The Year of the Mantra

Hello Darlings!

I started a post about New Years Resolutions back on January 10th. I edited it, twice, and let it simmer. I looked at it again, yesterday, and nope...still not resonating. Last night I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for an hour, and finally The Oracle spoke to me. I hope you'll forgive the delay, but this message was worth waiting for (at least for me!)

Forget what you know about resolutions. If you're still going to the gym, bless you. If your best intentions have somehow fallen by the wayside, forgive yourself and MOVE ON. This is the Year of the Mantra.

I distilled this definition of Mantra from various sources:  A sacred verbal formula repeated in prayer, meditation, or incantation. Any sacred word or syllable used as an object of concentration and embodying some aspect of spiritual power. Mantras may be spoken aloud or uttered in thought.


Take a moment to reflect on your priorities for this year. I propose that you choose one or two goals/ideas to pursue. That's not to say that you shouldn't have many things to accomplish, but for the purpose of the mantra, two is plenty.  

Here's an example: 
You want to run a 10k. (I started to write "run a marathon" but I broke out in hives, so let's start with a 10k.)  Your mantra could be: No Excuses. Every action and choice you make should be in support of your mantra. You don't want to get off the couch and train? No Excuses. Intimidated by other, more seasoned runners? No Excuses. The weather sucks and you stayed out late last night? No Excuses.

No Excuses could work for many objectives, though I prefer mantras that are affirming. 

I have created two mantras for myself. If they speak to you, use them as well, or create your own.

Your Body is a Temple
It seems to me that every week, I am hearing of another friend who is fighting cancer. Or another friend whose loved one has been taken from them by a horrible disease. More and more I am conscious of the importance and blessing of good health. If you are not thanking the Lourdes or the Universe or your lucky stars or your strong genes that you are waking up healthy, then get with the program, Friend. It's called gratitude and awareness.

Your Body is a Temple means (for me) throwing out old make-up. It means flapping my (bat)wings a few mornings a week. It means eating only high-quality chocolate. Miss O is not about to give it up altogether, so might as well eat the good stuff.

When I'm feeling lazy, burdened with bags, and I want to take the elevator, I tell myself Your Body is a Temple and it helps me get my ass up the stairs. Your Body is a Temple gives me the reason to go to bed early and get a good nights sleep. 

If you have been putting off getting a mammogram or having your prostate exam or your moles checked, please remember that Your Body is a Temple. It may not be the most fun activity of your week, but it could buy you another 40 years on this wonderful whirling globe.

Even Miss O is not perfect and sometimes she turns a deaf ear to her mantra. So maybe I didn't take off my eye make-up before going to bed. Maybe I indulged in  a "non-nutritious" meal. That's ok, do it the next time. Don't punish yourself with negative self-talk or guilt (a truly useless emotion). I recently caught up with an old friend, who told me that he had put on weight a couple of years ago from "angry eating". I was floored. First, I had no idea that men engage in emotional eating. Second, I was grateful that it was angry eating and not angry drinking or angry meth use. Third, I was impressed that he was able to recognize and name the behavior and put the kibosh on it. Angry eating, angry anything is pretty much the opposite message of Your Body is a Temple.

If Your Body is a Temple is a mantra that could work for you, I would add that anyone who has the pleasure to be intimate with you should also treat your body with reverence and respect. Frack that, they should worship it!  * If you are involved with a partner who does not worship your body, please see me during office hours.

Darlings, forgive me, the second mantra will have to wait until our next installment. This will give you a chance to get started on your own. Good Luck!  I have a hungry Dragon whose temple of a tummy needs to be filled.

Making the List

I am a list maker. I often have multiple lists going at the same time: marketing, household errands, brilliant schemes for world-takeover.

I write my lists on used envelopes (part of my effort at recycling). I keep a block of post-it notes next to my bed for noting middle-of-the-night ideas that will have evaporated in the morning's light. For me, writing something down liberates my mind. I have captured the thought, the idea, the obligation and now I can return to regularly scheduled thinking.

I once made a list called: Things that are freaking me out. I dated it (I believe that's an important component to making an effective list), and proceeded to spew all the items (mostly unimportant) that were suffocating me. By naming my fears, I was able to confront them, and temper my stress and anxiety.

I  like making new years resolutions: positive changes that I want to create in my life, in my community. One year I made a list of 20 (!) resolutions and posted it on my fridge to be a daily reminder. Did I accomplish all of them? Not all, but many!

2012 has been a challenging year for most people I know. It is a year that brought a marvelous, miraculous being into my life, but also a year in which I said goodbye to a dear pal, a year in which so many friends lost loved ones, parents, siblings, spouses. It is a year in which people close to me are fighting against horrible diseases, depression, loneliness. The world is in rough shape, Darlings. And this is a tough time of year for too many.

I do want to talk about new years resolutions, but before we can plan for the coming twelve months, we need to bring closure to this year with The List of Lamentations. Too Biblical for you? Too heavy? Deal with it, Darlings. Sometimes we have to go through the dark, heavy stuff to get to the other side lighter and more enlightened.

What is The List of Lamentations?
It is your opportunity to put on paper the worries, concerns, grievances, fears and disappointments that have been weighing you down this year. Since this is your first LOL, you have a one-time pass to lament an event/experience from a previous year, but please don't go dredging up a slight that happened in the eighth grade.  There is no limit for your list. There is also no need to go looking for misery just for the sake of wallowing or out-lamenting your neighbor. If you have a legit lament, it will come to mind quickly. Get that crap out of your head, out of your psyche and onto a piece of paper. Your list is personal . No lament is too small, nor should it be deemed trivial. The LOL  is for your eyes only.

N.B. This is NOT a pity-party. This is an evacuation of toxic sentiments from the emotional and physical you.

I have many blessings in my life, what could there possibly be to lament? If you are reading this diary, you probably have a roof over your head, enough to eat, and plenty of basic comforts (luxuries, even) that others must do without. You are still entitled to lament.

To help you get started, I am going to share my list:

-I lament the state of my manicure or lack thereof.
-I lament that my business has not grown as I hoped it would.
-I lament the loss of my former lifestyle.
-I lament the appearance of  newly acquired flab on my upper arms.
-I lament that I sometimes have challenges of communication with my dearly beloved.
-I lament that I am out of touch with too many of my galpals.
-I lament the passing of a close friend.
-I lament the presence of  racism, homophobia, and misogyny in my beloved America.
-I lament the absence of neighborliness in too many communities.

When I look at my list, it feels overwhelming at first. Crying over your list is OK and frankly, very likely. You are owning some dark feelings. You may be remembering a loss or reliving a disappointment and it can be painful.

Perhaps you are looking at my list thinking: how is a shabby manicure a legit lament compared to the death of a loved one or staggering racism?  This is not about comparing suffering or who had the worse year, the most misery. You don't have to explain or defend your laments. I will share that my crappy cuticles affect my self-esteem and that affects many other parts of my life.

Get your list down and you are over the biggest hurdle. It takes courage to acknowledge disappointments, to face fears. I don't expect you to breeze through this in a few minutes. Give yourself a quiet place to reflect on those thoughts and emotions which are not/no longer serving you.

Now we move on, we move forward. There are three possibilities for the laments on your list. You can:

Release
Change/Challenge
Embrace

Release is another way of saying Get the F*ck Over It.  For me, the lament of my former lifestyle needs to be released. I have already spent too much energy dwelling on this "loss" and moaning about poor old me. Basta! Was my previous lifestyle better than the one I have now? Not really. And anyway, it's in the past.   So let it go for Pete's sake.  I have a friend who has been lamenting the end of a relationship for the better part of the year. A WHOLE f*cking YEAR. Gone. Please, Darlings, I am sure you have situations and emotions that should be released. Do it.

What about the flabby batwings? Two choices here. I can put my vanity aside and release it or get my ass off the couch and CHANGE IT. It's up to me.

Racism, Homophobia...what can I do about it? This is a lament that calls for CHALLENGE. If I hear someone use a racist term, I am going to call that motherf*cker out, even if it's a friend. Especially if it's a friend. I have a close pal whom I have heard make anti-semitic jokes. Usually the other listeners laugh and I shake my head or make an uncomfortable face rather than rock the boat. You know what, that's not good enough. I have a responsibility to my friends, to my community, to my son to not look the other way, to not tolerate behavior or language that is demeaning to others.

The most difficult lamentation to face is the loss of my dear friend. I have a range of emotions from anger to emptiness to denial. So this is the one that I have to EMBRACE. I will embrace his memory. I will embrace his positive impact on my life and the lives of others. As I told him shortly before he passed on, loved ones live on in us, in our thoughts, in our memories, in our good deeds and our compassion.

Darlings, I pray that you will take the time to do this for yourselves. We can truly start the new year with a clean slate if we make peace with the past.

The Day of Reckoning

Darlings -

I bring you a message from The Oracle...

Tomorrow, Tuesday, November 6, we enter a period of Mercury Retrograde.  Astrologically, a retrograde is when a planet appears to be moving backward through the zodiac. I won't bore you with the details of orbital rotation and planetary motion, simply know that activity is happening "up there". During a Mercury Retro phase, there are challenges to communication and transportation, as well as mechanical breakdown.

What does this mean for you? You may be presented with situations over which you feel you have no control. You DO and you WILL have control, simply pause before reacting and proceed slowly. This is not the moment for hasty decisions. Inform yourself, reflect, and then take action.

I can testify that the communication hiccups common during MR always rear their head Chez Miss O. We're only in the shadow period (before the actual start of the retro) and there have already been a few mild shouting matches for absolutely no reason. I have had to talk myself down, more than once, from going full-fledged "Crabitha". This is a period rife with misunderstanding and disrupted communication, so take a step back before you fly off the handle, and make sure that you are communicating and hearing clearly.

If you are travelling, be prepared for delays. Pack a snack. I'm not kidding. If you are prepared for a possible snafu, you will be able to deflate your own anger before it overtakes you. Yes, there may be glitches and inconvenience, but keep it in perspective, Friendlies.

There is a likelier chance of mechanical breakdown during MR. Phones, computers, and cars will be a source of aggravation. As I am typing this entry, my computer, in fact, the whole wi-fi network is trying to thwart my progress. I will overcome. This could be a good time to back-up documents, to make sure your batteries are charged, to assure that your car is in safe working condition.

Unless you live on Mercury, you know that tomorrow is an important day for the American people. Actually, for our whole planet. It has the potential to be a day of challenges, so be prepared.

-Know your polling place. If you need help, look here http://yourfuckingpollingplace.com/
-Know how you're getting there, and help others who may need help/information. There could be transportation and communication headaches, so have a Plan B. Hell, even a Plan C.

Let nothing keep you from casting your ballot. It is your civic duty ... and there is too much at stake.


"The More You Know..." is brought to you by Miss O and The Oracle (TM).

Starf*cker

Hello Darlings -

In the not so distant past, I wasted a few hours on this celebrity face matching website . Ok, fine, I spent three days and nights. I was convinced that if I uploaded just the right photo with just the right angle, composition, and lighting, I would, at last, be confirmed as the long-lost doppelganger for one of my celebrity crushes: Salma Hayek and Catherine Zeta-Jones. Maybe I could even be Salma's stunt double or C. Zeta's stand-in. Don't judge.

The results of my "exclusive match" ran the gamut from Andie MacDowell=lovely to a slew of Slavic male models=ummmm, ok. Also, Matthew Perry, Heath Ledger (RIP), Christie Brinkley, Lucy Liu, Chuck Palahniuk, and Heather Locklear. As you can see, it's astoundingly accurate. After my 15th (!) upload, the matcher told me I bore a verrrry distant resemblance to Penelope Cruz, who is best friends with Salma, so that was good enough for me.

Next scene:
Once upon a time, I dated a "person" of dubious character. While this creature was of the male gender, I hesitate to use the term "man" because this cretin was frankly unworthy of the title. Our story was completely ill-advised, and from the get-go, I wondered how I would be able to extricate myself. It was not my finest hour, but has provided me with some excellent horror stories.

On one of our dates, we started talking about movies/entertainment and came upon the timeless (and telling) question: who is your celebrity crush? After a moment of reflection, I rattled off (in no particular order):
George Clooney
Eric Bana
Hugh Jackman
Daniel Craig
Clive Owen
Sean Connery (circa Thunderball. actually circa anything)
Antonio Banderas (pre-"Trashy Melanie Bad Dye-job")
Daniel Day Lewis (circa Last of the Mohicans)
Johnny Depp
Jason Statham
not super original, I know, but your solid A-list of classy Brit/Aussie action bad-asses plus a few bonuses

Then I asked the "person" for his crushes. Wait for it. I was hopeful that his list would include Salma and/or Catherine (my doppelgangers) or Angie (granted, she's a skeletor, but there's no denying that her face is fabulous) or I don't know, Eva Green ( la classe) or Eva Mendes (she's borderline trashy, but I get the appeal, plus she has excellent eyebrows). Give me your Natalie Portmans, your Scarlett Johanssons. Or rock it old school and hit me with Sharon Stone or Kim Basinger.  I said Wait. For. It.

For a moment, I thought "he" would pleasantly surprise me and name a diva like Beyonce or J-Lo. Alas, no. I scrolled through my mental list of alleged sex-symbols. Maybe this creature would blow my mind and say Marilyn or Sophia. Or Dita! Friends, denial ain't just a river in Egypt.

It wasn't just the name of his crush that made me want to run screaming, it was the way he said it. There was a glazing over the eyes and a foamy saliva bubble at the corner of his mouth when he uttered those two shocking words: Mariah. Carey. Mariah Frackin' Carey. Don't get me wrong, I love me some "All I want for Christmas", but COME ON. Aim Higher.  "Ooooh, and Alyssa Milano," his voice was strained, and I horribly imagined his "alone time" in a teenage room wallpapered with Who's the Boss? posters.

Darlings, it takes a village, and there is no accounting for taste, but I'm sorry, Mariah Carey is a dealbreaker. Period. The End.

Miss O, Arbiter of Taste since 1986.

Dear FWHP

Darlings, Miss O has had her hands full of late, but she recently managed a foray into "public" to report on dangerous wardrobe malfunctions in the French capital. O the humanity! For your enjoyment a Cordially, Miss O triple-header.


Dear Fetus Wearing Hot Pants,


While I'm certain that everyone on the tram enjoyed the view of your cheeks, that look is better suited to cage dancing on Landsdowne Street/Miami Beach/Ibiza than a 60's cloudy-with-a-chance-of-showers mid-week afternoon in the 14eme arondissement. 


I appreciate that you had a neat pedicure, however that does not lessen the severity of this infraction. 


Cordially, Miss O




Dear Young Woman with VAC,

Most of my readers are familiar with the challenges of VPL (visible panty line), but this is the first time I have had to address VAC (visible ass crack). Thank you for providing this teaching moment.


It's true that Miss O espouses a "It takes a village" philosophy, however repeated exposure to your crack during a brief bus ride was the source of extreme discomfort for your fellow passengers. Perhaps unintentional, but you are old enough to know better. Had you been a fetus, you could have played the clueless card. Alas, my calculations put you in your late 30's...Unacceptable.


A few tips to avoid future violations:
-VAC is the domain of hard-working plumbers. Any encroachments on their territory is frowned upon.
-You may want to rethink the ultra low-rise jeans and invest in a belt.


Cordially, Miss O




Dear American Embryo Summering in Paris,

Daisy Dukes and flip-flops?! in the rain?! in Paris?!


Who told you this was a good look? Did you see it in a magazine? on some "celebrity" tartlet? Give me their name and I will go to their house and spank them with a wire hanger.


Surely you don't think you're going to hoof it up the Eiffel Tower in flip-flops or sully the Louvre (or gasp! Notre Dame) with wet feet that have been barely covered while walking around a big, dirty city. It's not remotely warm outside and you most certainly do not have a fresh pedicure so WTF is with the flip-flops?


Put some clothes on for the love of Lourdes. If you have enough money to travel to Paris, then you have enough money to buy a real pair of shoes and some ladylike weather-appropriate attire.

You may not realize it, but you are an ambassador for the US of A.  For better or worse, an entire nation is being judged based on your behavior, attitude, and appearance while abroad. Please act accordingly.

If you are traveling with your parents and they ok'ed this "ensemble", have them contact me immediately so I can stage an intervention for the whole family. 

Cordially, Miss O

What Are You Waiting For?

I wrote this piece last year on Thanksgiving, but it is newly relevant for me today.


Two years ago I thought I was going to die. It was January 2, 2010. I was on a plane from Paris to Bastia on the northern coast of Corsica. Honey had spent New Years with some pals in Sofia, Bulgaria, so I decided to take a long overdue trip to visit one of my dearest friends, Elsa.

The flight was supposed to last just over two hours. A non-event. At an hour forty-five, the captain (a Brit) came on the intercom to inform us that the descent into Bastia would be very windy. Not at all newsworthy, as the landing strip in Bastia is surrounded by mountains near the coast of the Mediterranean. I continued flipping through the in-flight magazine.

A few minutes later, it seemed like the plane down-shifted. Perhaps ironic that I can imagine a pilot downshifting when I don't know the first thing about driving, certainly less about shifting gears, and nothing about the mechanics of planes or aeronautics. Still, I've spent a lot of time on planes.

My first flight was at two-weeks-old from Geneva to Nice. Since then, and I'm being conservative... Twenty-plus long-haul flights to Asia. Long-haul is defined differently by each airline, anywhere from 7-12+ hours. For me, long-haul indicates a minimum of 14 hours. Straight. With layovers and connections, most trips to Asia mean 24 hours of travel. Twenty-plus trips to Asia means twenty-plus trips from Asia. At least half of those trips flying solo. In coach. Unsedated. If you haven't freaked out by your tenth long-haul flight alone, you're probably not ever going to freak on a plane. Ten years of flights from LAX to Nice and back. Ten years of flights from Boston to Paris and back. And just for fun, 19-years of round-trips between Boston and LAX, hardly worth mentioning if only to illustrate that I've put in the airtime.

I am superstitious and ritualistic about flying but not fearful. I have a lucky charm (actually a packet of lucky charms) that I have flown with since I was six-years-old, the first time I took the LAX-Nice (connection at Heathrow) trip by myself. I won't fly without it. A couple of years ago, I realized that the packet was not in my suitcase an hour before leaving for the airport. I became hysterical, screaming in a panic. Would I have to test my faith today? I finally found it after ripping apart all the luggage in our dimly-lit basement storage space. Once I had it packed in my suitcase, I was 100% cool, the seasoned traveler.

I don't drink on the plane and I never eat the salad. I think, subconsciously, I want to have my wits about me. In 1999, I became violently ill on my return from Thailand to the States. On the flight from Narita to LAX I spiked a crazy fever and the JAL Hello Kitty flight attendants had to hover over me with ice packs while I tried not to vomit. I was likely sick from some raw veggies I ate in Bangkok before boarding, but I have not trusted in-flight lettuce since.

I always have chocolate in my carry-on. Chocolate is calming and comforting, but more than that, you don't want to find yourself at Taoyuan Airport (Taipei) with a six-hour layover in the middle of the night with no Toblerone on hand. Trust me.

So here I was 15 minutes from landing, perusing the duty-free catalog, when it started. A dipping, then a jarring bump of the plane. Nervous twitters from the other passengers. I was...unperturbed. The captain's voice crackled out again reminding us to fasten our seatbelts for landing and asking flight attendants to take their seats. His announcement was cut short as the plane jolted to one side. Now there were gasps as fear took its seat next to each of us. The plane felt buoyant as on the crest of a wave and just as quickly seemed to be plummeting. Now there was screaming. Shouting. Wailing. From my seat, 6C, I could see the flight attendants' strained faces. The plane heaved and trembled as we continued the descent.

For the first time in 38-years of airplane travel, I wasn't sure we would make it. All those long-haul, lettuce-free flights, and this might be the last one. The seat next to me was empty and the man at the window had his hand over his eyes. Crying? Praying? I looked across the aisle. A family of three holding hands, the daughter in tears. We continued bouncing through the air like a toy in a giant's hand. And then those with window seats could see the runway coming towards us too quickly. The plane was filled with shrieking and sobbing.

I've never considered myself philosophical but in that moment, I felt a strange relief. Relief that I had left the house in order. Relief that I had spoken with my family. I had heard the voices of my mother, father, and all of my siblings within hours of the flight. Somewhat unusual to talk to all of those loved ones, spread over three continents, just before this moment. Perhaps not an accident.

I didn't see my life flash before my eyes, but more importantly, I didn't feel regret of things undone. Yes, there is much more I can accomplish – my tv show on the Oprah network, the book(s) I'm supposed to write – but in some way, I felt peaceful. In those few seconds as we hurtled toward earth, I was able to take stock. You have had a wonderful life, Ondine. You have more blessings than you can count. You have had incredible, amazing experiences. You have had mundane experiences with incredible, amazing people. Your life is filled with love.

I had been gripping the in-flight magazine and now I relaxed my hands. I told myself: God is good. God is great. Maybe this is how it happens?

Friends, I am glad to still be here. I am also glad that I had a chance to look at my life and own it. My wish for you (on this Thanksgiving) is for clarity to recognize the abundance in your lives, for courage to change the things that you would like to be different, for strength to achieve that which you dream of, for compassion and mindfulness of those in need. No one knows when “that moment” will come...let's face it without regret.

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April 2012

A few months ago, I learned that a woman I have known since Junior High was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was shaken by the news. Concerned for her and her family, but also, as must always be the case with this horrible illness,  I was overwhelmed by the "Why? How? But she's so young!"  We are, of course, the same age, which brought my own mortality back into focus. Even though we haven't seen each other for many years, I know that she is still the dynamic, positive person I met as a tween. A wife and mother, a successful, accomplished businesswoman, someone I imagine to have a healthy, balanced lifestyle. It didn't make sense to me...not that cancer ever does.

This friend, Elissa, is facing a long road to recovery. 33 straight days of radiation. I know she will get through it with grace and humor. She has a tremendous support group - I love that her close friends back when we were youngsters are still by her side. And, in what I consider a fantastic FU to cancer, she has created a wonderful project 33 Dresses

One of my dear gal pals, Roonie, had an extensive and fabulous jewelry collection, including several heirloom gems and some "important pieces" . Her home was broken into and nearly all the jewelry was stolen. By the grace of Lourdes, she happened to be wearing her best pieces on that day: her grandmother's ring, a bracelet with great sentimental value, a necklace with a large stone. Of course she was devastated by the loss of the other pieces, but the most important ones were on her. I have never shied away from wearing my good things be it jewelry or evening clothes or fancy shoes. And for the record, good does not necessarily equal expensive. After the theft at Roonie's, I resolved to wear my special pieces ALL THE TIME. Because what the frack are we waiting for?

Do I sometimes lament the loss of a favorite bracelet in 2006? (get over it already, right?) Sure, but it gave me many happy years being worn and enjoyed, rather than languishing in a box. I am always exasperated as a designer when potential clients tell me my pieces are "too special occasion" or that they don't have anywhere to wear them. I call bullshit. Wear your beautiful clothes to work. But my colleagues would think it's "too much." Frack your colleagues! Do you feel good in it? That's all that matters. Wear your nice things to the market. Don't wait for a special occasion. Make your own! You are alive and well, isn't that a special occasion?

This isn't just about clothes and jewelry, use your good dishes for frack's sake. Often. Yes, you risk breaking something, but I promise your meal will taste better. And if broken china is the worst of your worries, congratulations, Friend, you're doing alright. Men, do you have beautiful shirts and suits suffocating in dry cleaning bags waiting for an invitation? Wear them NOW.  Sure,  you might have to take something to be pressed, so what. Enjoy today. Carpe Fabulous.

I believe this is the spirit behind 33 Dresses  I invite you to join Elissa (and Miss O) in 33 days of "good stuff".

When "that moment" comes for me, whether I'm on a plane or lounging on the couch, I hope I'm wearing a giant frackin' tiara and my favorite dress!
 

Dear RF...

Bonjour Darlings, back at "sport" this week and I was reminded of some of the chronic offenders that bother/amuse me while I am suffering on the treadmill. The majority are wardrobe infractions, etiquette infractions, attitude infractions, odor infractions...ok, fine there are a multitude, I dare say, a plethora of scenarios that chap my hide while I am trying to get my sport on.

The following CMO calls out half of a duo that I have dubbed "the two Louis". I find it helpful to name these characters whose presence I endure week after week, instead of simply referring to them as Douche #1, Douche #2, etc.


Dear Retired Fellow aka Louis,


I'm no "fitness expert", but I'm fairly certain that leaning on the lat machine for thirty minutes bullshitting about the football results (US: soccer) with your cronies and oggling women in spandex is not considered "working out".  Even in France. Just a tip.


Cordially, Miss O


Hold on a minute, Miss O, I thought admiring women was the national sport of your adopted country. True that, but there is a time and a place for this illustrious activity.  The time...actually, it's 24/7. The place, however, is important. Why do you think there are so many cafes where one can sit en terrasse, even in the dead of winter? The cafe society was created so that people, men, could sit outside and smoke and look at women. C'est simple. In Italy, the natives became restless sitting in one place with limited viewing options, and so the Vespa was born.  In France,  les terrasses are extensive so one never has to leave the comfort of their table. Hmmm, maybe there is a "Miss O Travel Guide" series in the making here...

Miss O, your cultural companion.