Stamped: September 1st, 2005 | Toggle Similar
Tagged: mom.

I love being an ex-pat.

I am everyone’s excuse to take a little European vacation and visit their “weird half-French socialist friend who lives in England”.

Even when I’m unemployed, I can still say I’m an ex-pat.
Oh what do you do?
I’m a professional ex-pat. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week – this job just doesn’t give you a rest.

I should get a membership card. Or a badge.

Once when I was moping around a damp Paris complaining to my tender flower of a mother over the phone about how much I hated my job, she gave this sage advice “Stop you’re fucking whining Betty. So what if you hate your job. You live in Paris. Me and my friends would give our left tit to be where you are right now”.

Ahh, the joys of dual citizenship. I have American men asking for my hand in marriage so they can live out their dream of running a vineyard in the Loire Valley, I have French men proposing to me in hopes that they can one day own a McDonalds on the south side of Chicago and serve the burgers rare.

Taking the eurostar from London to Paris to visit my fabulous English and Irish friends in our home away from home ex-pat bars, I am reminded how much cooler it is to be the charming American in a room full of Europeans than the charming American in a room full of equally charming compatriots. A lot less competition let me tell you.

Last 5 posts by Betty

• Under heart-shaped pressure - February 14th, 2007
• Going Geisha so you don't have to - November 10th, 2006
• Baby Jane gets laid - September 22nd, 2006
• Wax on, Wax off - August 25th, 2006
• My summer is filled with beer and balls - June 14th, 2006