A Catalog of Current Injuries

1 jammed knuckle
1 sternum bruise
1 left bicep bruise
1 blood blister on right index finger

In my defense, I maintain that I wiped out face first into the barrier because of my desire not to hit other people, but I will freely admit that I was the only one to be temporarily ejected from the go-kart course due to excessive crash. I also lost a button on my shirt which devoted partner said just made me look more NASCAR.

That having been said, go-karting is fun! We went Saturday night for The Boy's birthday festivities and all involved enjoyed it far more than we thought we would. After all, driving a fast bumper car around a track can sound kinda lame, but actually driving a bumper car around a track while desperately trying to beat your friends and family? Fun!

Despite my first round wipeout (and people, I used the universal scuba ok-sign to let you know I was cool; just because you saw me crash headfirst into a barrier doesn't mean I was hurt - I'm superhard), I would like to say that I improved my time each round and, had it not been for a "bump" by she-knows-who-she-is in the finals, I would have finished a respectable 4th.

As it was, I am pleased to say, my own devoted partner took the gold, sheepishly I might add as, apparently, he took out the birthday boy on his way to the podium. I was pleased to learn that all of the participants experienced age-related aches and pains, but I hope I was, at least, the injury winner.

Next year, I'm suggesting bull riding!

Research in Mistranslation

A Free Union and Familial Life:
Concubinage is a union made between two persons of the same sex or of different sexes who live as a couple. This union presents the character of stability and continuity. The rights and obligations of concubines are limited when compared to married people. The persons living in a free union are not subject, in particular, to the obligation of debts and assistance. In case of the decease of one concubine, the other does not inherit save for a testament in his/her favor.

Civil Pact of Solidarity:
The civil pact of solidarity is a contract. It is concluded between two physical persons for organizing their communal life. The two persons must be majors (it is impossible to conclude a pact of three person or more) of different or the same sex.

Civil Marriage:
Two people can get married in France even if they are not of French nationality on the condition that they are of different sexes and are aged no less than 18 years. The marriage is celebrated in the commune where one of the two future spouses has a domicile or a residence since at least a month of continuous residence at the date of publication provided by law.

Marriage Without Contract:
There are no formalities. This regime signifies that that which each possesses or owes before the marriage rests in personal property and the goods which he receives through donation or succession throughout the marriage. The product of work of each belongs to the community.

Marriage With Contract:
In the absence of particular formality, the spouses are subject to the regime and the rights of the commune called the regime of the commune property. If the spouses want to opt for another regime, they must pass a contract of marriage.

Food Obligation:
The food obligation and an aid of material which is due a member of a close family (ascendant, descendant) in the need and who is not in measure to assure his subsistence. His amount varies in function of resources of he who is demanded of lodging and needs.

Monday Nopropos

As we prepare for our slightly spontaneous must-use-vacation-days-before-September-1 vacation to the Great Smoky Mountains, I wanted to dispense with several items.

1. I'm not feeling a lot of love and support vis a vis this trip. To a person, everyone I have told about it, including my beloved sibling, has looked at me incredulously. "What are you going to do?" "Are you, um, outdoorsy?" "Why are you going there?" When I respond with the hiking/rafting/boating/riding we hope to accomplish, the stares become even more incredulous. Listen, I know that I take pride in my Gucci hiking slingbacks and in things like hot water and television, but I would like to remind ye of little faith and great mirth that devoted partner and I, despite our girth, are some pretty outdoorsy types. Offending one and all, devoted partner has been known to call me Action Jew (apologies to Eddie Izzard from whom we shamelessly stole), or if we are being athletic in France, Juif d'Action. In fact, if we can jump on a horse, get in a kayak, or get to the top of something really high, chances are we will. Now it's true, we will not be camping, and that was my decision, but it was prompted way more by the inconvenience of hauling camping crap on a plane than it was any abhorrence of outdoor sleeping. To say nothing of the fact that we have abandoned the sloth of the shore for the wet, oxygen toxicity of beneath the waves. In the future, perhaps a smidgen more benefit of the doubt would not be unwarranted.

2. While I still believe the best future for the MTA lies in Mayor Bloomberg buying it outright and running it like a business instead of a slush fund, I would like to commend the current thieves and criminals for installing, in some stations, the board that updates passengers on when the next train will arrive. Yes, other cities have had these for ages, but I say better late than never.

3. Devoted partner is a far better interweb miner than I, coming up with tons of funnies which he shares with me. I now share some with you and also a serious one courtesy of Antonio:
* Not about OJ Simpson, surprisingly
* Not statistically sound, but tee-hee
* Roger Ebert and I are mind-melding

Happy Monday!

Of Epic Battles

Really, peaches people? I know there are a lot of you out there. Why within my own family both devoted partner and internets-savvy mom are partisans for the P-Party! I know matters of taste are exactly that, but I have to say, even after all this time and a fair bit of effort, I just don't get it.

Nectarines are WAY better than peaches!

I'm not even sure I feel it's a fair fight. Yes, in a vacuum, peaches are wonderful: sweet, summery, sweet, juicy, sweet. If there were no such thing as nectarines and peaches had only the plain black plum to fight in the stone fruit wars, then yes, viva peaches! But peaches DO have stone fruit competition: the apricot, the greengage plum (now in the market and many times this morning in my mouth and bag), not to mention the weird ones like the plumcot or the apricine or whatever Californians are doing to mate their fruits with one another today. Peaches, to my tastebuds, don't stand a chance.

And nowhere was that clearer than in last night's fruit salad (side note: gentlemen, why does fruit not seem like food when it's in the refrigerator in its whole form, but once sliced immediately becomes food?). When sliced and placed next to the nectarine, the peach's one-hit wonder of taste (sweet) was so achingly, painfully obvious, whereas the nectarine, which is sweet with a divine tangy bite, shone. Notice, if you will, that fruit juice companies frequently pair the peach with another fruit, mango or orange. Could it be that the frail peach is just too simple to stand alone and needs some acid from a friend?

And poor devoted partner, he'd eat peaches every day (provided said peaches were cut for him, see above), whereas I have, throughout the years, made him exactly zero peach pies and countless nectarine mascarpone cheesecakes (Amy, can I bring one next weekend?). In my market bag right now are four peaches: two yellow, two white so that I can make more fruit salad and we can bring it to the beach, but the peaches were purchased with a heavy heart: can a relationship survive this most fundamental of differences?

Perhaps we are saved by climate. The peach vs. nectarine wars are ephemeral, lasting a mere 6 weeks each summer, after which time peace reigns in a household that prefers tart apples to sweet ones.

Perhaps Not the Criminal Mastermind I Thought

In theory, I think I would make an excellent superthief/superspy: moral relativist, flexible relationship with the truth, rationalizer. In reality, as devoted partner points out more often than I would like (though, to be fair, this is a stupid discussion to be having in the first place so perhaps he's right to put me in my place) I am not all that stealthy. I don't blend in with crowds and I haven't learned how to make myself forgettable (though I maintain that the cunning use of wigs would do wonders for my changling-ness). Also, and perhaps more troubling for the current monster.com resume I have in case SPECTRE is looking for new hires, is that there are certain scams, albeit minor ones, that just wouldn't occur to me, and I wonder if my big-picture attitude is hurting me or depriving me of lower-level experience.

Yesterday the conductor on my train, who I see at least twice a week, punched a ticket for me without seeing my train pass - several of the conductors do this because they recognize me (bad news for my covertness). This was all the more surprising because it was the first time in August I had seen him, meaning he had no guarantee that I had bought a monthly pass for August and I said as much to him, joking that had I known he wasn't going to check I could have saved myself some money. In reply, he told me that there had been a group of women who were regulars on his train that had done just that: they would buy their monthly passes and show them to him for the first week of the month; then, once they were sure he was going to punch tickets for them without verifying they had passes, they returned their passes for a partial refund and rode the rest of the month for free.

Leaving aside how rude that is - I don't know if conductors could get fired for that sort of thing - it's just the kind of petty crime I don't consider. I'm too busy wondering how far I could joyride in that Ferrari before apprehension and if I could find a way to talk myself out of it. And the sad thing is, as compelling a speaker as I believe myself to be, I absolutely FAIL at seeming pitiable.

I try not to speed beyond the average speeder in traffic because I know I'll actually get stuck with the ticket. Even if I was able to muster some tears for the highway patrol person, which I give myself about even odds for, I doubt I'd be believable, and this is a major failing in my criminal mastermind/secret agent ambitions. Women should be able to call on that, "I'm helpless/silly/don't know what I'm doing thing" at the drop of a hat. Feminists bear with me while I maintain that until we have salary parity it behooves us to use what ever tricks are at our disposal to level the playing field - consider the speeding ticket you talked yourself out of with eyelash batting as the first of many hundred dollars you are technically owed if that makes you feel better.

So, I'm checking local community colleges to see if classes are offered in this sort of thing because I figure, if I can't even scam Metro North out of $150, no one is going to invite me on that awesome diamond heist!

Shit My Mom Says

First email: "Dear Yelena, Went to my "insert address" button and it came up saying 'you have no addresses in your book' Now I didn't do that!!!!!!!!!! so.....here's the recipe and could you please tell me your address again so I cab create a new book? [recipe redacted]"

Second email: "Dear Y, I plucking hate using e-mail to send A RECIPE Do you know how long it's taken me? And all that list shit and tab and enter and pluck pluck pluck....... anyway Arrange on a heated platter and spoon the sauce over top. I served with soba noodles, but you can eat it over a pile of shit, you computer junkie,,,,,ALL my love, mom Also, I type with so many mistakes that I spend half the time backspacing and correcting But I do know how to iron"

I wasn't going to post today, summer and all, but then this arrived and I had to share it. I think it pretty much stands on its own.

The Secret Langugae of Deeply Disturbed People

I've been called out by a number of friend-readers on my decidedly un-Yelena-like mushiness towards Ye Olde Partner of Devotion in some of these postings. Sadly, I remain undeterred. A caveat is that I tend not to publicize our knock-down, drag-out, hair-pulling, bed-wetting fights because, well, one must have some standards (I also do not wax, at length, about the crazy, trapeze-inclusive, agar agar, shot-in-3D, monkey sex because I do not wish for you to become consumed with jealousy), but some of our shtick I think, biasedly so, is universally awesome and that it would be cruel not to share.

Take for example a curious trend in our online messaging. Aside from Devoted Partner's inability to use an away message for times when he does not wish communication (like during meetings, WebX presentations, and conference calls), we spend some quality time messaging back and forth a couple times a day. If you have ever received and instant or text message from me, you will notice that I have failed to grasp the simplicity of the medium and generally insist on typing in full sentences using capitalization and punctuation. This allows the person with whom I am communicating to feel completely justified in calling me out when I err and mistype.

Devoted partner and I started getting into Cute Overload speak, mostly in response to the puppy pictures we send each other. Example: Him - Sends cute puppy pic; Me - Types 'I has a wants.' But then it just got out of hand. Example: I has make peas for dinner noms. Now I can go several exchanges without using proper verb endings.

But after deciding that we would strive for significant reduction in fatness, we changed our messaging habits. Devoted partner, I think, started it by sending me a comic that included the important message: 'chickenchickenchicken.' Now we were sending one another messages through the cryptographic wonder that is chicken. Example: 'chickenchickenmustdolaundrychickenchicken.'

Are you still with me?

This led to merely removing spaces from many communiques. Example (from today, prompting this post): 'dustbunnystairs' ... 'cornersofbunnyhiding' ... 'livingroomrugofsadcrumbs.' Somehow this makes whatever has been written somehow funnier.

Now I'm not sure what to make of all this. If you've spent any time with us, you know we're not a couple that easily transitions to pet names and googoogaga talk, but this typing style clearly smacks of the same problem. I do know that I find what we type much funnier this way and iwillkillyouwithsharppointysticks seem somehow less serious. My only concern is that I think I now use 'noms' in everyday parlance, and that can't bode well for the preservation of the English language.