"Why was Harold talking to this man? This man... was an idiot; this man used words like 'wibbly-wobbly' and 'convo.' and explained that trees were
trees. Of course trees were trees; Harold knew that trees were trees."During
Waiting for Guffman:
"So you didn't want to be with him anymore, but you waited for him to break it off?"
"Sort of. I just figured that I'd already hurt him enough and he needed the sense of control that he'd get from dumping me."
"That's what men do, you know. You realize you were a man in this situation?"
"I was just trying to be sensitive to his feelings. I'd already broken his heart before and-"
"No, really. This is exactly a conversation I would have with a guy. It's like when a guy is a twat for a week or two, hoping his girlfriend will dump him first so he doesn't have to."
[irrational female pout] "It is not."
During
This Is Spinal Tap:
"I'm not THAT old. I didn't see it in the theater, you know. What - did you? Did you quit ballet lessons for Spinal Tap?"
"Ha. Don't you remember, it was She-Ra. Did you watch He-Man and She-Ra?"
"Yes, we had those in England."
"What about Thundercats? You had Thundercats, right?"
"I think so..."
"You know, it took some serious self-control not to bring all of my Thundercats box sets back with me..........My hell. I *am* a guy."
"My point, exactly."
Question for you all that Harold brought up after we watched both Guffman and
Drop Dead Gorgeous: would you say signing a song while singing it is a common thing in the US?
"If we go on strike, then we're a union. Right?" "No. We're just a bunch of angry kids with no money."
Didn't teach today, despite getting up at 5:45 and being at school by the usual 8-in-stinking-morning. Instead, I got to sit in the salle de profs for 4 1/2 hours until I managed to convince the teachers I work with that it was okay for me to leave, all because the students at my school were on strike (they started last Wednesday after I left so I didn't find out about it until today). They hadn't received their grants (bourse) yet due to a computer glitch that the administration had known about but didn't bother to fix, and apparently more than 50% of the students need it in order to, you know, eat (e.g. very poor area). I actually feel for them, although today the principal informed them that the money had been sent to their accounts and it would take 3-5 days to show up - totally normal - but of course the students said they wouldn't end the strike until the money was IN their accounts. I've been told that striking is a part of French culture - is climbing over a blockade also part of my assimilation?
"Oh, 'quite well' is not 'very well.' I'm satisfied."
Met an absolutely beautiful Frenchman who was smoother than the smoothest of stereotypes. I normally don't enjoy most French accents in English (if I never hear "I go-eenk tooo show-peenk" instead of "I went shopping" again it will be too soon, and on the other end of the spectrum, I used to make MD speak French to me because his almost-gone mishmash of an accent was more of a turn-off than anything else) but this accent was beyond fabulous - and when he spoke French? Even better. He wore The Coat, taught me French slang, and stroked my ego for hours. Glad to have found someone while re-thinking the potential awkwardness of
Harold - definitely smarter to let that relationship remain in the late-night-movie and pointless-banter arena.
For the record, "very well" is an understatement.
"Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker."
Went out for drinks with the Aussie, a fellow assistante d'anglais, last night. We were discussing the social dynamics in a bar, specifically what it takes for a guy to make a move. The Aussie insisted that they never do a thing until they have at least a buzz (she's probably right - the group of guys next to us took about three hours to get around to talking to us, conveniently just 15 minutes before the time at which we'd decided to leave), which gives me that much more respect for all of the poor LDS boys I've dated over the years who didn't have such a convenient crutch. Looking back, when giving advice to guyfriends, perhaps I should have used the phrase "grow a pair" a little less often.
"Those places are reserved for the kind of humiliation and heartbreak you're just not capable of delivering."
Found out today that just a few weeks after I gave the old French boyfriend ideas on
how to woo me (explicit instructions didn't help - within a week or two our experiment in re-dating was over, fortunately), he and the Yalie started dating, ending it around New Year's. MD had convinced the Yalie not to tell me about it but someone else slipped, thus armed with this knowledge I got all the details out of the Yalie. Of all the feelings I could have had, none of them involved jealousy or sorrow or whatever else, just serving to reinforce the fact that MD is *not* the one. I was bugged that the Yalie had lied to me, a bit wistful that I had missed out on some really juicy news, and sad that the Yalie had put herself through manipulation, negativity, and ego-crushing. Wonderful to realize that I literally couldn't have cared less that MD was dating someone else, just as I expected. Oh - and I'd never had the experience of having kissed the same guy as one of my friends before, but it was fun to compare notes. Or at least, I thought it was funny - I think the Yalie was mostly uncomfortable so I just had to drop it. Hee...
"My god, I've just noticed how pathetic you are." "Really? I'm *so* aware of it."
- Saw The Holiday (Cameron Diaz is a HORRIBLE actor, by the way, and my disgust with her is complete.) tonight after my second French class (less review, with actual correction from the teacher; may not be as hard as I could handle but seems to be an okay fit for now. Mostly, I just love feeling like I can speak French) as a way to unwind, and sat next to this late-middle-aged couple. The woman was American here on vacation visiting her boyfriend, who is French and repeated all of Jude Law's lines so he could practice a British accent. Oddly, not that annoying and mostly just funny, although her inability to follow the most banal plot made me want to sew her lips shut.
- Things with this whole doing-a-master's-here-next-year plan are moving along smashingly, in pretty much every possible arena. Job, apartment - even a good lead on an advisor for next year. All signs point to yes, my friends...
- Am in dire need of a good snog. I'm past the point of thinking it's a necessity and having rather strange dreams about it - I'm to the point of complaining about it as both Marky and the NBFiF can attest. Haven't gotten to the point where I'd smooch just any random guy, but Harold is seeming like a better and better option these days. The neighbor factor might be a little awkward, though. Must rethink that... and if manage to find someone kissable while re-thinking, even better.
- Ever wonder how to tell if you're teaching in a "bad" school? When your students engage in fisticuffs in class, when things are constantly being thrown out of the windows, when your supervisor is practically salivating at the idea of you willingly returning the following year, you might be in a "bad" school. When someone starts a fire in one of the toilets at your school and the school is so ghetto that there aren't even fire alarms to detect it so there's quite a blaze requiring not one but two fire trucks to show up, it's pretty definite that you're in a "bad" school.
- Enjoying the soldes a bit too much, and will post pictures soon, perhaps. Loving the new shoes; not loving the drain on the bank account. Am irresponsible enough to not care too much.
"Deacon, do you realize you have just stranded one of Europe's greatest leaders in San Dimas?"
So, despite the trepidation I used to feel about doing this, I just canceled my wireless account in the US that I had planned to keep for a lot longer, because, well, I think I'm gonna stay here in Paris for another two years to do a master's. Now if only I can get my French skills up to snuff...
"Ditka versus the world..."
Da Bears are going to the SuperBowl!! Now I just have to figure out a place to watch it here... I can't believe I'm in Paris for the first time the Bears have made it to the SuperBowl in what - 21 years? Argh.
"What do you do? You laugh. I'm not saying I don't cry but in between I laugh and I realize how silly it is to take anything too seriously."
I think I'm oddly hormonal; every movie I've seen lately has made me cry. Some, I saw
again and cried three times instead of just once.
Others, I saw for the first time and cried solely because of the music (several of the piano pieces in this film were ones that I not only play, but that I've played so much over so many years that they're really "my" pieces), or perhaps my tears were because I've gone for months without the emotional release that music provides. I'm not quite sure why I'm having such a reaction to these flicks, but I do think it all means that I'm probably overdue for a good cry, preferrably over something only temporarily sad or bothersome.
"What about you? How many wives do you have?" "I can only afford one."
Had a lovely night. After being berated by Marky Mark (I'm gonna register, I promise!) for already failing at our self-discipline challenge, I went to see
Cashback which I loved, and not only because I sat next to a French guy who laughed at a lot of the same things I did (I usually sit in packed theaters laughing alone at jokes that never make it into the subtitles). Was on the metro home then, at which point I desperately tried to keep from having a *huge* grin on my face (eventually I gave up and just looked at the ground so that while I may have been smiling, at least I wasn't smiling AT anyone), I came home to see that my British neighbor (who will hereafter be known as Harold, as that is not his name) had IMed me while I was gone and stopped by, so I popped up to his place, assuming he wouldn't have gone to bed within half an hour of messaging me, even though it was after midnight.
He was up and watching some incomprehensible Russian movie that had no subtitle option, so he ended up coming down to watch
When Harry Met Sally, which he'd never seen. Definitely fun to watch it with someone who was so unfamiliar with Nora Ephron's work. At one point in the film and only slightly out of nowhere, Harold says, "Making out is such a wonderful term." I tell him I think "snog" is pretty good, but according to him, "making out" has some sort of ring about it that shouldn't be underestimated. Odd that going to see
Babel earlier this week prompted conversations more about English tourist twats and the craziness required for flashing detectives. Quite enjoyable, too, was our banter beforehand, as we ranted about dumb people and mocked each other's accents (I'm from the 'burbs of Chicago and so
Mystery, Alaska is a "haaaacky" movie - get over it already). Best bit was just as we settled down to watch the flick:
"Are you a lights-on or lights-off kind of guy?"
"I dunno."
"I usually prefer the lights off, but whatever you prefer."
"Off then... How's this angle?"
"Oh, that's just right... Yeah, that's even better."
"I mean whatever happens, your toes are still tappin'. Now when you got that, then you have the attitude."
So, it's 11:15 on Sunday night and I have absolutely NO idea what I'm going to do with my classes tomorrow. And I have six tomorrow. My body is still on Utah time (yes, I was up and functioning this morning, but my body didn't really wake up until 4 pm, which is 8 am MST) which means that getting up early enough to be at school in time for an 8 am class tomorrow is going to be hell... Ahh well - the first part of my week is awful, but I have a 4- or 5-day weekend, so it's okay, right? Right?
Tomorrow is so gonna suck.
"Has the fact that you're completely psycho managed to escape your attention?"
So I was talking to the NBFiF last night, particularly about this incredibly sweet French guy who she just isn't so sure about. Personally, I'd be pretty much completely sure that his short tuchus was gone as soon as I felt half as smothered as she does, but hey - that's why uber-nice short French guys go after her and not me. Anyway, after this conversation and subsequent viewings of different movie bits (yes, I *would* like second helpings of Luke Wilson, both before and after the shaving scene, and even more so if he's accompanied by the music of Elliot Smith - and Adrian Brody? As previously stated, I'll take him too) since then, I've come to the realization that perhaps I'm maybe a little too picky when it comes to men.
I didn't used to be this picky, at least not back in the day, when I dated tons of people. Really - I've dated every type, from the drug dealer (I was dumb and 19... long story) to the voluntarily homeless hippie (really great guy, actually). Maybe that's why I've become picky - trial and error, perhaps? It's like how when you're a little kid and your mom says you have to at least try Food X on your plate before you say you don't like it. And since I've tried Man A-Z... but I think I might just be rationalizing.
Then again... am I honestly THAT picky, or have fate, timing, location, and whatever else have all conspired to make any situation I was interested in not work out? Should I work on being attracted to an uglier version of Danny DeVito, should I be so lucky to find one? Am I allowed to be equally grossed out by really hairy guys and by guys who are into hair removal? (Of course, seen in the right light, that's like wanting neither Austin Powers nor Richard Simmons and that seems perfectly normal...) Am I somewhat insane to basically limit myself to guys who are naturally slightly hairy? Why do things like "good taste" (which, like everyone's definition of taste, means similar to mine) in music or movies or whatever else matter? Or... I won't date guys who are into hunting, for example. Personally, I think it's okay to not want a guy who considers inflicting death a pastime, even if that disqualifies 87% of Mormon men in the Intermountain West. Then again, I'm a pacifist who loves violent sports, so the argument for my lack of rationale has already reached the point of consensus.
So... assuming my would-be-nice mental list has turned into an unreasonable bunch of deal-killers, how on earth do I fix the problem? I can't force myself to date someone I'm not really attracted to; I've tried and it really doesn't work. And it's not like I'm some perfect woman myself -- not gorgeous and certainly kinda crazy (e.g. I'll readily admit that it was my psychoses that ended the relationship with the hippie - not that he didn't have plenty of issues of his own; I just handled it poorly - but I think that's kind of standard when you're 21 and as slow about relationship stuff as I am). Meh... Let's hear it for using the ol' blog as a mental dumping ground. Anyway, I'm sure it'll all work out eventually; I just know that however it does, it won't be with a pocket-sized phone-happy Frenchman who used to have good hair.
"Europe's always been real good to me, she's always been forthwith with girls with pretty feet." Last night, I saw Requiem for Billy the Kid by default; I knew when it was playing, and my efforts to see another film (even went all the way to the Champs just in case it was playing there) that I merely *hoped* had been released came to nothing. It was hardly a wasted movie (not that I often feel like I've "wasted" my evening on a movie, what with Le Pass and all), but with the help o' the internet, I figured out that the movie I wanted to see had been released in a few out-of-the-way theaters and so ditched institut early to have time to eat something (I may not want to eat, but my body tends to get cranky when I subsist off of nothing but herbal tea) before the movie. Ran into
War on his way into my building to have a drink with the German neighbor Rogr; chatted for a moment and then high-tailed it down to Nation - a place that's close but that I rarely seem to go. Dug the theater down there, though.
Anyway, so I finally saw
L'incroyable destin d'Harold Crick tonight, which I've been wanting to see since I'd heard about it (and, particularly, the casting: Maggie Gyllenhaal, Queen Latifah, Dustin Hoffman? All in the same movie? My cup runneth over.) months ago - a desire which merely increased after reading reviews of it when it was released in November. So... it's good. Loved it. Cried at the end, actually. In fact, I can't remember being quite as moved by a movie after a first viewing since Garden State, and I love that movie (whether this one holds up on repeated viewings we'll have to see). Oh! And the soundtrack? Spoon, the Jam, Wreckless Eric, the Free Design... fabulous stuff.
What this is all bringing me to is... loneliness. One of those thoughts from a couple of nights ago. A few days before I left to go home for Christmas, the thought occurred to me that maybe staying here to do a master's would be the right thing for me for the next couple of years. When I was at home, people asked me how I liked Paris, and my response was generally "I've never been happier in my entire life," because that's absolutely true. I've spent a lot of time thinking about whether or not this would still be true if my time were more occupied (you know, working more than two days a week), or if the friends I currently have were all gone, or if I had all new neighbors or what (things that would all be very likely should I stay another two years). Since I got back almost a week ago, I've been out of sorts. I don't want to be in Utah at all, but I wasn't quite ready for my normal life to resume. I've had no motivation - the list of things I need to be doing, specifically to figure out this grad school thing, is long and have I gotten out of bed before 3 even once so far? No. Wait - yes, I have, but that was for that dumb meeting, which meant that my to-do list wasn't touched then, either.
I haven't been particularly happy for the past week, either - just going through the (depressed) motions, except with better hygiene (although even in the throes of the downward spiral of depression, my hygiene never ever suffers... I might be overly fastidious about that, actually). Sleeping inadequately and just feeling out-of-sorts will do that to a person, right? It's been more than that, though. Tonight, in institut, I was sitting there listening to Christian talk as his PowerPoint exploded all over the wall behind him, comparing different maps of Old Testament temples, and all I could think about was the last session I did before I left Utah. I subconsciously corrected phrases in my head to match up with the temple wording, and once I realized I was doing it, my heart ached. Ached. In that moment, I'd have given almost anything to be sitting in an endowment room, anywhere. The fact that I couldn't, and wouldn't be able to for months, bothered me even more. There were times when I was at school when going to the temple was all that would soothe the madness in my head, and sometimes it was the best cure for the unbearable aloneness I felt.
I feel that a lot these days. It's usually not unbearable; in fact, it's often welcome. Like going to movies alone; I pretty much NEVER did this before. (The only movie I've ever been to alone in the United States:
Drawing Restraint 9, which I saw in San Francisco while getting my visa from the French consulate. I had planned to just go to the MOMA, but this was playing in the theater there and I thought... well, why not? I'm not sure if that even counts since it wasn't in a traditional movie theater. Hmm... now that I think about it, it makes sense that the only time I've gone to a movie alone was on a trip that was a preamble to my current life.) I realized tonight that I think I may prefer most movies alone, assuming
the guy sitting next to me doesn't consider it an opportunity to appropriate my bum.
But life in general? I don't want my entire life to be alone. Granted, I'd rather be alone than with someone I don't want to talk to, but... I feel like I need to do something about this. Especially as it's not going to get better before it gets worse, what with the Yalie just starting a new relationship and the NBFiF having a guy of her own (although that actually started before Christmas, come to think of it), and now that MD won't even talk to me, let alone spend time with me like he did back when we were friends or whatever it was that we had going on (there should be some cliche about a man scorned, if you ask me)... life is looking to be quieter than I might otherwise like it.
It's not like people here are unfriendly - and I used to be so good at making friends when I was younger. But now I want more of a connection - something I have with Belledree, Marky, Sweet DW, or any number of people - even with the NBFiF. The kind of person you don't have to impress, who knows how to enjoy a comfortable silence, who doesn't think bar-hopping and Kate Hudson movies are the pinnacles of cultural events or a social life. I'm sure it's that I need to get outside of myself more; make an effort to get to know my fellow teachers, the people in my ward, the other English assistants, or even just to do more outside-our-building things with my neighbors. I'm sure a lot of my reluctance has been rooted in my problems with the language, but since I'll be starting French classes soon (#1 on my to-do list, actually), hopefully that will improve, right? I'm really not craving more male interaction (although I certainly wouldn't complain if I found a friend who was also kissable) as often seems to be the case with perpetual singlehood, and not just *any* human interaction, but interaction with meaning. I'm not unhappy; in fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I'm actually quite content. It's more that my lonely moments seem to be more abundant than I would like these days. As much as I love movies alone, there just seem to be a few out that would definitely be more enjoyable with a friend along.
A couple of days ago I was chatting with
Llew and
Kink, and Llew made a favorable comparison to Sex and the City. While I'm flattered, I'm pretty sure that Candace Bushnell had a much fuller life.
"Situations have ended sad, relationships have all been bad. Mine've been like Verlaine's and Rimbaud."
So, it's before midnight and I'm tired. Exhausted, even. Miracle of miracles. I'm ready for bed, drinking my final cup of herbal tea for the night, looking forward to perhaps sleeping at a potentially normal time. Do you SEE what time I'm writing this? I'm so looking forward to sleeping regularly again - it's been weeks. It helped that I had to get up earlier than I would have liked to to go to my training meeting (which the cute Brit bailed on, thus wasting, if you will, my hot outfit and great hair; it's hard to seduce someone you never see). After dinner with the NBFiF post-meeting (which, by the way, kind of sucked because neither one of us felt like eating but felt like we OUGHT to eat. For some reason, lately, I've been completely bored with food and I'd rather not eat. Kind of annoying, really.), I saw
Requiem for Billy the Kid.
If you ever think that going to see a movie to force yourself to stay up a little bit later is a good idea, make sure you don't go see a relatively slow documentary with a quiet, breathy soundtrack. Probably good that I "wasn't paying attention" the whole time, because the second half of the film made a lot more sense to me than the first (not counting the fifteen-minute section starting around the 40-minute mark that I missed completely, obviously). So... if you can, check out the film; I know I'll be seeing it again if I ever manage to be well-rested.
"The suspense is terrible. I hope it will last."
So, I was wrong. Turns out, one *can* think on the metro. And I've had so many thoughts rolling around in my head tonight: "Adrian Brody is really hot... Has anyone written about the funeral aspect of a nun taking her vows... I wonder if I can improve my French enough to do a master's here... Ooooh - the soldes!... Cute Brit Boy will be at the training tomorrow; how to hit on him without being too obvious... " Obviously, none of these are in any way important, although I did have a couple of thoughts that I'll probably write about in the next day or two, assuming I continue to think about them.
Oh! However: it is a bit hard to think when there's a cute guy who smells really yummy sitting across from you, occasionally brushing your knee with his. Well, not hard to think, but definitely hard to think about things other than the yummy-smelling guy.
"Paris is always a good idea."
So I'm back home in my lovely little apartment, once again jet-lagged and unable to sleep at normal times. My body is also conveniently rebelling against me, so I haven't done much in the way of leaving my building (only twice since I arrived). I realize I haven't posted anything since Christmas, although I've written a bunch of snippets over the past few weeks that I just haven't finished so... we shall combine it all:
- Spent much of the week of Christmas racing around re-living my sister's childhood memories - or at least the whitewashed memories of her childhood when everything was a Charlie Brown Christmas. We had a very idyllic childhood, certainly, but you just can't pack it all into a single week. Exhausting. Fun to show my family that I'm not just a hockey fan and that I really can skate, though.
- Met up with Marky Mark one late night; it was the first time I'd seen him in almost a year - not since I was in New York visiting him. Marky's pretty fabulous - I'm hoping March/April will be warm enough to tempt him to come here for his spring break, especially there'd be no one better to see Spain with. Anyway, so we took a few pictures, but... something happened to my camera in the middle of my visit. The Marky Mark part: major highlight. The lost camera part: definitely the worst.
- The wedding... oh the wedding. So the foreign exchange student who never left (in case that's confusing, brief recap: I have one biological sister, three permanent foster sisters - two older twins and one younger Russian, and a foreign exchange student from Ukraine who attached herself to our family and just never left. My parents paid for all their weddings, put them through college, are referred to as Mom and Dad by everyone but the twins, although they are Grandma and Grandpa to the twins' kids) got married to this Russian guy, and well... the wedding was interesting. My mom had the good sense to make it relatively low-key, although nothing with the foreign exchange student is ever truly low-key. I had to sing. The FESWNL wanted the girls in the family to sing, but my mom volunteered me to sing a solo instead. I still think my sisters owe me for taking that collective bullet... painful. The highlight was definitely the groom's "glowsticks dance," and yes, it was just as awesome as it sounds. Waltzing with the groom's former roommate sans music at the end was pretty uncomfortable. Am now the only single member of the family left, and actually completely fine with it.
- New Year's Eve: quiet, pleasant - spent primarily with Belledree and the Buddy, with the majority of Belledree's family joining us for midnight. The illegal fireworks were quite fun, especially as it's something I've never done before (my second date with my last boyfriend involved driving to Evanston to buy fireworks, but we never actually set them off, oddly...), but even the things we'd done a thousand times were fabulous. Ironically enough, it was driving down to Provo that night that made me realize that I was feeling ready to go back to Paris.
- As previous statements here have indicated, I was looking forward to driving when I got home. Turns out, driving is completely overrated. Fifty miles to Provo? Why would anyone ever have any desire to live so far away from anything useful? After being mostly annoyed by driving during my entire trip home, the final Wednesday night, though, I did remember one good thing about it - thinking. Hanging out with the Buddy that night made me think that perhaps I had a crush on him. Odd, since in the eight years of our friendship, he's had a thing for me off and on but it's never gone the other way. We discussed it briefly (definitely one-sided), and mostly, the whole thing just made me feel uncomfortable. Fortunately, though, I had plenty of time to think about it while my mind was half-occupied with driving. An hour of late-night driving was all it took to make me realize that there were several reasons that I was feeling the way I was and none of them involved romantic love or desire or whatever else. I don't know if I would have figured that out on the metro - much harder to think like that in public, natch - but it still didn't make up for the time wasted in general by driving.
- Went to the temple a bunch at the end of my trip (finally did a session at the Salt Lake temple, even), mostly with my parents. In fact, I find it a bit interesting that just as I find that I'd rather spend time with them than with almost anyone else, I get to see them virtually never these days. Ahh well... I guess that's how growing up is, eh?
- Today is Happy Relationship Day for my friends. The Yalie finally hooked up with this guy she's wanted since she got here, and Belledree was reminded that she really *can* find a guy worth dating. I love today.
- Spent a good portion of the evening chatting with the Irish Neighbor, the British Neighbor, and a friend of the Irish Neighbor who happens to be the national fencing champion of Ireland. It cured the loneliness I was feeling (still haven't seen the NBFiF or the Yalie or whoever else), plus they're just fun. We traded slang; I gave them "rip him a new one" among others as well as additional insight into Napoleon Dynamite; they explained the Cheeky Girls and taught me the proper way to use "scored" and "slapper." Oh, and the differences in the hierarchy of swearing? Amusing, to say the least.
My, am I glad to be home.
