What do you do when you move to Ireland, marry an Irishman who gets a job in Paris, don’t speak French, and move there with him?
I felt it was my duty to wifely American Ex-Pats everywhere to tackle this oh, so, common conundrum and so this blog was born. Or maybe it’s just my way of talking to myself without seeming quite as crazy-either way YOU WIN.
I’ve been in Paris for a little over a week now, and while my French is improving (Thanks Rosetta Stone!), it is still far from holding a conversation that doesn’t involve a significant amount of blank stares and miming. Other then spending my time learning French, this leaves me with an ample amount of free time as finding a paying job for a creative-minded individual is difficult enough without throwing in the whole “I-speak-French-like-the-‘David-After-The-Dentist’-Kid”.
So here is Lesson A for keeping yourself occupied while trying to figure what to do with your life:
AVOID ALL BABY RELATED THINGS
This is somewhat difficult especially if you are in the 25-35 age bracket as facebook suddenly seems to have EXPLODED with all things baby. Your pleasant mindless facebook wanderings can spiral quickly into a black suck hole of despair as the siren song of baby bumps and pictures of tiny people in tiny shoes and hats mess with your rational mind:
A baby would give me something to do. I’m married now. I wouldn’t get the stink eye from great-aunt Myrtle like cousin Jed did when he brought home “The Jew Girl”.
I find that watching an episode or two of 30 Rock quickly reminds me that I, like Liz Lemon, am quirky and nerdy and love ham….Basically, it’ll distract you for long enough for your brain to beat your ovaries back down into your womb.