Wow, my blog is pretty musty and mildewed and I think the cats peed in the corner.
The big news: I'm making an honest woman of Robyn. We're getting married at some unspecified date in the future.
I took her to the Eifell Tower, and I was all, "Uh, Robyn, will you marry me and stuff?" and she goes, "Dude, yeah." And I was like, "Rad!" and she's all, "Awesome."
French people are very nice and they are all mimes.
Here are some pictures of our French adventures.
The Gendarmes (that French for Facist Pigs) told us we had to take a picture of the tower or they would confiscate our passports, beat us and lock us up in a French jail with only bread and water. The bread was fabulous... and the water? C'est formidable!
This is our first moment as an engaged couple. I'm not thinking, "What have I done?!" I'm thinking, "All Right!" I was relieved, because if Robyn had said no, the rest of our week in Europe might have been awkward.
This is one of the 7 or 8 flights of stairs we had to climb to our wee French flat. One night, we were woken up by a spoiled sounding American chick in the hallway screaming, "I HATE THIS ROOM!" But we didn't feel that way at all. It was small, sure, but dig this view:
Below, I'm channeling the spirit of Napoleon and looking all triumphant in front of the Arc De Triumph. "Quake before my might, world! I'm tiny and French and I keep one hand in my coat, but I'm badass."
What! Did Robyn fall into some alternative universe made up of black lines on a white background? Nope, it's an art installation! Can you believe it? THIS is art? What will those crazy French people do next? Serve us raw beef with vinegar and eggs? Create a special branch of government to protect their language? Sneer at us and hog up all the history?
I kept asking, "Oooay le dogs playing poker? Oooay le sad clowns?" but the docents of the Pompedieu threw rocks and garbage at me.
This place was crappy.
