Photos of the Week-end

From the top: Abby and I got happy hour drinks, mine was something frou-frou and hers was a mojito. Delish! THEN: my risotto (w/ tomatoes, artichoke hearts, Edam cheese, French bacon, onions, ridiculous amounts of garlic and pepper, and green peppers), served EXTREMELY hot. Photo could never do it justice. THEN: me and Abby at the Arc de Triomph after trying and failing to do a project for our conversation class (it's OK we did it today). THEN: Abby under le tour eiffel. Looks much less like a metal asparagus at night.

The Unbearable Unreliableness of the Paris Metro

A few funny things have occurred since we last spoke.

#1. Abby and I "went out," which consisted of us taking the metro random places in the city with open bottles of wine slash whiskey. Sat in the sex district of Pigalle being amused by people until a creepy guy came up to us and started talking. I mainly though he was just some dumb guy so I told him various fables about our lives etc, but Abby felt weird (probably because of his lazy eye, which made him look much creepier) so we got back onto the metro and went to Notre Dame to, yes, sit outside and drink. After a bit, we decided it was time to catch the metro home, which is where funny thing #2 comes in.

#2. They say that the metro gets to its final stop on weekends at about 2:15am. Thusly, one assumes that the last train will leave central Paris around 1:00-1:15. One thinks this is a just assumption, but realizes when one goes to catch one's train at 1:00am that "the last train est termine." So, one (and by one, you can now assume I mean me) sprints to the next metro stop to take her in the general direction of her house, only to be told that this train is also "ferme" (which, incidentally, not only means closed, but also locked). So, after about 10 minutes of freaking out, crying, etc., one resigns herself to do as any poor female student who misses the last metro must do: walk home.

SO, not that I expect you to have knowledge of Parisian geography, but let me just briefly explain that the distance from Chatelet-Les Halles (1eme) to my house in Montreuil (East Paris suburb) is less than half of the way across the city. However, do not let this fact lead you to believe that it took me any less than an hour and a half (two miles of city jogging-without-actually-jogging) to find my way back to Rue de Sergent Godefroy. Also, my "Paris-Par-Arrondisement" does not extend past Paris, so after I got out east of the 20eme, I basically had to follow where I thought the RER A line must run. That's basically what I had done the whole time though: through the huge traffic circles at Bastille and Nation and then on through Vincennes (various portes and chateaus of) and then past my only recognizable landmark, the Centre Georges Pompidou parking deck three blocks from my house.

Now, you might think that I was walking the whole way scared and pissed. Not true. Very funny people around at night and not a neighborhood that I went through was the least bit unlively with drunk French people (even more amusing than regular French people). Plus I had a bunch of cheap French whiskey and my new winter coat to keep me warm and occupied.

Upon arriving home after 3am my time, I was almost immediately Skyped by Cole, Ashley, Katie, and ANNIE!!!!! who has gotten so big! We chatted for about an hour, and seeing the three ladies for the first time since I left was unbelievably wonderful. I cried seeing Annie, like I usually do. They were drinking PBR, which I miss BADLY. I know, I'm even shocking myself.

#3. Passed out after reading more of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" which is PHENOMENALLY GOOD. Slept until 1, got up to make risotto finally, of which I will post photos. I was not expecting him to stand with me in the kitchen smoking cigarettes while I stirred my risotto for an hour and telling me stories. Turns out that the reason why this house is one big room downstairs and looks hand-done is because the entire house was molded and generally fucked up when they bought it, and my host dad redid the entire house by himself. He showed me a bunch of photos of the shitty house and him in some crazy wool coats, smoking cigarettes and doing some bricoler (the most useless French verb one could know, meaning "to do handiwork"). Anyway, it's pretty impressive. And he taught me various kitchen vocabulary, of which I remember none.

The risotto was delicious and Abby and I went out to do a project for class, got lost, had wine and cocktails at a happy hour cafe near the Arc de Triomph where everyone was speaking English. Happy hour is from 4-10ish at most places and means very very cheap drinks. Have 2, then after that, switch to 2 euro wine, take the metro home BEFORE 1am.

Luckily, I'm so exhausted from running through Paris is the cold that all I wanted to do was buy the cheapest things possible at the Monoprix for dinner and come home and curl up under my duck-feather comforter and watch 'Ratatouille,' which never fails to warm my heart and exhilarate my stomach.

Speaking of, being poor and running around all of the time is making it hard for me to keep my pants up. I've probably lost five pounds since being here. Not that I have any basis for comparison since #1 I don't know how much I weigh since it's stupid and #2 pounds doesn't mean shit since everything is in metric.

A bientot!

The Sty Chronicles: Part Un

I have a sty on my bottom eyelid. It's gross and painful. I'm putting hot compresses on it regularly.

HOWEVER today is Friday and my family is making crepes for dinner. They asked if I like crepes. I asked them what kind of question that was because EVERYONE like crepes. Except I really hope that they're savory and not sweet. My experiences with sweet things here in France has been that they probably wouldn't dislike the sweet tea of the South. Sugar is precious to these people, along with cream. But never in their coffee, god forbid!

My French mother is going to teach me how to use her washing machine this evening. Finally my clothes will fit again! I've already exploited my purchases at H&M the other day and am ready to wear something that smells like soap and not like the metro.

A bientot!

Le Champs De Mars

...Is where me and my dear roommate Abby went tonight to drink cheap white wine (although at this point, one may easily omit the cheap in favor of less cluttered posts. You must be used to the concept of me drinking cheap wine.) and meet adorable Italian M.B.A. students in town for one more night. Luckily, tomorrow is Friday and I am ready to go out to the discotheques for my friend Caroline's 21st birthday! Despite that it doesn't mean much here in France, the highly American symbolism still resounds.

Decided to laugh my way through French class today instead of getting depressed. Discovered that every pack of cigarettes sold in France says "smoking kills" on the outside. Drank three bottles of wine for dinner instead of eating anything sustainable. People told me wine was cheaper than water, but no one said it was also cheaper than food. That 0.90 centime baguette was good though. But that's all I had time to eat today. I prefer my own kitchen, so I still haven't cooked any food at my house. They're weird about who uses the olive oil. Oy vey.

Listening to my friend Jack S.'s great acoustic covers of Beyonce, Bob Dylan, and MGMT songs. My fingernails are filthy, just like Joni says. Good thing I don't have class in the AM OH WAIT MY PROFESSOR RESCHEDULED OUR CLASS FOR 9AM TOMORROW BECAUSE OF THINGS THAT ARE BEYOND OUR CONTROL AWESOME. It's fine. The discos await.

A bientot!

With regards to the previous post...

I like French and I like to read it/speak it/listen to my brothers talk to me in it. I hate the way people think you have to learn it. And I hate that there are so many self-satisfied idiots (i.e. my teacher) in every part of the world.

And I just miss having my own kitchen, I guess. Though I am losing weight as a result of being poor and not cooking for myself and eating other people's food which is, frankly, not nearly as delicious as my own.

"Il fait beau"

"Il fait beau" is what one says when the weather is nice. The weather is, however, far from what a native North Carolinian would call nice. 55 and cloudy, raining off and on. My host mother made sure to tell me that when it is nice outside that I should leave my windows open. I didn't know how to explain that it was fucking cold and gross, so I just nodded. I did have a kind-of conversation with my host dad about my French class, in which I am so UNBELIEVABLY bored but still have no idea what the hell all of the words on the page in front of me say.

My teacher is, as I suspected, completely insane. Our class consists of her talking out of her ass and saying things that contradict one another enormously, followed by an hour looking at a worksheet about sci-fi that is trying desperately to be funny when it's actually just useless. It's also beyond me why we're learning sentence structures and how to form questions when we haven't talked about any vocabulary or anything vaguely resembling trying to understand the words in the sentence. So, just like in almost every class, I am boredboredbored and completely irritated.

I wish that I could just not be, and that I could just deal with it like the other girls seem to do. Accept my fate as a student, i.e. to jump through hoop after hoop of idiocy. However, I cannot turn off my natural instinct to #1 be convinced that my teacher is a fool and see evidence of it left and right and #2 resent my presence in a class where I'm just filling a seat with dollar signs (or in this case Euro signs). Can't imagine what it will be like back at UNC.

I know it's only the third day, but all I want to do is go cook food and read other books and not this inane shit I am assigned. My family keeps insisting that I eat with them, too, so I haven;t even gotten a chance to make my artichoke, edam, bacon, and tomato risotto. For fuck's sake, it's all I want! But again, my vocabulary does not extend that far. It does, however, extend as far as to say MERDE!!!!

I leave you with this, which is what I read today in class rather than stare blankly at my idiot teacher.

"Being in a foreign country means walking a tight rope high above the ground without the net afforded a person by the country where he has his family, colleagues, and friends, and where he can easily say what he has to say in a language he has known since childhood."

-The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Going to go read more articles for Cinema. At least it's in my god damn language.

French TV

Watched '24' ('Vingt-Quatre') in French with my brothers. They surprised me as I was coming out of the bathroom. The toilet room, I mean. The bathroom (shower/bath) is down the hall. But they were waiting in my darkened room to leap out at me and tell me to come hang out downstairs before going to sleep. Very nice, considering I'd holed myself up in my loft for the past few hours Skyping and watching 'Mad Men' and looking over French verbs. Not so much the last one, hah!

Class today was OK. Cinema will be wonderful and I get to write papers in English! which we all know is my forte. In between classes I sort of wandered in and out of the metro with my headphones on, thinking of something to write a poem about. French class is two hours every day with my dyslexic and senile teacher. She might be nice, but I'm fairly sure that she's insane. Luckily I have someone to make faces at in class (4 other girls in my program). The rest of the students are international and one is named Hedwig! Still only one boy. No boys in my cinema class.

Thank god for my host brothers. They play video games and everything. Just like boys.

Went shopping at H&M for winter things. Got a coat on sale. It's cute. Assez French. I wish this damn country would pick a temperature though. All day long I sweat and shed my various layers of cardigans and then in the evening when I want to wear my cardigans, they are covered in sweat! ZUT! Mais, c'est pas grave. My host brothers keep telling me that my French will get better. I'm starting to believe them. Despite my classes. HAH as always, that phrase appears.

A bientot!