The Concept and Reality of Cuban-time

A few days ago I sat waiting in silence for a full hour for an appointment I had scheduled. Feeling thoroughly indignant about the tardiness, hot air huffing out of my flared nostrils as I stared at the other disgruntled-looking people, it suddenly hit me that in being in Miami once again, I had re-discovered Cuban-time, something that I had long left behind when I moved to relatively-punctual France where you see neither hide nor hair of Cuban-timers.

For those who live in the unaware bliss of what "Cuban-time" is, I describe it as follows:

Cuban-time (noun)
The internal lack of punctuality in which those who are Cuban or of Cuban-descent (see "Cuban-timer") live their lives by being habitually late to appointments, social gatherings, events, meetings, even jobs, by a minimum of fifteen minutes

I hastily indicate that this minimum of fifteen minutes is the bare minimum. Chances are that your Cuban fellows are (and will) arrive much, much later than that minimum, give or take one hour.

Cuban-timer (noun)
A person who runs on Cuban-time

If you are having trouble trying to understand this concept of people being constantly late, don't worry. I'll guide you though this.

I want you to imagine the eternal wait that is a scheduled appointment in a doctor's office. Even though you have a set time that you know corresponds to you, the doctor somehow manages to see you a full hour after your actual scheduled appointment. As you sit there wanting to vocalize your mounting frustrations, you know that you can't complain about how late he's running because, let's face it, it is so frickin' obvious. Once your turn comes and you see your G.P. saunter over to you with his white lab coat, stethoscope strung about his neck like a shiny, tubular necktie, you are so thrilled that the wait is over and relish in the reward that comes from having his total, undivided attention.

The best part is he doesn't even apologize for making you wait so long because you are at his office, which is a doctor's office. Waiting for a long time at a doctor's office is expected so why bother pointing out the frickin' obvious? He's running on Doctor-time. You'd only be wasting your breath on the matter.

Well, Cuban-time is kinda like that. Only it applies to everything else in life, not just doctor's appointments. For instance, workouts at the gym run on Cuban-time. Trips to the beach run on Cuban-time. Visits to gas station pumps run on Cuban-time. Heck, even the buses in Miami run on Cuban-time because the drivers are most likely Cuban-timers themselves.

Thank God for movie trailers. For the non-Cuban-timers, the lengthy deluge of upcoming feature films may seem annoying, but those extra fifteen minutes are the key difference between a Cuban-timer either understanding a movie's plot or being completely lost for the rest of the film because they missed a crucial chunk at the beginning. In fact, I'm pretty sure no one in Miami has seen a full movie trailer for the past forty years.

The only exception to Cuban-time is restaurants. Cubans know better than to mess with a grumbling stomach; hunger induces anger and the last person you'd want to anger is a hot-tempered Cuban. (See I Love Lucy's often-miffed Ricky Ricardo as a reference point.)

I must address that Cuban-time produces unfortunate consequences if you happen to be employed. It doesn't matter if everyone else at the job is Cuban or of Cuban-descent: when you are late, YOU ARE LATE. I once had a co-worker who would arrive at 9:45 in the morning, sometimes even as late as 11 a.m., to her job. While she was an excellent employee, she was dismissed for being tardy so frequently.

Another downside to Cuban-time is that the lateness can get a bit carried away. While a minimum wait of fifteen minutes is expected, even considered normal, there are instances in which it expands into several awkward hours. On one particular anecdote from my childhood, I remember having a play date with a friend and spent the whole afternoon hanging out at her house. Around 6:30 p.m., I called home and asked my very Cuban-time-based Cuban father when he would pick me up.

He didn't arrive until close to 11 p.m. I even telephoned him in one-hour intervals to see when he would show up. Every time he picked up the phone, he assured me with the most sacred of Cuban-time lies mantras: "ya voy!" ("I'm coming!")

On the bright side, my friend's parents were Cubans and were therefore in the know of my Dad's tardiness. I  also remember having burgers and French fries for dinner at my friend's house that day so all was well.

Now, for you non-Cuban-timers who have recently immigrated to Miami and are at the end of your Culture Shock rope because you view being late as rude, inconsiderate, even irresponsible, you may wonder what can be done to cope with handling such a bizarre habit. A good way to battle against Cuban-time is to trick the Cuban-timer in question with the wrong time. Tell them that, in reality, the event will take place at least an hour in advance than it really is.

Even if you are not comfortable with telling little white lies, this solution becomes vital when it comes to appointments you simply cannot afford to miss. Indeed, lying to a Cuban-timer is crucial if you need them to be on time.

You think I'm joking about this?

Try having a wedding in Miami and invite a bunch of Cuban-timers to it. Go on. Try it.

Even though the time listed on the wedding invitation is 6:45 p.m., I guarantee that the first Cuban-time attendants will come straggling at  6:44 p.m. and that the ceremony itself will actually start at 8. Because, guess what? 8 o'clock p.m. was the real time in the first place. That extra hour and fifteen minutes listed on the wedding invitation were sagely factored in for the Cuban-timers.

Believe me, I've applied this practice to my own life whenever I deemed it necessary. In another vivid instance from my youth, back in my Senior year of high school, I enrolled to take the dreaded SAT (Scholastic Assessment Test) on a Saturday at a different location from my school, which was a good 30-minute drive from my home without traffic. The test was supposed to take place at 8:15 a.m. Since I didn't have a car or a driver's licence at the time, I had to rely on my very Cuban-time-based Cuban father as my mode of transport.

When you are in your last year of high school, you CANNOT afford to miss taking the SAT because, like the ACT, it is a requirement to getting into university. There was no way I would be late that morning.

So, what did I do?

What he meant by "6:30 tomorrow morning" was in reality "just kidding, I'll dawdle around the house while you wait for me to get the car keys and then we'll both panic as we rush to leave at 6:48 a.m., lulz."

That meant that I had not even a full half an hour to get to the location. Of course, since I knew what time the exam actually was, this didn't bother me too much, but let's assume what would have happened if it had taken place at 7:15 a.m. I would have been late, possibly excluded from taking the SAT altogether. Even if the examiners would have allowed me in the testing room, this wouldn't have included the extra minutes for taking roll call, finding a seat and settling my nerves prior to bubbling in the answers on the various reading and math portions. So it was a good thing that I had lied.

It wasn't until it was seven o'clock when the drive was well under way, Dad speeding his teal Toyota Tercel down the early-morning streets of Miami and muttering that it was a stupid move to schedule a test that early and that an incomprehensible idiocy as this certainly wouldn't have ever happened in Cuba, that I felt the pang of guilt for having manipulated my father with my own selfish needs. It didn't matter how little and white the lie had been; I HAD LIED. Strapped in my seat belt to the right of him, I revealed to Dad that the exam was, in fact, at 8:15 a.m. and not a whole hour earlier as I had claimed.

His reaction?

He smiled with relief and said:

"We have enough time" wasn't in my vocabulary that morning and I wasn't too keen on having my evil plan thwarted by own admission of telling the truth. I stressed this point to my father while politely disagreeing with him on the matter of going in the opposite direction of town to get coffee at his favorite cafeteria*.

*Cafeterias are, in essence, corner cafés in Miami. They are an essential watering hole for jazzing up on Cuban java and loading up on ham croquettes and the occasional cheese-and-guava-filled pastry while talking to the apron-wearing Cuban ladies who attend at the window.

In retrospect, we probably did have time to stop for coffee, but knowing my Cuban-timer Dad, I didn't want to risk missing that SAT appointment. It should have been no surprise to me that Dad would have even considered changing his route to get a cup of coffee. If he had extra time on his hands, he would make the most of it. This laid-back approach to putting life's events on hold only provides Cuban-timers with the means to thrive. Life is already stressful enough, so why bother having to live and die by the clock? Once I moved to Dijon, I got to experience an entire culture that truly stands by this.

As much as it may irk me to no end when someone arrives late, I have to keep in mind that I am of Cuban-descent myself and am therefore not immune to what comes naturally. Despite my good intentions and attempts at keeping a strict schedule, I often drove my punctual French friends crazy with my habitual tardiness. I admit that my former French boyfriend suffered the brunt from all the times in which I claimed it was only a few spare minutes before the bus reached a stop. A typical interaction often went like this:

French Ex: "Are you almost here?"

Moi: "Almost! I missed the first ride and this damn bus arrived two minutes late at my stop!"

French Ex: "Uh-huh. Suuuuuuuure it did."

Now that I think about it, my being late all the time may have been a key factor that led to our break-up.

In short, if you ever plan to make an appointment with me, give me a thirty-minute head start from the official time. Your sensibility at punctuality and the Cuban side of me will thank each other and forever live in perfect harmony.

Unless I turn around and stop for coffee. Then all bets are off.

Barb the French Bean

A Re-Cap of French Bean's 2011

1) Celebrated the New Year in Dijon and went soldes shopping. Acquired new dresses.

2) Went on a snowshoe hike in the Hautes Alpes with my French BFF Mimi.

3) Became an addict to Speculoos.

4) Celebrated 24th birthday. Co-workers gave me a nice birthday/going-away party.

5) Didn't want to leave France so tried to look for a job. Had three interviews; didn't get a job.

6) The post as a teaching assistant ended for good.

7) Went to Spain for two weeks to visit family and friends.

8) Went back to France for two weeks.

9) Had to leave France. Specifically, Dijon. Fell at the top of an escalator at the RER stop near the Orly airport (which took off a good chunk of skin from my right knee). Flew from Paris to Berlin, then Berlin to Miami. Have a nice scar from the fond memories of Paris's grand good-bye to me.

10) Went back to Miami.

11) Hated being in Miami so left to visit Coffee Bean in Orlando. Met Cool Guy there.

12) Went back to Miami.

13) Got depressed. Started emotionally binging on chocolate, chips and ice cream.

14) Went back to Orlando.

15) Started dating Cool Guy.

16) Went back to Miami.

17) Started long-distance relationship with Cool Guy.

18) Got depressed. Started emotionally binging on burgers, fries and shakes.

19) Started writing a novel.

20) Went back to Orlando. Spent time with Coffee Bean and Cool Guy.

21) Went back to Miami. Discovered that local supermarkets sell Speculoos.

22) Tried to look for a job, to no avail.

23) Got depressed. Started emotionally binging on cheese, breads, speculoos, speculoos and more speculoos.

24) Surprised to discover that I gained twenty pounds. Felt utterly disgusted that most of my hardwork went down the drain (and straight to my thighs).

25) Learned how to bake bread...sort of.

26) Had Thanksgiving with family. Binged on turkey, eggnog and coquito (Puerto Rican eggnog).

27) Went to Orlando to visit Coffee Bean and Cool Guy.

28) Got offered a job (via the internet) to be the Minister of Transport for Holland.

29) Broke up with Cool Guy.

30) Went back to Miami. Started eating salads and cucumbers.

31) Celebrated Christmas with the family.

32) I'm pretty much bored out of my mind.

The Stats:

Total number of Ex-boyfriends: 1

Total number of hours spent whining about wanting to go back to France: approximately 450 hours (and counting)

Total number of job interviews: 5

Total number of internet job offers: 1

Total number of real-world job offers: big, fat goose egg

Total number of pages written for novel: 184 (and counting)

Pounds that I need to lose: 45 (approx. 20,4 kilos)

All righty. Sorry that I didn't provide a nice cartoon with this blog post because, quite frankly, I'm just not up to it. Maybe I'll draw something later.

Nevermind. Here's a cartoon of a Kickass Ninja Squirrel.

So, dear readers, I wish you all a Bonne Année 2012! Here's to some more future blog posts!

Barb the French Bean

Things You Can Learn from Our Blog

As I sat bored in my room one rainy day, I decided to go back on everything Barb and I have ever written and realized that we have written a few things worth learning.

1. Everything you need to know about Cuban and French Coffee.

2. Things don't turn out the way we hope...They turn out to be better than we hoped for.

3. Some retail jobs judge you by appearance.

4. We sometimes can't control our urges (wants).

5. The French are not arrogant, rude people and do not eat snails everyday.

6. Some people are known for musturbating.

7. Blogging is a great outlet for people.

8. Sometimes we have to stop worrying in life.

9. Some snails are hermaphrodites.

10. Sometimes the heart and brain do not agree.

11. You can get over an ex-boyfriend using the five stages.

12. Google gives out the best ideas ever.

13. Some video games take control of your life.

14. No matter how hard some things may seem, friendship makes things better.

15. How to meet people.

16. How to cure insomnia.

17. No matter what we do, we always must look our best.

18. People are similar to animals.

19. Facebook has taken over the world.

20. Places in France you can find a bathroom.

21. Sometimes love/like does come your way (even if you thought it never would)

22. Dating sites are sometimes not the answer.

23. Life has its ups and downs, but things will always look up (what comes down has to come up eventually...)

24. You experience a lot within a year (and some manage to survive them).

25. Ex-boyfriends (sooner or later) come back.

26. Writing posts about boyfriends is not such a good idea (especially if you two break up).

27. Life is an adventure.

28. Never waste beer.

29. Some men are men-children.

30. There is always some regret in life.

31. Tutorials are a waste of time sometimes.

32. Behind every asshole is a bitch that made him that way and behind every bitch is an asshole that made her that way. vicious cycle.

33. Making money is not easy.

34. Halloween can be dangerous if you don't give out the good candy.

35. Urban legends sometimes have a true back story to them.

36. Dr. Pepper brownies exist!

I know it is a long list, but trust me it is worth taking a look at it. I know I learned a few things from some of the posts I read (even if i did write some of them...and that is saying something.)

Hanny the coffee bean

The Brain Anatomy of a Man-Child

NOTE: Male readers, I am not calling anyone a man child, so no need to get offended. Take this as a debate if you must.

A few weeks ago, I experienced what I would like to call a ridiculous break-up. If you have been reading my posts from day one, then you probably already know that I have gone over the past year or so through two break-ups and a so called rebound. Not very proud of that.

When the break-up occurred, I was left distraught and felt like I was stuck in some vicious cycle. I blamed myself for hours, but in the end I came to the conclusion that it was absolutely NOT me.

I'll explain my conclusion in a later post, but for the past few days, my tiny brain developed an idea. What if I could write a comedy about my life? What if I could share all my bad experiences in a way that will make others laugh? Of course, bad experiences aren't a laughing matter, but it's better than being depressed, right?

So the idea of writing a book came to be. Though, I will be sharing some of my experiences here (like I always do). Hence, the title of this post.

The Brain Anatomy of a Man-Child.

I came up with this idea when I started to ponder upon what goes on in all of my exes heads and why is it that when they have someone good they let it go? and yes I do consider myself someone good (without trying to sound conceited). Then of course I realized that many of them have all been a Man-Child.

The Man-Child as defined by Urban Dictionary is

1) a grown man who is very immature, therefore considered a man child.


2) A man by age but a child in mentality and actions. Can't have fun without a beer; oftentimes brews his own beer. Still relate to women as sex objects (even in their marriage) and are emotionally undeveloped (e.g., fight for their rights mentality even if there is nothing worth fighting; rarely takes responsibility for own failings). A general irritant to women and men that have matured.


3)A full grown man, over the age of 20, who still needs to be supported financially or emotionally by his parents. May or may not live at home with parents, but needs consistent reassuring. Is unable to have healthy relationships with women because of childish behavior, but is in desperate need of someone. May or maynot be a fanboy or gamer.

Keep in mind, you can't believe everything Urban Dictionary says, especially when it comes to my name, but this all sounds about right.

Now that a Man-Child has been defined, I think it is time to look at the brain anatomy of a Man-Child.

Let me just say that this is NOT referring to a man, but a Man-Child.

The Man-Child brain:

Sex (all the fun none of the responsibilities): Everyone thinks about sex (yes, even women), but what makes the man-child so different from a man is that the man-child could care less about the other person. The man-child likes one night stands and easy women. If the man-child is in a relationship, he will not give anything to the other person except a late night call to see if he can have his way with his so called "partner." A man at least puts the effort (calling everyday, flowers here and there, supporting the other person, holding hands, etc...) not the man-child. Sometimes the man-child will also try to pressure his "partner" to give in to him.

Video games, beer, strippers, and porn: No there is nothing wrong with anything I just listed in the category, but when it comes to the man-child, these are the only things he really cares about. Rather than making a future for himself or giving his life some sort of purpose (like using his hidden talents), he rather spend day in and day out sitting in front of his computer obsessing over porn, sitting in front of the tv playing video games all the time, sitting in front of the tv with a good beer in hand or sitting in front of strippers. A man will like these things too, but it isn't his priority.

Lies, lies and the usual cover ups: Everyone lies once in a while, but the man-child will bull shit alot. The man-child will give you a bunch of useless information trying to show his intelligence, but manipulates this situation to add something that isn't real. The man-child will also tell stories and if the stories do not make sense, you know it's a lie of some sort.

Emotional insecurity: The man-child is full of insecurities, but emotional insecurities is one that comes to light. Everyone gets hurt emotionally at some point and we tend to grow from it, but a man-child will hold on to the past hurts and does not let go or move on from it. Therefore, every relationship that he has with women is an unhealthy, self destructive, and selfish relationship. The man-child is also stubborn enough to not admit when he is wrong in certain situations. This also applies to whenever something goes wrong in his life, he takes these things as attacks rather than to have patience and deal with it like mature men do.

Future: The man-child's future is displayed as being one of the smallest in the brain along with a healthy relationship with a woman and intelligence. The man-child is intelligent, but because his priority's are other destructive things, the man-child cannot put his natural skills and talents to good use, which leads him to self-pity (self-loathe as well) and depression. Thus causing him to experience a lack of healthy relationships and a none ending vicious cycle (unless he offs himself or grows five other pairs of balls).

There is so much more to a Man-Child, but it would take a weeks worth of writing to explain this complicated type of man. Just know not all men are alike, just the ones in the man-child category.

Hanny the coffee bean

B-B-B-Boooooyfriiiiieeend?!

I can't bring myself to saying it, I am still in shock as to what I got myself into. It happened rather quick and unexpectedly. Since last Wednesday, I became someones girlfriend.

That's right, I said G-I-R-L-F-R-I-E-N-D. The very word I have to spell out because I am still in shock that I now have that title.

Anyone in my position would feel happy to be in such a great relationship, but for some odd reason, I am having trouble accepting it. Sure, I was hoping for the day we would be "official," but the very word boyfriend sounds weird to me.

Perhaps, it is the fact that I have been single for about a year now or maybe because it feels "too good to be true."

Maybe it's because it is just recent or most likely it could be the fact that I had gotten so used to bashing my ex-boyfriend, crushing on random boobahs, or getting hit on by a creeper. Either way, I still can't bring myself to saying the damned word without stuttering.

Hopefully with time, it will get better.

Hanny the coffee bean

February 29th? Birthday? Facebook? What?!

As I mentioned in my past post, I was born on February 29th.

This year, it did not appear on the calendar and on years like this, I celebrate it Feb 28th-March 1st. Hell, If I don't have a birth date then why not have two days to replace it? Of course, officially I consider March 1st my official day to turn a year older. However, Facebook decided otherwise.

I had just woken up from my sleep to go to my 8am class, when I decided to check Facebook (It seems to be a routine). As I logged into my Facebook, I noticed I had about 6 notifications. I didn't think anything of it, until I read the first notification.

"Happy Birthday Hanny!"

To my surprise, the other five notifications were the same... After that moment of shock, I proceeded with my day, but as the day kept going, so did the notifications. I kept checking my Facebook every hour and every hour there were more people wishing me an amazing birthday.

Well needless to say, I had more than 8 wishes and knowing that Facebook (sort of) remembered my birthday was good enough.

Though I was not able to do something special for my birthday, my roommates made it more than special when they surprised me with a cake.


If you add the 2 and the 3, you will get my leap year age.

Of course, the birthday wishes didn't disappear on the 28th. No, I still had one more day to go...the day I "officially" turned a year older. I woke up to amazing birthday text messages and more facebook birthday wishes. Since I had a day off from school, I decided to go use some of my birthday coupons, which gives me free breakfast, lunch, and dinner (I still have coupons left). On my way to getting my lunch, I did not expect to see what I saw...

My poor little heart was racing, how could it be possible that out of all days, all months, I end up seeing my ex-boyfriend driving his car past me. The worst part is that it happened on the day I usually celebrate my birthday, the day he made me cry last year.

I didn't think much of it, I just thought it was the most bizarre thing to happen to me. After that, my birthday just felt like another normal day.

Overall, it was a great two day birthday except for the part where I see my ex, but not even he could ever ruin the happiness I felt of seeing so many Happy Birthday wishes.

Though now thinking of it, it would have made me even more happy if I could have done something like this:

Hanny the coffee bean

How Ninja Squirrel Protects Me From My Loser Ex-Boyfriend

Ninja Squirrel shows no mercy for white flags, Loser Ex-Boyfriend.

Barb the French Bean

Forget About What I Said Earlier

A few hours ago, I wrote about how happy I felt for apparently no good reason.




I went to my classes feeling happy.




I walked back home feeling happy.




I prepared my delicious dinner while still experiencing the floating sensation of utter joy.





And this feeling of elation lasted up until...

(Cue music from Carmina Burana)








MY LOSER EX-BOYFRIEND SHOWED UP ON MY DOORSTEP.








I could not believe it. I JUST COULD NOT FUCKING BELIEVE IT.





Why won't he leave me alone? Why, when I think that I am getting ahead in my life, does my past have to dog my present?



I've been so rattled by the experience that I'm still shaking from the encounter.

You want me to have a Happy New Year? THEN LEAVE ME IN PEACE!!!

Barb the French Bean

Well, I Caved in and Did It.

I'm 23 years old and I've given up hope on finding the elusive Mr. Right, A.K.A. Prince Charming. I am fairly convinced that the Disney Prince Charming that was hammered into my brain as a little girl is really just a big farce that has completely distorted my perception of what I should look for in a man.





I'm not saying I haven't encountered my fair share of men. I've met plenty of Mr. Oh-So-Wrongs, Mr. HELL NOs, Mr. Way Out of My Leagues and Mr. Ha-Ha, Yeah Rights. And let's not forget Loser Ex-Boyfriend (A.K.A. Mr. What-The-Hell-Were-You-Thinking, Moron?).

I've been told several times that I shouldn't look for love. Love will come to me. I shouldn't waste my time searching for the Right One. The Almighty and Most Sacred Right One will just magically appear before my eyes when I least expect him to.

Whatever. I'm sick of that bullshit. I caved in and signed up for a dating website. It was a bit bizarre having to write a profile for myself, and in French, no less.

I'm still a bit wary about the whole experience, but we'll see how that goes...

Barb the French Bean

Introducing...Another Late Night Post with Coffee Bean

It seems that all my ideas come to me late at night, but they rarely are ideas, they are more like random crazy thoughts. Anyone who is around me late at night will find how disturbing my mind can be, you would think I was on crack, but no I do not roll that way. I would like to call it a natural high that creates this whole little universe inside my head filled with some very messed up things.


I for once think I am absolutely normal (If I compare myself to all the other disturbed geniuses).

My first thought of tonight was nothing out of the ordinary, it was the usual guy that filled my thoughts.

No, it is NOT my ex-boyfriend, who I so happened to see this afternoon, but my mind was in thought with this other guy. The mere presence of my ex could not disrupt my happy in like thoughts.

(Lets call this other guy-- boohbah (the weird creatures in the following video)).



Anyways, so boohbah has been a great friend to me for a couple of months, but slowly without me realizing it, I started to become very fond of boohbah. It is kind of complicated to explain the closeness I started to have with boohbah, which basically means that boohbah and I have swapped spit (imagine swapping spit with a real boohbah).

At first this was just something sweet, but the more time we spent together talking, laughing, being their for each other, and just having fun with friends, the more I started to realize how much in like I was with him.

There are times where I can't eat because he's in my head.

There are times where I can't sleep because he's in my head.

There are times where I can't move because he's in my head.

Honestly....none of that has happened, I eat, sleep, and move well, but he is almost half the time in my HEAD.

I have told him how I felt, but it was a while back, and I do not think Boohbah knows how much my liking for him has grown. I do not even think Boohbah knows that I want to date him.

I have never wanted to date anyone in my life. Usually I get the requests, and sure I'll date them after being persuaded, but it has never been the other way around.

Finally, I find the one person I want to date, the one who has not at all persuaded me to date him, and the one who has shown absolutely more maturity than all the other Teletubbies I've dated.



Yet I still have no idea what to do about how I feel. Would I really want to risk ruining a friendship because I have a HUGE crush on Boohbah or do I just hide my feelings away and pretend like I am not over Mr. Fucking Idiot Teletubbie? (Teletubbie has nothing on Boohbah!).

I think I will rest on it before I start talking about liposuction and bees.

Hanny the Coffee Bean

(of course none of the videos are mine...not as demented as mine would be. Btw the cartoon lyrics are from MC Hammer-Can't touch this).

An Update from Yesterday's Post...

After a veeeeeeeeery long conversation, Loser Ex-Boyfriend and I have decided to do a "break" on the whole friendship. Meaning that we won't be speaking to each other for a while. It's my own personal strike in life.


Although I am pleased to report that he was impressed by my weight loss. He even commented on how mignonne (cute) I look now. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I thank all of you who left me messages about how to react (or, rather, what I should do), but it's hard to explain things sometimes. Perhaps I may lose some "cred" among you for having talked to him. I can't quite explain what's going on within me, guys. It's not love, that's for sure. But something's going on.

Also: I HAVE A SCALE NOW. And it says that I have now lost 36.74 pounds/ 16,7 kilos!!! ZOMG!!! I am now 51.26 pounds/23.3 kilos away from surpassing Shakira in hotness ranking!

That means that I have lost nearly 4 kilos since I stepped on French soil. Pretty soon, I'll have to shop for new jeans in maybe a month or two.

Jean shopping. IN FRANCE.

o_O" That strikes absolute terror into my heart. More than seeing my Ex again.

Just eight months ago, I was stuck trying to find a pair of jeans that would fit me in Dijon; I FOUND NOTHING. Not even in the incredibly unfashionable old grannies store. I was on the verge of tears but instead called Mom so she could send me a care package with new jeans.

I now hope that things will be different when I do buy new jeans!

(I promise that I will be back to my comedy blogging schedule soon...I got an idea just today, too!)

Barb the (slowly but surely disappearing) French Bean

Hoo, Boy...

For those of you who are not up-to-date with French current events, I expect that all hell will break loose sometime in the next few days.


For months, the French government has been debating whether or not to raise the retirement age for workers. The unions had planned a strike to occur today.


Last Saturday morning, I woke up to the news that the French Senate passed the bill to increase the retirement age from 60 to 62. It happened when no one expected it. BEFORE the strike happened. I'm pretty clueless about France's system of deputies and whatnot, but I do know that this decision will not sit well. The first thing to go will be the public transportation systems: buses, trains, the Métros in the larger cities.



As it is, my two ways of getting around Dijon are by bus and my own two feet.



YEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaah...



Let me tell you that purchasing a bike looks VERY tempting right about now!



France is on strike today. I'm only used to one or two day strikes, but there is talk that the French railway will have une grève illimitée , a strike that has no exact date of when it will end...so this will be new for me. I expect a complete disaster in all areas of service.



In my Miami mindset, planning for a disaster (like hurricanes) includes buying two weeks' worth of food and water. Maybe I should add some terrine de foie gras to my Carrefour shopping list as well.


And in other news, Loser Ex-Boyfriend is in town and he wants to see me. Before I left Miami, he messaged me via Facebook to see if I would bite and accept his apology (which I stupidly did). We both agreed to be friends... and ever since then he's been spewing some total bullshit that I was his first love and that he misses me and my cooking. Why the fuck did I break the third step in the Kübler-Ross model? I shouldn't have bargained ANYTHING with that jerk.

Keep in mind: he still is dating his current girlfriend, so I really can't see why on Earth he would want to see me. He surely has better ways of spending his free time.

When I think about their relationship and the particular backstory about how her parents hate him, I think of this song:




I say let him come. I'll make him regret he EVER broke it off with me.

Wish me luck, folks.

Barb the (incredibly stupid) French Bean



Disclaimer: the video is not mine

Dear Ex Boyfriend and Lunatic Druggie Roommate

Dear Ex Boyfriend,
You are the scumbag of this earth. Though we have had pleasant memories together, you have done nothing more than to ruin my life. I remember when you said that you would never leave me, but when I most needed you, you left me. Not only did you manage to break my undies when you decided it would be a fun idea to put them on, but you also caused me to lose a scholarship, get kicked out of my dream school, and put me in a financial rut. Sure, maybe I shouldn't have let the emotional wounds you had caused me to distract me from my studies, but how would I have managed to do that when you broke it off with me during finals week? You kept me hanging, and I couldn't even stand up to you because of my undying love for you. This letter could keep on going and going, but I would rather set my hair on fire, roll in a bed full of roaches, stick my hand in a tank of piranhas, eat my own foot, get bitten by a rabid animal, and get struck by lightning rather than having to say another word to you.

I hope you are happy with the dog you decided to leave me for.

Never will be yours because I'm too good for you,

Hanny


Dear Lunatic Druggie Roommate,

You are the crappiest person I have ever met. I remember the first time I met you, I thought you were going to be different from my last roommate, who was a liar and a bit psychotic, but you ended up turning into some kind of evil lunatic. You were always hanging around with your boyfriend, and just his presence made the apartment feel uncomfortable. There was something about you two I never liked, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I thought I was just being judgmental, but boy was I wrong. You made my whole spring semester a living hell especially when you broke it off with your boyfriend, and you started to bring strangers into the apartment late at night. Not only did you make the whole apartment feel unsafe, you also brought in criminals to the apartment making me fear for my own well being. Throughout the chaos you wrecked at the apartment with your heavy drinking and your use of drugs (making the whole apartment smell bad), I tried to avoid you and the apartment, but by doing so it caused me emotional stress, mental stress, lack of sleep, lack of study time, spending money eating out, and paranoia 24/7.

I hope you are happy wherever you are.

Your very unhappy, paranoid, and broke roommate,

Hanny


Thank you for the baggage Ex-boyfriend and Lunatic Druggie Roommate.

Hanny

The Passive-Aggressive Vengeance of an Ex-Girlfriend

[Based on your level of experience, you may or may not be able to relate to this post.]

Many years ago, while watching an episode of Frasier, I was introduced to the famous list of the five stages of grief, more appropriately known as the Kübler-Ross model. Technically, this process is related to people who have been diagnosed with a terminal illness and therefore must come to terms with their inevitable passing. However, I clearly remember on Frasier that Kelsey Grammer's character went through the process after he had been laid-off from his radio host job at KACL.

If it worked for Frasier Crane, it can certainly work for me.

1) DENIAL

Um, what?

What did you say?

It's over??? No, it can't be. I refuse to believe it!

Maybe he's just playing a trick on me. Maybe he just wants to have some time to himself. Maybe he will realize what a mistake he is making by breaking it off with me.

Put these ponderings to rest: the omniscient Facebook sees it all.



It can't get any clearer than that.

2) ANGER (Also known as "Crazy-Bitch Mode")

There are several ways to display your rancor.

a. Write him a series of expletive-laced "I hate you" letters



(Do not mail these out. That would be kicking the horse when it's already dead.)

b. Dance like a loon to a series of "I hate you" songs. That being said, the song will have a major bonus if it has a rocking beat.

Example:


(I realize the subject of this song happens to be a girl but, oh, Juanes, you totally understand me! If you don't understand Spanish: trust me, this song fits perfectly with what I'm feeling.)

c. While listening to the "I hate you" songs, tear to little itty-bitty pieces any photographs you still have have him lying around. You'll find that this can be extremely therapeutic. Throw away the torn pieces in the trash, right where they belong.

d. Build a time capsule. Place away all of the items that remind you of him/that he gave to you in a box along with your "I hate you" letters. Seal that box. In twenty years, when your life is significantly successful, open the box and laugh.

Note: Don't let your anger get out of hand. You may start to become angry at things that have no fault whatsoever.


3) BARGAINING

Why on earth would you bargain anything with that jerk? Ugh. Skip this step.

4) DEPRESSION

Depression is NOT an option. That loser doesn't deserve your tears, nor will smoking marijuana, nor will scarfing down a box of Oreos daily be conducive to your well-being.

Instead of moping, focus on improving yourself, on making yourself be better. Set positive goals for yourself and cast aside the spurned, lovesick naïve girl; she's nothing but a shadow of who you used to be.

Here's my goal:
(Oh, stop sniggering. This is a good goal, dammit.)

5) ACCEPTANCE

Now the process is complete. You did it! You have surpassed the Colombian mega-star in hotness ranking and you've consoled yourself with the idea that your ex's life will only amount to being that of the town's canine feces collector.

Barb the French Bean

Heart in Love = FAIL

A few months later...

That is why love can be a major FAIL.

Barb the French Bean