"The only way to bag a classy lady is to give her two tickets to the gun show... and see if she likes the goods."
Before I finally picked up the new
Guggenheim Grotto album tonight (excellent!), the Yalie and I sat on a bench on the Champs-Elysees in front of Dior and burped. Loudly. Repeatedly. At one point our mini-belch-fest got interrupted by three very drunk French boys (at only 9:30) who first sang us some song, and then told us how beautiful we were. We eventually had to get up and walk away in the interest of our bodily safety -- they were REALLY excited close-talkers; I kept wondering if I was gonna get popped in the nose. In fact, this desire to reserve my broken noses for hockey makes me think that all close-talkers should be obligated to also be pot-smokers or take a regular muscle relaxant. Something. Because close-talking and animated hand gestures/arm-waving do NOT mix, my friends. This is, of course, unlike burping and the Champs-Elysees; those were MADE for each other.
"How can you consciously contemplate when there's no debate, no debate? Stretch out and wait..."
You know the part in
When Harry Met Sally when she finds out her ex-boyfriend is getting married and she's crying to Harry, and she says, "all this time, I've been saying that he didn't want to get married, but the truth is, he didn't want to marry
me"? Ever notice that Harry doesn't contradict her? He knows she's right, she knows she's right, and there's no real need to make things more painful by reiterating known facts. Here's the thing: when someone says they don't want a relationship or whatever, it might be because they really don't, but more likely, they don't want a relationship with you. BUT... if you really honestly think about it, is this so bad? Wouldn't you rather be with someone who wants the same things you do and who has the good sense to realize he's lucky to be with incredible you?
Wondering what's inspiring this particular mini-diatribe? I feel a need to babble, I guess, as I have all of these thoughts rolling around in my head. It seems that right now I have several different friends in a variety of locations who are all having boy problems of the unrequited nature. Common threads in all of these situations: the boys involved are acting selfishly despite declarations of friendship (friends don't treat friends like that, bucko), the women involved are in some amount of emotional pain without being really willing to do anything to end the pain, and I'm getting dangerously close to smacking one or several of the involved parties upside the head - not because I'm that frustrated or because I feel like I have the right to feel superior (my own relationship issues could fill more volumes than Gibbon's entire body of work), but because I think a nice slap might knock some sense into involved persons, or maybe knock out some of the selfishness. Who knows.
As much as I would love things to have a fairy-tale ending and have you end up as happy as Meg Ryan in [insert preferred rom-com title here], it's not going to happen, and the sooner you figure out how to make yourself happy, independent of whatever relationship you're in, the sooner you'll stop waiting for something that will forever be elusive. Will it hurt? Sure, but not wasting time and emotion on men who clearly don't appreciate your fabulousness will hurt less in the long run. Do I think you should date other, available (emotionally and otherwise) men? Yes. Do I think you should keep this guy in the back of your mind, just in case? No. While your guy's actions may be hinting otherwise, you have ALL been told point-blank that you're just a friend, and you can only take that at face-value and live your life accordingly. Men send mixed signals, sure, but as much as you'd like to think that they're just testing your affection or something, when they take the time to say "you're great, but we're just friends," they mean it. Really. Don't believe me? Then, despite all of the reasons you're too scared to make a move, get some cojones, employ a few of the techniques we've discussed and kiss him. All uncertainty will disappear.
Is it possible that my perceptions of your situations are being colored by my own dating predicament and the fact that I tend to approach dating like a man? Not only is it likely, I can pretty much guarantee it, and you're welcome to ignore me or tell me to shove it. Do I expect some huge change based on the stuff I've written? Not in the slightest. Is it possible that you might be offended at all of this? Yes, but you and I both know it's true, and that, more imporantly, I love you. Will I still give you all the advice you ask for and be the most helpful friend-slash-therapist ("and not the other way around") I can? Will I keep my mouth shut if that's what you need or what you ask for? Will I take you out dancing, send you cheesy postcards, set you up with a hot new guy, or plan a New Years' rockin' Eve together? Oh yes, yes, yes I will. So, quit pining over the "friend" already and find a man who is worth an emotional investment before you run out of capital.
"Not ineffective: 'less effective'."
Turns out, when your job is teaching spoken English and your voice currently resembles that of a drunken frog, keeping any sort of order in a broken-down classroom full of unruly French teenagers is virtually impossible. Also, if these students are tapping on, asking questions about, plain fascinated by your Nalgene bottle (really REALLY fascinated, like freakshow-spectator-at-Barnum's-original-circus fascinated), it tends to take away your one way of making your voice audible. For some reason, I don't think my students have learned much today...
"Well, you certainly haven't been shopping. The only thing I found in the fridge was a dead dove in a bag."
Lo and behold, I’m at the library and I don’t feel like working. Granted, I’ve been here for 2½ hours (I’ve got another hour and a half before it closes) and I’ve been completely focused that entire time, so… I can justify not working for a few minutes, right? You know, my favorite thing about the BnF (except for maybe the fresh air that’s so conveniently created by these really loud filter/fan things) is the people-watching. Academics in general make me giggle, and when you can watch them when they’re absorbed in what they’re doing? Priceless in that MasterCard sorta way. Of course, I’m sure other people are watching me (at the very least I’m pretty sure the guy next to me at the table is somewhat annoyed by me, what with my loud typing and my coughing and my sniffling and my chair-scraping) and laughing at whatever it is I do when I read. Today, I think that thing would be playing with my hair, specifically my low-slung-Leia buns.
My whole life I never did the nubbin-hair (“my whole life I don‘t know what this song means“), but this week alone, I’ve nubbined twice. I think this might be somewhat related to something I was complaining about last night - my complete lack of sexiness or even basic attractiveness. For a week or two now I’ve been feeling ugly. I think part of the problem might be that all of my clothes are too big, as I’ve lost a bit of weight - not a ton, but enough to feel like everything I own is making me look dowdy. En fait, it seems that I’ve embraced the dowdy: I’ve stopped wearing any makeup beyond just mascara (not that I wear that much normally) and apparently I wear my hair in horns. Also, I’m in Paris where the fashion isn’t as glamorous as one would be led to believe, but it’s certainly better than the jeans-and-t-shirt look I espouse. I’ve been tempted to get a haircut lately, I’ve been so displeased with my appearance, and I *never* change my hair, I love it so much. I’d blame it on being sick (last time I checked, snotty and sexy were mutually exclusive), but… Meh. I’m sure I’m just being moody, and if I were a normal woman I’d probably just go buy some shoes or something; why can’t I respond to retail-therapy?
PS: Academics apparently don't believe in good hygiene, as EVERY time I've been in the bathroom at the BnF multiple people go directly from the stall to the exit. I hope this doesn't mean I have to stop washing my hands when I go to grad school.
"You probably meant more than two seconds. I mean, two seconds is like nothing. One, two - there. That's two seconds."
So, earlier when I was avoiding working at the library, I started this post giving a full report of my Thanksgiving (woke up feeling better, training meeting with an ogle-worthy Brit, dinner at
Scoop with MD where the pumpkin bisque was good and the turkey was dry), but, um... it was boring. Apparently, I'm okay with boring when it's that or "...since her entrance into the holy religion she has given us marked evidence of her perfectly understood obligations in which she has engaged, by the exactness with which she has observed even the smallest of rules..." (so a nun was a letter-of-the-law type; shocking), but it seems that something about dancing to Claude François made the mundane too basic. After a relative bust of an evening that culminated with dialogue straight out of a movie telling my companion that if certain goals are to be realized "kind feelings" aren't enough, I decided to scrap the old post (not that this one is any more exciting; woo). What have I really learned today about avoiding boring blogging, though? Sometimes it's better if the guys you date don't read your blog.
"...Only when the first assistant hasn't decided to become an incubus of viral plague. "
Ever wonder how to tell when your sense of guilt is overdeveloped? If you're sick enough to end up spending the entire day in bed wishing someone would just smother you and give you the sweet sweet release of death but the whole time you just keep thinking about how you should be doing research and you've just lost an entire day of work because honestly are you really *that* sick, then you might have a problem...
Also, I find it interesting that my tradition of getting sick on holidays has continued even when I'm in a country that doesn't celebrate the holiday in question.
"Have fun, stay single."
Got my carte de sejour today, which is pretty fabulous. Found a restaurant for dinner on Thanksgiving, I think (not that I'm really all that into the holiday - I'd be perfectly content to spend the day at the library; however, everyone I know has been asking me about what I'm doing, so I feel obligated to have a good answer. Besides, I could really use some yummy pumpkin pie). Also, met up with the New Best Friend in France for a few errands, dinner (a yummy salad - my vegetable intake has been suffering lately), and what ended up being a walk in the rain, which is when I took this picture. In the foreground is the Stravinsky Fountain, with the St-Merri church in the back on the right and a couple of restaurants (including the creperie where we had dinner) on the left. I don't know what it is, but I really love this square; I can't tell you how many hours I've spent on the steps directly in front of St-Merri, people-watching. Tonight, as we were walking from this little boutique I really like that I showed to the NBFiF to the creperie, I fell in love with the way the square looked tonight in the pouring rain. To top off my pleasant-ish day, I found the postcard for Sweet DW that I'd been looking for. Three cheers for checking things off the to-do list.
"I live my life like a French movie, Steve."
So all day I was planning this fun little post, to be accompanied by a portrait or two o' moi. My mom needs a picture of me for something my uncle is doing for my grandpa's birthday and for the collage that apparently will be the family Christmas card, so I arranged to spend some time with a friend this evening so we could take some decent pictures. However, she ended up forgetting, or something... I dunno. Basically, my day ended up with me all dolled up but feeling quite unproductive and somewhat lonely. Around eight, I had to get out, so I walked down to the grocery store to pick up a few things, but realized that I wasn't in the mood to be inside a store, so I just kept walking. I stayed on Blvd Voltaire until I came to Republique, at which point I hopped on the metro, because... why not? I got off at Bastille, and essentially walked along the route the 1 line takes, going all the way to l'Arc de Triomphe.
Turns out, a really long walk was exactly what I needed. I had my iPod, but I never turned it on, listening instead to the city's own soundtrack. It was amazing; despite being cranky, somewhere around the Hotel de Ville and half-way through a cinnamon and sugar crepe I realized that I felt okay again. One of the best parts was getting so lost in my thoughts that my mind would become completely empty for entire chunks of time. Really empty; yoga-empty. Not thinking at all is such a wonderful feeling. It started raining just after I took a few pictures at Place de la Concorde, and even though I brought an umbrella, I walked in the rain. All night I kept hoping for a Harry-on-New-Year's type of revelation, but alas, nothing. I eventually came home and began the drinking-raspberry-lemon-
tea-while-listening-to-Joni-Mitchell-and-The-Smiths portion of my evening. If my life is a French movie, then it's
Playtime and I am Hulot.
"I will look through your treasures, gypsy. Is this understood?
So why have the last few days been significantly better than the last time I blogged? Let me count the ways...
- The internet in my apartment is finally working, so I'm online at home. Yay!
- My bank finally deemed me worthy of having checks and a carte bleue now that I've had two accounts there for a month. I can't actually USE my carte bleue as of yet, but I've got it. Also, I can finally wire a bunch of money over here rather than continuing to be dependent on the ol' ATM. Theoretically, I can finally use my bank accounts... By the end of this month, I should be all decked out with my carte de sejour and a valid Navigo and a functioning bank card - and it's only taken two months!
- I am in love with the library. Apparently, I am the biggest nerd ever because I love the BnF as much as I love Paris. I would consider myself the luckiest woman on earth if I got to spend the rest of my life researching and publishing. Cheesy and cliched in that rom-com sorta way, but also the complete and utter truth. I have a crush on the act of researching. (Nerd, I tell you.)
- In a similar vein, I have two paragraphs written for my paper. It's not much, but it's the part where I state my argument. Thus, I even have an argument for my paper! Boring and nerdy to be this excited about it, yes, but does it make me happy? Yes.
- I went to my first French football game on Wednesday, and it was fabulous. Not only did France beat Greece (1-0), but I finally understand the off-sides rule without the posh-French-mustard-and-soy-sauce training wheels. Turns out, it's nothing like being off-sides in hockey.
- Talked to Em and Sweet DW for an hour tonight while they were on their way to some work function of DW's. I'd only exchanged emails with them since I got here, so it was pretty fabulous to get to talk to the BFFs. Also, did I mention that my internet is functioning? Because this internet thing? That was a miracle too.
"You haven't worked a day in your life. How could you be exhausted?"
You know those days when your pink shoes aren't making you peppy and no amount of Iron & Wine on your iPod will shake that cloud of negativity surrounding you? Welcome to my version of today. I woke up this morning, feeling so tired that I'd have given my right toes to stay in bed (™ Belledree). On my way to school, I took the wrong train... twice. The Paul at Gare du Nord didn't have hot chocolate, so I couldn't even cheer myself up the unhealthy way. Most of my classes were full of punk kids, and I ended the day by kicking several kids out of my last class. My landlord *still* hasn't finished installing our internet, and I feel guilty because I didn't go to institut because, well... I'm exhausted. All day, I just wanted to curl up in bed with a Chantico the size of my head. In case any of you were wondering: yes, this is the part where you should offer to give me my own personal masseur.
"I was watching MTV and there were girls dancing in suspended cages. That would be an ambivalent situation: 'I'm trapped!... but enjoying the music.'"
So last night I went out to dinner with the Yalie and the New Best Friend in France (kind of nice to finally get some of my friends together), after which we stopped at this little cafe on Ile-Saint-Louis for tea and hot chocolate (since none of us drink coffee), met up with some teachers from the NBFiF's school, and ended up near St-Michel at some latin bar, where we danced with random men until it was time to tear Yalie away from this French kid she had a thing for. It's ridiculous how fun the night ended up being - I am definitely resolved to stop spending my weekend nights watching movies. Of course, the one thing I regret from the evening was the lack of photographic evidence, especially of the Dominican who asked me to dance within 5 minutes of walking in the place. We were the ONLY people on the dance floor, I'm not a very good dancer, and he was a complete ham. Apparently, it was funny, as the people I was with were in stitches the entire time. Hilarity, I tell you; hilarity.
"I don't need to work out. My anxiety acts as aerobics."
So last night, after an ill-advised and mostly wasted trip to Montreuil, I was on the metro heading to Franklin D. to meet the Yalie for a movie (
Scoop, which made me finally understand the hotness of Hugh Jackman, although he wasn't as hot at the guy sitting a few rows ahead of us in the theater) and I made the mistake of absentmindedly half-smiling at some old guy as he was getting off at Nation. My absent-minded half-smile made him decide to NOT get off, and he spent the next 20 stops sitting three feet from me, staring. He followed me when I got off the train, put his arm around me as I was walking down the hallway, and didn't give up even after I shoved him pretty hard. Fortunately, I ran into the Irish Neighbor on the quai for another line, and while I talked to her for a few minutes he disappeared. So... yeah. Scoop. Better than I expected, but I didn't expect much.
Speaking of the Irish Neighbor, I've tried to be less shy, and I ended up hanging out with her both Monday and Tuesday - at one point, we were even both in flannel PJs, huddled under down comforters, laughing at the ridiculousness of a dubbed Thomas Crown Affair. Pretty fabulous stuff.
And finally, last night I had this dream about my last boyfriend, which is odd, since we broke up about 3 years ago. I think it's because I keep seeing this commercial for a new Lolita Lempicka fragrance, and he's the only person I've ever known who wore the brand. Also, this weekend some people I don't know are coming to Paris from Cali and I guess I'll be a bit of a tour guide, which should be fun, although I don't know anything about them (all I know is that this guy is coming with three friends). Anyway, in my dream, the last boyfriend was one of the three friends, and we reconnected and all o' that. Very strange to have this whole dream about an old relationship invading a new place. And... that's my boring travelogue. Sorry, Jaydub.
"The Daily Show with Jon Stewart: where more Americans get their news than probably should."
In the past I haven't written much about this because of, you know,
doocery, but as many of my regular readers know, until the day I left for Paris, I was a fraud investigator at Overstock.com for about 3 1/2 years. I loved the people I worked with, I loved how flexible the job was when I was in school, and I loved that I got stock options. However, it's been quite some time since the company started going down the tubes (from my point of view, which was way way way down at the bottom of the totem pole) - I stuck around mostly because I could work whenever was convenient for me and they paid me more than most companies would in Utah.
OSTK released their third quarter earnings earlier this week, and... it wasn't good. My options are now virtually worthless; the stock price hasn't been this low since I started, almost. Every time I check the price, I feel a bit nauseated. My Traveling-While-In-Paris fund is no more, and I'm quite annoyed that the company has been so affected by the lack of professionalism and perverted nature of the management. At least, that's what I'm blaming it on (as much as I'd love blame Herb Greenberg or the actual financials, which I know very little about). I used to think the Sith Lord bit was funny, and kind of cool, because what sort of CEO talks like that on a conference call? I like unorthodoxy, even if it comes from someone who thinks eye contact means staring a foot lower than a person's eyes. I don't, however, like it when it means I end up losing money. Or at least losing potential money.
Also, with the election yesterday, I must say that as much as I love Paris, I could really use a regular Jon Stewart fix. That is all.
Because the seating for the Pope's funeral went in alphabetical order, the leaders of the country sat in order - Iran, Ireland, Israel.
Three countries and four religions that hate each other." Once again I’m desperately trying to not die of boredom while I kill time by hanging out in the salle de profs at my school. The amount of time I spend waiting around this school is ridiculous, although I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad if some of the teachers would actually, you know, show up once in a while. They handle absenteeism a bit differently here - if a student doesn’t show up to a class, they have this whole system of bitty pieces of paper that have to be submitted stating that the student wasn’t in class - and letting students leave before the class is over is illegal (or so I‘ve been told). The kids have breaks in their schedules at all sorts of different times without a specific lunch hour or anything (rather than being at school for an entire, set day), and they can do whatever they want around the school during that time.
Even more weird to me is that if a teacher isn’t here, the class just isn’t held - the students are left to their own devices, and a substitute is only called in if a teacher has missed more than 15 consecutive days. Because of this weird (to me) combination of factors, I still have yet to have held one of my classes. Their teacher has been here exactly once on Monday (the day I take half of her class) since I started, and on that day, she told me I couldn’t have my kids because she never sees them and needed her full class. Right about now you, my reader, are probably asking, why does any of this matter? It doesn’t; this is more of me babbling (complaining?) because, well, what else am I going to do? You know, I normally have to waste several hours every week while waiting around, but it’s frustrating to have three more added to that because of teachers’ inabilities to let me know what’s going on. Honestly, would a little communication and organization be THAT hard?
From my file of “Other things that I’ve been meaning to blog about”: dinner with my neighbor last Thursday. There are three studios on the fourth floor, and there’s this Irish girl living in the one that basically mirrors my own. She’s 23 and working for a vaguely governmental Irish agency. We talk occasionally, mostly about the status of some problem in our building, and it’s mostly been because she’s made a point to be friendly, knocking on my door to introduce herself or say hi or whatever. I haven’t really done that, because something about France has brought out my shyness. Anyway, so we were talking on the landing earlier, and we decided to go out to dinner. We met on Thursday evening and walked all over finding just the right place, both of us not knowing the other well enough to really make a decision.
Eventually, we decided on a place right near Bastille (which, I was surprised to learn, is incredibly close to my apartment) and had this fabulous yet (relatively) inexpensive French meal -- I even started with escargots in a spinach and garlic sauce. The companionship was no less enjoyable (I think that I just crossed over into a bad 18th-century movie script with that line; I’m gonna leave it anyway. Leave your mockery in the comments.) Honestly, she was so fun. Full of stories, and energetic, speaking so quickly in her thick Irish accent that I had to listen pretty closely so I wouldn’t get lost. As it was, I had to have her repeat a few things. Oh - and I can’t understand her French at ALL; painful as French with a thick accent is, with Irish it’s incomprehensible. Well, to me, but as we already know I don’t know French anyway. So, my point is, she’s great; it should be fun living next to her for the next year.
In other news, as of Friday I am the proud of owner of a research card to the Bibliothèque nationale de France. I think it’s the easiest thing I’ve done so far here, which was a pleasant surprise considering all the horror stories I’ve heard. The guy who granted me access to things like occidental manuscripts and the Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal was even jolly about it. Going to the Arsenal on Saturday to look at a source was a bit more difficult, as I’m used to self-service libraries and no one was very good at explaining the process of requesting books (which for some reason again requires the use of little scraps of paper - what is WITH all of the paper bits everyone uses in this country?) As much as I love pouring over books from the late 17th century, I was a bit disappointed to discover that I can’t really use the source. Ahh well… at least I’ve officially begun researching for my paper. What are the odds that I can finish a decent writing sample in 24 days?
Oh - and my weekend proved to be a bit confusing and somewhat emotional. I’m sure if I were to read over everything I’ve blogged about for the last year or two I’d see patterns and be able to fix what’s wrong with me (more than just trying to change the crazy), but I don’t know what I can handle that sort of self-reflection right now. And finally… I’ve switched my daily crepe from Nutella to sugar and lemon, so hopefully I’ll really manage to quit being so fat (and no, I‘m not giving up the crepe entirely). Yes, Belledree, that’s right - “daily” crepe.
"The moonlight shows us for what we really are."
Every night as I've walked home from the metro, I always seem to have this huge smile on my face. Sometimes it's partly due to the music I've got on the ol' iPod (last night it was Jamiroquai's "Cosmic Girl" in honor of Lxs and Sweet DW), but mostly it's because as I walk along Boulevard Voltaire (or really any street) late at night, I can't help but find myself ridiculously giddy that I live in Paris. At night, when the streets are quieter and I'm in no rush, I find myself much more aware of my surroundings, and I am in love.
I'm in love with this city. For the first time in a while (that I recall), I think I'm more content to be alone than I would be with someone. Granted, that doesn't stop me from checking men out all the time (as I type this, there's this cute guy right next to me that I'm sort of tempted to flirt with, even) but at the same time, it seems so unnecessary. Coming up out of the depths of the metro last night, bathed in lamplight and moonlight, after having walked along the Seine and sat in a cafe for hours, I felt complete. Whole. I almost wish I could stay like this forever, blissfully alone in Paris.
Would pushing back grad school another year to do this again next year be worth it, I wonder?
