Recipe no°13: Chocolat Vert (and apple juice?)

1 cup of hot chocolate
1 1/2 oz. Chartreuse verte

Combine these two ingredients for a lovely pick-me-up on a cold, snowy day. Sip slowly; can cause slight heartburn.

A friend of mine, Omar, known for coming up with obscure truisms, once put something into words that I had always felt but never really thought about concretely: "Isn't Sunday night, like, the most depressing time ever? It's still the weekend, but you know you have to go back to school or work the next day, and you feel the week starting already..." Yes. Sunday nights are a fleeting, paralyzing moment of the week where you scramble to finish what you started on the weekend, or what you need to have finished for Monday. Why do you think there's so much good TV on Sunday nights? To zone us out of our end-of-the week depression.

When I was a kid, living in my hippie community Longhouse, I somehow managed to forget every single week that Sunday night was potluck. My mom would yell to me to get ready for potluck and I would inwardly groan, again? It wasn't that I hated potluck, it's just I forgot about it every time and planned to use those two hours toward procrastinating and wallowing in the calm sadness of Sunday night, instead of being quizzed by neighbors and harassed by their children.

Anyway, this weekend has been well-spent; went to see Benjamin Button (pretty to look at, but not near deserving of best picture, Oscar people), went out with friends...I really do feel I'm getting old sometimes though. I often go out, not wanting the night to end but hating every bar I try to go into; too crowded, nowhere to put jackets, umbrellas, etc. I think, this is why it's good to be rich. Room to sit down or dance, coat checks, and someone to drive you home at the end. I would just so much rather have a nice wine-soaked dinner party with friends, a dance party in my living room, or a leisurely meal out on the town when I can afford it. While I've never been a real discothèque type, I'm finding myself even starting to hate the crowded bar scene, especially in France (must say the U.S. is worlds ahead of France in fun bars--or maybe I just don't know where to go--and cocktails aren't even worth mentioning/buying here, for the most part). More and more it seems that going out is great way to spend more for your drinks while being fondled/harassed/having your hair sniffed by strangers.

Unfortunately I live with a host family, and too far out of town to have many elegant dinner parties, but I'm trying.

I never heard from G. this weekend, and I think I inadvertently offended him with a text message (ah, the convenience of modern technology). I didn't realize it was to the point of permanently ending our budding friendship, however. C. told me not to say mais, bon after telling him I didn't really understand his last text (and why must he write in English, not his native language, that's just asking for trouble!), but honestly I hate cryptic texts and wanted to convey my vaguely-pissed-off-ness with a casual, but, you know, whatever. Maybe I shouldn't write in French!

Well, off to savor my Sunday-afternoon gloom while it crescendoes slowly into full-blown Sunday-evening existential dilemma...I'll try to savor it. For the rest of you frittering away your Sunday on the interwebs, I hope I've entertained you and helped you to pass approximately 4 minutes. I'll leave you with another of Omar's gems:

Isn't apple juice sometimes, just like the best thing you've ever tasted? And sometimes, it's just, like, meh?

Totally.