In case you were wondering what I do with my time when I don't have to work

Here's what a typical day off looks like for me:

I wake up late, about 10am. I watch some children's programs on TV. I like them because they are easy to understand and often include vocabulary that is important to learn. If I'm particularly lucky, I'll find Samantha oups!, a program that I find quite quirky and intriguing, mostly because it features two main characters who are clearly men in wigs and women's clothing.



I'm not sure exactly what to make of it at this point. I haven't talked to anyone about it, so I'm not sure how they are received. If they are making a statement about how gender roles don't matter at all (the people in the show don't cast them dirty looks or otherwise acknowledge that they're not fulfilling their generally accepted gender roles), that's awesome. But if they're acting like this to be just a spectacle (i.e. the kids at home laugh because that man is in a dress, not because of the joke he made) or to make fun of the silly things women do, then that's not cool at all. I'm interested in watching more, and asking people whose kids watch it what they think.

Whoa. Majorly side-tracked. Back to my day: After I wash any dishes I was too lazy to clean the night before, I walk to the market if it's a Saturday or the supermarket if it's not. They're both about ten minutes away. Before I leave my studio I check my mail (nothing today) and take out any recycling or trash. At the market I buy healthy, fresh food, and stay away from frozen dinners and canned meals, which have been staples in my diet for far too long. Instead I buy fresh veggies, warm fresh-baked whole wheat bread, local cheese. Not much is long-life, which is why I grocery shop several times a week, much more frequently than in the states.

I dump all my purchases in my swanky reusable shopping bag (which the French are all about - most stores don't even have plastic bags to offer so you're forced to buy an earth-friendly one) and tote everything back home. I unpack, then make another trip to the discount Aldi's where I buy anything I can use in bulk - TP, candles, matches, whatever. Return home again, make lunch while watching a French trivia game I don't know any answers to, and maybe read a little from the local newspaper, but only if there's anything that can hold my interest long enough to persevere through the horror of not being fluent yet.

Then I go to the library, catch up on emails, blogs, and chat with anyone who is online for a few hours. Maybe I plan a lesson for the students. Right now I'm working on ideas for American New Years traditions. Anyone? Anyone?

By the time the library closes it's usually dark. If one of my friends was at the library with me, we might go have a drink, or walk in the same direction for a while, but that's pretty much the extent of my nightlife. I'm broke and there's not much to do in Lisieux during the week anyway. I return home where I draw or write in my journal or read; maybe if I'm feeling extremely motivated I'll even translate a poem. I wait to see what will be on TV later. If it's something good like Cold Case or CSI I'll watch that. If not I'll watch a little Buffy in French. I felt so accomplished last night because I watched "Tabula Rasa," and I understood the translation of the joke where Giles and Spike realize they're British. Usually, translated jokes are hard. To get them, you have to know more than just language. You have to know culture, and I guess I know that pretty well now. *pats self on back*

By now, it's usually pretty late so I take my two-min-max shower and talk on the phone a little before sleep. Not to make anyone sick with the honeymoon-phase butterflies, but Tapan does call me every single day. Which means a lot because it makes me feel like I'm not so far away from everyone.

I try to fall asleep every night to French, whether it's a DVD, TV, or a book. But so far it's not been working. Falling asleep to Buffy gave me strange nightmares. Falling asleep to Veronica Mars is impossible because it's so damn compelling. And I can only read for about three minutes before my eyes shut. Maybe I'll try the radio tonight.

Well there you have it. A day in the life of me. I'll have many more like them in the next four months. Whoa. Four months. As in three already gone. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

This is Why I love Amy McDonald

Actual song starts at about 1:50

France: Pays du Chat, and other holiday stories

It's Christmas Eve. Which for me means the Christmas holiday is over. In France, if I understand correctly, most of the celebrating happens on the Eve, and the 25th is a day to relax and do something simple with the family. Of course I learned this from Milena, who doesn't speak English, so there's a chance something got lost in translation.

Well, this past few days have certainly been, well, interesting. I packed my bags for Caen (where I've been staying with Milena all week) on Sunday, hopped on the train and arrived by sunset. We took the (extremely) long walk to where we're staying and when we arrived at the house, I was greeted by two cats. For me, this is not a good thing. See, I love cats. But cats really hate me. I'm allergic. Not just I-get-a-little-irritated allergic, but my-nose-won't-stop-running-my-eyes-are-itchy-I'm-wheezing-what-the-hell-are-cats-good-for-anyway allergic. Luckily, or so I thought, I had my medicine.

I passed a good night with Milena. We talked a lot, I learned some new vocabulary I didn't know, and we had a dinner that for me was more like an American breakfast. But hey, I miss American breakfast, so it was OK. My only complaint about night number one: the house was freezing. But hey, I've got a sweater. It's all good.

Monday was generic - gras matinee, a little food shopping, a Father of the Bride on TV. Nothing exciting. Except that, despite my medicine, I could feel the allergies coming on. Part of the problem was that it was freezing again and I had no choice but to lay under a cathair-infested blanket for hours. Not good I know, but I really, really hate the cold.

Tuesday's where it gets good. We decided to take a bike ride to the coast. The person whose house we're staying in has two bikes. One very nice, very high girl-bike, and one old-ass low to the ground boy-bike. I started off with the boy bike - kind of like the one my dad bought me this summer. Pretty, but not easy to ride. By thirty minutes in I was exhausted. Sweaty, all red in the face, parched. But Milena and I switched bikes and everything was better. I rode the good bike all the way to the coast (another half hour/forty-five minutes) and wasn't even tired yet!

Once we got to the coast we took a long walk on the beach, enjoying our oranges, cheese and bread. But like all good things, that promenade ended too soon and we had to bike back to the center of town. Milena took the good bike this time and my legs reminded me after two turns of the shit-bike's pedals that I had not prepared them for this journey. I was already sore and we had a long way ahead of us. To make things even awesomer, when tried to stand on the bike to gain a little momentum (also to give my butt a rest from the evil chair), my jeans caught on the gear and I made a slow-motion tumble to the ground where I smashed my head on the pavement and did some kind of yoga with my legs where they ended up wrapped around the bike like a pretzel. Does it sound fun? Cause it totally wasn't. And as I lifted my head from the street I saw a car approaching! I was worried, but the man stopped and even got out of the car to ask me if I was OK. I told him that, as usual, I was fine but embarrassed.

By the time we got back to the house, we had ridden the bikes for four hours, and Milena told me that round trip it was 80 km. Which is 50 miles! So even if I'm paying for it today, I can say I biked 50 miles. Rock out. And bonus: I got to meet more of C's family and see her parents again. You know, the ones I wrote about before who live at the house of my dreams. What an awesome family. If you're reading this, thanks for thinking of me on the holidays!

And tonight I had another dinner with some friends of Milena's. 3 expats and one pat. It was a nice combination. It would have been better if there wasn't a cat though. Once again, I couldn't stop sneezing, wheezing, and in general feeling pooey. Please, if you pray, pray I don't have a cold. Let's just hope it's allergies and they go away once I return home.

Well, folks, that's all I have for now. It's beyond bedtime. I hope that blog made sense. If it didn't, blame it on the head trauma.

I leave you with a clip of the church choir singing my favorite carol:




Have a good holiday, everyone!

Christmas came to Lisieux

I thought I would be able to forget about Christmas this year. Being away from my family and friends sucks. So I figured I would just convince myself that Christmas is just a day like any other day. Hey, Tapan doesn't celebrate Christmas, I thought, I'll just pretend like I'm him.

Not so. First, the Christmas Market came to Lisieux. For such a small town square as we have, there certainly were a surprising amount of vendors. Santa hats for sale, hot wine, chi-chi (like funnel cake in thin strips), handmade soaps, special teas, all kinds of great stuff. I even bought a mesh tea ball so now I can drink loose-leaf tea. How chic is that?

Then, Lizzi and I went to an English choir, which was a really fun way to get into the Christmas spirit and hear/sing some nostalgic English hymns. And, on the way back, we ran into this cute little tree and presents that was all spray-painted with fake snow. Nice touch, Lisieux.

And then, to really get myself into the spirit, I bought my very first very own Christmas tree. OK so maybe a cactus is not the conventional tree of the holidays, but I wanted something original. I know all the followers of Oh, Ashley are just waiting to know how long it took me to stab myself with my new cactus. Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint anyone. It took circa ten seconds. And I didn't just stab myself. I happened to stab myself in a vein. And it was all purple and hurty for two days. Because of this, I named my cactus after one of my brattiest students. And then I decorated my Nicolas with some Xmasey stuff and set my new camel right next to him. Sweet!

I'm going to Caen to spend Christmas with Milena. I think it's gonna rock. And then I'm going to a costume New Year Party! I hope everyone has a great holiday and an awesome New Year.

I don't know when I'll be on again, so I'll leave you with this, my favorite clip from A Charlie Brown Christmas:

I always thought coffee tasted like dirt

Imagine me living in France. Where there's no water-vending machine in my school but there's a hot coffee machine. Where every meal is followed by a coffee. Where people sometimes look at me like I'm insane when I tell them I don't drink it. Where I don't tell everyone my true opinion of coffee (that no one could actually like the taste and that anyone who drinks it is just addicted) for fear of being shunned, or cursed out in a language I wouldn't understand.

I've held out. I haven't had a single coffee since I've been here. Nor do i intend to. And now, I have a reason to think drinkers of this specific type of coffee are bat-shit insane.

I read this article on Sociological images today. It's about this super-expensive, super "exotic" coffee called Kopi Luwak Arabica. Why is it so exclusive? Apparently it has less caffeine and is less bitter than regular. So what's the price you have to pay for this coffee? In addition to the $180 a pound, you also have to buckle down and settle to ingest a drink in which "the beans...were eaten by a civet and then handpicked out of its crap to be brewed into coffee for you!"

Wow! And here's the lovely animal whose poop you can raid to make your awesome coffee:



It's an interesting piece over at Sociological Images. It's true that it's totally unfair of me to think this coffee is gross and honey is OK. They both come from digestive tracks, after all. It's a good question the author raises: why do we have these conceptions about what's cool to eat and what's not. I'm not sure, but I wouldn't drink this even if I liked coffee.

Géométrie dans l'espace

That was the topic of the math class I attended today!!!

David, one of the math professors at my school, was one of the first people to talk to me when I arrived here in Lisieux. In fact, he broke me of that habit of calling everyone I didn't know vous. He told me, "you can call all the colleagues tu. Don't worry about it." And that was nice, because at school they pretty much drill vous (the formal you) into your head. Since then, I've come to know David better and we get along really well. Once he found out about my love for math he invited me to class! And I just finished my first session. Check out my notes. I'm such a good student.

Added bonus: my classmates in math also happen to be my students in English. Ha! You should have seen the looks on their faces. Gold.

I have a secret

to show you. I feel kind of close to this person. Except, you know, I still love the U.S.A. I just also happen to be in love with France.



It says:

I don't love you anymore, U.S.A.
I've played with you...
It's been fun, but
I found a better country for me
I've spent all my time learning
the french language and culture
I'm going soon.

Then in the bottom left corner it says "Hello Paris, I love you"

From PostSecret France. A great way to test your French, if you're learning.

Public Acknowledgement to Tapan

I was reading over some of my older posts and was reminded of what a whiny emo-kid I can be when i'm lonely (sorry about that, especially to the people who had to live it and hear it and not just read about it. Anyway, as I was sitting in my studio apartment the other night with absolutely nothing to do, I was inspired to scream from the rooftops just how happy I am to have Tapan in my life. I finally found the person I'd been looking for for wayyyy too long. And of course, he only came into my life after I'd given up completely (Maureen, that's your cue to say "I told you so"). Also, if there's a competition out there for worst timing ever to start a relationship, I think we place. When I come back in May, I will have been gone for more than twice the time we were together in the United States, and that's pretty scary.

Tapan didn't let France scare him. There wasn't even a question of whether or not seven months overseas would change relationship status. That's how I know he was the one worth waiting for. Also, he doesn't give a damn about the price of transatlantic phone calls and we talk every day. Believe me, I am fully aware of how much that rocks.

Like I said, I was inspired to scream from the rooftops, but I didn't have a rooftop; I had a video camera and a blog:

PS - make sure you turn up your speakers - it's not worth watching if you don't have sound.

Facebook did work!

Go here to see the Galette video, if you want.

More B.W.E.

As you already know, I spent the weekend in Chantepie (next to Rennes - - Brittany region) with my colleague Karen and her boyfriend Fabien, who is a baker, and Friday night we made galletes and crêpes. Crêpes are kind of like pancakes, but very very thin. Then you put dessert things on top and fold it up to make a nummy little sandwich. And galletes are the same thing, but they're more dinnery than dessertey. They're made with black flour instead of white. And mine had ham, cheese, and egg. So in the end I guess they're almost like an omelette (with much less egg) wrapped up inside a very thin pancake! The best part is they are so easy to make. In fact, I made one for lunch today. New plan for when I return to the States: open crêpe and galette restaurant.

So my camera officially sucks. I can take video, but unless I set it to e-mail quality (which absolutely sucks), I can’t post anything over 3 minutes long. As it turns out my camera creates an absurdly huge file size that neither youtube, facebook, blogger, or flickr will let me upload. So there goes the galette video I promised.

Luckily you can still see the one of Fabien flipping a crêpe:


On Saturday, my lovely hosts took me around Rennes. There was a telethon happening to raise money for muscular dystrophy. There were plenty of vendors there, and also two Christmas markets, so I had the chance to buy many, many Christmas presents. We were supposed to go see some French music; unfortunately the bar we wanted to go to was sold-out for the night. But we did get this nice surprise in the street:

I was so entranced by these percussionists. I think it was their baggy pants that drew me in. That, or their clear passion for the music. They rocked.

We had pizza for dinner at this place that apparently used to me much better, but wasn't all that anymore. Then we watched the end of the Miss Francepageant. Both Miss Bretagne (Karen's region) and Miss Normandy (my region) made it into the top 10, which made for some intense cat-fighting. In the end, Miss Bretagne made it into the top 5, but it was someone else who won.

I dreamed some more in French, and then it was time for a traditional Sunday petite dej' (breakfast), complete with baguette, leftover crêpes, nutella(!) and this really delicious caramel cream that Karen introduced me to and since been a little obsessive over. Then we had a nice tour of the Bretagne coast, where I was inspired to write the best poem ever. Or at least all of my poems.

Karen and Fabien took me to St. Malo, which is one of my favorite places here so far. On walking toward it, it looks like a big castle or maybe old farm building, but when you walk into the entrance, you realize it's this whole village. And there are a zillion stores and bakers and breaders and everything you would ever need. Of course there are also more people than any crowds-chlaustrophobic like me could handle, but c'est la vie.

And the best part about St. Malo? The beignets (donuts). There are these beignets bigger than your hand, and you can fill them with anything you want. Chocolate, jelly, NUTELLA! I know I'm supposed to be watching my weight and sugar and all that, but I just couldn't resist. I wish I had taken video of the factory-style assembly line too, but I was too entranced by all the Nutella. Rock out.

After our beignets we had the good chance to see the most beautiful sunset I've seen since Chile 2007. Best. Weekend. Ever.

Tag, I'm It

This came from Rachel:

Rule One:I have to grab one of the books closest to me, go to page 56, type the fifth line and the next two to five lines that follow.

Rule Two:I have to pick five people who love books and who could receive the Bookworm award with honor.

It annoyed me to have to explain things to them. I ended up not saying anything and just smoked and watched the sea.

At about half past one Raymond came back with Masson. He had his arm bandaged up and some sticking-plaster on the corner of his mouth. The doctor had told him it was nothing, but Raymond looked very gloomy.

from The Outsider by Albert Camus

Tara, Andy, Emari, Chris Moore, and Mike, you've been tagged!

OK so you don't all have blogs to post it on, but you can use your facebooks if you want...

Best. Week(end). Ever!

In pictures!

I promise I'll do a text summary too. For now, why don't you think of it as a game? Look at the pics, and then imagine what I'll write about them! It's totally fun, and not at all an excuse for me to buy more time in preparing the entries.

BubbleShare: Share photos - Find great Clip Art Images.

Language Progress Report - Something Happened

I had another best weekend ever! This time I was in Rennes with Karen and her copin, Fabien. Here are the things I have to write about:
• Galettes/Crêpes
• Marchés de Noël and the beauty of Rennes
• Transmusicales and an awesome percussion group
• Miss France
• Caramel au beurre salé
• St. Malo (including the biggest donuts and best sunset ever)

Here is what I want to write about:
• Learning French

So first what I’ve wanted to write about for a while:

It’s been a real struggle. Before I came, I had only studied French in school for three semesters. That’s a year and a half. And I have to admit I didn’t take it all that seriously. I didn’t even learn that I would have the chance to come to France until halfway through my second semester and even then, I was (regretfully) a little flip about it. I had this attitude where I thought three semesters would be a fine starting point and it would come to me naturally once I got here. And, I thought, if Professor King recommended me I guess I’m good enough. He knows better than anyone, after all. Well, it turns out that King didn’t realize that I wouldn’t have a fourth semester of French classes (because I was graduating just after my third). He was pretty clear that without the fourth semester times would be pretty hard for me over here. I said I’d come to as many of his French IV classes as I could, but then I got a M-F job which made auditing classes at my level impossible. I could have sit-in on some more advanced courses, but I was way too afraid. (Sorry Kory!) The point of all this is that by the time I finally got to France, the six months of time out of practice had wiped away a considerable amount of my vocabulary and grammar.

This significantly worried me. Especially because practically every other assistant I met was a French major, or had an immersion program, or had traveled in France before, or was born to parents fluent in French, or whatever. You name the reason they’re better than me, I’ve heard it. I don’t even want to talk about what happened when I first arrived in France again. Let’s move on to the good stuff.

Like I said in the title, something happened. I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was last weekend in Caen; maybe it was at the awesome dinner I had last week with all my colleagues; maybe it was the first time I watched an episode of Buffy (dubbed in French) without subtitles and understood almost everything. Maybe it was one of those specific moments or maybe it was a blend of all of them and others. But I feel like, to be really predictable and cliché, a veil has been lifted.

It’s like I’ve been sick for a while. And people have had to be really gentle around me. You know, using small, simple words and basic phrases. And I’ve been trying to recuperate, learn this language, and it’s been this long, long process. For the most part I’ve had a super-positive attitude and tried my best. And sometimes it’s gotten to be too much and I’ve had to slip back into comfortable English with people I know will speak English with me. And, of course, I’ve been embarrassed to try French with people whom I don’t know well. The few times I did try with random people on the street or in the library, I felt like a total bother. Like it would be better for them and me if I just left them alone.

But this weekend was different. Karen told me that most of the weekend would be in French because her petit ami doesn’t speak English. But I decided on Friday that I would have an entirely French-language weekend. And I totally succeeded! With the exception of a few words here and there, and the internet and an hour or so of news in English, the weekend did pass entirely in French. Even when Fabien wasn’t there. It would have been possible to speak in English when it was just me and Karen, but I didn’t want to. And Karen is great. She was a French assistant in England not very long ago, so she can really relate. I told her to tell me when I made mistakes, and she corrected me without hesitation. She also has this way of translating things for me without using English. Sure, it would be easier for her and for me if she would just give me the word in English, but instead she thinks of a different way to express what she wants to say in French, and I can understand.

Like I said, I used to be afraid to talk with people I don’t know well, but that’s changed too. After talking with Fabien and some other friends of Karen’s (who don’t speak the English that’s oh-so-tempting to slip into when scared) I realized that I can get by in a conversation, as long as I say when I don’t understand something. I mean, people are going to understand that my grammar and pronunciation aren’t perfect, and sometimes the words I try don’t even exist, but I can manage somehow to express myself.

I know what’s happening. I’m en route to becoming fluent. I wouldn’t dare say that I’m fluent now, but I’m on my way. And that makes me grin like a silly preteen about to meet the Jonas brothers. When I talked to Tapan on the phone Saturday night, almost every thought that came into my head was in French. And I had to translate myself into English before I spoke. Also, those headaches that come after a night full of French have seemed to disappear. Plus, I’m dreaming in French more and more often. The other night, I even had a dream in which I corrected my own French!

When I first got here I said I understood about a third of all things said to me. In retrospect, I think it was much, much less. I used to dream about the day that I understood so much French that I could specify just one or two words per sentence that needed clarification. And that’s starting to happen.

I still have so much to learn that when I think about it my head hurts, but I’m happy with the progress I’ve made so far. Many people have told me they’re impressed, so I’ll let myself be impressed too. And hey, I learned by practicing on Fabien that I can in fact translate American songs into French. Not that it’s hard or anything. It’s not like the popular artists of today have anything particularly profound to say.

After this weekend, I know myself a little better. I know my strengths (my advanced English vocabulary makes it easy to find words big enough to be cognates; I’m like a sponge for slang; I’ve made progress with the “r” sound) and weaknesses (I pronounce “u” all wrong; reflexive verbs are unbelievably hard for me; I absolutely suck at the future tense). I know what to work on now, and what to keep up. Now, if I can just get past that tendency I have to zone out during long French conversations. It’s a habit that stems from insecurity, the assumption that I can’t possibly understand people. But now that I can follow a conversation, it’s time to let that habit die.

Today is December 7th

That means it's the anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, and I'm having such a busy weekend (with unlimited internet access, I might add) that I almost forgot. If you're not already educated on the subject, go learn stuff. And make an effort to pay respect to the people effected, however you feel appropriate.

Once Upon A Win

The folks at cheezburger have launched a-nother website. This one caught my eye right away because it's filed under "nostalgia win" and we all know how much I love nostalgia, especially now that I'm in a different country.

But I don't know how I feel right now about this website. To be fair, at the moment, there are only three pages. Maybe it just needs time to work out the kinks. But my first impression is that it lacks the hilarity of cheezburger, failblog, graphjam. Maybe if there were captions on the photos? I mean, we all love seeing things that take us back, like this great pic of Bob Ross:


more epic win

but how come no funny pun? The picture is not enough. It's always the caption that provides the gutbusting laughs. Also, I haven't had the chance yet to watch the videos on the site - maybe they're way redeeming.

Or maybe it's just that each picture is titled "epic win - (insert subject here)." I'm pretty tired of the epic abuse of the word epic as an exaggeratory adjective. It's getting old. I think we should let it die. Let's use something else now, and reserve "epic" for the most serious cases.

I swear I'm not crotchety right now or anything, just a little disappointed. When I saw "nostalgia" I couldn't wait to see how hard I would laugh. But in fact, I'm having another best weekend ever in Rennes. I flipped crêpes last night and am about to go to a music festival! So videos and pics to come!

This one's for Beenie

because she was in my dreams last night. For all those out there who don't know what a Beenie is, it's my best cousin. And last night, I dreamt that she and I and my nephew Sean were in the ocean. And I was really afraid they would get hurt. I was totally in mom-mode instead of cool older-cousin mode. It was a total nightmare!

And when we went into the locker room (because in my dreams oceans are like swimming pools) Barack Obama was there and he had a son who was Sean's age. Barack Obama is becoming quite the fixture in my dreams. Three times in two months!

Oh yeah, and Beenie, dream-you can speak French.

gottahava

Maureen made me all jealous when she talked about WaWa sammiches.

Sometimes, you get sad when you think about the comforts from home that you miss.

But then, sometimes you get happy because you realize they have Wiki articles.

What I wouldn't do for a Buffalo Blue samwich right now.

Agitation

From page 5 of the George Bush exit interview with Charles Gibson:

Bush:I'll be frank with you. I don't spend a lot of time really worrying about short-term history. I guess I don't worry about long-term history, either, since I'm not going to be around to read it -- (laughter) -- but, look, in this job you just do what you can. The thing that's important for me is to get home and look in that mirror and say, I did not compromise my principles. And I didn't. I made tough calls. And some presidencies have got a lot of tough decisions to make --

So, W, that would pretty much mean you don't care about any history at all? As long as it doesn't affect you, right?

I just have one question: Are there really people out there who still think George Bush was a good president? I mean, I know there are people out there who defend him, who say he did the best he could. But does anyone really believe that?

I really wish I could watch the World News tonight. That's when the interview is airing. Than again, just reading the transcripts is infuriating. And there was a five-minute preview of the interview that really rubbed me the wrong way. Bush says he's sorry for certain things, like the economy and the way, but it just seems so...unapologetic. Perhaps it's better for me not to watch his face as he so indifferently talks about the decisions he's made. To him, that's all they are.

When you dream about your armpits

what does that say?

Last night, I had another dream in French. It was a short one, and a bizarre one. I dreamt that my armpit hair was grown in. A lot. And although I clearly hadn't shaved in a loooong time, I chose to wear a tanktop. As I was pointing something out to someone, this old old man noticed my little problem. So he screamed as loud as he could, while pointing at my underarms, "Tu es célibataire! Tu es célibataire!" (You're single! you're single!) I was embarassed and I looked down at the ground.

Well, I don't get embarassed much and I'm pretty candid on my blog. But this dream, for some reason, makes me feel like blushing. So, since I don't know what else to say, here's a funny deodorant ad:

Best Week (end) Ever - Caen, a second time around

Did you have the best weekend ever? Because I pretty much did! Here are some excerpts from my journal:

From last night:

There are so many things I would like to write right now. I’ve just had the most awesome weekend. There was a party, there was shopping, there were books. I learned a lot. I read some really interesting things about the French. I just finished watching Les Poupées Russes. My love for Tapan grows more and more each day we are apart. And of course, I saw the September 11th exposition. It was not at all a weekend of sightseeing. It was not a weekend as a tourist. It was a weekend as someone who lives in France. And I really prefer it that way. Voila.

On meeting C’s parents:

I think my time with Yves and Wynne was probably the best part of the weekend. It was so lovely to meet them. And they have the house of my dreams. I mean, all the books they have. Excuse the expression, but I felt like a kid in a candy store. A bibliophile’s heaven. Books published before the United States was even a country. Beautiful bindings. The most awesome collection of Jules Verne I’ve ever seen. OK, the only collection of Jules Verne I’ve ever seen but all of the volumes were incredible. Many many books. Huge bookcases on all three levels of the house. Even bookcases in the bathroom. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I want my house to look like when I have one. And C and her parents were so generous with letting me borrow anything I wanted. I have much reading to do.

On Friday night:

Honestly, Friday night was one of my worst and best nights so far in France. I mean, I had a great time at the party, and I wish I could have enjoyed it more. But I was super-allergic to C’s cats for some reason this particular night, and that prohibited me from enjoying myself as much as I could. Of course, the last time I was there I had my allergy medicine and didn’t need it. This time I forgot my allergy medicine and was desperate for it. But it was really a jolie soir. Many of the colleagues from Michelet were there. And Francois.

Here’s the thing. In America, with all of my English-speaking friends, I find it hard to shut up. I love to listen to people, but I have this (quite human) flaw where I’m constantly thinking of what to say next. And I wait for good segues so I can have the opportunity to add my opinions on the subject. It’s something that comes naturally, but which you can really only do when you’re fluent in the language being spoken.

In French, simply following a conversation between that many people is tiring for me, even without trying to think of something interesting to say. And so, naturally, sometimes I find it best just to relax and listen. And when listening gets to be too much, I watch people. Take in all their body language and begin to realize that spoken language is far inferior. And it was during one of those moments Friday night that I realized just how content I was. To be in this lovely candlelit room in Caen with such an array of intelligent, interesting people. To watch them talk to each other, and listen, and laugh. To eat and drink wine with them and really be involved in the moment. I felt truly happy.

And yet, I also felt incredibly sad. Because I’m recently in love and I don’t have the one person with me whom I want the most. Because Francois is talking about American politics and I can’t play. Because my nose won’t stop running and it’s sore from blowing it every minute. Because the day before was Thanksgiving and I’ve never missed my family so much.

On the September 11th memorial:

I knew I was going to see the exposition on September 11th, but I don’t think I realized just how much it would affect me. I’ll most likely write more about it later. But for right now, it deserves more reflection than what I’ve given the rest of this entry.

Upon arriving in Lisieux I was pretty tired. It had been a weekend full of exciting things, plus I had all those books to carry. Of course I knew how to get home, but it was dark and I really wasn’t up for the twenty-minute walk. So I sprung for a cab. And after the cab ride, I felt for the first time like I could speak to anyone in French. I was able not only to tell the driver where I was going, but I could also tell him exactly how to get there, with directions. I understood every word he said. To be fair, he didn’t say much, but I understood, like, all 25 words. And that’s a really good feeling for me. Maybe I haven’t done too much traveling here so far, but now I know that if I want to go somewhere, I don’t need a native speaker with me. I can do the basic stuff on my own. And that’s pretty cool.