Alright, so my time in France is coming to a close.
What can I say? I will surely miss it. I've had a great year, I have met awesome people, I have decided that this will not be the last time that I live in France.
I was reading through my little yellow journal of this year and I have realized that this year, I have grown and incredible amount. I love the improvements I have made to myself and they were completely not expected. When I first arrived, I was scared as hell. I thought I had made the wrong decision in my life. I hardly could understand anything being as it was the first time that I had heard French spoken from real French people instead of professors. Let me tell you something, they speak quickly! I had no idea what was going on half the time. My first day in Limoges, I met some random guy and girl (turned out to be a Spanish professor and the Spanish assistant) and he took me to some random place, told me to fill out a form, and told me to pay the lady 30€. I had no idea what I was doing, 'look there' surprise picture, and that is how I got my bus pass.
I hardly understood anything for about the first month. I was so scared, walking to the post office freaked the living shit out of me. But one day, something just started to click. I understood pretty much everything and could form complete phrases without much difficulty. I made real French friends. I made English friends. I met people, I went to plays and understood what was going on. I have no problems anymore, with the language. I am constantly learning, but it's awesome. I have learned so much since I first arrived.
But even more than just the language, I have learned so much about myself. I am not that little scaredy cat who showed up at CDG airport jet-lagged beyond belief. I am not scared to speak to someone if I have a problem, I am not scared to speak my mind, I don't care what other people think anymore. I think that is one of the best things. I don't care if you think I'm weird. I know I am weird. I have a funny accent and I am loud and I smile. Get used to it. And if you don't, that is seriously your problem and not mine. Oh yeah, and don't pretend you can't understand me and squint your eyes in confusion. I know what I said! It was just said with an accent!
I've travelled on my own. I've couchsurfed on my own. I really feel like I have become a more independent person during my time over here. I like the Callie that I am. I guess that is all I can ask for.
But let's go a little deeper.
I think I know what my future holds.
Intrigued? So am I.
I truly feel like I can't stop moving. I have this desire, but it is more than a desire, it is more like I feel like I am being called to do this. I am being called to live in other parts of the world. I am being called to work in other parts of the world. I am being called to experience, to live, to work, to be scared, and to adapt, to love, to be loved, to help others, to discover myself, to discover others' cultures. I feel like the worst thing that I could do right now is go home and have this year be 'the year I lived in France.' And I don't mean that I want to travel like the majority of people travel. I need to live in a place for an extended amount of time. I need to learn the language, culture, the people, etc. I don't want the tourism, I want the life. The world is full of life, I want and need to discover it and live it.
Right now, I am researching ways to live in Vietnam, Morocco, Brazil, Argentina, Spain, and a few other places. And I am determined to make it work.
So, I guess that is where I am, world. Bouger, bouger! Move, Move!
UPDATE! Just discovered a quote that would go perfectly here.
"To live in the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."
--Oscar Wilde
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Some Memorable Quotes from My Time Here
So, I have a little yellow journal and I have written down some memorable quotes from many different sources. Enjoy!
And sorry, sometimes I don't remember where I got them from.
"With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy."
"A monk awoke from a dream that he was a butterfly, then wondered whether he was a butterfly dreaming that he was a man."--Buddhist Parable
"Waiting for the perfect love?"
"No, even I know better than that. I'm looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell zou I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you're doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don't want it anymore and throw it out the window. That's what I'm looking for."
"I'm not sure that has anzthing to do with love."
"It does. You just don't know it. There are times in a girl's life when things like that are incredibly important."
--Norwegian Wood by Murakami
"I want to know more about you."
"I'm just an ordinary guy-ordinary family, ordinary education, ordinary face, ordinary thoughts in my head."
"You're such a big Scott Fitzgerald fan... wasn't he the one who said you shouldn't trust anybody who calls himself an ordinary man?"
"True. But this is no affection. I really truly believe deep down that I'm an ordinary person. Can you find something in me that's not ordinary?"
--Norwegian Wood by Murakami
"How much do you love me?"
"Enough to melt all the tigers in the world to butter."
--Norwegian Wood by Murakami
"It is vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm gernerally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged felloy creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to plazing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex."
--Jane Eyre
"It is madness in all women to let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and unknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, if discovered and responded to, must lead, ignis-fatuus-like, into miry wilds, whence there is no extraction."
--Jane Eyre
"We are all Federalists. We are all Republicans."
--Thomas Jefferson
"Peut-etre c'est cette nuit seule."
--a friend
"I will have one mistress here and no master."
--Elizabeth the film
"You're free to leave me but just don't deceive me and please believe me when I say... I love you."
--Moulin Rouge
And sorry, sometimes I don't remember where I got them from.
"With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy."
"A monk awoke from a dream that he was a butterfly, then wondered whether he was a butterfly dreaming that he was a man."--Buddhist Parable
"Waiting for the perfect love?"
"No, even I know better than that. I'm looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell zou I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you're doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don't want it anymore and throw it out the window. That's what I'm looking for."
"I'm not sure that has anzthing to do with love."
"It does. You just don't know it. There are times in a girl's life when things like that are incredibly important."
--Norwegian Wood by Murakami
"I want to know more about you."
"I'm just an ordinary guy-ordinary family, ordinary education, ordinary face, ordinary thoughts in my head."
"You're such a big Scott Fitzgerald fan... wasn't he the one who said you shouldn't trust anybody who calls himself an ordinary man?"
"True. But this is no affection. I really truly believe deep down that I'm an ordinary person. Can you find something in me that's not ordinary?"
--Norwegian Wood by Murakami
"How much do you love me?"
"Enough to melt all the tigers in the world to butter."
--Norwegian Wood by Murakami
"It is vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm gernerally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged felloy creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to plazing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex."
--Jane Eyre
"It is madness in all women to let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and unknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, if discovered and responded to, must lead, ignis-fatuus-like, into miry wilds, whence there is no extraction."
--Jane Eyre
"We are all Federalists. We are all Republicans."
--Thomas Jefferson
"Peut-etre c'est cette nuit seule."
--a friend
"I will have one mistress here and no master."
--Elizabeth the film
"You're free to leave me but just don't deceive me and please believe me when I say... I love you."
--Moulin Rouge
Monday, March 28, 2011
The American Dream
So, I have noticed quite a few differences between France and America on a basic sort of level and there is one thing that I keep coming back to as a reason or as a source for the differences.
Socialism versus Capitalism:
the war is waged!
The American economy and the American way of life is centered around capitalism, just as France is centered around socialism and these lead to two very different viewpoints of life. Disclaimer, this is only what I have perceived and have no tangible proof to give.
To start this off, I will give tell you a story. This story was told to me by a friend named Landry Digeon, a French man who is currently living in Barcelona. He was told this story as a child by his parents.
There were three mice sitting at home playing together when their mother comes in. The mother mouse says to the kids "I have to leave for a little while. I love you and you need to stay here and be good, whatever you do, don't leave the house. It's dangerous out there."
"Yes mom, of course we'll do what you say"
As soon as the mother mouse had left the house, the oldest brother mouse says to his brother "I want to go out, see what's out there." And he leaves. Soon after he leaves his little hole in the wall, the cat of the house sneaks up on him and kills him.
The second baby mouse says to the smallest brother, "I'm going out, I want to explore the world, see you later." He gets a little further than the first mouse but gets struck down by the orange tabby a little further away than the first brother.
The last mouse, says to himself "I wanna see the world," he leaves the home and sees the bodies of his two older brothers on the ground and quickly scurries back to his house. He waits for his mother to come home and when she hears the story of the other two brothers, she says "they should have listened to me and stayed home."
When Landry finished telling me this story, he said that if it was an American story, it is sure that the mice would live happily ever after, but after finding their dream on the outside.
It really amazes me, the French children are taught from such a young age to obey and not deviate from the standard while American children are told to "Be what you want to be, if you want it enough you can achieve it." And this is what I am finding here. Children don't care to succeed in school, they only care about doing the absolute minimum because somewhere along the way, they can get some mediocre job that they will hate (most French people hate their jobs) and retire at 62 and they are "content" with that.
Americans are always told to be the best, be better than the other person; it is a competitive society and so we strive to earn good grades, we strive to get the best job, we strive to be better than we previously were. Maybe, I am totally biased, but a lot of what I see in the educational system here can be contributed to this. The kids are never asked to be creative. In America, we have projects, quizzes, tests, group work, so that each student can be challenged to be creative and inventive and unique. I don't see that here. Students aren't supposed to think, really. It is more like regurgitation of the information that they have learned.
I think it is so interesting that some of the major differences that I notice between our nations can be linked to basically to the government and economic way of life. Do I feel a thesis coming on? Maybe. Just in time to apply to Grad School.
Socialism versus Capitalism:
the war is waged!
The American economy and the American way of life is centered around capitalism, just as France is centered around socialism and these lead to two very different viewpoints of life. Disclaimer, this is only what I have perceived and have no tangible proof to give.
To start this off, I will give tell you a story. This story was told to me by a friend named Landry Digeon, a French man who is currently living in Barcelona. He was told this story as a child by his parents.
There were three mice sitting at home playing together when their mother comes in. The mother mouse says to the kids "I have to leave for a little while. I love you and you need to stay here and be good, whatever you do, don't leave the house. It's dangerous out there."
"Yes mom, of course we'll do what you say"
As soon as the mother mouse had left the house, the oldest brother mouse says to his brother "I want to go out, see what's out there." And he leaves. Soon after he leaves his little hole in the wall, the cat of the house sneaks up on him and kills him.
The second baby mouse says to the smallest brother, "I'm going out, I want to explore the world, see you later." He gets a little further than the first mouse but gets struck down by the orange tabby a little further away than the first brother.
The last mouse, says to himself "I wanna see the world," he leaves the home and sees the bodies of his two older brothers on the ground and quickly scurries back to his house. He waits for his mother to come home and when she hears the story of the other two brothers, she says "they should have listened to me and stayed home."
When Landry finished telling me this story, he said that if it was an American story, it is sure that the mice would live happily ever after, but after finding their dream on the outside.
It really amazes me, the French children are taught from such a young age to obey and not deviate from the standard while American children are told to "Be what you want to be, if you want it enough you can achieve it." And this is what I am finding here. Children don't care to succeed in school, they only care about doing the absolute minimum because somewhere along the way, they can get some mediocre job that they will hate (most French people hate their jobs) and retire at 62 and they are "content" with that.
Americans are always told to be the best, be better than the other person; it is a competitive society and so we strive to earn good grades, we strive to get the best job, we strive to be better than we previously were. Maybe, I am totally biased, but a lot of what I see in the educational system here can be contributed to this. The kids are never asked to be creative. In America, we have projects, quizzes, tests, group work, so that each student can be challenged to be creative and inventive and unique. I don't see that here. Students aren't supposed to think, really. It is more like regurgitation of the information that they have learned.
I think it is so interesting that some of the major differences that I notice between our nations can be linked to basically to the government and economic way of life. Do I feel a thesis coming on? Maybe. Just in time to apply to Grad School.
And We Meet Again
I know, I know, I never update this thing. Working on it always. Sorry, world.
Ok, now, I am sure that everyone out there is wondering what has happened in my life recently. I'm living in France, the country with the most romantic reputation in the world: the French, French men, French wine, French cheese. All of those seem quite romantic, well, except for the cheese--let's face it.
When I was younger; I thought of France and I thought of chateaux (castles) and romance, like every girl in the world probably. I thought in the back of my mind that something terribly romantic would happen.
Sorry romantics of the world, I don't want to ruin any ideals, but France and French life, all of it is quite normal. Maybe I have been thinking quite a lot about this recently because now I am single and living in France. The romantic in me is still waiting for that Prince to ride up on a white horse and instantly fall in love--thank you, Disney for giving me unrealistic expectations.
And recently, I have been thinking so much about love, attraction, lust, and all things related. I've thought about love at first sight, can it exist? If it does exist, how do you find it? And if you do find it, should you act on it? That whole idea is kind of crazy. If I can love someone instantly, what is there to say that we could actually spend a lifetime of happily ever after together? How are couples still together after 35 years if I can't make it through 2 with someone? Are some people destined to never find a partner? Am I one of those people? Do my ideals and ideas of life interrupt any relationship I might one day have? But I guess these are just normal questions from a 22 year old single chick living in the romance capital of the world.
So where was my point?
I don't think I have one today.
Sorry, world.
Ok, now, I am sure that everyone out there is wondering what has happened in my life recently. I'm living in France, the country with the most romantic reputation in the world: the French, French men, French wine, French cheese. All of those seem quite romantic, well, except for the cheese--let's face it.
When I was younger; I thought of France and I thought of chateaux (castles) and romance, like every girl in the world probably. I thought in the back of my mind that something terribly romantic would happen.
Sorry romantics of the world, I don't want to ruin any ideals, but France and French life, all of it is quite normal. Maybe I have been thinking quite a lot about this recently because now I am single and living in France. The romantic in me is still waiting for that Prince to ride up on a white horse and instantly fall in love--thank you, Disney for giving me unrealistic expectations.
And recently, I have been thinking so much about love, attraction, lust, and all things related. I've thought about love at first sight, can it exist? If it does exist, how do you find it? And if you do find it, should you act on it? That whole idea is kind of crazy. If I can love someone instantly, what is there to say that we could actually spend a lifetime of happily ever after together? How are couples still together after 35 years if I can't make it through 2 with someone? Are some people destined to never find a partner? Am I one of those people? Do my ideals and ideas of life interrupt any relationship I might one day have? But I guess these are just normal questions from a 22 year old single chick living in the romance capital of the world.
So where was my point?
I don't think I have one today.
Sorry, world.
Monday, February 21, 2011
It's been a while
Hey, Everyone.
So, I am very sorry that I haven't posted anything lately. I have actually written quite a few things, typed them, and have them on a jump drive that is at home. I am in Paris, not home. But I do have internet here, so I thought I would share something that I found on the internet today. It really got to me, and I figure, it is after Valentine's Day. Why not write about love? But I, sadly, did not write this, I stole it. Enjoy. Promise to post another original soon.
Love is still wanting to hold someone after you climax. After the initial euphoria from the orgasm wears off, you’re replaced with a sense of calm rather than a panic. You don’t want to search for your clothes, scramble to find your keys and figure out the best way to tell them, “See ya later forever!” You’re fine with chilling out in bed with the person and maybe ordering pad thai later.
Love is unattractive. It can expose our worst traits: Jealousy, irrational fears, heated anger; the gang’s all here! While it can bring out compassion and tenderness, it can also make you behave like the ugliest version of yourself. That can be okay for a little while, but love with real longevity should be like a xanax rather than an adderall.
Love is not afraid to be schmaltzy. There’s a reason why the most popular love songs are so lyrically simple. You can drown it in metaphors all you want but love usually boils down to, “You make me so happy. I want to hold your hand. I just want u 2 be mine 4ever!” You can be a 50-year-old linguistics professor at Columbia University and still find something to relate to in a Mariah Carey ballad if you’re in love because the feelings are so universal. It’s humbling, isn’t it? No matter who you are or what your background is, love can reduce you to Mariah Carey mush.
Love is an all-consuming drug. It gives us these natural highs we’ve only read about in books or heard in songs. It’s addictive. It’s what keeps us going to bars, drinking glasses of wine, going to that stupid house party in Bushwick; it’s all for the possibility of finding love. In the wrong hands, love can be dangerous and scary. If someone lacks a healthy foundation, love can kill. All of these crimes you read about in the newspapers are usually linked to passionate love. “I did it because I loved them just…too much.”
Love is not what our parents had. In high school, you never wanted to think about your mother and father having once slept with people in the backseat of cars and feeling warm and happy. That would make it feel less special and young. It would make love have less to do with you when, EXCUSE ME, it has EVERYTHING to do with you.
Love is getting drunk with your significant other at a party and taking a cab home with your bodies intertwined. You feel safest in these moments, the most secure. Entering a social gathering with someone who loves you is the biggest security blanket. People leave the party as a parade of droopy expressions and sad cocktail dresses. But not you. “Sorry guys, I’m in love! I’m taking a car!”
Love is fucking stupid. Love is fucking smart. Love is about betraying yourself, of compromising your ideals for someone else’s approval. That’s actually the bad kind of love, but I guess it all blurs together when you’re young or when you’re old or when you don’t love yourself.
Love is your significant other telling you about their favorite album and then making a point to fall in love with it on your own. Love is wondering why your better half loves certain things. You think you can find remnants of them in their favorite films, books and songs, but you usually can’t.
Love is finding yourself feeling protective over someone else’s well-being Love is being incensed with rage when someone or something has done your lover wrong.
Love is wanting your partner to cum. And if they can’t, just say, “That’s okay. I’m enjoying this.” It might be bullshit, but they’ll be orgasming in the next five minutes. Trust me.
Love isn’t always marriage. Marriage is spending $60,000 so everyone can know that someone loves you. You know what’s certainly not love? Debt. In some cases, love can be divorce.
Love is a back massage, a mindfuck, a hard cock, a pair of perfect breasts, of feeling unashamed about the cellulite on your body. Love is someone giving a shit about you enough to argue. Love is not passive. Love is “Don’t fucking touch me right now.” Love is “Who the FUCK were you talking to?” Love is sometimes hating yourself for a second. Love is hate. Period. Indifference is the real killer of love and the true antithesis.
When love leaves you, you should be lying on your bathroom floor with no resolve. You’re smoking cigarettes in the bathtub and crying about everything bad that’s ever happened.
Love is someone seeing the beauty in you and wanting to bask in it every day all day. Love is not guaranteed. We are not owed love. That’s why when we get it, we know how lucky we are and hold on to it for dear life.
So, yeah. That’s what love is. Anyone know where to get some?
So, I am very sorry that I haven't posted anything lately. I have actually written quite a few things, typed them, and have them on a jump drive that is at home. I am in Paris, not home. But I do have internet here, so I thought I would share something that I found on the internet today. It really got to me, and I figure, it is after Valentine's Day. Why not write about love? But I, sadly, did not write this, I stole it. Enjoy. Promise to post another original soon.
Love is still wanting to hold someone after you climax. After the initial euphoria from the orgasm wears off, you’re replaced with a sense of calm rather than a panic. You don’t want to search for your clothes, scramble to find your keys and figure out the best way to tell them, “See ya later forever!” You’re fine with chilling out in bed with the person and maybe ordering pad thai later.
Love is unattractive. It can expose our worst traits: Jealousy, irrational fears, heated anger; the gang’s all here! While it can bring out compassion and tenderness, it can also make you behave like the ugliest version of yourself. That can be okay for a little while, but love with real longevity should be like a xanax rather than an adderall.
Love is not afraid to be schmaltzy. There’s a reason why the most popular love songs are so lyrically simple. You can drown it in metaphors all you want but love usually boils down to, “You make me so happy. I want to hold your hand. I just want u 2 be mine 4ever!” You can be a 50-year-old linguistics professor at Columbia University and still find something to relate to in a Mariah Carey ballad if you’re in love because the feelings are so universal. It’s humbling, isn’t it? No matter who you are or what your background is, love can reduce you to Mariah Carey mush.
Love is an all-consuming drug. It gives us these natural highs we’ve only read about in books or heard in songs. It’s addictive. It’s what keeps us going to bars, drinking glasses of wine, going to that stupid house party in Bushwick; it’s all for the possibility of finding love. In the wrong hands, love can be dangerous and scary. If someone lacks a healthy foundation, love can kill. All of these crimes you read about in the newspapers are usually linked to passionate love. “I did it because I loved them just…too much.”
Love is not what our parents had. In high school, you never wanted to think about your mother and father having once slept with people in the backseat of cars and feeling warm and happy. That would make it feel less special and young. It would make love have less to do with you when, EXCUSE ME, it has EVERYTHING to do with you.
Love is getting drunk with your significant other at a party and taking a cab home with your bodies intertwined. You feel safest in these moments, the most secure. Entering a social gathering with someone who loves you is the biggest security blanket. People leave the party as a parade of droopy expressions and sad cocktail dresses. But not you. “Sorry guys, I’m in love! I’m taking a car!”
Love is fucking stupid. Love is fucking smart. Love is about betraying yourself, of compromising your ideals for someone else’s approval. That’s actually the bad kind of love, but I guess it all blurs together when you’re young or when you’re old or when you don’t love yourself.
Love is your significant other telling you about their favorite album and then making a point to fall in love with it on your own. Love is wondering why your better half loves certain things. You think you can find remnants of them in their favorite films, books and songs, but you usually can’t.
Love is finding yourself feeling protective over someone else’s well-being Love is being incensed with rage when someone or something has done your lover wrong.
Love is wanting your partner to cum. And if they can’t, just say, “That’s okay. I’m enjoying this.” It might be bullshit, but they’ll be orgasming in the next five minutes. Trust me.
Love isn’t always marriage. Marriage is spending $60,000 so everyone can know that someone loves you. You know what’s certainly not love? Debt. In some cases, love can be divorce.
Love is a back massage, a mindfuck, a hard cock, a pair of perfect breasts, of feeling unashamed about the cellulite on your body. Love is someone giving a shit about you enough to argue. Love is not passive. Love is “Don’t fucking touch me right now.” Love is “Who the FUCK were you talking to?” Love is sometimes hating yourself for a second. Love is hate. Period. Indifference is the real killer of love and the true antithesis.
When love leaves you, you should be lying on your bathroom floor with no resolve. You’re smoking cigarettes in the bathtub and crying about everything bad that’s ever happened.
Love is someone seeing the beauty in you and wanting to bask in it every day all day. Love is not guaranteed. We are not owed love. That’s why when we get it, we know how lucky we are and hold on to it for dear life.
So, yeah. That’s what love is. Anyone know where to get some?
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Worst Poem Challenge
So, I was chatting with a friend the other day and we were talking about writing. I minored in Creative Writing at Presbyterian College and I feel ashamed because I haven't written anything lately. My friend and I swapped stories of contests; at PC it was the erotic short story contest and at her college it was the worst poem challenge. So I took the liberty to write two short terrible poems.
The first, of course, has to be about Limoges.
Ode to Limoges
Oh, Limoges
L-I-M-O-G-E-S
You are indeed an aquarium
Many fish you have
Many fish you lack
You swim because you are the fish
The one with the big fin on its back
You have false coral and invisible walls
Which makes the inhabitants confused
You are the fish
You are the tank
You are--the Aquarium
Oh goodness, and if that didn't pain me enough, I wrote another of one of the greatest clichés of all time.
Beauty as a Rose
Your face is like a rose
Cheeks rouge
Stem slender but with thorns
Every beauty has her thorns
But yours seem less sharp
Worth the pain to
Caress your supple petals
Supple, ripe, beautiful
Your nose is the center
Perfectly symmetrical
And your red hair I need not compare,
For it is obvious
You are my rose
It sucks that your name is Violet
No lie, that was kinda fun. Any other terrible poems out there? Share!
The first, of course, has to be about Limoges.
Ode to Limoges
Oh, Limoges
L-I-M-O-G-E-S
You are indeed an aquarium
Many fish you have
Many fish you lack
You swim because you are the fish
The one with the big fin on its back
You have false coral and invisible walls
Which makes the inhabitants confused
You are the fish
You are the tank
You are--the Aquarium
Oh goodness, and if that didn't pain me enough, I wrote another of one of the greatest clichés of all time.
Beauty as a Rose
Your face is like a rose
Cheeks rouge
Stem slender but with thorns
Every beauty has her thorns
But yours seem less sharp
Worth the pain to
Caress your supple petals
Supple, ripe, beautiful
Your nose is the center
Perfectly symmetrical
And your red hair I need not compare,
For it is obvious
You are my rose
It sucks that your name is Violet
No lie, that was kinda fun. Any other terrible poems out there? Share!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Everyday French
So there are quite a few phrases here in good ole France that I knew existed, but are used much more than French 1 taught me. And I suggest to anyone coming to France to get used to these phrases, they are so helpful in everyday conversation.
- ou autres choses comme ca--or other things like that This is amazing when you're saying anything that has to do with examples. I cannot tell you how invaluable this phrase is.
- ou quelque chose comme ca--or something like that This is really helpful when you're asking for something or when you're trying to explain something. Especially when you're talking about ideas, this is really helpful.
- je ne sais pas--I don't know Pretty self explanatory but usually it gets slurred together by the French and end up sounding like "shaypah." I have used this so many times when someone asks for directions. I've only been here a month people, I do not know street names.
- du tout--at all This is good to use with any negative statement to emphasize that it completely negative. Just add it after the 'pas' in the statement.
- vraiment, tellement, vachement--really, seriously, truly This signifies importance, always used.
- je pense que--I think that To state your opinion
- Donc, alors, en faite, en plus--Thus, moreover, therefore These are good transition phrases
- Selon a--according to This is really good when you are talking about anything to do with opinions. To state when someone thinks something.
- Il faut que--it is necessary Use this when you need to do something, you should use the subjunctive after, but if you use present tense people will understand.
- J'arrive a comprendre--I arrive at comprehension. This is actually pretty funny, because the French never 'don't understand.' They might not arrive at comprehension but they never don't understand. They do not say "je ne comprends pas" ever. It must be a French thing, in no way would it be possible that they don't understand something. If something is confusing it is because of you, not them.
- Qu'est-ce que c'est--What is You'll use this a lot.
- truc--thing This is one of the most important words to know. If you don't know what something is, use the word 'truc' for it. Seriously, best word ever to know.
Friday, November 19, 2010
So, What Type of City is Limoges?
Hmmm...
I've heard it called "the smallest big city" in France.
I've heard it called "nothing spectacular."
I've heard it called "a charming and tranquil place."
Oh and also, "a good place to be young."
I'm not so sure what that last one means, but so far I've found Limoges quite agreeable. But I can tell you some of the things that I have done here that I have never done in the States. Last weekend, I participated in a goth parade. That was pretty unique. Who would have thunk that Limoges has a very lively goth subculture? Definitely not me, considering most of the teenagers at my high school are dressed to the nines everyday. But anyways, I actually walked in the parade (while wearing my black skinny jeans and bright yellow jacket, I stood out like an American in France. Oh, wait...).
In addition to the goth parade, I went to the party that followed, also goth at this really cool club in downtown Limoges. I hung out with my new English friends (they own the goth store Rezurektion in Limoges, check it out on the web). Again, I stood out like crazy considering that I was not wearing dark eyeliner and leather, but none of that seemed to matter. I had a great time and met some really awesome people.
What else have I done here? Oh, yes, just last night, I went out with my baker to this awesome restaurant where he performed in a Bluegrass group. Two Americans are in the band, the singers, and the other two are French through and through but have a little space in their hearts for the good ole bluegrass ballads of the US. I never would think to go out with my baker for a night of awesomeness, but it totally happened here.
Oh, and I have officially made pancakes by hand. They were so delicious. my roommates wanted to try a real American breakfast, so I bought the flour and everything, because there is no Bisquick or Aunt Jemima here. It went pretty well, but next time, I need to put more baking powder in the mix, they were very dense pancakes rather than super fluffy.* But the taste was absolute heaven. I even found the maple syrup here, imported from Canada, and it cost 3 Euros.
Another new experience that I had was eating a Boudin Noir. I went to a charcuterie feast type thing, called the Petits Ventres. Holy Crap, I've never seen so much meat in my life!!! I ate so many sausage-y things that night, I thought I could never look at another sausage again. But back to the point, Boudin Noir is a sausage that is pretty much just blood. That's right, I ate a blood sausage, totally blood and a couple of nuts (chatagnes). But it was delicious. There's a first for everything.
So here is just a taste of a couple of new things that have happened in my life in the past moth that have really stood out. I still can't get over that I marched in a goth parade. That was pretty cool.
*Update: I wrote this a little while ago and have made pancakes since that were extremely fluffy and perfect. The key is more baking powder and also to whip the egg whites separately and fold them into the pancake mixture after.
I've heard it called "the smallest big city" in France.
I've heard it called "nothing spectacular."
I've heard it called "a charming and tranquil place."
Oh and also, "a good place to be young."
I'm not so sure what that last one means, but so far I've found Limoges quite agreeable. But I can tell you some of the things that I have done here that I have never done in the States. Last weekend, I participated in a goth parade. That was pretty unique. Who would have thunk that Limoges has a very lively goth subculture? Definitely not me, considering most of the teenagers at my high school are dressed to the nines everyday. But anyways, I actually walked in the parade (while wearing my black skinny jeans and bright yellow jacket, I stood out like an American in France. Oh, wait...).
In addition to the goth parade, I went to the party that followed, also goth at this really cool club in downtown Limoges. I hung out with my new English friends (they own the goth store Rezurektion in Limoges, check it out on the web). Again, I stood out like crazy considering that I was not wearing dark eyeliner and leather, but none of that seemed to matter. I had a great time and met some really awesome people.
What else have I done here? Oh, yes, just last night, I went out with my baker to this awesome restaurant where he performed in a Bluegrass group. Two Americans are in the band, the singers, and the other two are French through and through but have a little space in their hearts for the good ole bluegrass ballads of the US. I never would think to go out with my baker for a night of awesomeness, but it totally happened here.
Oh, and I have officially made pancakes by hand. They were so delicious. my roommates wanted to try a real American breakfast, so I bought the flour and everything, because there is no Bisquick or Aunt Jemima here. It went pretty well, but next time, I need to put more baking powder in the mix, they were very dense pancakes rather than super fluffy.* But the taste was absolute heaven. I even found the maple syrup here, imported from Canada, and it cost 3 Euros.
Another new experience that I had was eating a Boudin Noir. I went to a charcuterie feast type thing, called the Petits Ventres. Holy Crap, I've never seen so much meat in my life!!! I ate so many sausage-y things that night, I thought I could never look at another sausage again. But back to the point, Boudin Noir is a sausage that is pretty much just blood. That's right, I ate a blood sausage, totally blood and a couple of nuts (chatagnes). But it was delicious. There's a first for everything.
So here is just a taste of a couple of new things that have happened in my life in the past moth that have really stood out. I still can't get over that I marched in a goth parade. That was pretty cool.
*Update: I wrote this a little while ago and have made pancakes since that were extremely fluffy and perfect. The key is more baking powder and also to whip the egg whites separately and fold them into the pancake mixture after.
Whadya Know?
So, anyone who knows me knows that I don't really read that often. Here is my official apology to every English, History, or whatever subject teacher that assigned a book for the class to read and I neglected to do so.
Dearest teachers,
I lied. I lied by omission when I showed up to class to discuss a book or turned in a paper. I'm sure you already knew this, but in your class when you assigned that classic novel, I probably read the first couple of pages and then just got the Spark Notes. I'm terrible sorry, for I have finally realized the error in my ways.
I had always thought that I was too busy, or maybe that the book would not be interesting enough. I mean, it is well believed by many that if it is assigned as homework, then it can in no way be an interesting book. When I should have read Wuthering Heights in its entirety, I skimmed. When I really tried to read Olaudah Equiano, I fell into the best sleep of my life. When I heard the name of the book The Invisible Man, I thought of that terrible movie with Chevy Chase. And for this, I am sorry.
In the past month, I haven't had internet at my house, I haven't had television, I haven't had any sort of entertainment. Except for books. And what an entertainment it has been. I have read half a dozen books in only a month, including Jane Eyre and I am now in love with Bronte, Charlotte that is. I have read classics and some not-so-classics, but I am reading. I love it. It is the most joyful thing to do. While I was reading Jane Eyre, I experienced something. It's hard to describe it, but I could not put the book down. I felt what she was feeling, I felt the most intense pity when Jane had to leave the man that, I knew as well as she, loved her with every bit of his heart. I found myself devouring every word of every page and savoring the beauty of the writing. I felt what one is supposed to feel when reading a book, a classic, much like the ones assigned in your classes.
So, here it is. I am sorry. I was wrong, you were right. I need literature in my life. I need to make time for the classics. I need to read and write and enjoy. And now I promise you this, I will find the time for reading the classics. And if a book is assigned in grad school, I will read it with enthusiasm because I know it is worth my time and effort.
Sincerely,
Callie
P.S. Thanks for the good grades. And if I ask you for a recommendation for grad school, let's pretend I didn't write this one blog. Please?
Dearest teachers,
I lied. I lied by omission when I showed up to class to discuss a book or turned in a paper. I'm sure you already knew this, but in your class when you assigned that classic novel, I probably read the first couple of pages and then just got the Spark Notes. I'm terrible sorry, for I have finally realized the error in my ways.
I had always thought that I was too busy, or maybe that the book would not be interesting enough. I mean, it is well believed by many that if it is assigned as homework, then it can in no way be an interesting book. When I should have read Wuthering Heights in its entirety, I skimmed. When I really tried to read Olaudah Equiano, I fell into the best sleep of my life. When I heard the name of the book The Invisible Man, I thought of that terrible movie with Chevy Chase. And for this, I am sorry.
In the past month, I haven't had internet at my house, I haven't had television, I haven't had any sort of entertainment. Except for books. And what an entertainment it has been. I have read half a dozen books in only a month, including Jane Eyre and I am now in love with Bronte, Charlotte that is. I have read classics and some not-so-classics, but I am reading. I love it. It is the most joyful thing to do. While I was reading Jane Eyre, I experienced something. It's hard to describe it, but I could not put the book down. I felt what she was feeling, I felt the most intense pity when Jane had to leave the man that, I knew as well as she, loved her with every bit of his heart. I found myself devouring every word of every page and savoring the beauty of the writing. I felt what one is supposed to feel when reading a book, a classic, much like the ones assigned in your classes.
So, here it is. I am sorry. I was wrong, you were right. I need literature in my life. I need to make time for the classics. I need to read and write and enjoy. And now I promise you this, I will find the time for reading the classics. And if a book is assigned in grad school, I will read it with enthusiasm because I know it is worth my time and effort.
Sincerely,
Callie
P.S. Thanks for the good grades. And if I ask you for a recommendation for grad school, let's pretend I didn't write this one blog. Please?
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
La Pays du Grève
So one thing that is very noticeable here is that there are so many grèves, which are strikes, all the time. It amazes me as an American, a South Carolinian, and a Seneconian. I have never actually seen a real strike in my life in the States. But here in France, in Limoges even, there are strikes about every week. It is so interesting to see and to, in some way, as an outsider, live, this different way of living (I think I just used too many commas, sorry Stutts).
Normally, there is a grève every Tuesday or something like that. Either the transportation system, the teachers, or the students are on strike. But that's not the funny thing. One wonders what they are striking continuously about. Who wouldda thunk it? It's all about the retirement age, or retraite. Right now, their retirement age is at a firm 60 and Sarkozy, the French president and others want to raise it to 67. Maybe it's because I'm young, maybe it's because I like staying busy, or maybe it's because I'm American, but I honestly don't care. It's almost more amazing from an American standpoint because the French hardly work it seems. Everything is closed on Sundays, we're talking that not a thing is open like restaurants and all that. And if things are open Saturday at any point, then they are not open at all on Mondays. And also Wednesday afternoons are likely to be free for time with the family. And Fridays, don't even think about going somewhere Friday afternoon that isn't a bar, brasserie (a bar that serves food too), or the movie theater. Oh and you cannot forget about the lunch breaks which last every day for about 3 hours. C'est bizarre à moi. Sometimes, I wonder why they complain about the age increase. Did you know that to be a full-time teacher in a lycée, or high school, you only have to teach 18 hours a week?
So why do they care so much?
I am finding that in France there is much more political interest than in the US. I learned in my first political science class with Dr. Raber that, for the most part, the average American in politically ignorant and/or apathetic. And even if we do know, we are not likely to act upon it in such a radical way. Of course there are radicals in the US, but it is not the radicals here who are protesting, it is the majority--the regular people who do not have radical beliefs. And another thing, the strikes here are not seen to be radical, they are just a normal part of life here. They are well organized and the police make the roads available to them, the buses change their route. It's amazing. People even sign up for the strikes so that it is ok that they miss work that day.
So what's my point?
Oh yes! I think that maybe the French care so much about this in order to keep their lifestyle. They value simplicity, except when it comes to paperwork. They value the feeling of family togetherness that comes with Wednesday afternoons, Sundays, and any long-lasting lunch. The French want to plan their meals with care, buying the freshest bread from their favorite boulangerie. And in order to keep this way of life, they march in the streets peacefully and well-organized. If they can maintain the retirement age, they can retain their cultural values. Family and life is always more important than working. They think that we Americans work too hard and I believe them. Just looking at this past summer that was hell for me, but I worked so hard. I felt like I couldn't take a break for myself. I was American--overstressed and overworked.
I come from the land of milk and honey, or at least the land of the super Wal-Mart and the good ole 9-5 job. Perhaps we work too much and don't think enough about the simple things in life. Maybe all this work is what makes us complacent about our lots in life, the retirement age and all that.
I hope that I am making some kind of sense here, but I fear that I am not. Just remember sometimes to take a time for yourself. Read a book, go to a park, eat a long lunch, make a pot of soup for a bunch of friends to enjoy.
Take time to think.
Love what you do. And one thing keeps coming back to me during my stay here. Right before I left I saw the film "Eat Pray Love" with my mother and it's message is the one I want to convey now. Don't just exist in a world, experience it.
Normally, there is a grève every Tuesday or something like that. Either the transportation system, the teachers, or the students are on strike. But that's not the funny thing. One wonders what they are striking continuously about. Who wouldda thunk it? It's all about the retirement age, or retraite. Right now, their retirement age is at a firm 60 and Sarkozy, the French president and others want to raise it to 67. Maybe it's because I'm young, maybe it's because I like staying busy, or maybe it's because I'm American, but I honestly don't care. It's almost more amazing from an American standpoint because the French hardly work it seems. Everything is closed on Sundays, we're talking that not a thing is open like restaurants and all that. And if things are open Saturday at any point, then they are not open at all on Mondays. And also Wednesday afternoons are likely to be free for time with the family. And Fridays, don't even think about going somewhere Friday afternoon that isn't a bar, brasserie (a bar that serves food too), or the movie theater. Oh and you cannot forget about the lunch breaks which last every day for about 3 hours. C'est bizarre à moi. Sometimes, I wonder why they complain about the age increase. Did you know that to be a full-time teacher in a lycée, or high school, you only have to teach 18 hours a week?
So why do they care so much?
I am finding that in France there is much more political interest than in the US. I learned in my first political science class with Dr. Raber that, for the most part, the average American in politically ignorant and/or apathetic. And even if we do know, we are not likely to act upon it in such a radical way. Of course there are radicals in the US, but it is not the radicals here who are protesting, it is the majority--the regular people who do not have radical beliefs. And another thing, the strikes here are not seen to be radical, they are just a normal part of life here. They are well organized and the police make the roads available to them, the buses change their route. It's amazing. People even sign up for the strikes so that it is ok that they miss work that day.
So what's my point?
Oh yes! I think that maybe the French care so much about this in order to keep their lifestyle. They value simplicity, except when it comes to paperwork. They value the feeling of family togetherness that comes with Wednesday afternoons, Sundays, and any long-lasting lunch. The French want to plan their meals with care, buying the freshest bread from their favorite boulangerie. And in order to keep this way of life, they march in the streets peacefully and well-organized. If they can maintain the retirement age, they can retain their cultural values. Family and life is always more important than working. They think that we Americans work too hard and I believe them. Just looking at this past summer that was hell for me, but I worked so hard. I felt like I couldn't take a break for myself. I was American--overstressed and overworked.
I come from the land of milk and honey, or at least the land of the super Wal-Mart and the good ole 9-5 job. Perhaps we work too much and don't think enough about the simple things in life. Maybe all this work is what makes us complacent about our lots in life, the retirement age and all that.
I hope that I am making some kind of sense here, but I fear that I am not. Just remember sometimes to take a time for yourself. Read a book, go to a park, eat a long lunch, make a pot of soup for a bunch of friends to enjoy.
Take time to think.
Love what you do. And one thing keeps coming back to me during my stay here. Right before I left I saw the film "Eat Pray Love" with my mother and it's message is the one I want to convey now. Don't just exist in a world, experience it.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Bon Apetit
Ok, let's get down to it.
The food is absolutely incredible here!!!!
I haven't even tried the good stuff yet, I'm talking super cheap market brand stuff being absolutely wonderful. I don't know what the French have done, but I have never tasted such incredibly delicious goat cheese, or any cheese for that matter. When I go to the store, I say to myself "I have no idea what I'm buying right now but it costs less than a Euro." But it really doesn't matter, because everything is so freaking good.
The cheese, the wine, the baguettes, and I can't even get started about the chocolate. The other day, I had a single chocolate covered raisin that completely changed my life and my way of thinking about everything I've ever eaten. It just doesn't compare.
I feel like I've had many a conversation with non-natives and we have several theories about why this is:
Theory 1: It's France! We are simply new to this place and the novelty is what is so great. I'm sure the French people don't think "Holy Crap, this is delicious" or more correctly "Merde, c'est tres delicieuse"every time they eat a baguette. I have to say that I do believe that this is one reason why I'm so taken by the food here. I'm in France! I've only thought about this for so long and now it's a reality. Of course I've idealized everything in my head and maybe that has influenced my tastebuds.
Theory 2: Everything is made with better ingredients here due to the French people's extreme sense of nationalism. This theory is linked somewhat to the first. I don't yet know if the products are actually better here. I have no idea what the processes or rules for manufacture are here. But I have, indeed, noticed the people's sense of nationalism. It is everywhere; it is prominent. Even though globalization has allowed for American cinema and the like to make its way across the pond, France is grasping whole-heartedly to its culture. It will not bow down. The French people are actively maintaining their way of life through greves and political movements like that. On the whole, they take pride in their country and want it to be the very best. All I can say is if it's pride that is in their bread and their cheese, we need a little bit more in America.
Theory 3: The French are aliens who insert chemicals that produce a euphoric feeling in the brain and body into the cheese, bread, and wine to better control the population of humans throughout the world. They want us weak of food comas when they take over.
But for now, I'm just going to have to accept my inevitable weight gain. But hey, at least I'll be smiling when the aliens take over.
The food is absolutely incredible here!!!!
I haven't even tried the good stuff yet, I'm talking super cheap market brand stuff being absolutely wonderful. I don't know what the French have done, but I have never tasted such incredibly delicious goat cheese, or any cheese for that matter. When I go to the store, I say to myself "I have no idea what I'm buying right now but it costs less than a Euro." But it really doesn't matter, because everything is so freaking good.
The cheese, the wine, the baguettes, and I can't even get started about the chocolate. The other day, I had a single chocolate covered raisin that completely changed my life and my way of thinking about everything I've ever eaten. It just doesn't compare.
I feel like I've had many a conversation with non-natives and we have several theories about why this is:
Theory 1: It's France! We are simply new to this place and the novelty is what is so great. I'm sure the French people don't think "Holy Crap, this is delicious" or more correctly "Merde, c'est tres delicieuse"every time they eat a baguette. I have to say that I do believe that this is one reason why I'm so taken by the food here. I'm in France! I've only thought about this for so long and now it's a reality. Of course I've idealized everything in my head and maybe that has influenced my tastebuds.
Theory 2: Everything is made with better ingredients here due to the French people's extreme sense of nationalism. This theory is linked somewhat to the first. I don't yet know if the products are actually better here. I have no idea what the processes or rules for manufacture are here. But I have, indeed, noticed the people's sense of nationalism. It is everywhere; it is prominent. Even though globalization has allowed for American cinema and the like to make its way across the pond, France is grasping whole-heartedly to its culture. It will not bow down. The French people are actively maintaining their way of life through greves and political movements like that. On the whole, they take pride in their country and want it to be the very best. All I can say is if it's pride that is in their bread and their cheese, we need a little bit more in America.
Theory 3: The French are aliens who insert chemicals that produce a euphoric feeling in the brain and body into the cheese, bread, and wine to better control the population of humans throughout the world. They want us weak of food comas when they take over.
But for now, I'm just going to have to accept my inevitable weight gain. But hey, at least I'll be smiling when the aliens take over.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
In Liomoges
I finally made it to Limoges on Sunday. I met the head of the English department; his name is Alain. He is very nice and it's great to know that some people speak English because I have recently found out that I do not know enough French to get by here. Sad but true.
Alain took me to a Russian professor's home to stay the night and that was absolutely wonderful. She and her husband were so nice. She spoke English but he did not at all. They were the perfect French couple one would imagine. Everything was great, then Monday happened. I went to Renoir, went to an English class with Alain and realized that this is going to be very hard. I met my roommate at Labussiere named Maria, from Spain. Then the Spanish prof took us around the city. I didn't know his name or who he was, but he took us to lunch and then made us purchase a card (for what? I don't know; turned out it was for the bus) and he took us to Labussiere, the apartment for language assistants. Let's talk about this apartment: no internet, no tv, no radio, no living room, smallest kitchen I've ever seen, teeny-tiny fridge, hard bed, and the smallest armoir ever. I am going to make this work because I do not want to pay more for my own apartment. But at this point, Maria and I don't really want the other assistant to show up so we can turn her room into a living room.
For now, I am overwhelmed and have no idea if I can do this for 8 months.
And hey, did you know that the keyboards for the computers are really funky here. They switched letters and for numbers, you have to shift. It's crazy! I need to get a memory stick so I can type on my computer and bring it to the school to put online.
Wish me luck, I'm going to need it.
Alain took me to a Russian professor's home to stay the night and that was absolutely wonderful. She and her husband were so nice. She spoke English but he did not at all. They were the perfect French couple one would imagine. Everything was great, then Monday happened. I went to Renoir, went to an English class with Alain and realized that this is going to be very hard. I met my roommate at Labussiere named Maria, from Spain. Then the Spanish prof took us around the city. I didn't know his name or who he was, but he took us to lunch and then made us purchase a card (for what? I don't know; turned out it was for the bus) and he took us to Labussiere, the apartment for language assistants. Let's talk about this apartment: no internet, no tv, no radio, no living room, smallest kitchen I've ever seen, teeny-tiny fridge, hard bed, and the smallest armoir ever. I am going to make this work because I do not want to pay more for my own apartment. But at this point, Maria and I don't really want the other assistant to show up so we can turn her room into a living room.
For now, I am overwhelmed and have no idea if I can do this for 8 months.
And hey, did you know that the keyboards for the computers are really funky here. They switched letters and for numbers, you have to shift. It's crazy! I need to get a memory stick so I can type on my computer and bring it to the school to put online.
Wish me luck, I'm going to need it.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
I'm in the Airport: Doesn't sound exciting, does it?
So, the two main men in my life dropped me off about 10 minutes ago. I teared up as I said "see ya later." For those of you who saw me after graduation, you might not know why now was a time to cry and then wasn't. Well, it's pretty simple actually. I'm scared to death... Just now was the first time that I have ever checked in, if that's the term to use, by myself at an airport. Aw hell, it's my first flight by myself. Yay.
I walked into the airport, not knowing really what to do. Luckily a wonderful woman named Lynda who works here helped me through the check in process, where my bag weighed in at 49.5 pounds, just a mere .6 left to breathe. Suddenly glad I left those BCBG heels, but not really. And then I realized, when I come back, I have to do this in another language. Yay.
Then I went to the bathroom. My bladder was about to explode from that last glass of good ole southern sweet tea that I had at Taco Casa before arriving at the airport. Finally, I proceeded to Concourse A, going through the security check. I didn't beep. Yay.
And now here I sit. I see so many people doing just what I'm doing. A man playing on his i-phone, a woman searching for mints in her bag, a 30-something couple reading a newspaper together with their legs sitting crossed atop a silver and black utilitarian table; all just sitting, waiting, for their flights. And for some reason, I keep expecting something profound to happen or something groundbreaking to pop into my head. Perhaps Morrie would show up and I would have a very enlightened Tuesday. Alas, nope.
But one thing did come to me, among all the scary thoughts and worries I have in my head, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Sounds silly? Not really. First you must understand my love of Buffy. I have every season and am collecting the comics as we speak. I adore her tenacity, vivacity, spunk, and one other thing--her ability to overcome anything. I mean, c'mon, she defeated a crazy demon Frankenstein thing, saved the world from multiple apocalypses, she fought a god from a crazy hell dimension, she defeated the very first evil, she fought countless vampires and won, all the while fighting her own personal demons. So, basically, we're very similar...
So you can see how I thought of her in all this. My world is being turned upside down, a lot like hers (just in different ways). Rather than fighting a destructive Fyarl demon, I am battling my worries, the little part in my brain that says "hey, listen to me while I think of the worst possible scenarios that could happen."
And then in true Buffy fashion, I decided to stand up (not literally, that would just be weird right now). I am standing up to my fears. Just like in the season four Halloween episode. Do you hear that, fear? You're just a tiny little demon that I can squash with my little human foot.
YAY!
I walked into the airport, not knowing really what to do. Luckily a wonderful woman named Lynda who works here helped me through the check in process, where my bag weighed in at 49.5 pounds, just a mere .6 left to breathe. Suddenly glad I left those BCBG heels, but not really. And then I realized, when I come back, I have to do this in another language. Yay.
Then I went to the bathroom. My bladder was about to explode from that last glass of good ole southern sweet tea that I had at Taco Casa before arriving at the airport. Finally, I proceeded to Concourse A, going through the security check. I didn't beep. Yay.
And now here I sit. I see so many people doing just what I'm doing. A man playing on his i-phone, a woman searching for mints in her bag, a 30-something couple reading a newspaper together with their legs sitting crossed atop a silver and black utilitarian table; all just sitting, waiting, for their flights. And for some reason, I keep expecting something profound to happen or something groundbreaking to pop into my head. Perhaps Morrie would show up and I would have a very enlightened Tuesday. Alas, nope.
But one thing did come to me, among all the scary thoughts and worries I have in my head, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Sounds silly? Not really. First you must understand my love of Buffy. I have every season and am collecting the comics as we speak. I adore her tenacity, vivacity, spunk, and one other thing--her ability to overcome anything. I mean, c'mon, she defeated a crazy demon Frankenstein thing, saved the world from multiple apocalypses, she fought a god from a crazy hell dimension, she defeated the very first evil, she fought countless vampires and won, all the while fighting her own personal demons. So, basically, we're very similar...
So you can see how I thought of her in all this. My world is being turned upside down, a lot like hers (just in different ways). Rather than fighting a destructive Fyarl demon, I am battling my worries, the little part in my brain that says "hey, listen to me while I think of the worst possible scenarios that could happen."
And then in true Buffy fashion, I decided to stand up (not literally, that would just be weird right now). I am standing up to my fears. Just like in the season four Halloween episode. Do you hear that, fear? You're just a tiny little demon that I can squash with my little human foot.
YAY!
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Getting ready
Ok, the big move is in a week. Exactly a week from today, I'm going to be on a big plane making my way across the pond to that country named France. It's weird how I always feel like a little kid when I say that I'm going to France to spend 9 months. It's like asking a child where they want to go in the world.
"I want to go to France, mommy."
"Sure darling, you can go anywhere you want."
But now, I'm doing it. It's a four-year dream that will finally be achieved. And how do I feel about it? Oh God, what was I thinking? I know, I know, I majored in French; this shouldn't be as bad as I think it's going to be. Oh God, I should have studied more.
Yep, I'm freaked out, excited, nervous, anxious, worried, happy, ecstatic, and a million other things that would make this list really long. But I suppose c'est la vie. There are a million questions that need to be asked and answered and I have no idea where to start. I need my visa to be ready SOON. I don't know what's taking so long. I don't know if I should just go ahead and close my Wachovia account and travel (with every penny that is to my name!) and just open an account with a French bank. I don't know. It's scary and worrisome, but somehow I know I'll be just fine. Everyone has rough patches, and everyone can get through them.
On a happy note, I have found some very promising housing ideas. Rent will only be 300 euros. So YAY! I have a job; I will be an English teaching assistant in a school, lycee Auguste Renoir, in Limoges, France. I have a roommate who is in the same program as me, which is exciting, and we have sworn to only speak French in the house. So on the whole, a lot of things are going pretty well.
But packing may be another issue. So many shoes I have to leave behind. It makes me sad to think of leaving my beautiful Chinese Laundry high heels that go so well with that yellow dress of mine. Or leaving the red hot BCBG peep-toe heels that flatter any black dress.
Right now, my mantra is to just go with it. Whatever clothes I take will be the clothes I wear. My lack of shoes will just have to... well, I could always get more shoes there. And everything will work out because it has to, right?
"I want to go to France, mommy."
"Sure darling, you can go anywhere you want."
But now, I'm doing it. It's a four-year dream that will finally be achieved. And how do I feel about it? Oh God, what was I thinking? I know, I know, I majored in French; this shouldn't be as bad as I think it's going to be. Oh God, I should have studied more.
Yep, I'm freaked out, excited, nervous, anxious, worried, happy, ecstatic, and a million other things that would make this list really long. But I suppose c'est la vie. There are a million questions that need to be asked and answered and I have no idea where to start. I need my visa to be ready SOON. I don't know what's taking so long. I don't know if I should just go ahead and close my Wachovia account and travel (with every penny that is to my name!) and just open an account with a French bank. I don't know. It's scary and worrisome, but somehow I know I'll be just fine. Everyone has rough patches, and everyone can get through them.
On a happy note, I have found some very promising housing ideas. Rent will only be 300 euros. So YAY! I have a job; I will be an English teaching assistant in a school, lycee Auguste Renoir, in Limoges, France. I have a roommate who is in the same program as me, which is exciting, and we have sworn to only speak French in the house. So on the whole, a lot of things are going pretty well.
But packing may be another issue. So many shoes I have to leave behind. It makes me sad to think of leaving my beautiful Chinese Laundry high heels that go so well with that yellow dress of mine. Or leaving the red hot BCBG peep-toe heels that flatter any black dress.
Right now, my mantra is to just go with it. Whatever clothes I take will be the clothes I wear. My lack of shoes will just have to... well, I could always get more shoes there. And everything will work out because it has to, right?
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