Tour de France

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A long, long time ago, I can still remember…

I used to have a blog. A strange site that brought the weirdest people into my life. Then I became a bit tired of it. Mainly tired of my own life that was not so interesting and I guess I joined the general trend of being “blogged out” that seems to spread through the internet these days.

In addition to that, I became more and more involved in other adventures that indirectly involved blogging. I met the crazy Podcast duo Katia and Kyliemac and gradually became more a side branch of their lives than an own identity, a spin-off, the Joey for these Friends. I will hopefully last more than one season though. Evidently I adore these girls who’ve transformed my day-to-day routine into a real shenanigan. Not only have I been invited numerous times to the Coffee Table Studio, but I have also been part of their fun “Learn French” adventures. Finally, Katia and I joined a theater group that took us on a world tour. ahem, that is to say, we performed once outside Paris, in a little village that no one has ever heard of. But since our life just HAS to be an incredible adventure, The World Tour of Frog & Katia is how we’d like it to be remembered.

So, once again, this post is about one of the characters of the most famous expats’s podcasts in France. In this new amazing FwAB TV production, Katia is discovering the joys of the Fête du Village in La Sarthe, west of Le Mans. For those of you who are crap at geography, this would be west of Paris. Somewhere between Paris and America.

We played in front of a crowd of 60 people (more like 25) that consisted of old deaf grannies who loved our singing. But that part is another story, and a short video of one of our rehearsals is coming soon. In the meantime, do enjoy a video of Katia when she follows our audience to the Fête de la Musique after our show, how she steals the show by being the center of attention as usual and finally see how the musicians can’t resist joining her for a good old singing session, (try to pay attention to how Katia pretends she knows the lyrics of the Italian songs).

So if you’ve you’ve been wondering whether I was still alive or whether I was still blogging, that‘s where I’ve been during the past few months. Listen to our discussion about our last visit to a musical here. And in this other episode, you will hear everything about our Fête de la Musique adventure. Finally, in this one you will learn everything about nothing.

Love from, K&K’s special reporter on the field. Risking his life for his girls.


Tim Tam Slam

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ça va, ça va…

She meets an old encounter on the métro. It is obvious they don’t want to talk to each-other. Still they will talk forever.

Today, thanks to FwAB, you will learn how to make useless small talk with an old acquaintance you don’t want to talk to, et tout ça… en français.

Alors merci qui?

Heard on the métro:

Elle : ah bonjour, ça va ?

Lui : He mumbles something back. She doesn’t listen.

Elle: Alors, comment ça va? Ca va bien hein ?

Lui : He mumbles something again.

Elle: Ah oui ça va bien hein? Donc, comme ça va alors ?

Lui (…)

Elle : Oh, c’est bien, c’est bien si ça va alors ! C’est bien.

Lui : Et toi ça va ?

Elle : Oh ben moi, tu sais ça va hein, et toi alors, ça va ?

Lui : Bon à un de ces jours alors. On s’appelle hein?

Elle : Bah oui, c’est ça, à la prochaine hein. Mais bon ça va hein ?

Lui : Oui oui, ça va.

My Pain in Your Butt

I have a French female friend. Very chic. Very polite. Well-mannered and all. She comes from a good family and would never use dirty words. Well, not until she came to me the other day:

Friend: You know I lost it with an Australian couple the other day.

Me: Oh really, what happened?

Friend: Well, they were talking about France and how horrible French people are!

Me: Oh I see, so that’s why you lost it. But honey, you know everyone thinks we’re horrible, we just have to deal with it.

Friend: No, it’s not what made me lose it. So at first I asked them why they thought we were horrible and they said we didn’t work and were just a lazy bunch who were better at complaining than working.

Me: Oh my, I can’t believe Australians are saying that when we ALL know how THEY never work and stay on the beach all day! I understand why you lost it!

Friend: No, that wasn’t what made me lose it! Then they said that French women spent their working days painting their nails and putting make up on.

Me: Well, I’m understand that as a French hard-working woman, that made you really mad!

Friend: Well, wait, that wasn’t what made me mad, I mean it’s important to look pretty at work.

Me: So what made you so mad that you actually threw a fit at them?

Friend: You are never going to believe it. It’s so rude and unfair.

Me: Oh my god, did they complain again that the French won’t speak English?

Friend: No, worse!

Me: I don’t know, did they say that Paris was completely overrated?

Friend: No, Paris IS overrated.


Friend: They said that French baguettes were gross and French bread in general was tasteless.

Me: What???? No!!! They didn’t. Oh how dare they?

Friend: yes, I simply told them to piss off and leave if they were not happy.

She leaves the room, mumbling… “baguettes tasteless…pfffff”

Death, Birth, Divorce and Move…

… are statistically the four most stressful moments in one’s lifetime. Thankfully, I just experienced the last one, which is an upgrade compared to three of these moments I simultaneously experienced when I returned to Paris 3 years ago. Nevertheless, the past three weeks have been excrutiatingly tiring and despite the few negative sides of the new place I’m mostly excited. However, I wonder how long the negative sides are going to remain just a little anecdote of whether they are going to turn me into a freak show. Let me explain, I thought there must have been a hyperactive child upstairs or a person practicing for the Paris Marathon as someone kept on running back and forth the apartment above. Well, little did I know…


Last night, Favorite Mr B decided to go and talk to the restless child’s parents and ask them if they could make sure the child didn’t wear clogs when practicing for the race. That’s when we understood that the family upstairs not only had one child but… seven. Seven Chinese children living above me didn’t sound like the Sound of Music exactly. For when Maria Von Trapp sang “A Captain with 7 children, what’s so fearsome about that?” she didn’t have to cope with the Chinese bedtime songs, Chinese karaoke on Saturday morning and children jogging back and forth in the apartment above as if they were possessed by Jin Jao the Black Dragon.


I mean, who has seven children these days anyway?


But this is not the scariest thing of course. As Mama Asia upstairs thinks it’s a great idea to take this whole little Chinese child-colony to go out and play outside our windows on Saturday afternoon. No, the scariest thing is how Mother China decides to take her children out in the courtyard wearing… pajamas. And I mean SHE is the one wearing them, not the kids. But unlike Maria Von Trapp who designed pajamas out of colourful curtains from a fancy mansion on the lake side, Pling Von Trapp seems to have designed her pajamas in second hand curtains stolen from a Greyhound Bus anno 1985! But wait, she even sells the damn PJs!!!


I must say though that a good friend of mine, who belonged to the very kind and generous team of people who helped me move, witnessed the scene of Pling Von Trapp taking the kids out. She immediately had an uncontrollable crush on the said PJs and seriously considered going out wearing her own pair while shopping on Saturday afternoon. Let’s add to this that the said good friend usually refers to her own life as a musical. I just didn’t know that along pajamas, radios and computers there could also be musicals made in China.


Therefore, you understand dear readers, that after death, birth, divorce and move come Bus Curtain Chinese pajamas. But whatever happens and whoever runs above my head at 7 am on a Sunday morning. Here I am blogging for the first time in my spacious heaven, overwhelmed by the afternoon sun in my Asian part of town where I can find all my favourite Thai ingredients just around the corner.


So, wearing nothing but my new colourful Chinese pajamas, I just wanted to tell you that I’m back.


I’m not an ex-blogger yet

I’m just in the process of moving. No internet at home yet and too many boxes to empty to write anything interesting. But I’ll be back shortly. Don’t you dare give up on me!

I just remembered I had a blog. (in love with Miss Teen USA)

Dear readers,


I had two options, to either post about the fact that I have no inspiration at the moment or post about something that I stole from youtube which ultimately is a proof that I have no inspiration at the moment. Somehow, I chose the latter.


It must’ve been 2 nights ago when I was surfing through youtube (a bad habit but I know i’m not alone…). Around 1.36 am, I found it. The Youtube star video of the moment. I hadn’t heard about it before 1.36am two nights ago. It changed my life. I seriously hate beauty pageants although she and I once had the opportunity to go to the Miss Thailand contest in Bangkok as the company I worked for was sponsoring the ordeal. Needless to say that the half naked women on stage didn’t catch my attention as much as the complimentary buffet did. Thankfully the whole event was in Thai and I therefore had absolutely no idea what was going on during the popular meaningful question session. It must have been pretty similar to this:

Logically, the fantastic world of the internet embraced this new star and millions of inspired video responses and TV shows were posted and referred to the above mentioned South Carolina Miss Teen USA.

Bad taste but nontheless hilarious variations came to life quickly

While her whole family became the target of all jokes,

Finally, songs were written and you can be sure that this girl is on her way to be an iconic cultural reference in a few weeks.

Finally, let me show you how much smarter and more beautiful our French contestants are:

And yes, you’re free to say that I’m an arrogant prick.