THINGS THAT MAKE YOU GO 'AWWWWW'

Marc and Dave on the pre-business side of Saturday night

Happy Sunday evening from the business side of another full weekend. This week flew by in a flash, in part because we didn't get back from Berlin until Monday evening, thus making it a short week, and in part because well, because the time/space continuum seems to have sped up ever since NASA smashed a rocket into the moon. You knew that was going to come back to haunt us one way or another.

Why is this cake shaped (sorta) like a diaper? I'm getting to that...

School work just won't quit for me and work-work isn't quitting for Marc any time soon, so it was a lot of bunker down nights at the McShelley homestead this week. By Friday night, however, we cried uncle (or oncle en francais) and met a few friends at our new neighborhood hangout, Le Tabarnak* for happy hour. A few beer and vodka-and-maple-syrup shots later, we turned in at a reasonable hour knowing Saturday was going to be a big day.

If you read the post title you may be wondering by now which part of this week's little recollection makes one go 'awwwwww.' Not Le Tabarnak*, as one makes a different sound after any more than two vodka-and-maple-syrup shots, and not water on the moon as the sound for that is 'Nuh-uh" because we all know it's really made of cheese. Am I right?

What was I saying? Oh, right: Baby Shower!

Katherine and Kirstin during Saturday night's festivities

That's right, my little zygotes, I co-hosted my second Geneva baby shower this weekend, this time for my looks-fab-while-preggo-and-former-drinking-buddy-but-hey-I'm-patient-and-we'll-be-celebratin'-here-soon-friend Katherine and her husband Josh*. Now, Katherine and Josh are no strangers to the Rue, and if you're a regular reader or accidentally stumbled upon this blog* you'll know Marc and I force them to hang out with us all the time. So sorry for them.

This Saturday was no exception, as another set of friends, Leah and Dave, opened their great apartment so we could co-host a baby shower for the Mom & Dad-to-be. It was a great night (yes, even for a baby shower. but we had wine, lots of it, and a game that had nothing to do with poo and everything to do with a crossbow. respect), with fondue, drinks, presents and cake. What more does a party need?

Above: Karin sets up the crossbow while Minzi and Ruthie look on.

Below: Isabelle and Leah set up for their shots into the 'dirty diaper pail'

Now all the tiny origami diapers have been put away and Mr M. and I are back at the laptops, tapping away as the last bricks of darkness stack up outside of our windows. It's another non-travel week, which seems both boring (I think the pace of life over here is starting to wear an indelible impression on me) as well as blissfully non-crazed (I think the pace of life over here is starting to wear on me, period). Until the next round of caribou*, dear Ruers, be good and I'll check in soon.

For now, the baby shower slideshow:

*Le Tabarnak is a new-ish bar in our neighborhood which I may have mentioned once or twice on this blog. Well, okay, apparently more than a few times because a Google search for "Le Tabarnak and Geneve" brings up this blog post in the first few hits. I discovered this the other day while searching for the address to pass on, then Josh discovered this little fact when a co-worker walked up to him and said, and I quote:

"Dude, I did a Google search for Le Tabarnak and Geneve to find the address and your photo came up on someone's blog."**

Oops, sorry Mr. J. I owe you a shot.

**That is not a direct quote but a fictional reenactment. A lot like the first televised moon landing.

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TEARING IT UP AS THE WALL CAME DOWN

Wait, don't go. Okay, now go!

The Berlin amplemann dude, he just cracks me up.

Howdy Ruers. You'll have to forgive my non-Sunday night posting (really missed it, didn'tcha?) but we just landed back on Geneva time after a long weekend in Berlin, Germany.

It was a dual-celebration weekend, with the 20th anniversary of the Berlin wall coming down and the I-really-shouldn't-say-it's-not-polite birth anniversary of our friend Josh.

Four of us border crossed on Friday afternoon (on a flight full of Geneva friends, strange but fun) to arrive to great Berlin weather and lots of wall-related activity.

This trip to Berlin had lots of things in common with our last one: Marc's friend-from-back-in-the-day Mark met up with us again and my Marc and I had the usual love/not-hate-but-I'm-not-buying-a-summer-home-here discussions about the city. Pretty standard fare. But this trip had the added bonus of throngs of revelers plus meeting up with my French camp friend and resident Berliner, Anne.

Know what else the two trips have in common?

Beer. Lots of beer. And sausage. Lots of sausages.

It's possible I speak worse French than just a few months ago, when Anne and I were tooling around sunny Bordeaux at French camp. Thankfully, she rocks it in several languages and I could just speak my bad English with her when we met up for dinner.

Another night, another dinner.

Katherine and Josh dig in at the hipster cool burger joint, The Bird.

As far as wall celebrations, more than 1000 foam dominoes were decorated by school children and set up throughout the city. We were already on the big bird in the sky when they toppled over Monday night, but snapped lots of pictures -- before the fall -- over the weekend. Below is a shot of them by the Brandenberg Tor, and here's a link to CNN's video.

Besides domino gawking, we also jumped in to the Pergamon and DDR museums, ate lots of hearty German food and walked our toesies off.

Kirstin in the Pergamon. If she could talk she would probably say something like "Stop taking pictures of me, Marc."

Wait, she can talk and that's probably exactly what she sounded like.

Our weather luck ran out on Monday, when the sunny skies and cool temps turned to nasty cold why-did-I-go-to-Germany-in-November drizzle, but that just gave us more reason to duck inside the famous West Berlin department store, KaDeWe.

Katherine gathered Berliner doughnuts at KaDeWe for the birthday boy's cake and we all dug in. Yum.

Now it's late here and the laundry is piled next to the machine to start another round of wash, rinse and repeat here in old Geneve. Just like an EasyJet version of daylight savings time, starting the week's clock a little late no doubt means we'll pay for the fun, but tonight only the calf muscles are complaining.

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HALLOWEEN: ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE

Here's Frankenstein...

Greetings from the start of November, Ruers. We're bunkered down at the laptops on Sunday evening after spending the morning digging candy corn out of chair crevices. Well, that's not entirely true... we had a bunch of fun friends here last night for Halloween and we didn't do anything at all this morning except recover.

Then we got up and cleaned up candy corn, in that order.

... and his spooky bride.

Before the candy cordials started flowing, however, Mr. M went to see his Finnish family in Helsinki and back this week, returning with the requisite Fazer mints and loofah. Then the good times continued when All Hallow's Eve fever struck our apartment and cobwebs were strung by the chimney with care. Wait, that's the next over-commercialized holiday.

Halloween isn't big over here, which means throwing a Halloween costume party isn't as easy as heading down to the nearest Target for one-stop-shopping. Instead, candy corn was ferried over from the States, spiders were made out of trash bags and glitter pens, and decorations were flown in from Newfoundland. (No particular reason to have decorations from Newfoundland except a girlfriend was visiting her family there and was nice enough to fill her suitcases with glow-in-the-dark skeletons. We non-Europeans-who-insist-on-celebrating-our-damn-holidays-even-though-it's-not-the-custom-here really stick together.)

After I covered the apartment's front door with Katherine's handmade bats and witches, we did have three trick-or-treaters. Okay, we only had two; one little boy came twice. He didn't even change costumes. But whatever, I gave him another bag of candy, mainly in the hopes he'll tell his little French friends how great Halloween is and how cool Americans are for handing out sacks of candy just for knocking on the door. I don't understand how Halloween isn't big everywhere. What was I saying? Oh, right...

... some of the costumed crew during the party. That's Dorothy and the Tin Man (the Land of Oz would later sweep our costume contest, winning both Best Male and Best Female Costume prizes), Bride of Frankenstein and her hubby, Frankenstein, Tom Hanks' castaway and Wilson the volleyball, a geisha and a 70s dude (you'll have to check out the slideshow to see his 'fro.)

But the work was worth it as we had a ball and almost 100% costume participation rate, even though it was the first Halloween party for several friends. There was even a fortune teller doing tarot readings in the living room. Spooky.

The weekend went too fast, though, and we'll all be paying for our costumed fun when the alarm bells ring Monday morning. Also, my three week streak (count 'em -- 3) of staying in Geneva will come to an end as we're heading to one of Marc's favorite cities, Berlin, at the end of this week to help celebrate the 20th anniversary of the Berlin Wall coming down and the 30th anniversary of our friend being born. Coincidence? I have no idea, but I really doubt it.

We'll return with lots of pictures. Until then, friends, happy start of November and here's the Halloween fete slideshow:

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LAZY SUNDAY

For the first weekend since some time in September, we've stayed in Geneva for both the week and weekend. After dinner with friends at Le Goût des Autres on Friday night, Mr. M and I spent the rest of the weekend grocery shopping, doing laundry, rearranging furniture and watching several hours of American football. Lame? Maybe. But we found it pretty awesome, cuddling up over conversations like this one:

"Wow, that felt really good."

"I know. Can we do that again tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, definitely. What was that??"

"Eight hours of sleep."

"Hot."

We're crazy, I know.

The pace of life here seems to be slowing, with October and November marking that lull between the vacation-heavy days of summer and head-to-the-resort skiing days of winter.

While walking in the city on a chilly day earlier in the week I noticed the sidewalks were wide again, lacking the outdoor tables and visiting tourists. Those few souls that were wandering the streets with me were decked out in black coats, the signature European color.

One of Geneva's busiest and famous shopping streets, Rue de Rive, generally looks like this*:

... looked like this on Sunday morning:

Granted, that's not exactly apples to apples as nothing moves on a Sunday morning, but it reflects well the emptiness felt in the depths of my heart as I begin to realize it's really, really time to let go any hopes of basking under a blazing sun. Sigh.

Mr. Marc heads to Finland later this week (where it will be even chillier, no doubt) but I'll stay here and see what kind of trouble I can get into without a chaperone. The aforementioned furniture moving was in preparation for our upcoming Halloween party next Saturday, and I'll be avoiding school work this week with some cobweb spinning. It's inevitable.

We'll definitely have spooky pics to post (there will be a costume contest) and tales of sweet cordials (I've been infusing vodka with candy corn for a week now). Until the next post, it's been a treat.

I did not take this first picture, but instead found it here. Respect.

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HALF DOZEN DOWN

All of tonight's pictures come to you from the Crissante Alessandria winery in the Piemonte region of Italy.

Drink up!

Greetings from your road-weary Ruers. We're just returning to old Geneva today after a long weekend in Italy and are both sitting around with laptops open, trying to get some work in while watching taped college football. (Now that I know UT won the Red River Shootout I can venture on Facebook and start to read my e-mail again. But don't tell me how Mizzou v. OK State ends yet.)

Even though we were only at the apartment for 5 nights since our last trip, we can never turn down an invite from our favorite Italians, Larry & Clara, to visit their place in Perosa Argentina and hit the wine trail.

This weekend we had extra reason to head across the Mont Blanc tunnel, as it was the truffle, or tartufo, festival this weekend in Alba as well as our 6-year wedding anniversary.

Coincidence?

Let's just think about it... The tartufo fete celebrates the region's incredibly rare (and incredibly expensive) tartufo bianco, or white truffle. Our anniversary is the celebration of me getting to wear an incredibly expensive white dress, or vestito bianco. Yeah, there's no way that's just a coincidence.

We headed down Friday afternoon after making it through a work week that threw us a few mid-week curves. Wednesday night we helped raise some funds for Democrats Abroad at a beautiful apartment in Geneva's old town, or Vieille Ville. Marc could only join us for about an hour before needing to run to a work dinner, but they let me tend bar for a little while which you know makes me happy ... all the proximity to alcohol. Later we would have an incredibly lucky run during the end-of-night raffling of prizes, and I got to go to the front of the room after my name was called to win a health care basket. It had Ted Kennedy's new book and several US health-related goodies, such as Advil (okay, probably not as exciting to you guys in the US, but aspirin is always on our Target list when we're back in the States).

The real McShelley coup, however, came one second after I returned from the "stage" when Marc's name was called out during the raffle of a one-week vacation to a chalet in Provence, France.

Yeah, seriously, the guy wasn't even there and he won a week in France. Lucky duck. I debated not even telling him and "disappearing" for a week next summer, but I broke down in the end and spilled the beans. Maybe I was feeling sentimental since he has managed to survive six years with me... he deserves a week vacation. (That's a joke -- I'm not letting him go alone. But I will accept bribes to sleep on the sofa there.)

The next night we may have still been celebrating, or just may not have a lot of common sense, as we threw down pretty hard during the week's second work-related dinner. It's always fun to get together with that crew, but we get the sinking feeling that the rest of them are often cursing our name the morning after any get-together. You see, we had ended the night at our new favorite bar, Tabarnak, with our new favorite shots, the caribou. It's never really a good sign when one walks into a bar where the bartender knows you (or, wait, wasn't there a television series based off that concept?) and one is ordering shots of vodka and maple syrup by the dozen.

"Don't worry," Mr. Bartender says, "I'll only charge you for every 10."

Well, by 4th round he was throwing them back with us and those who remained into the wee hours -- Marc and I shut it down -- were no doubt wondering the next morning how something that tasted so good could hurt so much.

It was that next morning that I woke up, had to suffer through a French lesson with my tutor ("la vie est dure", or 'life is hard' is his favorite expression to use on me when I start telling him how much my head/feet/etc. hurts after a trip/fundraiser/etc. I tell him "n'en commence pas," or "~don't start with me" when he gives me guff), and eventually pack a quick suitcase for our Italian weekend.

Saturday morning we hit the wine trail fairly early, driving about an hour into the Piemonte region to visit the Crissante Alessandria winery.We had never seen the actual estate before, but were very familiar with its wine after bottling 70+ of its Nebbiolo during our recent corking experiment.

Here soon we'll be just as familiar with the estate's Barbera, as we loaded up on 54 liters of it plus a few bottles of Barolo and even an oak-aged Grappa. It's clearly dangerous for us to start tasting wines before noon.

After the morning excursion the crew headed to lunch (all 3 hours of it ... Alba is famous for the slow food concept) then of to the aforementioned tartufo festival. Sunday morning Mr. M and I loaded up the (ungodly) mount of wine into our 'Buru and headed back across the Swiss border. Tonight we'll have a super-romantic pick-up pizza to celebrate the half-dozen mark (it was mutually determined that we've done enough "celebrating" lately to warrant a calm night in).

This week looks relatively good from where I stand (which would be sitting on my couch with a glass of wine) but maybe we'll find some trouble to get into. Either way, I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, here's to another six...

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MADRID IN CANAPE FORM

Okay, I'm way too tired to put these into proper order, so let's start at the end: Here we are at the last night of the conference, Friday, at the Casino de Madrid. For one week Madrid was passed to us on a plate. (It tasted like shrimp.)

Greetings from a rather windy Rue. La bise noire, or the black kiss, is blowing through here today, making it as chilly as any winter's day.Picasso's anti-war statement, the beautiful Guernica. We toured the museum, Reina Sofia, on Saturday.

It's late Monday night (now Tuesday that I'm publishing this) and we're finally unpacked and laundered after a week in Madrid. Last time I checked in it was from the football (soccer) stadium of Real Madrid and while that was just a week ago tonight, the rest of the week would pass in equal frivolity, or at least the nights. The days were pretty normal -- Marc holed up in a conference room and me dividing my time between school work and sightseeing. By the end of the week I had checked into all three of Madrid's top museums, or the "golden triangle of art": The Prado, the Thyssen and Reina Sofia.

Each one was fantastic, from the amazing private collection at the Thyssen to saluting Picasso's Guernica at the Reina Sophia with Marc on Saturday. Some time after the "Young Lawyer Pub Crawl" on Thursday we sat down in a real restaurant on Calle Baja and had a fantastic Northern-Spain meal with some Canadians and a British who, thankfully, spoke Spanish. Some time in the morning the restaurant finally closed down and kicked us out. But only after serving us a fantastic amber-colored digestif. No, I have no idea what it was.

But it wasn't so much about the days as the nights. Each night of the conference was another cocktail reception hosted by another set of law firm names and another set of networking-opportunity business cards being passed like pokeman figurines.This was way back on Monday night, with Mr. Marc wandering the stands at Real Madrid. Okay, that was a fantastic party.

The best I can count it was -- for us at least -- 6 straight night of cocktail receptions, making a new record for the McShelley household. Look, for all the crazy things we've done, I've never had to be dressed, coiffed and canaped for 6 nights straight. I'm mean, I'm sure that plenty of Mc-households do that, especially come politics or party season or what have you. But, however you count it, after the welcome part with the King (never saw him) and touching the grass at Real Madrid, we had parties at Real Fabrica de Tapicas, Lavinia, Plaza de la Ville and the big closing fete at the Real Madrid Casino. So, I know what you're going to ask, which is the same thing I thought... what the hell am I going to wear to all those parties? Well, never fear, I found something for each night (thank god for Zara. One night I wore a belt inside out and called it a new outfit. Count it.)Kirstin with a glued-to-her-hand glass of Champagne during the closing party on Friday night.

By Friday night, after a closing party that ended on the roof of a hotel, my feet hurt so bad that I was dreaming -- and I'm not making this up -- about fashionable boots that felt good. In my dream they were Timberlands but seriously how much do your feet have to hurt to dream about good-fitting shoes?

Come Saturday the week was done and Marc had the day off to see the city with me. We found Mexican food (at Tepic, yum) saw some stuff and I, not unexpectedly, bonked come mid-day. We finally headed back toward Swissy-land and arrived at the Geneva apartment about 11p, threw the suitcase down and crashed.

Okay, it's Kirstin again, this time with her nose in a wine glass during the after-bars on Tuesday night.

Now we're on the front end of another busy week, with fundraisers and office dinners, but when we make it through we'll get to end the week with a trip to Italy. I know, no room for complaints, but whenever there's a party smack dab in the middle of the week that features a cocktail I've been practicing for a few days, let me just say this ... it's not going to end well, Italy trip or no.

Now Mr. Marc at Trombero after a cocktail reception at Real Fabrices de Madrid, or the Royal Tapestry Factory. They totally let us have wine near their fancy rugs.

So, Ruers, the Madrilenos slideshow is to come (after I get my new laptop, which is set to arrive tomorrow, yee haw!) but until then, have a great week. We'll check in again soon.
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THE REIGN IN SPAIN

Hello Ruers. I hope you will forgive the long, long time between posts. I do have a unfortunately-good excuse, though.
Do you ever wake up on a Monday morning and while fighting the urge to remain in bed all day start to think of things to add to the week's to-do list? So, there I was, bedhead and all, thinking that it was going to be a fairly busy week PLUS I was just remembering how I needed to get my bangs trimmed up before the end of the week because we'd be traveling here soon and I really only like Dino to do my hair. So I grumpily put "Call and book Dino for bang (franges) trim," on the mental list and I grumpily rolled on out of bed.
This glimpse into my pajama-clad morning does have a point, and it's this -- just when you think the only thing to add to your list for the week is a 15-minute bang trim with Dino, you walk into your living room to find out your apartment has been burgled in the night.
Awe.Some.
It was more like a snatch-and-grab, and the basic lowdown is that I left a front window open and somebody climbed in and snatched my laptop that was sitting too close. Yes, I'm dumb for leaving the windows open, a fact I was told several times by the Frenchie police. Yes, I'm lucky nothing else was taken, I wasn't hurt (Marc was gone), and there don't seem to be any residual problems on the credit cards, etc.
So, I've been left laptop-less smack in the middle of the semester -- not cool -- and smack one week before leaving for Spain for a week -- Spain is cool, but traveling smack dab in the middle of the semester without said trusty laptop is not cool. Luckily, I get by with a little help from my friends and am plugging in now in the lobby of our Madrid hotel thanks to a loaner laptop from Josh and Katherine. Given my laptop reputation it was bold of them to let me abscond across the border with it but I'm definitely closing all the windows now.

SO... that made last week even nuttier, given that Marc was traveling State-side and at a large time difference, which meant I got to tell him the great news just before he boarded for an 8-hour plane ride from D.C.. There's nothing like trying to convey rather scary news between incessant airport announcements. It also meant that all of Monday was wasted trying to use my French to communicate with the police, which resulted in one conversation that I'll translate for you like this:
Police: "So somebody broke in to your apartment and stole your laptop."
Kirstin: "Yes."
Police: "Do you live on a boat?"
Kirstin: "What? No."
Police: "Then we can't help you."
Click.

Okay, he didn't hang up on me like that, but he wouldn't help me because, that's right, I don't live on a boat. See, the information I had said to call the closest police department in cases of non-urgences. So I called geographically the closest one because we happen to live geographically close to the lake. But it turns out I don't live close enough -- read on -- the lake.

So, suffice to say, the day went on in this fun fashion and I eventually filed a report for a laptop that has probably been sold twice over on the black market.
And that was only Monday.
Tuesday morning Mr. M returned bright and early from the last place we had checked in together -- the DC airport -- after spending a week State-side for conferences and meetings and other lawyerly things.
Tuesday night I let Marc work out the jet lag on his own and attended a planning party for a fundraiser that is coming up next week. If you're in the area -- and American -- come by the Democrats Abroad 45th Anniversary cocktail party on Oct. 14th. There are raffle baskets that include anti-matter (one of the upsides to being so close to CERN) and I volunteered my bartending services so there will be some world-collapsing going on in one form or another.

The rest of the week flew by in a flash -- we had a celebration dinner on Thursday with friends who just found out the sex of their expected baby... BOY... and on Saturday we went to a fab dinner party at Gina and Trevor's where Trevor put us through our paces with about 8 courses and bottles of wine to match for each. We could hardly move to drive home, but had to get our asses in gear, as ...
Sunday morning we headed to the airport for this week's travel: Madrid, Spain.
Marc has a week-long conference and neither of us had been to the city before, so despite the hectic-ness leading up to the trip we've been so excited to come.

Of course, I'll regal you with Madrid stories for posts to come, but suffice to say it's been a little crazy. This conference has 5,000 international lawyers and while Marc is in seminars/presentations all the days, it turns out the real action happens at these outlandish soirees during the nights.
Let me just give you a little example: Sunday evening's welcome festivities were opened by the King of Spain. Uh-huh, I was seriously at the same party as the king, Juan Carlos. No, we didn't meet him -- he was actually gone by the time Marc and I got there, but we saw pictures on BlackBerries. So that was one of the craziest parties I've ever been to because it was so over the top. There were about 3,000+ people there and all sorts of traditional Spanish goings-on. Sword fighting, pottry throwing, dancing, etc., not to mention the food and drink.
I had no idea, though, that as wide-eyed as I was on Sunday, Monday night got even wilder as we were allowed to take over the Real Madrid football (soccer) stadium for another cocktail party. I mean, we were on the pitch (field) of arguably the most successful football team of the 20th century and it was so cool. Especially since we had all the Champagne we could drink.
Last night was a reception at Lavinia, a wine shop, then Marc and I snuck away for a real dinner (reservations at 10p) at Ramses, an uber-hip little restaurant where the door people look you up and down upon entering their sacred little hole. We, of course, are Americans and walk right in because hey -- isn't America always in fashion?
The days aren't as glitzy but I've managed a few museums -- the Prado and Thyssen -- and am on a personal dork quest to eat at a few of the places Ernest Hemingway frequented while in town.
Words often fail -- usually because I'm writing them -- and only pictures will do for some of these explanations, but I won't be able to plug in the camera until the new MacBook arrives in a week or so. Until then, I'll try to improve my vocabulary and keep you better updated. Now, however, I've got to do some schoolwork before tonight's festivities -- a Young Lawyer's Pub Crawl through Madrid --all in the name of networking.
Be good, thanks for checking in here at the Rue!
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WATCH, RUN, WASH AND REPEAT WEEKEND

It's been a relatively quiet weekend here at the Rues, what with no one around to entertain me.
This weekend I saw a movie, Un Prophete, to fulfill my self-imposed French-Movie-of-the-Month requirement. I would tell you more about it but, err, it was in French.

Saturday morning I headed out to Carouge, a municipality in the canton of Geneve, to run a little 5K. The Run-to-Run spanned the entire day, with the kiddos taking off earlier in the day then my age group -- err, 12-to-85 year olds -- finally getting our chance about 3p. It was a 5k, so over in a flash, even for turtles like me. (Left, the men, or hommes, take off down the streets of Carouge.)

I didn't train for it like I have for other races, but I did manage to stop drinking the entire night before. After the race I stopped by Globus for a reward round of Chinese food (yes, Marc, I had the Singapore plate without you. If you hurry home we can share it like we alwa... oh, no, I ate it all) plus a glass of Champagne. (Below, my liquid gold trophy... Champagne and orange juice.)

Saturday night I took it easy, tried to catch up on the mountains of reading laying at my feet, watched UT trounce UTEP thanks to the power of technology, and washed my hair. So yes, gentlemen, women really do sometimes stay in and wash their hair. They're also turning you down, but the hair thing is real.

The last I heard from Marc he was heading toward our nation's cap city, dreading another round of flights and single-serving seat mates. I tried to cheer him up by reminding him that after he lands Swiss-side in a few days we'll have a whole week to catch up before the next trip. Those were not, I believe, words of comfort.

I would tell you it's going to be another busy week here at the Rue, but that's just getting silly now, isn't it? Pictures and posts to come, but for now enjoy what's left of your weekend and enjoy that just-washed feeling.

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IT'S LIKE OBAMA DIRECTLY APPOINTED ME TO BE AMBASSADOR OF LUNCH

The residency at the American Embassy in Bern, Switzerland

So, let me catch you up.
Last November Barak Obama beat John McCain to become President of those United States of America. In January he had a bunch of parties and moved in to the White House. Some time later el Presidento appointed an ambassador to Switzerland and Liechtenstein (we’re a twofer). About one month after said Ambassador and family moved to Switzerland for said ambassadorship, I got to have lunch with Mrs. Ambassador at the residency for the American Embassy in Switzerland. That's crazy.

Mrs. Ambassador and Mr. Chef in the Victory Garden. They were soooo nice, and let us tromp around their garden after lunch.

That’s the general picture, and the details were just as much fun. Mrs. Ambassador, a.k.a. Megan Beyer, invited the women of Geneva’s American International Women's Club to lunch. While not a member, I support it whole-heartedly, especially since they let me hang out and do the fun events. So Katherine, who does pay the dues, snagged me an invite to the invite and we headed off to Bern this morning for lunch at the residence.

Mr. Chef shows off his eggplant plant. Do you say that? An eggplant plant?

Nine of us from the Club plus a few embassy staff members were greeted by Mrs. Beyer where we had pre-lunch cocktails, lunch, a walk around the Victory garden (just like the Obamas!) with the chef then coffee in the sitting room. Truth be told, Mrs. Ambassador is very sweet (and looks just like Hillary Clinton) and it’s pretty amazing she has been reaching out to many groups – Women’s Club and otherwise – in an effort to make the embassy more accessible. “It’s our home,” she told us. “Our taxes paid for it.”

Next time I’m sooo bringing my pajamas.

With Bern being nearly 2 hours away, the lunch took the day, but we had a fun carpool so the time flew. The gal driving, another Club member, regaled us with stories about walking the red carpet at the recent Cannes film festival, which proves people around here have lives that make our nutty world look tame.

Speaking of nutty, Mr. M is on that big bird in the sky on his way to a meeting State-side, which means I’m here drinking Champagne and eating cheese. Of course, I already miss him terribly. But the Champagne helps.

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BITTEN

We're wrapping up a -- much needed -- quiet weekend here in old Geneve by pretending the days aren't changing.

On Wednesday, Mr. M. pretended it was already the weekend and went to a punk rock concert at l'usine. He's much more of a rock star than I am, as I stayed home and fought the jet lag monster. On Friday and Saturday, we pretended we were still young rock 'n' rollers and tried out new bars on consecutive nights. Technically, one was an old fave but had just undergone a face lift, so we visited it with fresh eyes. Those fresh eyes spotted a new offering on the menu:

"Look," said Mr. M, "A Snake Bite. You love Snake Bites."

Not one for lying, Marc was telling the truth. I love what I understand to be a Snake Bite, which I understand to be a pint glass filled half with stout (usually Guiness) and half with cider. I understand it to be Yum. We've even gotten into this conversation with bartenders in America, specifically at Austin's Ginger Man Pub. What's the difference between a Snake Bite and a Black Velvet? A Black Velvet and a Black and Tan?

Well, many bars have their own version of events, and this pub was no exception. The Snake Bite served to me was a pale ale and apple juice. Not cider, apple juice.

Oh, those crazy Swiss. This was taken on Marc's phone, but here I am questioning the validity of my Snake Bite. Looks a little pale to me, dearies.

Saturday was a truly-new bar, Tabarnak, designed in the style of a no-foolin' Canadian lodge. The house drink, a caribou, was a shot of vodka and maple syrup. As we downed our second round of the night (yes, shots and beer. I told you we were pretending this weekend.) you can just imagine what we asked the bartender...

"Where'd you get the syrup???"

He told us the store with the magical elixir but then came the hammer. It's $25 a liter, the bartender said. Oof.

Speaking of syrup, you'll often hear us lamenting the particular foodstuffs we may miss, or how it's hard to be so far away from friends and family. There are two particular times of the year when the distance especially hits home: College football season and March Madness. September being the glorious start of the former, this Sunday morning we pretended it was still Saturday and had a College Game Day football morning with our friends Mr. and Mrs. Breakfast Tacos (and some human friends, too) since the UT v. Tech game didn't come on until 2am our time. Heart-wrenching, I know.

Tonight we're going to bunker down as Monday begins another busy week. We've got a dinner party tomorrow night then Mr. M takes that big plane ride in the sky on Tuesday, leaving me to wo-man the old homestead, and we know what that means.

Wait, no, I have no idea what that means.

Well, as I find out I'll check back in and post pics. Until then, be on the lookout for magical made-up cocktails and enjoy what's left of your Sunday.

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