The See-through Diet

Tomorrow, I'm having that procedure where they do the thing that nobody wants to talk about. Today's my clear liquids day, so I took my list of acceptable items to the grocery store and when I came home, I noticed that all my packages were green and yellow. So I've decided that I'm having a coloroscopy instead.

One of my friends says I over-analyze everything (but I'm convinced that's just because he never comes out ahead when I turn my lens on him). However, it is true that I'm a serial researcher, so I went online to find out everything that would make this easier or more effective or faster. Because I SO want to be on the other side of this at the earliest possible moment.

You can drink anything that you can read a newspaper through. Or shine a light through. (Gin and vodka not included.) That doesn't have red, blue, or purple coloring. Or that might impede the doctor's sightseeing on his or her journey. (Poor doctor. Isn't it great to be asleep for this whole event? I bet the doctor would prefer to sleep through it, too.)

So here's what I'm pretty sure is going to unfold. As soon as I start "the process," someone will offer me tickets to a Reba McIntyre concert tonight. Or Nordstrom's will contact me to say I won a $5,000 shopping spree that's good until midnight. And if that happens, I'm ready to turn down any options that come my way, because I have big plans. I'm going to read the paper through my Welch's white grape juice and 7UP. And then I'm going to shine a light through my chicken broth and lime Jello. I'm going to be very, very busy. Getting ready for that procedure where they do the thing that nobody wants to talk about.

© 2014 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

London, France and Golden Underpants

Le Mas Tourteron, Gordes

I have to admit that I only put the word "underpants" in my title so more males would read my blog. But also true is that I just returned from a vacation in France, and almost every time I heard "France" in my head, I thought of the Adam Sandler line from Bedtime Stories: "I see London, I see France, I see my golden underpants." Yes, I'm a seven-year-old sometimes. Who isn't?

Ah, but I digress. I really wanted to tell you about my wonderful vacance en Provence.  About les vins and fromages, charmant  villages, grande amitie...it was incroyable!

And the bees! Where there are lavender plants, there are bees! I am one of those people who is at risk of, um, expiring if I am stung and don't get help in minutes, so I was packin' a double holster of EpiPens the entire time. My friends knew that if a stinger met its mark, the drill was that I would shoot from the hip (or rather, into the hip) while they called for an ambulance. (Hmmm - it's the same in English and French. Duh, maybe because it's a French word to begin with. Yeah, I know, who cares? Get back to the story.)

This was a dream vacation, in many ways. I worked a wee bit, but not the entire time, for one. (Unfortunately, most of my previous vacations included answering lots of emails and finishing projects, and often postponing the day's plans—which my fellow vacationers really, really loved about me.) But that was before, and this is the new me!

We had amazing greenery and scenery in front of us every day (including lots of the aforementioned lavender...and Van Gogh-worthy sunflowers!); we walked on cobblestone streets in towns that blended the old with the new in a seamless, eclectic mix of color and accents and wonderful sounds and smells; visited the Palais du Papes in Avignon; enjoyed amazing cuisine like that at Le Mas Tourteron in Gordes; had a fantastic day touring and tasting at three Rhone vineyards; learned to say "pas de probleme" about every small glitch in our plans and paddled contentedly in the small sparkling pool right outside the door of our Provence cottage. We had happy hour every day (that started earlier and earlier as the week unfolded), with regional wines—focusing on Provence's trademark dry rosé—and great local crusty breads and luscious cheeses and fresh-picked fruit; and talked and laughed and slowed the clock down enough to think about our wishes for that distant someday. (It's easier to find clarity about what we want to do when we grow up by stepping off the hamster wheel now and then.)

Quelle surprise—not a bit of it had anything to do with golden underpants, but you never know what your future holds, n'est-ce pas?


P.S.: Il convient que ce blog est publié le jour de la Bastille!


© 2014 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie