Honeymoons are but just once in our lives and everyone picks to go somewhere different, according to their personalities, the weather or their budget. Some pick an exotic beach, some go to theme parks, others would like to visit old villages, while the rest of them prefer golden cities like Prague.

Well, we kind of went with all of it in a single country: La France. I would travel across this beautiful country for 23 glorious days with my drop-dead gorgeous husband. Oh, yeah.

But before we got there, we started out a two-day journey through London, before we headed on to Paris. Naturally, we only did two things there: Wicked and Les Misérables. Both made me cry of sadness and full content. Now, I can officially say I've seen six musicals in my life. (And by six, I mean I only count them if they're either Broadway or West End).

Oh! Quite magically as well, apart from going to the London Eye, Big Ben and an aquarium (all this underneath the cruel, cold London rain), we found ourselves walking unintentionally in front of a Jamie Olliver's Diner! Had to stop everything and have the loveliest english meal there. (Note: After buying Jamie's entire encyclopedia, I actually cooked back home the same meatball pasta I had in London. It was superb!). And yes, the rest of the food we ate there was pure crap. Also, London hotels have shitty two-inch showers. Hated that.


Then, off to Paris! Got upgraded to a deluxe bedroom with a view of the Eiffel Tower (or at least the tip of it), because they got our reservation wrong. (Must remember to go back to Hotel Gavarni and stupid concierge with the amazing upgrades). We covered the entire area, not in a touristy way, but in a let's-find-the-métro-and-see-where-it-takes-us kind of way.

Ate at all kinds of french food at all kinds of cafés, visited museums we didn't even know existed, had a soireé in Dans Le Noir (pitch black restaurant with surprise menu and blind waiters), visited the Opera House, rented bikes and wheeled around the Champs Elysées, had picnics, went to Shakespeare & Co. Bookstore and bought a whole lot of pretty books to take home, went to Notre Dame Cathedral about a thousand times, went to the Louvre and had crêpes everywhere! (the best ones are from Café Orsay, behind the museum with the same name).

I even fulfilled my self-promise to get a Parisian haircut everytime I visit the city. Yay!

We also set out to find and actually found the cute little cafe Les Deux Moulins from one of my favorite films (Amélie) and had huge hearty breakfast there. I obviously took a photo with my Frida Canon (that's what I call my camera), of every meal we had in the entire trip. We basically ate the entire city and we're proud of it.


After that, it gets even better. We rented a pétit Hot Wheels car and drove all the way to La Dordogne, which if anyone knows anything about it, Périgord Noir is the way to go. We lived and died there. We stayed at this beautiful little village called St. Cyprien, surrounded by more beautiful villages, countrysides, castles, rivers, wine-tasting vineyards and sunflower fields.

We even canoed our way through a beautiful french river! Well, he rowed his ass off and I... documented and smiled.

Fell in love with a little restaurant/wine shop called "La Pétite Tonelle", where we had the best foie gras, fish soup, duck confit and goose salad any mexican could ever imagine. Also, wine tasting around a village made us find, taste and take back home a bottle of the best, local, sweet, white wine we ever had: Monbazillac. We were quite tempted on buying a million-euro hobbit house in a hilltop, but bought a few art posters instead.

Honeymoon does not end here. Took our crappy car all the way south and got to Marseille after a 6-hour drive. This is a city full of a young, sleepless vibe and people partying all night long. Obviously had gorgeous seafood and walked around and put our feet in the coldest Mediterranean beach water while drinking tasty mango frappés. We brought our swimsuits all the way to France for that. We also took a ride on a ferris wheel overlooking the sea and I confess we ate at McDonald's there. I know, the shame!


Took a train back to Paris and then a bus to Mont St. Michel for the day. Of course, bought a ton of cookbooks written in french to test myself in the kitchen and visited the old monastery/castle/museum at the top of the hill. I actually took a nap there. Ate famous omelette and hated it, but loved the pasta. Such incredible history and amazing views of the sea. I couldn't stop imagining I was walking through a French version of Minas Tirith the whole time. (Geek!).


Back in Paris, we had to go to Disneyland of course, mostly because weird husband had never gone before, not even in the U.S. It was piled up with people from all over the world (mainly japanese), and the weather couldn't be more perfect. Got on every ride we could and visited both parks. We had fish and chips and watched the firework show proyected on La Belle au Bois Dormant's castle and felt enchanted by it. We took home our only souvenir from there: Sheriff Woody, who now protects our home and our two adorable puppy basset hounds.


We finished off with a gorgeous dinner at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant with a view to the Trocadéro. I even packed a special polka-dot dress, high-heeled shoes and the pearls my hubby gave me the day before our wedding... just for this occasion. (I actually broke my heels running our asses there for being so late for our dinner reservation, as we were late for all flights, train stations, bus tours, car rentals, musical shows, canoe rides and taxi drives in the entire trip).

It was the best dinner I've had in my entire life. I'll never forget a single taste of that five-course, exquisite meal. I fell in love with my Sergio all over again during that dinner. We left our table and stayed on Eiffel's second floor for a few minutes wating for those sparkling lights at 10:55 pm (while illegally hiding and drinking a bottle of white wine).


Just before it was time to take the train back to the airport and back to reality, we spent an hour lying on the grass, wondering at the Eiffel Tower and saying farewell to our golden city and flying back to Mexico... first-class, of course.

À bientôt, everyone!

So, I'm back and I'm married now. I turned 26 recently and it suddenly hit me that everything depends on me now, on us. We're alone in the world, we have to make our own damn money, support ourselves, wash our own clothes and pay our bills. We're all grown-up and I'm so proud of us. And our house is just a lovely, little hobbit house in the making.

We actually put up our Christmas tree last weekend. I don't care if everyone thinks it's early to do so. We wanted to feel Christmasy and warm up our li'l House with the Blue Door, like I like to call it. It's just the loveliest tree in the world, with a kind of turquoise and gold palette.

A cold front has finally struck our town and I find it quite hard to get outta bed in the morning for the following reasons: 1) there's no food in the refrigerator, 2) I work at a kindergarten ('nuff said), 3) my husband is traveling a lot lately, 4) it's too friggin' cold outside my blankets, and 5) there's no food in the refrigerator.

The only thing that's keeping me going this week is the fact that there's no school next monday and my hubby and I just decided we're taking the weekend off our lives and going to Parras, a nice wine-tasting village 3 hours from here. Haven't traveled at all since our honeymoon (except to McAllen, which doesn't count), so this will do just perfectly.

I'll post about wedding and wonderful honeymoon later on.

Writing on my blog everyday might be a challenge, but I'll try to keep up. Wasn't exaclty a new year's resolution, but I believe I wrote something about writing more. Or was it reading more? Can't remember. I have this personal tradition to write my resolutions and seal them in an envelope, which I can't/won't read 'til next year starts. That way, I can totally forget about them and be disappointed in myself every year. Yay.

Did I tell you I'm a kindergarten teacher, by the way? Yup. Two years now. Second grade. My kids are both awesome and psychotic. One of them jumped on me today like a gorilla and probably broke my cervix. Or cervical. One of those.

I'm still an amateur. I just need one of 'em to look at me with that doe-eyed face of theirs to fall into their evil plots to eat my cookies and creamy strawberries I bring for lunch. That or let them paint my face with permanent markers. Yes, it's a true story. No, I didn't know they were indelible. They were Sharpies!

The most wonderful thing about being a kindergarten teacher is that I end up every night taking a nice warm bath to get rid of all the glue, boogers and all kinds of shit they get in my hair. Also, I get the flu every other day, but at least –for the time being– my classroom is lice-free. *sigh* I love my job. Plus, it's great practice for when I'm a mom. Won't let them take control of me with their cuteness by then. Gosh. When that day comes, I'm gonna be so well-trained I will get my own kids to do their yoga while I change their diapers in 30 seconds. While stoned.

Is four really that big a number? I come from a family of six and I'm used to the noise and the beatings. Certainly worked for us. Every person I drop my apparently big number to, goes into shock. Then again, they're always either workaholic deep-pockets or dumb trophy-wives-in-the-making who couldn't possible function without a maid, cook, nanny and limousine driver. You know, boring people.

I'm just realizing (yes, on the second post I write in who knows how long) that I'm being really agressive now that I've come back to my blog. Maybe it's my alter ego letting itself go after being extra nice at work to my kids, boss and deeply obsessive mothers, so I come home and sweat it all off on you. But in real life, I'm really very sweet. I kiss my mom in the morning, I hug my 5-year-old rug rats until I suck the very life out of them, and I go to church when people die. I'm a goddamn princess!

I even dressed up as one at work this past Halloween (well, not really Halloween, but this "Carnival" crappy name they came up with because we mexicans don't celebrate the awesomeness of witches, ghosts and zombies who should be rulers of the world). I dressed up as Princess Merida, from Brave, and a very improvised one with stuff I had laying around in my three closets (seriously, there's three of them). Of course I was defeated by all the pretty girls who were wearing the exact same costume. Damn them.

Some of them even came up to me –with their big fake wigs and starry eyes, I might add– and said with their squeaky voices: "Are you the real Princess Merida?" (this belief coming from my provisional redheadness). Omigah, so cute! I felt a clear warmth take hold of my heart as they fulfilled my long-lost wish to be finally recognized discovered as a real live princess. "No", I replied, "I'm actually Madame Medusa, only I grew my hair out." They laughed and ran off, totally not getting the reference.

...And for my young readers who were born in the nineties and didn't get it either, The Rescuers is an awesome 1977 Walt Disney Animated Classic in which Madame Medusa is an evil red-headed (hint!) pawn shop owner who kidnaps young 4-year-old orphan girl named Penny. If only the music or gym teacher (only two male teachers in the area) had played the idiotic Mr. Snoops, I would've scared the living crap out of those girls. I know they used to freak me out when I was their age.

Ugh. Once again interrupted the exact same way I was yesterday by jumpy boyfriend at my door. (Just kiddin', hon, I love you). Don't hate him as much when he adorably brought back the shirt I bought last sunday in a flea market, El Corredor del Arte, off a man who hand-paints Lautrec on his T-shirts. Had to buy one.

Anywho, wedding planner mode. See you soon.

Hello again. So, this blog I abandoned for some time, I didn't really start it out just to be interesting (I know that I am without trying). I guess all I wanted was to test myself in the art of the written word and came out sucking at it a bit.

(My apologies if I have a tendency to change languages at times, but my mind works in three different ones, and some days I communicate myself better in one or another. Bare with me.)

I was tempted to create a whole new blog to try a new way of writing, but I was instantly hit with melancholy and couldn't get myself to do it. It's true that some years ago I may have published stupid things here (and they're still here), but it's a part of me and one should never be ashamed of their past, even if you've got terrible taste in men, adore girly-like bands like Coldplay and may or may not have shared weird, erotic dreams about ninjas.

Far off my point.

I'm getting married! *ahem* We're getting married. (Must remember to go plural every time.)

I scattered the news to the four winds of the world on September 14th, but hadn't written that down here, so I had to come and tell my faithful 17 followers (15 really, 'cause two of the accounts belong to my dear big sister and I can't really count her as a fan, though she means well and I love her) that I'm getting hitched this summer! Sergio, the lucky dude, proposed quite like Ryan O'Neal in Arthur Hiller's Love Story (except the 25-year old girl doesn't die, I hope), and made me say yes. Bastard.

In the first two weeks or so, after breaking the news and causing a lot of jaw-dropping, we were caught in the what-should-our-wedding-theme-be query (other than awesome, of course) and after long hours of brainstorming and cheetos, we were there. Oui, it shall be a glamourous vintage french-style wedding.

As it was expected, my father's pants dropped instantly when I revealed the idea. I do believe his french je ne sais quoi rubbed off on me much more than it did on my sisters. We've been talking about placing it at the turn of the 20th century, when Toulouse Lautrec and Henri Matisse were the soul of Paris' Art Nouveau movement, and La Belle Époque decorated and gave life to the streets of la ville-lumière with posters and paintings of beautiful Can-can dancers (if you are not familiar with any of this, that's what the links are for, you ill-educated beings).

Ideas for decorating and coloring the wedding have been pouring out of all three of us (the groom, myself and my maid of honor). From the lovely Gothic-style church we've already booked, the only 1912 parisian-designed Gran Hotel Ancira we've picked for the soirée, to the Art Nouveau posters, the antique artsy centerpieces, the vintage postcard-like wedding invitations, and the somewhat themed wedding dress I can't say anything about here. Yet.

So fun!

Anyway, more on fabulous wedding later. Must pay attention to weary fiancée after three days of work travel. I promise to return soon this time.

Lleno de telarañas, pero aquí sigue mi pobre blog parado después de... Wow, casi 6 años.

Tengo tanto que contar, pero en estas tonterías tan públicas siempre es mejor ser discreta, al menos hasta el momento más óptimo. Bueno, quizá puedo contar un par de cositas antes de ir a dormir para desempolvar aunque sea.

Tengo sueño.

No puedo dejar de pensar que ya soy Maestra Titular en el Colegio. Tantas ideas me remolinean en la cabeza por las noches, que a veces no duermo. Me emociona tanto. Es segundo de kinder, así que mis niños tendrán entre 4 y 5 años. Una edad tan hermosísima y yo con tantos planes de cómo haré las cosas.

Menos de un mes para entrar a la Facultad de Música. Mi tan anhelado y esperado sueño de estudiar música profesionalmente, que tantas veces demoré y postergué.

Todo por fin está tomando lugar, tomando rumbo.

Quiero pensar que pronto podré deslindarme de las últimas dudas, las últimas preguntas que me he estado haciendo sobre "el resto de mi vida" y esos temas tan enormes que no se pueden tomar a la ligera. Algunos días se me olvida y otros días me duele tanto. Me coquetean ideas y algunas otras las trato de ignorar. A veces me pregunto y a veces no me importa...

Es cuestión de tiempo. Poco tiempo.


Quise jugar el otro día a escribir un cuentito. Obviamente era de una chica parisina y obviamente había un chico. Ella siempre llegaba tarde al trabajo y él llevaba casi 2 años viéndola pasar, esperando una excusa para poder hablarle. Siempre a la misma hora, siempre por la misma ruta hacia el metro de París. Entre inviernos y épocas de lluvia, sólo la veía pasar con sus diferentes ropas acorde a la temporada. Era tímido y le gustaba fumarse un cigarrillo mientras leía alguna aventura nueva.

De eso se trata más o menos. Igual y cuando lo termine bien, lo pongo por aquí... Total, nadie lee esto, así que no me dará mucha pena de cualquier forma.