Laundry Fail

On Sunday I decided I had to do laundry. OK, that’s not the whole truth. It wasn’t so much a decision as it was an act made mandatory by my fairly ripe smell. Laundry intimidates me and I tried to put it off as long as possible. But it had been almost three weeks, which means I’d worn every outfit more than once. And I’d say I trekked the hell-hill to work five or six times in those clothes. So it was desperate times for laundry.

Why does laundry intimidate me, you ask? I’ve never done it on my own. It’s always been mom and dad’s washer and dryer. I’ve known how to operate them since I was 11. Yeah, I did laundry once at the Ocean City Laundromat, but Chris Moore was there to help me. It’s easy when someone else tells you where the quarters go. Laundry in France? They don’t even have quarters. How was this going to work? And I was all alone. No one to help me. Humph.

So I walked to the nearest laverie (Laundromat) and took a look around. There were 8 washers and 4 huge dryers. And there was a pay center too, which was a big wall with lots of numbers, a place for money to go in, and a place that looked like it was where a card would come out. Of course, everything was written in French, and I doubted I would be able to read it. So I tried to figure it out with logic. It seemed to me that if I put money into this wall, a card would come out the slot, and the card would be good for one cycle. Or maybe some tokens would come out, like at Chuck E Cheese. I would then walk over to my washer and insert my shiny new card or tokens. OK, I thought, as I deposited my money into the machine. I win at laundry.

After I put my money in, I didn’t get anything. Then I realized I had to choose my washer. So I picked my lucky number 4. I heard something drop into the slot where I thought my card or my tokens would be, but it was just my change. I waited patiently until I heard water running. Yep, washer #4 had started, and my clothes were still in their laundry bag on top of the machine! I tried to open the door, but it was tightly closed until the end of the cycle. 4 Euros gone. Damn. I don’t want to grieve too much over 4 Euros, but it’s not like I have all that much right now.

So I loaded my clothes into washer 1 and repeated the process. I was worried I would screw up the dryer system too, because I was running out of money, and it would suck to return home with wet clothes. Luckily for me, all went well with that.

You know what the worst part was about the whole laundry fiasco? As I was waiting for my clothes to finish, I spent a lot of time looking at the signs. And you know what? I could read all of them. Maybe if I hadn’t been so worried about not speaking French I would have realized that the instructions were mostly pictures, and the process was so easy a caveman could do it.

Oh well, c’est la vie.

Along Came a Spider

It was the second day I was here in Lisieux. I was sitting in my apartment, watching season six of Buffy, when I saw something move behind my bed. I peeked behind my bed and saw this really huge spider with long, thin legs. It seemed way larger than a daddy-long-legger, but maybe that’s because of the massive fear it instilled in me.

I’ve never once trapped a spider. When I lived at home I would have my mom or dad take care of it, and when I lived in Ocean City Mike was the professional spider-remover. I know there were times that I saw spiders when no one was home, but I used to have this weird ability to forget about them. I would just close the door to whatever room I was in and think to myself, “OK, if it’s still in there later, someone else will get it.”

But I couldn’t do that here. This spider wasn’t going anywhere, and no one else was going to come to my rescue. What was I gonna do, go ask my landlord? I don’t even know the word for spider. Actually, wait, I think I do thanks to the last episode of Buffy I watched, but that’s hardly the point.

The spider was a hard one to trap because he got behind my bed. You saw the size of my bed though – it’s not like it’s hard to move. I saw his skinny body crawling toward my suitcases under the bed and that was enough to make me jump into grown-up mode. I had visions of his little body snuggling up in there all winter and waiting for me to start packing for home in May, when he and his army of spiders could finally attack me (cause, you know, in my vision he was commander-in-chief of the spider army). Anyway, I grabbed a plate and a glass and did this cool trick I saw Rachel do once at her apartment to get the spider out without killing it. My dad always told me never to kill a spider. I think I may have injured his leg though. Sorry.

I debated for a long time about whether or not this story was blog-worthy. And I have decided that it is. Maybe I don’t have a touristy picture of it, and maybe I didn’t have to practice any French, and maybe it’s something that could have happened anywhere in the world. But you know what? I think it marks a change in me. I can trap a spider now. Hooray for independence.

Life in France - Finally calm

Hello readers!

I am proud to say that I have finally settled into my town in Lisieux, France. It was a little rough in the beginning – Paris was not easy for me – but I am feeling totally secure right now. As I write, I am sitting in my studio apartment sipping some pesticide-free green tea, listening to iTunes on my computer and French news on TV, and enjoying something du chocolat from the sweets shop down the street from me. As relaxing as this is, it was quite a journey to get here. Shall we start from the beginning?


Day One – Paris
Last I wrote (I mean aside from the blog entry to ease the minds of my parents) I was at the Woodstock hostel enjoying the company of three roommates – a pair of cousins from Spain who had interesting things to tell me about Spanish dancing, and a girl from Germany who was taking a tour of Europe before going back home to go to university. Everyone at the hostel spoke English, and that made me really envious of the European system of education. The girl from Germany (whose name I promptly forgot) spoke German, English, Spanish and French. She’d been taking them in school for ten years. I wish I had that kind of experience with foreign languages. I admit I’m not sure exactly what the policies are in the US right now, but when I was in school we were only required to take two years of a foreign language. And in my high school, two years was about the equivalent of one semester of college language. Language is so important if you ever want to travel outside your home country. Even with three semesters under my belt, I have been totally lost traveling through Paris. I only understand about 30% of what I hear. I think that’s improving by the minute, though.

Side note: “Mr. Vain” is playing on my iTunes playlist right now, and that gives me happy memories of a certain yellow motorcycle.

Anyway, I wish that I had socialized more with the people at the Woodstock. Most of the people in the courtyard were American, so we could have talked, but the truth is I was feeling kind of shy and didn’t really want to talk to anyone new. I was missing everyone at home so much that I was much happier to stay in my room with free wifi and call my parents and Tapan, and gchat with anyone that was online. At the time I wasn’t sure why I was unmotivated to go socialize, but it was better that I stayed in my room. At about 9pm, this guy Ian from Chicago, who had stayed in my bed the previous night, came knocking at the door. He was supposed to have flown out to Dublin earlier in the day, but when he went to the airport, his airline swore up and down that he was not in their system and they had never heard of him. They weren’t very hospitable to him and his only choice was to come back to the hostel. Woodstock was booked, as were all the other hostels he tried, and so he had no place to stay that night. He also didn’t have much money, and had no idea how to get in touch with his mother in Chicago. Lucky for him I had my MagicJack (yeah that was product placement, and I’m not ashamed – this thing is awesome!) and I let him use it to call his mom.

Three hours later he had successfully rebooked with his mother’s credit card for the flight, and he also found a hostel in Dublin for the next night. I was so happy to help him, and he kept apologizing for the inconvenience. Of course I didn’t mind. It felt good to help a fellow traveler. I know if I were in his place, I would want someone to help me. And he really needed the help seeing as how he only spoke a few words of French. Ian was so thankful that he even gave me some money, and insisted that I take it. I tried to tell him no, that he needed it more than me, but he assured me that his mom would wire him some in Dublin. There was really no way I could give it back, and I can’t say I wasn’t happy about the offer. Ian basically paid for my room at the Woodstock and my train to Lisieux the next day.

You know, I admire Ian a lot. He came to France a month and a half ago to join the legion and ended up staying a little longer. It seems he is a careless traveler – and by that I don’t mean stupid or naïve, I just mean he is without care about the future, and how he will get there. I only knew him for a couple hours, but it seemed he was OK with not knowing where things were going to go, exaclty. He planned to go to Dublin and pick up a job somewhere if that’s what he had to do. I wish that I could travel where the road takes me like that, but I could never see myself going somewhere without income, or a fixed job, or a contact. Thanks for everything Ian, I really appreciate it, and bon courage avec votre voyage!

By the time he left, I was exhausted. It was 1 am and I hadn’t slept the night before. I talked with Tapan a little before my internet time ran out, and then went to sleep. I would have to wake up really early the next morning. And you know what’s super? My alarm clock on my phone was not working and I forgot my travel alarm. Miss Germany set her alarm for me, but I went to sleep super-stressed that night because I wasn’t sure if I could rely on that alarm. And I had to get to Lisieux on time the next morning to meet with my contact at Collège Michelet. On top of all that, I’d forgotten to buy my ticket online for the train, and the schedules online looked like there would be no trains until late in the afternoon, which would make me miss my appointment at the school and leave me to find my own room the next night. Aahhh!

I wanted to cry, but like all the other times I’d wanted to cry the past week, there were people around me and I had to stifle the tears. It was hard to sleep, as I was in a foreign place in a foreign country, and there was a lot of noise in the hostel. Before I knew it, my roommate was (thankfully) waking me up. Another day had just begun!

Day Two – Paris/Lisieux

Part One – Journey to Lisieux

Once I woke up on Thursday I went downstairs and had my first taste of French food! (I had been so overwhelmed with travel that I had forgotten to eat anything the previous day) French breakfast was simple: baguettes avec le beurre et le jams de freses et l’orange (bread with butter and orange/strawberry jams). I had two pieces and some water and then asked the man at the counter if he could call me a cab to the train station. My arms were exhausted from carting my luggage all over Paris, and there was no way I was going to make it up and down all the metro stairs by myself. As an aside, I would like to ask France: where are all the escalators? Don’t you have people with disablities? Back to my story, the receptionist tried to call a cab, but when I went downstairs again, he had some bad news: there were no cabs available. There was a train strike in Paris that I had no idea was going on. I might be able to find a taxi on the street, but I would probably have to get on the metro to get to the station.

A train strike? Did I hear him correctly? Could this really be happening? What was I going to do?

I didn’t have time to think about it too much. I was holding back tears as it was, and I just wanted to move. So I packed my bags, bought a bottle of water, and was on my way. As soon as I began to pull the bags felt the worst pain in my neck. Where was Emari with whatever yoga move would relieve the tension? Where was Tapan with a neck rub for me? Not here. And that thought was enough to break me. I think it was the first time I realized just how far away I was from everything I love, everyone I care about. That was it. There was no way I could stop the tears now. I had to find a park bench to collect myself.

As I was sitting in that park, I watched a flock of schoolchildren walk through, giggling and chattering. How I envied them in that moment. So carefree, so free in general it seemed. I hope they are never lost in a different country with heavy bags and no contact closer than an hour away. Even if they are, they’ll probably know how to ask for help with their knowledge of languages. I looked at my cell phone once again. Still no service. It was like 2am in the US anyway, but I had never wanted so badly to call my mom. She’s the one I always call when things get overwhelming to the point of tears, and there was no way I could reach her. If she only knew how much I missed her at that moment, even now as I write this. It’s indescribably hard.

Anyway, I had to stop being an emo kid. No time for that nonsense. I had to keep moving. Even if there was a train strike, I had to try. I made it to the metro and down the stairs. I managed to buy my ticket in French and get through the turnstile with two suitcases (which is really really hard). Then down another set of stairs, no escalator in sight. A man tried to help me, but I remembered everything I had heard about people running off with suitcases, so I said non, merci.

When the first metro pulled up, I think I was having a mini-panic attack. My breathing was heavy, my heart was racing, I was über-sweaty, and I could see that this particular line was jam-packed. You know that fear I have of cramped places? Yeah, I had to get over that real quick. I had to fight my way on too, because no one wanted to be stuck on this crowded, stinky metro with a silly American struggling with two suitcases. Lucky for them, I only had one stop.

I got off at Pigalle and found the correct line for the train station – at least my intuition for subways was improving! I was immediately confronted with…more stairs? Are they kidding? We were already underground! At this point, I was so tired I thought I might pass out right there in the station. I’m sure my face resembled a cherry, and I probably stunk of sweat. I had to take the stairs one at a time, then lift one suitcase down to the next step, then do the other. A kind woman asked me if I needed help, and this time, I gave in. Let her steal it, I thought. It would be lighter for me after that. But of course she just left it for me at the landing.

I followed more signs for my line, and guess what I found after a long hallway? You got it: more stairs! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I broke. Couldn’t hold in the tears anymore. I let another man help me down this set, and at the bottom a couple of people were concerned about me. They asked if I was OK and I just answered, “Oiu, ça va, merci.” What else could I say? I couldn’t really articulate what was wrong with me. It was like my French had dissipated completely. I was crying, preparing myself for another set of stairs, when finally I saw the metro line.

I turned around to do some breathing and collect myself when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see a woman, and she asked me if I was OK. Then she asked me again in English, and she wouldn’t let me just brush her off. I explained to her what was going on – how my bags were so heavy and I had just arrived yesterday, and hadn’t slept much, etc., and she listened. She helped me get my bags on the metro and told me which exit I wanted. She even asked a man if I could sit. He promptly shrugged us off. Her presence really calmed me, and allowed me to stop crying. I asked her name. It’s Rajia – a beautiful name suitable for her lovely personality.

At my stop, I thanked her profusely, and she told me she would help me with my train ticket, no question. I was so appreciative, though I felt like I was a bit of an inconvenience. She assured me it was fine – her boss was off that day, so she could be a little late for work. She told me she knows what it’s like to be in a situation like mine, and she really believes in helping others. And help me she did! She carried one of my two bags all the way to the station, and helped me buy my ticket and find the correct gate. I got her e-mail and phone number, and she asked me to please come visit her in Paris, without my bags. She suggested we go on a tour of the city sometime. I would love to go visit her and her two kids! And I fully plan to send her a nice present. Merci beaucoup Rajia, pour tout de votre aide!

While I was waiting for my train at the station, I realized something. There’s this stigma about the French. A lot of people have done nothing but tell me that the French hate Americans, and I am crazy for wanting to come here. But you know what? Those people are completely delusional, and they’ve probably never really been here. See, what I learned that morning on the metro is that French people are just people. Some are rude, yes, but most are not. Rajia was truly surprised that that man on the metro didn’t give me his seat. I feel indebted to the people who were willing to help me, a crying American, with my heavy luggage. And I feel so grateful that people like Rajia exist – she’s got her own life to worry about, complete with kids and a job, but she still took time out of her day to help me, a complete stranger, and she didn’t ask for anything in return. Believe me when I say I’m going to pay that one forward.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pay_it_forward

The train ride to Lisieux was peaceful, with a great view:


Once I was out of Paris, I began to feel much calmer. I guess I just don’t do too well with cities. I’m the same way about New York, especially when I’m alone. The train ride was about an hour and a half. And the cars were just like the ones in Eurotrip!

When I got off the bus, I could see the Basillique Sainte Thérèse (insert link). I can’t wait to see it closer, and take lots of pics for GPop and GMom A. Even from such a distance, it is breathtaking:


Once in Lisieux, I knew everything was going to be different. Maybe it’s because Tapan was fasting for me (Thank you love, I am eternally grateful). It was easy to find a cab and it only took five minutes to get to Collège Michelet. I was greeted with a set of iron gates (pictures to come later). Hmmmm. How was I going to get in? Ah, someone was coming to the school. I asked her if she worked there. And I had no problem asking. It’s as if Paris had stunted my French, and the calm atmosphere of Lisieux had allowed it to re-emerge! I introduced myself as the assistant of English, and she let me in. She allowed me to put my bags in the principal’s office and introduced me to him. Monsieur Martin is a genial older man with the most wonderful moustache I have ever seen. Neither he nor the woman spoke English, but it was OK. They asked me if I was hungry, and I said yes. They treated me to a free cafeteria lunch.

Here’s the thing about cafeteria food in France (well, at least in my school): it is delicious! And there’s a huge variety of things to choose from! For my first meal (I wish I’d remembered to take a photo), I had bread, a salad, a plate of macaroni, and a main dish with egg, potatoes, cauliflower and a cream sauce. I met a lot of people in the teacher’s cafeteria: a French teacher from Romania (which reminds me of Vampires the class. Ugh. Ask Donna.), a math teacher named David (who recognized New Jersey because of Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen), and two of the English teachers! Everyone was so nice to me, and I realized just how much I’m going to love it here.

My English teachers speak to me in a mix of French and English, which is much appreciated right now. I’m not quite ready to be immersed in all French all the time. Soon, though, I hope.

After lunch, we went to the teacher’s lounge where I met some more welcoming people. I was supposed to observe classes that afternoon, but I must have had some serious baggage under my eyes, because everyone kept saying that I should rest instead. And not to worry: they had arranged housing for me! It was the most dominant of my worries, and it was a major relief to hear that I could scratch it from that list. Karen, a very beautiful English teacher, and Natalie, the headmistress of sorts, drove me to the nearby high school – Lycée Gambier – and helped me with my bags. There we met the housing director, Loeiza (say: Louisa), who like so many others was super welcoming and helpful. She took me to my building and showed me two available rooms right next to each other. And, since I was the first to arrive, I got to pick between the two!

They were both similar, with a bed, a chair, a table, a fully equipped kitchen, an armoire, a closet, and a bathroom, but I had to go for the room with the yellow tablecloth, of course!

After I chose my room, Karen, Loeiza and I returned downstairs to sign the papers for the housing. And, to my great relief, I found out that the rent is only 120€ a month! I think that’s a little less than $200. Awesome! Karen had to go back to classes so I stayed to finish some things with Loeiza, who doesn’t speak English. She gave me a tour of the building and gave me my keys.

Here is the school:

Here is my building:

The door to my wing:

My door:

Much to my relief, and my parents’ I’m sure, everything at the school is really secure. It’s gated which means no one can get in without a key. And there are two locked doors to open before you can get to my room. So mom and dad, that’s three locks. There’s also a night watchman who, obviously, watches the place at night. I feel wayyy safe here!

I informed Loeiza that I would need an alarm clock (I had to be at school the next morning at 9:30am. She kindly offered to take me to the store at 6pm so I could get some sleep. Of course I didn’t sleep though. I was too excited to unpack. There’s something about putting your personal things into a space that makes it feel like home. And I need this place to feel as much like home as I can!

I couldn’t be happier with my room. I get five French channels on the TV (the first thing I saw on TV was Law and Order, Sharon and Andy!), and everything is the perfect size for one person. And the chair in the studio sort of reminds me of the Americana chair from 1725. A happy reminder of home. I made my bed with the sheet I brought from home and sprayed it down with Tapan’s body spray. Gotta make use of those olfactory senses as much as possible!


Day Two: Promenade

Loeiza arrived at 6pm, just like she said she would, and she showed me all around town. The center of the town is a two minute walk from Gambier, and there is so much going on there! (Pics to come later.) We first went to this technology store called Darty. I was proud of myself when I handled everything without Loeiza’s help. She was there if I needed her, but I successfully told the employees I wanted an alarm clock and specified which one. It was only 7€ but they gave me a guarantee on it! So I plan to leave it for next year’s assistant when I go home.

After buying the alarm clock we went to Monoprix, a supermarket. The cheese aisle really does go on forever! I was shocked to see how many American brands there are. I tried my best to stay away from them though. I want everything during this trip to be French! Except lady products of course. Sometimes it’s best to stick with what you know works. But for everything else – food, tea, beauty products, I want to be as authentic as possible. Hey don’t judge me! The Clean and Clear is from home. And Garnier is French!

After the Supermarket, Loeiza took me to her favorite boulangerie/patisserie (bread and sweets shop). There, I bought my first baguette (which should make Chris Holt happy)! When we got back to the school, Loeiza invited me back into her flat Isn’t it adorable? The inside is even better! We had some wine – a delicious sweetened white wine – and some nuts. And we talked! I mean really had a conversation in French. I’m so happy that I can really do it. We talked about my day, my life in America, her boyfriend, even American politics! I said a lot of things to her, such as “I don’t know how George Bush is the president,” “I hope there are some persons here who will talk with me about politics American,” and (after she left the room for a minute and I focused on the TV) “Sometimes I’m stupid – I watched the TV and I thought ‘why is she speaking French?’ Then I realized,” and Loeiza joins me and we say in unison, “ah, I am in France!” and we giggle about my mistake. Together. I made a joke and she understood. Utter triumph!

I had a great time with her, but I was getting hungry so, after thanking her profusely for being so kind to me, I headed back to my room and made my first baguette into a yummy sandwich with camembert (a soft cheese) and poulet (chicken). Here’s a video I made for my friends:

Just ignore the whole “Don’t tell anyone” part, since I just blogged everything.

After eating and showering, I found this gem: It’s one of those super old washing basins. It fits in my sink and I can plug it into the wall and do small loads of laundry with it! Now I don’t have to pay for the lavomatique. Once I did my laundry, cleaned up and hung the clothes in various places to dry, I watched some Buffy in French and went to sleep. By the way, I can understand a lot more of the words in Buffy now.

The day had gone by so fast and I found myself depressed. I hadn’t had the chance to use the internet at all to call my parents or Tapan or any of my friends. I really wish I had internet in my room, but what can you do? I ended up crying myself to sleep. Really horrendously crying even despite the great day I had. I guess I just had to get it all out of my system, all the tears I had suppressed all week. I just hoped I would feel better in the morning.

Day three: Lisieux - Teaching

Bon journée! How do I look? Cause I feel a whole lot better than I did last night! In this pic, I am about to leave for my first day of observing classes! I gave myself an hour to get to school, because I wasn’t sure exactly how big Lisieux is. And the hour was good, because I got lost twice. But in getting lost, I found a really great public garden, the post office, my bank and a beautiful church. And even with the getting lost I still got to school fifteen minutes early. Lisieux is so small that nothing in the town is more than twenty minutes away by foot, when you don’t get lost anyway.

When I got to school I met another English teacher, Phillip, who is fascinating! He is Scottish but he doesn’t want the kids to learn that accent, so when he’s in class he switches into an English accent. It’s one of the most interesting linguistic things I’ve seen so far. The kids were awesome! They seemed pretty excited to see me. His class had 27 students of about 11 years old. During group session I even walked around and asked if I could see how they were doing. After class, some of the students were excited to ask me questions, like “When did you arrive,” and “How long will you be here,” before they had to rush off to recess.

After Phillip’s class, I observed Karen’s class. She had 28 pupils of older kids, like 13-15. And they were just like typical teenagers. Lots of piercings, more lipliner on some of the girls than I’ve ever had in my possession. Karen let them ask me as many questions as they wanted. My favorite: “Do you know 50 cent?” My response: “Go shawty, it’s your birthday.”

After her class, one particularly attentive student had a lot of questions for me. She plans to go to university, and she wanted to know if Americans would understand her if she spoke British English. And she spoke very well, so I assured her she would be fine aside from some tiny differences in phrasing. Like how in British English an eraser is called a rubber, and she should remember to call it an eraser.

During lunch I socialized with the English teachers, and we made plans to take some of the students on a trip to the D-Day Landing beaches. I am so excited! We are also going to go on a wine- and cheese-tasting tour (without the students of course). After lunch I filled out my social security papers (yay for universal health care!) and then I walked home. And on the way, I stopped at the medi@theque (a library and media center in one) and signed up for a membership, which is only 12 € for an entire year! I tried to blog there, but it proved impossible – the keyboards are totally different! The amount of typos I make is absurd. Rachel could not stop laughing at me as we were gchatting, I’m sure. I got a movie to watch, called Naked. I’m not sure if it’s French or just translated, but I’m excited to see what it’s all about.

And that’s precisely what I’m going to do now. Relax with this movie and some thé vert, because tomorrow I’m waking up early and going straight to the medi@theque. Because I have blogs and news to catch up on. Rach told me about Washington Mutual. Oh boy.

It’s quite a time to be away from the US. Especially because I just started giving a damn about the state of our country.

Highlights of the day:

-When I walked by a bush that smelled of pine, it put a smile on my face because I thought of Christmas. I wish someone would come visit me for the holidays :(

-When a student wanted to ask me a question and she didn’t know the word for boyfriend, she said, “Do you have a lover?” What could I do but nod?

-When I bought stamps from the post office. The cashier understood me perfectly and I didn’t have to repeat a thing.

-Epic fail of the day: I took out money from the ATM at the post office, because I didn’t know if there was a BNP (sister bank of Bank of America) in Lisieux, and I wanted to have some cash on me. I paid a $5.00 surcharge and 1% of my withdrawal, when at BNP I would only pay the 1% of withdrawal. BNP, I soon discovered, was three doors down.

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

USB cord found! So in one album I give you everything I've been waiting to blog about - July 4th, Nummy Island, and some important stylistic and romantic changes that have been going on in my life. Enjoy!

BubbleShare: Share photos - Create and Share Crafts

After an awesome night of body-accepting and comfort

I came into work and remembered what has been irritating me lately. I am secretary to a Health Sciences Educator for Rutgers University so most of my time on the internet is spent looking up information on Obesity and Overweight (real sad when the focus is on children), Diabetes, High Blood Pressure and Cholesterol levels, Diet and Exercise, and anything else that has to do with nutrition or family health.

One might say, "Hey that's great. You get the inside scoop. You get to learn new ways to be healthy now."

Except that I have struggled with weight since I was eight years old. Maybe longer. News flash: I already know. I have known the (quite simple) ways to lose weight for a very long time. We all know that more calories out than in equals less weight on the body. But, as most people who have a hard time keeping weight off will probably feel familiar with, the extra pounds that I carry on my frame have little to do with science. And another thing that far trumps all the tips and tricks I know about losing weight: These extra pounds and I are stating to get along. I am learning to be OK with them.

Let me clarify. I am just learning to be OK with them. After years of hiding them behind hairstyles and clothing and accessories, I am beginning to accept these pounds. I'm starting to realize that I have quite a sexy hourglass figure, one that could probably kick some roller-derby ass if I wanted it to. Sure I'm starting to see that this body is one that men can be attracted to. More importantly, I'm becoming aware that it's a body I can love, and feel secure in, and be proud about.

So what has inspired this ranty blog? Two things.

First, it seems that every single health website that I visit uses the BMI calculator as an indicator for wellness. And that really frustrates me. In addition to this being a skewed measure for health, it also makes me feel shitty. Really, I'm borderline obese? OK. Oh, and I'm at a much greater risk for diabetes and high blood pressure and death? That's funny, because I heard that women in the overweight group had the lowest mortality rate. Oh my god, AHA,are you telling me that if I don't make changes now I'm going to die someday? Fuck. Let me give you a trophy for opening my eyes. Truth is, it doesn't matter. Because I am going skydiving next year. Because I hitchhiked in a foreign country. Because I drive on a highway everyday. Yeah, I could make some wiser decisions about exercise and diet. But fuck it. I like chocolate chip cookies, and eating them is not going to put my life in any more danger than the next decision I make.

I'm frustrated that (because of all the searching I have to do at work) my google and scrabulous sidebars are always filled with ads for ridiculous get-thin-quick schemes. I'm tired of looking at "Are you Fat -----> Take this Quiz" ad banners on the top of my monitor. And I am at the end of my rope with people like Lissaana, who comment insensitive and cruel things on the bottom of sincere, well-written posts.

I don't understand why weight and body image are always ALWAYS on my mind. And I am terrified to take all of these issues to France with me. I'm planning on leaving them here, buried in 1725's back yard. And I hope I never EVER have to dig them up.

But perhaps what I am most cranky about is that I have still not found my USB cord, and all I want to do is show you the pretty pictures that I took. In July.

This just in

I just found out that Seth Green is in talks to join the third season of Heroes. This excites me more than you know, but it also disappoints me a little. Aside from the fact that the third season is set to air the day before I leave the States, another reason for my personal down is that I just haven't been able to commit to TV shows the way I used to. If I had it my way I would be caught up on all of my favorite primetime shows, especially Heroes and House. (Read on for the realization that made me change my mind midpost)

Since I moved to Ocean City, there hasn't been a single night when there isn't something better to do between the hours of 8 and 10 than watch a TV show. It's because I have the most awesome roommates, and it is infinitely more satisfying to socialize with them and enjoy their company while I still have it nightly. And since they (mostly) don't watch of the television, hour-long dramas are not something we are going to bond over. And you know what? I wouldn't want it any other way right now. Serialized network television is something that I was able to commit to when I was living at home and opening the airport store five days a week. I had to wake up too early to do anything at night and I was always alone so I would watch Prison Break House. And Heroes was something that I could watch with Kelly, or even better, with the folks at E-03.

So in the time it took me to write this post I have re-evaluated the reason for my disappointment. Since I will be in France, I will likely miss another season of some view-worthy TV. And if I am able to watch it on the interwebs while I'm in France, that will certainly mean I am missing out on some other way to absorb le French culture.

Sigh. I hope there are still good shows on when I settle into whatever life I choose.

Cause: Heroes for Andy

So Andy sent a note over facebook a while ago that prompted all of his friends to consider some questions about heroes and heroism. It took me a while to respond because I thought good and long about it. And I came up with some answers that I think are pretty solid, though they could use a little more analysis. At any rate, I think they're blogworthy, so here they are for your viewing pleasure (bolded bits are Andy's questions):

Who is your hero? Alexander Harris, the character from the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, is my hero.

why? what about that person/s makes them your hero? Xander remains throughout the series the only character that does not have or develop some sort of supernatural power. Let’s look at the characters: Buffy is of course the slayer, Willow and Tara are witches, Anya is an ex-vengeance demon, Dawn starts out as a mystical key, Oz becomes a werewolf, Angel and Spike are two examples of an ever-expanding cast of vampires. Cordelia and Giles start out as simple mortals with no supernatural abilities, but in season six Giles hinders evil-Willow with some bad-ass magicks, and Cordelia goes on to become one of the Powers-that-be in the later seasons of Angel.

Xander is the only character who doesn’t get any supernatural play. But he is just as much an integral part of the Scooby gang as anyone else. The fact that he remains such a sacred part of the inner-circle even though he has no superpower is incredible to me. He’s the heart of their operation, and if you ask me, that is a much harder role to fill. Xander manages to keep up his role alongside all of these characters that have been blessed with powers outside nature while he remains an average joe. Sure, he gets frustrated every now and then, but never so much that he is willing to abandon his friends.

What traits in particular do you wish you had that he does? btw Andy, I did notice that you assume my hero is male;Xander accepts that he is “the zeppo” – the one person in the group who is un-special. He has accepted that he is never going to be supernaturally-endowed like his friends but he still acknowledges that he brings something unique to their friendset. The fact that he is OK with this, and does not compete to become the strongest fighter or the most bad-ass witch, is extraordinary. I guess that tells me that he is not jealous or competitive, which are both traits I feel I take on when I am surrounded by a set of friends who are way awesomer than I am.

what traits do you not want? I do not want to be the guy that has to be rescued all the time because he can not get himself out of the ropes he’s been tied in. And I do not want to lose an eyeball.

Who do you think an american hero is? I think an American hero is someone like a comic book superhero. Spiderman or Superman

why? I get the feeling that most United Statesians want someone to swing in on a web and rescue them from their lives and rising gas prices and terrorism. This is something that will never happen because the American hero, like Spiderman, is fictional.

who do you think a superhero is? To me, the best kind of superhero is someone like Batman or Iron Man. Someone who used to be an average citizen but was genius enough to develop ridiculous technology to make changes in the world.

why? Because it is hard for me to believe that a spaceship crash- landed into our planet and out popped a man who could save the world for us. It’s too easy. Show me a person (speaking of are there any female superheroes like I’m about to describe?) in a great mess of trouble who actually makes himself into a superhero using realistic technology and I’m a believer. I don’t care how likely it is that Iron Man could have made that suit in a day in a cave in the middle of the desert – if there’s even a small percentage of a chance that it’s possible, I’ll buy it. And I’ll like that type of hero better. Because he made a choice to do what he did.

what kind of hero do you think the US and, even bigger, the world needs? This is the hardest question. Not because I don’t know, but because the type of hero the world needs is impossible to find. The reason it’s impossible is because we need a hero that everyone can agree is a hero. And that will never happen with the massive political, cultural, and religious differences in this world. My idea of a hero, or a superhero, is not going to be the same as anyone else’s. In all of the answers that you get back from this, I doubt you will get any two that are exactly the same. And for the most part, I’m sure that the people you asked have a lot in common. Now extend your questions to the entire world, and your response is going to be an enormous clusterfuck.

And I’m not sold that we need a hero anyway. I think individual people need to start making some goddamn improvements and take the blame when they mess up. If we had a world where all people believed in the same set of morals/values and everyone lived by them, we wouldn’t need a hero to come in and fix things.

But expecting that world to exist is unhealthy and unrealistic, and so is believing in superheroes.

¿Quieres Comer Conmigo?

Yesterday as I was driving home from work I started thinking about how it has been a very long time since I have seen my first boyfriend. Or had dinner with his family. One of the best bonuses of dating a Puerto Rican is the food. Yumm to arroz con habichuelas, bistec encebollao, tostones, pernil, and of course anything con pollo.

I thought it might be a good idea to try cooking something. I mean, it couldn't go worse than my first attempt (when I was fifteen I made bistec for him and I misunderstood the whole season to taste thing - so I coated the beef with vinegar and adobo as if it were chicken I was dipping in egg yolks and bread crumbs. He graciously ate it, though it tasted like schmoo), right?

I didn't realize that bistec (my all-time favorite meal) should marinade for a couple days, so I decided to try the rice and kidney beans with pork chops instead. And I have to say, I am pretty damn impressed with myself. No burned rice, no overseasoned meat. It was pretty friggin good. And gluten-free! So the roommates who were home quite enjoyed it. OK, OK, I'm doing a little back-patting about it, but it's hard not to be proud. Sure, it didn't taste quite as good as his mom's always did, but I'm a second-time gringa. All things considered, how could I not be so enthused?

I'd already bought the ingredients for bistec, so as I write the beef is marinating with onions, vinegar, oil, garlic, adobo, and of course Sazon Azafran. It smells delicious every time I open the fridge.

Now I can't wait until tomorrow.

Thank You Chris Moore

for introducing Christian the Lion into my life.

why i love my roommates

i
rachel, donna, andy and i had a board walk a couple weeks ago and i had the urge to ask andy a question. and this question was so important that it could not wait until i finished chewing the giant piece of funnel cake that was chilling in my mouth. so, through a mass of powdered sugar and deep-fried batter, i managed to produce a sound that i could not recreate if i wanted to. and maybe the reason i can't remember the question now is that in my memory of this i can only hear that noise - and it was far from English. but the point is that andy answered without needing a translation.

ii
me: my favorite bug was always the roley-poley-olie.
mike: ah, Armadillidium.

iii
at sushi, after popping the biggest roll i've ever attempted into my mouth, a bit of soy sauce dribbled down my chin, and i was sans napkin. so, in an attempt to not embarass myself again by speaking with a mouth full, i tapped my hand on the table. and lisa longo and mike looked at me like i was a gecko (i was going to say a chimp but then i thought they may have understood a chimp) and they had no idea what i wanted. but luckily, before the sauce found its way to my white shirt, chris moore handed me a napkin and all was right with the world. or at least in Ginza II.

so what's the point of this long-ish entry? i'm just celebrating the idea that i live with three guys who can understand me in ways that not many other people can.

♥

yesterday was scary

I
when i drove to work, i had no idea that the sky had made plans to rain. so when i saw the solitary bolt of lightning in the open field behind the employee parking lot, i pretty much wanted to wet my pants.see, lightning doesn't usually scare me. but this time it did because i had no idea why it happened. it was still warm outside and there were barely any clouds in the sky, and it hadn't started raining yet. so the lightning took me by surprise. luckily, i got into work before it started to downpour. and oh, did it rain. it was darker outside at 3:30 in the afternoon than it was when i left at 8 pm.

i've been hating storms recently. because let's face it: your favorite thing in the world to do when a storm happens is to lay (i hope that's right - i could never get the diff between lay and lie without my hacker, and i don't feel like looking) in bed with someone special. and since i don't have that option these days, thunder, lightning, rain, clouds - basically anything that is reminiscent of a storm - makes me feel incredibly lonely.

realizations:

1. i was going to get soaked when i left because i forgot my umbrella in the car
2. i wasn't going to get soaked when i left because the rain had stopped by 8
3. i left my passenger side window open, and now my car is going to smell like ass-rain for three weeks.


II
I also was terrified last night because first, a balloon fell off my wall and made a noise and i thought it was a monster or a ghost, and then someone came into the house at 3 am when everyone was already home and asleep and i convinced myself that it was a robber and if i went to check he was going to shoot me with a gun. but it was just meg.

III
despite all of these fears, one really great thing happened yesterday. i had great conversation with a boy who likes me. and we are going on a date.

so all in all, yesterday was awesome.

Party Recap

so this birthday was one of those birthdays that lasted all week. actual birthday, then birthday dinner on friday with em and mike (at bonefish grill which was, despite my aversion to seafood, incredibly delicious), then most awesome party ever on saturday night! click here for the quick-and-dirty-recap(pun fully intended, rach), or read on for further details.

after a lot of preparation, including the setup of balloons, party food, two life-sized marilyn monroe cutouts, noisemakers, and confetti, my awesome party guests began to arrive.

and i do have the most amazing friends.

in addition to nostalgia bubbles, french kiss liquer that tastes so amazing it doesn't need a chaser, a pink elephant by amanda visell, and one rock ass card about prepositions, i got another very special gift: all of my friends pulled together and started a send-ashley-to-france fund.

and to think last week i had been rambling to donna about how i wasn't sure i was going to be able to make it there if i couldn't afford a plane ticket. well, thanks to some of the most amazing people in the world, i can now afford one-third of a round-trip ticket. and i have full faith that i will be able to come up with the rest of the money.

thanks again, awesome party buds. you don't know how much you are appreciated.

oh, yeah, and the midnight walk on the beach was pretty much one of the best times i've had.

Reason #56 why i love smart boys:
when i asked tim why the moon looked red, he was able to explain the reason to me using science talk. i can't repeat what he said because i was intoxicated. sorry.

Birfday Recap

i didn't really think 22 could be better than 21. i know, i'm prepared to have everyone even a day older than me get upset at this comment, but time is going by too fast and i feel old! i wish that i could have stayed 21 forever. well, not really, but maybe one more year?

anyway, what i was originally getting at is that, even though i was a tad apprehensive about 22, it was quite wonderful!

i got flowers delivered to me at the office for the first time ever,


i got to hang out with my family, including my supermodel neice (look at her pose!)




and my incredibly wired nephew (of whom I will post a pic later because my camera just died),

and when i got back to oc, there were balloons in my bedroom, champagne in the fridge, reubens about to be assembled, Wii to be played, and Paris, Je T'Aime ready to watch.

i don't think this birthday could have been any better.

oh yeah, i almost forgot, i started to learn "Samson" on the keyboard.

i have the best roommates in the whole world

last week, i was really depressed. and i wanted to cry. but i thought that that may not be the best idea, because - in my prior experience - boys are not the most comforting species. here and there, a boy really stands out in his ability to comfort a crying female, but most of the time, he fumbles, not sure where to place his hands or what to say, and if he remembers that tissues may be appreciated, he can't remember where he last put them.

so you can understand my hesitation to cry in front of my roommates - all three of whom are male.

but i was wrong.

mike is incredibly able to talk about things without passing judgement, at least until i am ready to handle it.

andy is always ready with a hug that will last as long as i need it to and a hilarious youtube video.

and chris moore - well, i hadn't ever really exhibited the sad emotion in front of chris moore and i wasn't sure what he would do. so i was happily surprised/relieved when the tears snuck into my eyeballs and he immediately jumped up to play a feel-better song on his itunes: "Bowl Of Oranges" by Bright Eyes.

and this gesture was uniquely chris moore and very comforting.

so last week i learned that i can let the tears flow whenever they want to, because my roomies are exceptional members of the opposite sex.

Pizza for breakfast?

According to an article by Lucy Danziger (e-i-c of SELF) it's not such a bad idea. She says that anything for breakfast is better than nothing, and that pizza with lots of veggies and a thin crust is actually a great idea for a breakfast that will keep energy levels up all day long.

Well, if only Andy and Sharon and I had saved some from last night's pizza-beer-bad-horror-movie-fest we'd be on the way to "slicker abs." But we scarfed it all down last night before we even cracked our third beers. Oh, how I love my bad habit friends. Don't get me wrong - I also have a special place in my heart for my wine and cheese friends, but sometimes (especially times like the day I had pre-Andy and Sharon) it's nice to unwind, talk about stupid nonsense, and drink Old Heathen until all the horrible things that happened on said day morph into stories worth rolling on the floor about.