette I think they were offing me, and waddled on my merry way.

My French was still limited to basic 'hello's', 'high there's', 'good bye's' and 'une Big Mac menu s'il vous plaît, sans cornichon avec frites et une coka light'...you know...the very basics. Thanks to this basic understanding of the French language I was able to find what would become my new car.

I was sitting there at McDo's (what the French call McDonald's) just finishing up my Big Mac when I spotted an older Arab man placing a sign reading "a vendre" (for sale) on a...well...less than fortunate looking car that somewhat resembled the business end of a tube of pink lip stick from any MAC counter. I ran out (who am I kidding), I walked out in a mad waddle until I managed to get his attention which face it...wasn't hard. After all, I am...me. Much like Lewis & Clark did when negotiating with the Native Americans I skillfully utilized a combination of broken French phrases, my own version of sign language, and a very elaborate game of charades to find out how much he wanted for the car. 1500 euros. Hmmmm, was 1500 euros a good price for a 1994 pink Renault Twingo. Honestly I had no clue but I actually fit in the car. I guess I should say I mostly fit. I kind of looked like a rogue muffin popping out of it's tin and trying to make a break for it.

I had the money so I grabbed his hand and shook it feverishly while i said Oui Oui Oui! ca voiture pour moi! (this car for me) He gave me that scared yet exhausted look that most French people give me and said d'accord. The nice Arab man then handed me his goat that was on a leash and pointed at his house and made an elaborate charade motion of a man writing on papers. While he was gone i talk to d'accord the goat. I wasn't sure if d'accord meant goat or if that was in fact the goats name.

He returned after some moments with two sets of keys and a lavender folder full of paperwork. I gave him the money and he showed me about 6 areas when i needed to sign. He then continued to ramble on for about 10 minutes in French of course before he reach inside my new Twingo, turned the ignition, opened the door for me so i could hop on in. I said good bye to Ahmood (his name) and to d'accord, shut the door, looked down and thought....shit....I have no idea how to drive a stick. I knew how to drive one in theory but not in practice. I game myself a firm pep talk and after only stalling 6 times I was able to get her into 2nd gear and drove home. I drove and I drove and I drove, as home was 75km away and i wasn't confident enough to go higher than 2nd gear. I finally made it home and was so so so proud of my 1994 pink Renault Twingo.

Oh! I later learn that d'accord means Okay.

Fucking Pig?!?!

Today I was walking past the check out aisles at walmart with a cart full of groceries courtesy of my Link card and I spotted a large poster on the wall featuring two people with Down's Syndrome. I did not have to read anything on the poster to realize it was yet one more attempt to remind us shopping drones of Cultmart how exalting the leaders of our commercial religion were as it pertains to the simple folk.

Approximately two feet lower and four feet to the left of the poster sat a 300 pound'ish middle aged Down's Syndrome man. Initially I thought he was one of the models from the poster as I unfortunately find that most Down's afflicted folk look alike. In my confusion I stood there for a few extra moments to compare and contrast 'bench guy Down's' with the guy in the poster. The similarity was striking as my eyes shifted from bench to poster, bench to poster, bench to poster, until my fixated fascination was suddenly halted when 'benchie' opened his mouth and said to me...."Fucking Pig"

I slowly walked on knowing for sure that 'benchie' was not the guy from the poster.

Paris?!?! The Eve Of Departure

It was very early the morning of April 8, 2006. The weather, as is so often does in the Midwest, had a manic bipolar episode and sent howls of freezing cold wind throughout the upstairs of my gal pal Cody's house. I was laying in Cody's warm and freakishly comfortable bed under a cozy duvet wishing for something silly like sleep to wash over me. It wasn't long before Cody and her freezing ass toes came running into her bedroom and hopped in bed with me. She had yielded her bed of plenty to me all the while trying to make due in her sisters cold and drafty shrine of teen spirit bedroom. The naturally occurring heat provided by my chub oven did not disappoint according to the looks of relief that poured over Cody's face and her eyes actually fluttered like glittering cherries on a slot machine as her freezing ass dragon lady claws or toes or whatever they were sought warmth in random pockets of leg fat. The eve of the greatest departure of my life had just officially turned into a good old fashion slumber party.

We talked and talked and talked. We sang and sang and sang. We laughed and laughed and laughed. I'm sure if i had hair she would have braided it. Eventually Cody drifted off into sleep in the middle of one of my stories that I'm sure she had heard before but like a true friend always pretended she was hearing it for the first time. The sun was starting to rear it's ugly head just enough that I could see it was almost time for me to hop in the shower, get dressed, and run through my final mental checklist before embarking on such a monumental trip.

I'm not sure if i ever told Cody how grateful I was that that evening was so cold she was forced to find warmth close to me. Just moments before she hopped into bed with me my mind had turned to a very dark place. Something greater than fear was literally taking my breathe away. Dread had all but settled in and my tears did not fail to fail me. In that moment I knew I existed if for no other reason than because I was truly afraid. Cody, for at least a few hours, unknowingly calmed my fears and made me feel like I was still alive.