In Which I Lose The Battle

Day Five. Did you ever have a situation where you were really into what you’re doing—like blogging, for example—and the phone rings with the person on the other end requesting something of you. And you can’t wait to get back to what you were doing—like blogging, for example—so you agree to it just to hang up the phone?

Hi Meg. I’m calling to see if you can bring snacks to the next game?

Sure. No problem. Click.

Hello. This is Beth Thomas. I’m in charge of recruiting volunteers for the Blue and Gold banquet and …

Sign me up. Click.

It’s Yvonne. I’m looking for families to host French exchange students for three weeks…

Count us in. Click.

And then you go back to what you were doing, like not blogging about beer, for example, and suddenly terror strikes. Did she say French exchange student? Did she say three weeks? Did I say yes? OMG. I think I said yes. I did. I did. I did say yes.

I said yes to opening up our dysfunctional home to a complete stranger who talks funny and, and, is from France. And, and, in France they like eat real food…which means I have to cook real food. And, and, ramen is probably not considered real food.

OMG. OMG. OMG.

Well, I had one of those situations recently.

Meet Sacha -- A French exchange student of Algerian descent:



Thankfully our lovely friends invited us to their Slovenian Heritage festival so Sacha got to eat real food. He also got to meet:

This American of Slovenian descent



This American of Scottish descent



These Irish step dancers of Polish descent



(Actually, only one is a Irish step dancer. The others are hanger-on-ers.)

This guy from Parma and his fiancée who is obviously too hot for him



(Actually this is the guy who hired me to write about education reform based on my humorous essay about Leprechauns and his fiancée who is obviously too smart, I mean, too hot for him.)

This lawyer whose photo has appeared here by mistake



The American Guy of Slovenian Descent goes all out for his parties. There was the sheet cake of the Slovenian flag, the sausages from a Slovenian deli in Cleveland, and the time-honored Slovenian tradition of making smores by the campfire on a humid day in July. (Sacha liked that because it involved cute American girls whose heritage he couldn't have cared less about).

This Guy also travels far and wide so he can offer the best selection of Slovenian beer in the neighborhood. And I have to say the stuff is pretty good. I drank several of them and I can honestly tell you that my French improved immensely. And by 'my French' here I mean, speaking English in a Pepe LePew accent. Still, the beer was nice and had a medium body, smooth finish and a …Oops.

Wait a minute. I think...I think...I just broke my commitment of not blogging about beer. Crap. If only JD would blog about beer so I don't have to. Oh, well.

For more bloggers of Slovenian descent or hanger-on-ers, check out Humor-Blogs.