Then Meatcat flies in on his skateboard

I don't remember how I ended up on this part of the internet but I'm glad I did, even though it gave me some pretty intense sensory overload.

Birthday cake you can eat with a spoon? Kraft Macaroni and Cheese popcorn powder? Is the Kraft "What's new!" page better than Wikipedia's page of discontinued cereals? 

While we're at it: Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Crackers! (their friends and their legal team call them KD Crackers)

The Canwich!

Ice cream ramen!

And then my friend pointed out that Jello-flavored birthday cake is not the first birthday cake you can eat with a spoon:

And probably not the last, thank goodness.

I brought you something special

It's Thanksgiving, which means a year ago I was explaining to my French flatmates what early American settlers did to the Native Americans while they stared at me in horror and disbelief.

"I'm sure they didn't know the blankets had small pox. I'm sure there was some sort of... misunderstanding. Americans would never do that on purpose."

"They would." I answered. "And they did."

I just realized this might explain why all the candy I brought back for my flatmates after the holidays went uneaten.

And we've arrived at Reason You Should Travel #51: if you don't give the world a way to see Americans, I'm going to do it for you. And you might not like the way I do it.

The best turkey in the world would be a sorry consolation for not getting to spend Thanksgiving in France with amazing flatmates who put up with my antics. But the best chicken in the world would be just fine.

My first-born child belongs to Smith's Grocery.

With the price that goat cheese is in the US I have to assume it's made of goat tears instead of goat milk. But my goat cheese omelet addiction must be satisfied no matter the cost.

Have any ex-expats tried American eggs yet? What on earth! Are they filled with water? But the good news is the shells are a lot more manageable - I have yet to cut myself on one. So my omelets may be loaded with goat tears, but at least they're not laced with human blood.

The worst part is that even after typing this I'm craving omelets.

it's shocking

Saying this blog is going to get less exciting now that I'm not living in Europe is like when I won the award for "Most Likely to Have a Mohawk" a year after I grew out my mohawk. I tried to pick an example you could all relate to.

You're welcome.

Things will liven up once I get used to things here, and stop telling people that they miss me, speaking French to strangers, and yelling "I can't believe this cheese costs eight freaking euros" at the grocery store to anyone who cares to listen.

In the meantime: you all miss me.

you want to see crime?

PARISIAN WOMAN AT MY HOSTEL: So, where are you from?
ME: The United States.
PARISIAN: Cool, which one? California? Miami? New York City?
ME: Minnesota actually.
PARISIAN: Oh, is that by Florida?
ME: No it's by Canada.
PARISIAN: I don't know this, what else?
ME: It's by the Great Lakes.
PARISIAN: I don't know this, what else?
ME: I live near Minneapolis.
PARISIAN: I don't know this, what else?
ME: Well, I guess the next city is Chicago.
PARISIAN: OHHHH! You're from CHICAGO! Why didn't you say so?! City of crime, eh? Look out everyone!

good morning USA

On a completely different note than my last post, I never was really obsessed with being an American until I moved to France. I could write enough about this subject to fill a freezer full of ice cream, but since that space could be better spent let me just show you a picture and a thirty-second song.

cheese at the supermarket in Vienna:


I have never watched this show past the opening credits, and wasn't even a huge fan of the opening credits before September. But lately it is my FAVORITE song.



And for anyone who has never walked around France humming it to themselves let me tell you, it just feels right. Especially the part "he's hailing a salute to the American race." Try it sometime.

start spreading the news

I don't know whether I like America or France better.
I don't know if I'll be able to speak any French when I go back in a week.

I do know my dog looks great in antlers.
I do know I got a Frank Sinatra album for Christmas, and I know that's a Christmas miracle.