Best Week (and week-end) Ever, the assistants are leaving (but that's not why it was awesome) edition

On Monday I had a feeling this week was going to fly by. My last week of work, first week of University classes back from the Easter holidays, and worst of all, the last week for the majority of the assistants I know.

I think I had forgotten from the last time how sad it is when the contract comes to an end. And this year I had some absolutely fabulous students. It was hard to say goodbye to them, but even harder to share my last lessons and coffee breaks with my AMAZING colleagues.

There were only two times that I almost cried, first in my class de 1L, when four of my students presented me with this:

It's a beautiful picture frame and inside little notes from my students thanking me for the things that I taught them. In the left corner is a postcard another two students gave me with a Normand Hamburger on it: An apple cut in half stuffed with Camembert, tripes, teurgeule, and crème. Yum!

And the second time I almost let a few teardrops fall was when some terminales (seniors) had a few last questions to ask me about my favorite memories in France, what stereotypes I have come to realize are not true, what the first thing is I want to do when I get home (that one made me super happy because I got to say I will kiss my boyfriend!!) But the thought of not having these students next year, not working with these professors, was overwhelmingly sad. That's what happens when you create a whole nother life somewhere else though. After that, wherever you are, you are going to miss someone.

In other news, I am proud to say I am rocking the face off of my classes at the University. I got all my grades back from before the break and I killed it! Some of the best grades I have ever gotten in France!

National Poetry Month came to a grinding halt before vacation in Rome. I have ideas for all my poems, even some lines worked out, but I simply don't have the time to write them. I think I'll give myself an extension, write them when I can, and still post them here.

So, OK, let's talk about food. Because I have eaten SO. MUCH OF IT. this week! The assistants leaving has sort of inspired everyone to have going away evenings, last meals and all of that.

Wednesday night Bing and I were invited one last time chez Yolande, a professor at Malherbe who went to great lengths to reunite everyone who is lodged here. So she had us over for crepes a la Bretonne and they were even better than the last time. Plus, she showed me her technique for making the perfect egg.

Friday night was oh-my-moussaka Greek wonder (seriously, look at that picture. I am so overwhelmed). The Greek professor from my lycée invited me, the Spanish assistant (who is leaving tomorrow), a Spanish teacher, two French teachers, and the Swedish teacher over to send us away, and we also turned it into a birthday celebration for her. I cannot tell you enough how much I love this cast of characters. Spanish S with his love of dogs and cats, Spanish C with her glittering eyeshadow and a super colorful personality that makes you want to have fun, O, E and S, the French and Swedish teachers, with their soft speech and super interesting insights, and our host Athan, whose personality in all of its stereotypical Greek wonder is as spiced as the dishes she made. She speaks loud and she doesn't take any shit. I love being with all of them - what a diverse group we are!

Athan prepared an amazing full-course Greek meal. We started with a huge bowl of tzatziki and some baguettes to spread it on. You could smell the garlic from a mile away. Then, these amazing little spinach and feta cheese fritters. I don't know what she did with the feta but it almost tasted like paneer somehow. Then, a big Greek salad, and for the main course an enormous moussaka for everyone else and a dish of eggplant, potato, tomatoes and cheese for me. And then to finishe we had a sublime orange cake, and the chocolate cake Sam and I brought from our favorite boulangerie. And someone else brought macarons! I couldn't even eat one, I was so stuffed! Every single dish was super yummy and as I told Athan later that night, I was surprised that she went out of her way to ensure that I could eat everything on the table. My fellow vegetarians in FR know that is something you can say very rarely, and I appreciate the friends who actually get it.

I got dropped off at home in the rain on Friday, slept very little, and woke up for a full Saturday of things to do. Uni work/laundry in the morning followed by Sam and Yann's birthday lunch. I suggested pizza (wtf when I already had pizza planned for dinner?! Ashley, come on really). So we ate pizza in the salle commune, laughed at Youtube clips and joked together. Then ate this incredible gateau aux fraises that Violeta bought as a gift for the two guys.

And then last night, dinner for all the English colleagues from Lycee Victor Hugo. We meet for drinks, walk into a bar and are faced with a dude entirely dressed in a sub leather dress with a ballgag around his neck, a skimask over his face, and a flogger in his hand. Thank god my profs are not uptight! We all had a great laugh and headed over to the pizzeria where I got the best pizza I have tasted yet in Caen, I kid you not. Artichokes, mushrooms, olives, onions and lots of cheese. Que la vie est belle!

After another round of beers we were all on our way home, me laughing out loud down the street about all the things we saw and joked about that night. Oh, how we laugh together. I hope that wherever I end up teaching, the ambiance between the profs is as amazing as it is between them at Victor Hugo.

So now it is Sunday morning. I have lots of work to do, tidying up, letters of recommendation to write, University work to prepare, and CVs to send out as I am starting the job search process in the USA. Plus, a Sunday market to visit and a coffee to be had with one of my best pals.

Oh yeah, and one of the best parts of this week, I bought my plane ticket home. New York, baby, here I come! I think on June 8th when I finally get to New Jersey and am in the arms of my baby, the state will explode from the sheer power of my happiness.

charlie chaplin helps me out of a funk

So it's Christmas time and I've let myself get a little depressed. Homesick to the 100th power. Haven't got a tree yet, haven't listened to any music yet, STILL haven't started my craft presents. But you know, life is still good. I spent the weekend in Brittany with dear friends of mine and the new addition to their family. I'm going to a holiday dinner party on Thursday and a birthday party on Saturday. And in a week, I will be in England with an amazing friend, laughing and enjoying the holiday spirit.

This video made me feel a lot more hopeful today:

Also, thinking of starting a blog in French.

my heart; or, partially-eaten cookie

Disclaimer: This blog entry is emo and may sound like something a high-schooler would write. I’m not ashamed, but I won’t be offended if you just skip it.

This is me on Valentine’s Day. I’m feeling pretty lonely, which is why I bought the heart-shaped cookie. I thought maybe I’d split it in half and send the other side to Tapan. But the woman at the bakery told me it would stay edible for a max of 5 days. I thought about the first time I sent Donna a package, and the 30-day shipping time, and decided against it. I want to see him when I get home, preferably not in a hospital bed sick with food poisoning.







So I went home and ate some of my cookie after dinner. When I was finished, my cookie looked like this. I think it looks exactly how my heart feels right now. You know, my Valentine-shaped heart, not the blood-pumping organ. My metaphor heart is still a heart. It still looks like a heart. It still does all the important heart-stuff. But it feels a little shriveled. I think the creature I like to call “five months away from everyone I love” got kinda peckish and nibbled away at the edges.

Miss you guys at home. <3

Not looking forward to the next two weeks

On paper four two-week vacations look awesome. When you have nothing much to do and are trying to save your money for the pile of debt that is waiting for you at home, they're not all that appealing. I was bored out of my mind yesterday and today, and this vacation hasn't even officially started today. Thank god Tifenn and Murielle will be saving me with a tour of a cheese factory on Monday. After that, I don't know. You can probably expect a lot of entries. But I hope something better comes up. Wish me unexpensive travel opportunities.

In the meantime, here's something so cute you could die:


via, once again, Sociological Images, via New Scientist

Best and Worst Week Ever

Let's start with the bad to get it out of my system.

To Lexobus, pretty much the only bus company I can take in Lisieux, here is my middle finger. I hope you like it. It hasn't been given to anyone since the last time I drove in New Jersey.

Lexobus was on strike this week. I've written before about the uphill nightmare that is the walk to Laplace, and since I discovered Lexobus I've pretty much gotten fat and lazy and taken the bus to get there. But this week on Tuesday and Friday I had no choice but to walk it. I impressed myself on Tuesday. I got to school in twenty minutes and, while my face was red red red, I wasn't exhausted or anything. Friday was a different story. It was raining, Normandy style. Which is to say a lot. It was also super windy, so it took me double the time to get to school. And when I arrived I was soaking and assuredly stinky. After classes and lunch were over I noticed that the sun was shining bright. I though I should leave ASAP to get home without a repeat of the morning. About five minutes into my walk it started to hail. That's right. It wasn't raining. It was hailing! I'd already been suffering windburn and now I was being pelted with rock-hard pieces of ice. And do you know what happens when hail lands? It turns into water! So I'm soaked and sore from small hail bruises and my umbrella has just proven that it can do gymnastics when the wind blows hard enough (it's so mangled I don't even think it will ever be usable again). I finally get within a block from home and do you know what I see? Can you guess what I see? A fucking Lexobus! Arg!

I thought that my rant would end there, but last night I started to smell something disgusting in my apartment. Like a wet dirty dog. And then I realized that my new bag, the one I bought at soldes, was made of wool. If you don't know what that means, ask Tara.

OK. Breathe. Everything was fine last night. I got home, took a shower, worked a little on a V-Day present, had a nice dinner. And realized that a lot of good happened this week too:

-I understood every single word in "I Robot, You Jane."

-I can now choose between synonyms in French. For example, whereas before I could only call someone a man, I can now choose between the French equivalents of guy, dude, and bro.

-I did walk to and home from Laplace twice this week, and I'm not sore at all.

-I have a new neighbor who is very friendly, talkative, and generous. He cooked dinner for the two of us the other day and we had an entire conversation in French. I never get tired of hearing my accent and vocabulary are impressive!

-I made pancakes from scratch! I was missing baking powder, so in the end they were crepes, but it was fun to try a recipe from home.

-We have a new English assistant at Michelet. She's from Ghana and super-sweet. We won't be working on the same days, but maybe we'll hang out on our own.

and finally,

-Nathalie invited me to Paris next weekend! So I am finally going to see it tourist-style. Eiffel Tower, Louvre, Notre Dame, Champs-Elysees. Though I am supposed to think of other things I'd like to see. But I don't know too much. Any ideas??

Halloweeeeeeeeennnnnnnnn

I was being all mopey not too long ago about how holidays are gonna suck without all my best friends and family. And you know, everyone expects me to be sad about missing Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years, but they’re not the ones I’m upset about. There are two holidays I’m cringing about not being home for. My two favorite of the entire year. Let’s not talk about V-Day and the gaping hole I’m going to have in February. Let’s talk about Halloween.

It’s my second favorite holiday. Why? It’s something about being able to turn into someone else for one night. Whether you’re a little kid whose mom is helping you zip the back of your poofy Minnie Mouse dress, a college kid deciding which outfit would be better suited to play beer pong in, or a young woman in France trying to figure out how to possibly make a costume out of the seven outfits, three scarves, and one pair of sneakers you brought, Halloween is a time to be inventive and escape everyday life. “It’s come as you aren’t night.” And there’s also candy.

As you should have gathered by now, I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to share this holiday with anyone here. That I would just sit in my apartment watching Little Monsters and munching candy corn. I didn’t count on making awesome friends who would be just as stoked about Halloween as I am.

Yesterday I got together with Tom, Cecil, Lizzi and Gary to have a pumpkin-carving fest, which was totally inspired by Maureen and John’s pumpkin. I went and bought two pumpkins, and was surprised at how different they were from the American pumpkins I’m used to. They were practically horizontal pumpkins, which gave our pumpkins a sort of squished look when they were all finished, as opposed to the typical round and robust look of the pumpkins in the US.





As we listened to a quite eclectic mix of music on my iTunes and enjoyed yummy blush wine, we carved some wicked awesome pumpkins. Mine is the one that kinda looks like a grumpy grandpa, and Cecil and Tom’s is the one with the wicked awesome cat eye and jagged mouth. I forgot how much fun it is to carve a pumpkin with friends. The inevitable smearing of pumpkin guts on each other’s arms and faces, the inevitable staining of the floor because the newspaper wasn’t enough to sop up all the nasty pumpkin juices, the way someone is going to leave some insides hanging from the carved mouth so it gives the appearance of an infant’s gums (me, of course). I had a really, really great time.

After pumpkins, we played a game of the French scrabble I found in my room! We were all a little imbued with wine, which made the game fun. And we decided to play English, American, French and Spanish words, which still doesn’t explain how such words as SEXO, FUNS, TRAMPE, VAGQE, AND CUEHU made their way onto the board.

On Crêperies and Bars

Best Week(end) Ever, Part Four

Friday night, after the orientation, I was ready to relaxxxxx. C took me to a bar just around the corner from her house where a bunch of her colleagues and friends were already gathered. I knew some of them already and the others I met for the first time. As usual, everyone was really nice. I learned something fun – karaoke sounds the same, usually bad, pretty much universally. About an hour in, L (one of my English teachers) and her friends invited me to dinner with them. Once they found out I hadn’t had a proper French crêpe yet it was clear where we were going.

There was a little crêperie nearby where I ordered the most delicious (and only) crêpe I have ever had. See, I always thought for some reason (maybe because the literal translation of crêpe is pancake) that crêpes were like dessert, or breakfast food. I thought they were sweet, which they can be, but they also have varieties for a meal. I forget the exact name of the one I ordered, but it had camembert (my fave!), ham, and lettuce. It was awesome. I also had a glass of blush wine and some of L’s Nutella crêpe for dessert.

I really enjoyed myself at the crêperie. It turns out everyone I was with could speak English really well, and the two men wanted to practice their English a little. We had a nice, long conversation in Franglais. We talked politics, stereotypes, languages, school, me, them, everything. It felt good to be able to say some sentences in French. I think I’ve come a long way so far.

After dinner we went back to the bar and most of the people were still there. There was a huge karaoke party going on in the back for someone’s birthday (woot woot), and it made me sad. At home, I have a specific title: liaison to pop culture. There is not a single popular karaoke song - from any decade - that could play in America that I would not know. It’s my job. And here, I don’t know any of them. And anyone who knows me understands the tragedy of this.

Well, our sojourn at the bar after dinner was cut a little short after some extreme flirting on the part of one drunk guy, who swore I had not seen Paris until I had seen Paris with him. It was getting late anyway, so C and I returned back to her home and got some rest, in preparation for the day to come.

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.

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.

Emo-nely

Every year my Aunt Cathy rents a house on the boardwalk in Ocean City for a week. And my cousin always comes down for the week with a bunch of her friends and I visit them a couple times. And inevitably, once during this week they get an Old Time Photo. You know, those cheesy photos where you can dress in some period garb, sit on a piano or a bar while a sixteen-year-old fixes your hat and boa, and then have your photo developed in sepia and placed in a paper frame. All for just ten dollars a person. Each photo. So that means that for five people to be in a photo (and for each person to get a photo) it would cost about $110 dollars. And since I could never afford a beach house in Ocean City (nor could my 'rents), I always sit out and play the chaperone.

So there I was last night, holding my cousin's handbag as she, her boyfriend, and two of her bests posed for a few shots. I'm feeling lame and lonely, mostly because all the other years I came to visit them at the beach house I had someone with me. For a lot of years it was Edwin, and though I don't miss him, I do miss the satisfaction of having someone to walk with who is closer than a friend.

So I walked across the boardwalk to sit on a bench facing the ocean. Figured there's no use in watching their group and being envious. Because (hate me for it all you want) I do want to be in one of these photos. I want to come out of that shady back room in a bright pink dress and have a photographer arrange me and make a dumb expression for the camera. But I can't justify doing it because I am spiteful as shit. And it's a ripoff.

A moment after I sit down, a boy who is no taller than my knee sits on the opposite side of the bench. He is licking an ice cream cone that is as big as his face. Then (presumably) his parents roll up to the bench with their stroller, and out comes a toddler girl with a head of hair my neice would be totally jealous of. And they are a perfect, beautiful family and they should take an Old Time Photo together.

I smile politely and walk over to the next available bench After a couple minutes there, another family stops behind me to collect itself. They also have ice cream, but this boy has dripped it all over himself and must be wiped clean by napkin. I always had to order ice cream in a cup so I wouldn't stain my clothes.

They leave and I'm still waiting for my group to finish their photo. I don't have my book with me (damn). I'm thinking about France when a college girl comes up to me and asks if I'd like to participate in a survey. Sure. Usually, the religious survey-giving types get really mad at me when I admit that I don't subscribe to any religion and they try to convert me. But this girl was awesome. We had a really great conversation. She picked my brain a bit about the stuff she didn't agree with me on, but it seemed to be out of genuine curiosity instead of from a desire to challenge. And I really respect her for that.

By the time the group was done with the photo, I was feeling pretty good again. I'd verbalized some things I'd often thought but never said. Talking religion with people whom I don't know well usually scares the shit out of me, but this was a tolerable experience. And now I just want to audit a religion course.

One more night in the beach house. Whoo.

How to remove a tick safely

when i was young (7-9ish), my mother made fun of me a lot for being overweight. and though we didn't live in the woods, and i didn't do much outdoors, there were many instances that i found ticks on my body. ma doesn't know this (and she's computer illiterate so will probably never find out), but whenever i found a tick on my stomach, thigh or any other body part that wasn't typically visible, i would be much too ashamed of my fat to show her and ask for help removing the parasite. i would sit in the bathroom and try to remember how she removed ticks back when i would let her see my skin. i knew she used tweezers, but i couldn't just go get the tweezers and return to the bathroom - she would know something was up. so i would pull the tick as slowly as possible away from my flesh. and every single time, the body would detach from the head, and i would be left with a tick head embedded inside. and then i would remember. vaseline! she always used vaseline to smother the tick out. so i would open the medicine cabinet and slather vaseline all over whatever area was puffing up and reddening. of course it was too late - with no body, the head could never escape the petroleum jelly.

and this happened more than once. i'd say i've probably had 8-10 tick heads float around my body in the course of my life. and i'm sure (i truly hope) that my body has killed them all.

but today i found this tidbit of information and thought i would share it, in case there's any 6-9 year old reading this who is wondering how to go about removing a tick properly without ever having to show flesh to parent:

"To remove a tick, apply a glob of liquid soap to a cotton ball. Cover the tick with the soap-soaked cotton ball for a few seconds (15-20), after which the tick will come out on its own and be stuck to the cotton ball when you lift it away."

Or better yet, just get over your ridiclous fears of your mother's judgement. She's going to badger you about weight whether you show her your bare stomach or not, so grow a pair. Or get lyme disease.

because everyone's a little emo sometimes

i opened at Talk of the Walk in the aeropeurto on saturday morning. for anyone who didn't hear me complaining about it already, that means my shift started at 5 am. Not fun. no one even entered the store until 6, and even after that only one person would amble in every half hour, casually browse some overpriced merch, and then leave, sometimes without a salutation.

so i'm sitting in the chair reading Divisadero when an older man comes into the store. i say hello, half-expecting him to ignore me, but he asks me what i'm reading.

diversion: in my personal experience, i have found that there are two types of old men that will talk to a young woman:

1. the loathsome i-know-i'm-older-but-would-you-please-entertain-my-fantasies-and-not-smack-me-when-i-make-a-comment-about-your-breasts-or-ass

2. the grandfather.

(of course, another type of old man is the agist grump, but he doesn't make the list because he won't likely talk to a young woman in the first place.)

digressions aside, the man who asked me what i was reading was definitely the grandfather type. i told him what i was reading, which led us into a discussion about college, which inevitably led the conversation to my future. i told him about France and he was genuinely impressed (which is nice because my maternal grandfather is not the grandfatherly type of old man but the agist grump, and therefore not interested in talking, or congratulating me, about France).

this old man was so nice that when he felt it was time to leave the store, i shook his hand and told him it was my pleasure to meet him. and just so you know, that is a big deal. i work in an airport. i don't shake many hands.

after a few more minutes of reading Ondaatje, the old man re-entered the store to buy gum. when i stood to ring his sale, i noticed that he noticed my shape. it wasn't a creepy ogling, though. more of an acknowledgement of a pretty girl lifting her curves from the chair she was sitting in.

he said, "so you're gonna break your boyfriend's heart when you go to France, aren't you."

i was so flattered i could have cried. instead, i said, "oh, sir. i wish i could say i had someone's heart to break." when he didn't seem to believe i was single, i added, "it seems no one wants to date someone who is leaving in five months."

and here is where i get emo.

i've entered this new phase in my life where i say what i want to say. i've held feelings inside most of my life, and just a few months ago, i decided i wouldn't do that anymore. since then, i've told a few people exactly how i feel about them, and it hasn't changed a damn thing. there is still clearly something about me that halts the men in my life from coming after me, even when i make it clear how i feel. is it France? is it weight? is it intelligence?

i don't know. what i do know is that i have rolled my heart out red-carpet style before the men in my life, and they have all remained indifferent. sometimes i wish that someone would trample it, tell me why i'm not worth love. at least there would be action involved in that.

because everytime someone ignores what i've said, it gets harder to say it next time. and i know that eventually i'm going to shut down.

end emo rant.

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.