dzamn bam!

my sentiments EXACTLY, busta

2008-11-12T20:51:00.001-05:00

facebook and i are taking a break

2008-11-03T09:48:00.008-05:00

it’s mostly for my own good. i try to avoid women’s magazines, but i’ve recently come to the conclusion that Facebook provides a whole other set of standards by which to compare myself and conclude that my lifestyle and i somehow don’t measure up. however illusory the Facebook reality may be, it’s a surprisingly powerful one…especially when it’s your primary method of procrastination. everyone knows that the correlation between amount of time spent on Facebook and the amount of work one has to finish is strong. if you’ve got 20+ pages to write (as was my case last weekend) or a few exams to study for, chances are you’re wasting a disproportionate quantity of your study time browsing wall-to-walls and pics of party people doin’ what they do best. (and then wasting even more time feeling badly that you're not doing the same.)

the thing about Facebook (a fact all too easy to lose sight of) is that it is all about the presentation. no one is actually having as much fun or has as many friends as their profile might lead you to believe. when you think about it, a person’s profile is like a spread in Vogue: although the finished product is glossy and sophisticated, that’s only because somewhere a dedicated photo editor has done his or her job, using the magic of PhotoShop to slenderize and beautify. reality, on the other hand, is more akin to that Newsweek cover of Sarah Palin: wrinkled, whiskered, and generally unflattering.

seriously though, who among us would voluntarily choose to present a Newsweek version of ourselves to the virtual world, when we have the option of highlighting only our best qualities? maybe some admirably honest souls would.

most, however, have Facebook stalkers to impress.

if this doesn't cheer you up, i don't know what will

2008-10-28T18:27:00.004-04:00

yes we can (hold babies)

existential crisis

2008-10-22T00:32:00.002-04:00

this is actually the best thing i've ever seen ever

2008-10-18T11:25:00.001-04:00

the cover letter i WISH i could submit

2008-09-26T01:41:00.004-04:00

dear firm x,

i am not enrolled in wharton or stern. i am not a finance major, or even a math or economics major. while we're laying it all out on the table, i should probably also add that i have little to no experience, and only the vaguest of ideas about what "strategic management consulting" actually entails.

that being said, i find the prospect of earning a six-figure salary right out of college extremely appealing. also, i can say the alphabet backwards, and totally make my tongue into that cool four-leaf clover shape, an ability i'm pretty sure is genetically determined. which must mean i was destined for greatness. right? my mother seems to think so, anyway.

hire me please,
[insert fancily signed legal name here]

an ode to daytime television

2008-08-15T12:31:00.004-04:00

today's schedule:

regis and kelly, 9-10 (regis' daughter is co-hosting while kelly is on vacay, it seems. she's pretty adorable. plus, there was an awk exchange involving a news report about old people having sex and joanna philbin announces that old people sex is gross and she doesn't want to imagine her parents "getting it on." amen, sister.)

the tyra show, 10-11 (etiquette tips? tyra's def the go-to girl for THAT. emily post's granddaughter, lizzie post, was on. she probably loved tyra's constant interruptions.)

maury, 11-12 (paternity testing, as per usual. you can always count on maury for a satisfyingly predictable level of trash.)

steve wilkos show, 12-1 (in which he yells at a woman who allowed the man who molested her daughter to move back in with them. i've totes seen this one before. does that make me pathetic?)

so yeah, about those internship applications...

what really grinds my gears

2008-08-14T17:54:00.006-04:00

second fashion related post of the day:

if you know me, you probably also know that i am blog-obsessed. i spend a good portion of my summa days parked in an arm-chair in my living room, reloading jezebel every two seconds to see whether or not they've posted any new stories. (i also enjoy browsing people's personal blogs...not to sound creepy or anything, but if you have a blog, it's pretty likely i've read it.)

anyhiz, i'm fairly new to fashionista (80,000 years late, i realize. as i am with fashion trends more generally?). but in the short time i've been acquainted, i have come to thoroughly enjoy browsing the fashion-world gossip and pretty pictures (not gonna lie, they've got mad photoshop skillz.) however, one thing that irks me re: fashionista is their strict anti-knock-off stance. today, they featured a post entitled "would you wear a knock-off?" in which the author expresses bewilderment at/blatantly disapproves of the wardrobe choices of a friend of hers ("definitely not someone you'd expect to show up sporting a F21 knock-off and an 'i know' smirk.") puzzled as to why this fashion-forward friend of hers would knowingly choose a knock-off over the original, the author poses the "to knock-off or not to knock-off" question to her readers.

my favorite part of this whole post is that the accused does in fact provide justification to her disapproving friend ("oh yeah, i know. it's not like i could afford the originals, so i just got these instead.") the author's response?

"i winced. such an irrelevant excuse and yet kept in a holster."

irrelevant excuse? really? hmm. in addition to being a narrow-minded snob, it appears our author is a few fries short of a Happy Meal. or else hasn't had to work a day in her life. maybe a combination of the two?

props to the fashionista readers for their comments replying to "would you wear a knock-off?"'s ridiculous (ELITIST) query. (for the record, most of them respond with something to the effect of "HELL TO THE YES.")

commenter number 45 has this to say:
"a very wise man once said 'lighten up.....it's just fashion!'"

so. yayyyy PR.

...and we've come full circle

highlight

2008-08-14T09:48:00.003-04:00

Terri on team-member Suede, from last night's Project Runway:

“ i don’t know what he’s packin, balls or va-jay-jay, but he needs to work that out, cause i ain’t got no babies, ain’t nobody suckin on my titties…so please, man up ”

a summer wasting?

2008-08-07T13:04:00.007-04:00

i'm happy to say i can answer that with a confident "NO SIREE." (despite some [minor] lingering doubts. this is me writing here, after all.)

the decision to go to paris for the summer, without any real plan or job or place to live may not have been the wisest one financially, or in terms of planning for my future, but for me it was the right one. you know why? to be perfectly honest: because it was an incredibly un-BA-like thing to do.

not to knock my instincts or anything, but...to go ahead and knock my instincts/the most essential components of my personality, i do, by nature, tend to air on the side of "lame hermit" (myers-briggs and/or keirsey would have to agree, although they might not use those precise terms.) i'm the type of person who really, really enjoys her comfort zone, a rather narrow little bubble which involves school work, real work, exercising, hanging around a couple close friends, gratuitous amounts of computer time, and the occasional few hours spent curled up in bed. in the fetal position. (particularly when the going gets tough.)

i have to admit, the second i bought my ticket i immediately regretted the decision and had a huge freak-out and called my mother, who, for the umpteenth time, was successful in talking me off the ledge (thanks for putting up with me, mama bear.) for someone who has done very little traveling in her life, and who, additionally, is a major homebody, this was a big deal for me, to venture off to a foreign city where i'd be supporting myself.

it wasn't easy, and i definitely experienced my share of homesickness and loneliness and "what the hell am i doing here i'm majorly broke and barely know anyone" moments. but even in the two and a half months i was gone, i began noticing a difference in how i look at things and go through the world. at one point, charlotte even told me, "i am, how do you say," (yes, she actually threw in a "how do you say." yay stereotypes!) "très admirative de toi. i don't theenk i could go away on my own like you are doing." my beloved roommate's comment, if i may take a moment to insert some cheese, made me realize how proud i am of myself for doing this. again, for the average person this probably ain't no thang, but i repeat: i am all about the overthinking and playing-it-safe. and fetal positioning.

by no means am i tryna say that a summer away from home solved all my problems and turned me into the ultra-confident, adventuresome, spontaneous person i would love to be. i certainly have quite a bit of maturing left to do, but i'm proud of the progress i made in the cajones-growing department (btw, comment dit-on "testicles" en français?) i just have to keep in mind that i have it in me to push myself and experience things i'm not accustomed to or comfortable with. i think it's a lesson that will serve me well come next summer, WHERE THE REAL WORLD AWAITS.

...DUNH DUNH DUNH (cue ominous music)

WELCOME BACK

2008-08-03T06:07:00.005-04:00

quasi-thoughtful/somewhat heartfelt post reflecting on my summer abroad forthcoming. (as soon as i can muster up enough brain cells to type a coherent sentence, that is.) stay tuned.

the spectacular view

2008-07-29T20:07:00.002-04:00

"as far as one journeys, as much as man sees, from the turrets of the Taj Mahal to the Siberian wilds, he may eventually come to the unfortunate conclusion...It is impossible to rid himself of the relentless, cloying fever commonly known as Home. after seventy-three years of anguish i have found a cure, however. you must go home again, grit your teeth and however arduous the exercise, determine, without embellishment, your exact coordinates at Home, your longitudes and latitudes. only then will you stop looking back and see the spectacular view in front of you."
-special topics in calamity physics

sucky internet + TOUR DE FRANCE (a sampling)

2008-07-29T10:57:00.006-04:00

only source of internets at the moment (aka why i been slackin' with the posting):

thank you paris wifi. no thank you, shitty battery.

this, however, warrants an update, no matter how short it has to be. my big news is: i watched the final stage of the tour de france on sunday!!

because i arrived about 3 and a half hours early (not on purpose, trust me), i was able to secure a sweet spot on the quai des tuileries, right at place de la concorde. in the end, definitely worth the dehydration/mild heatstroke:

here they come!!

amazing

amazing part 2

i have approximately 800000 more pictures i could post right now, but this connection sucks and my battery's about to die!

in conclusion, l8r sk8rs? and not just in the "i'll talk to you later" online or through e-mail sense...i mean l8r sk8rs IN PERSON. because i'm gonna be HOME TOMORROW!!

j'ai deux amours

2008-07-23T00:51:00.001-04:00

mon pays, et paris

happy (belated) bastille day!

2008-07-21T03:24:00.006-04:00

a few pics from le 14 juillet, for your viewing pleasure:

fly tunes. (thanks france channel 2!)

party people

me, nufar & nalisa

LES FEUX D'ARTIFICES...pas mal, eh?

pre-departure to do list

2008-07-19T20:30:00.009-04:00

ahh i'm leaving so soon!

here's my list of things to do before je dis "au revoir" à paris:

paris plage
centre pompidou
giverny? (if i'm feeling ambitious)
the classiest of vin picnics by la tour eiffel
legit tea sesh at la durée
marché aux puces
le louvre, cont'd (i spent five hours there on friday afternoon, and saw about 1/4 of it)
catacombes de paris
espace dali montmartre
WATCH THE TOUR DE FRANCE COME THROUGH!!
parc de la villette
valentino exhibit au musée des arts décoratifs
postcards, postcards, postcards (sorry for the delay. i've been a lazy bum! also, if i don't have your address yet and you want a little BA-lovin' via airmail, e-mail it to me asap, s'il vous plaît)

things i've managed to cross off the list the past few days:

louvre (part I + requisite "la jaconde" viewing)
thé à la menthe à la mosquée de paris
jardin des plantes
vélib adventure!! (fun fact: i lost my balance at a stop light, and toppled over onto the sideview mirror of the car next to me. so. still not so comfortable with the urban bike riding...)

i'll keep you posted on my progress with this list o' mine. it's a lot to do, but i'm a big girl. i can handle it.

will you be my american boy

2008-07-13T07:19:00.009-04:00

i hope that this post doesn't come off seeming too sex and the city-wannabe-ish, although i realize i run the risk of doing so in broaching this topic.

and i may be many things, but i am no tool.

(no offense to any diehard sex and the city fans out there. for the record, i myself think that sex and the city is, and will always be, awesome. i just hate the way some girls refer to it/quote it incessantly, treating it like some sort of holy book. you know, "maybe our friends are our soulmates, and guys are just people to have fun with." ugh...VOMMM.)

anyway, i digress.

friends back home keep asking if i've met anybody over here so far. which i haven't. mostly because i'm too poor to go out very much (1o euros for a cocktail? nooo thank you. i'll just stay in and go to bed early...you know, get the most out of the ridiculous rent i'm paying.)

the few times i have been out though, i have arrived at the conclusion that: i find french men repulsive.

i know i should try and be more open-minded, and obviously that statement is a conclusion reached by my making sweeping generalizations about an entire population of individuals. all i know is, if you're someone like me, who enjoys personal space, and similar boundaries in new and uncertain social situations (and in life more generally) french men probably ain't gonna be your cup o' tea.

first, the lines...oh dear lord, the LINES. their accents might cause them to seem particularly insincere when they say things like "baby, you're the love of my life! come back!" but no, they remain painfully cheesy, even when operating in their native language. at first, it's easy to be mistakenly flattered by it all...that is, until you realize how undiscriminating they are. if you look like you might happen to possess a vagina, chances are you'll be hit on.

second, french men are extremely persistent. in any other situation, persistence is an admirable quality. not so when that persistence is being applied to...oh, i don't know...sexual harassment of a stranger who isn't the least bit interested in your advances.

take yesterday for example. i went out for a run...around noon on a weekday, mind you...and first encountered one group of four or five guys hootin and hollerin (easily dealt with by turning up the weezy and cruising past), and then, about five minutes later, another group of winners. one of whom attempted to block my path on the sidewalk, and then proceeded to chase me down the street for about four blocks, yelling things like "you're sexy! i love you!" all the while tugging at the sleeve of my t-shirt.

NOT OKAY.

part of me thinks i might be overreacting a little bit. i know it's not really a big deal in the long run, but i can't help but be angered thinking about this type of behavior. i shouldn't be made to feel uncomfortable about my decision to go out to a bar or a club, and i really shouldn't have to feel uneasy about going for a run in the middle of the day. when you think about it, it's actually very demeaning. to not even stop to consider how your words and actions are going to be received by the other HUMAN BEING you happen to be communicating with. (the french men i've encountered thus far are much too busy focusing on the combination of ass and breasts at hand. [pun very much intended, because they're not above a little grab-action.])

so, the question of the century is...are these tactics reserved for use on "slutty americans," or are they employed to ensnare french women as well? and if so, are they actually effective? would things be different if i spoke the language fluently?

my guess is no. a french-canadian friend of mine recently told me about a guy she would run into at the market every week, who kept asking for her phone number. when she finally gave it to him, she received countless texts begging her for a date, saying things about how he feels as though there's something really special between them, blah blah blah. (keep in mind, they had maybe spoken for a minute each sunday when she purchased vegetables from his stand...and that's it.)

so then, perhaps there does seem to be some sort of cultural chasm in operation here, and maybe french women are just better equipped to deal with it all, having grown up around it. (i should really do my best to observe more carefully how they handle it next time i'm out and about.) yes, ignoring it works in most situations. but "ignoring it" doesn't quite cut it when someone has grabbed you by the arm in a club and is dragging you along with him. if someone gets up in my grill without my permission, they're gonna hear about it.

now, obviously things like this occur in the states too. just far less frequently, and with much less intensity. ah, makes me long for those good old american boys. i miss safely giving my phone number out to people, knowing there exists a 50/50 chance i might not ever hear from them again.

on that happy note, before we part, i'd like to leave you with some words of wisdom from everyone's favorite single gal, carrie bradshaw:
“But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.”

no, just kidding, i leave you with this music video. a little ode to all you american boyz out there (i seriously cannot stop listening to this song.)

(and yes, you can go ahead and scratch from the record my previous statement regarding my NOT being a tool.)

i miss my fam

2008-07-12T17:26:00.002-04:00

musée d'orsay

2008-07-10T16:33:00.007-04:00

as much as i love the Met, i think if i was ever lucky enough to live in a museum ( from the mixed-up files of mrs. basil e. frankweiler-style), i would have to choose le musée d'orsay.

then i saw a segway tour on my way back to the métro and my night was complete.

good news/bad news

2008-07-06T14:29:00.006-04:00

it's always best to get the bad news over with first.

the bad news being, i'm newly unemployed. my status as an illegal was discovered! (by the owner of the diner i worked in.) as i may or may not have mentioned previously, in order to get the job i had told them i was in the process of "applying" for my work papers. unfortunately for me, the authorities have apparently been stricter lately, and there was a raid (that's what the owner said anyway, although maybe he just called it that for dramatic effect...) on a business down the street from us earlier in the week, in which other illegal workers were discovered. to make a long story short, to prevent me, my boss, and the restaurant from getting in trouble, i'm not allowed to work again until i have in my possession "something, anything" which would show that i am in fact applying for papers that would allow me to live and work here legally. unbeknownst to the friendly folks at the american diner, however, (who think i'm here for the next year...oops) that ain't happening anytime soon, since, in the eyes of the french government, i have no actual engagement here that would make me eligible to apply for a work/student/whatever visa.

the good news is i think i should have enough money to pay rent for july, and have a little left over to feed myself and do fun and/or free and/or cheap things until i leave in august.

i think.

the quasi-good (but potentially bad?) news is...i have absolutely nothing to do now. yes, this leaves lots of time for exploring the city and reading and watching movies and doing other fun things like that, but i also know that i don't tend to do very well without a routine to follow or responsibilities to attend to. for someone like me, who already tends to overthink everything, the extreme amounts of thinkin time afforded by my joblessness might not be the best or most productive thing for me.

alors, on verra. july is my last month in france, so i'll do my best to make it a sweet-ass one, and not get stuck in an irrational, totally unjustified funk.

in other news:

my lovely little canon powershot sd110 has been returned to meee! it's clean and shiny and doin its thang better than ever. ch-check it:

oh you know, just the back of notre dame, no biggie

also, the other night we ate at refuge des fondus in montmartre, which was, to quote the immortal words of bill s. preston, esq. and ted "theodore" logan, a most excellent adventure.

mostly because we got to drink wine out of baby bottles.

i leave you with this:

a couple more

2008-07-05T03:54:00.002-04:00

Calling him back from layoff
Bob Hicok

I called a man today. After he said
hello and I said hello came a pause
during which it would have been

confusing to say hello again so I said
how are you doing and guess what, he said
fine and wondered aloud how I was

and it turns out I'm OK. He
was on the couch watching cars
painted with ads for Budweiser follow cars

painted with ads for Tide around an oval
that's a metaphor for life because
most of us run out of gas and settle

for getting drunk in the stands
and shouting at someone in a t-shirt
we want kraut on our dog. I said

he could have his job back and during
that pause that followed his whiskers
scrubbed the mouthpiece clean

and his breath passed in and out
in the tidal fashion popular
with mammals until he broke through

with the words how soon thank you
ohmygod which crossed his lips and drove
through the wires on the backs of ions

as one long word as one hard prayer
of relief meant to be heard
by the sky. When he began to cry I tried

with the shape of my silence to say
I understood but each confession
of fear and poverty was more awkward

than what you learn in the shower.
After he hung up I went outside and sat
with one hand in the bower of the other

and thought if I turn my head to the left
it changes the song of the oriole
and if I give a job to one stomach other

forks are naked and if tonight a steak
sizzles in his kitchen do the seven
other people staring at their phones

hear?

In Answer to Your Query
Naomi Lazard

We are sorry to inform you
the item you ordered
is no longer being produced.
It has not gone out of style
nor have people lost interest in it.
In fact, it has become
one of our most desired products.
Its popularity is still growing.
Orders for it come in
at an ever increasing rate.
However, a top-level decision
has caused this product
to be discontinued forever.

Instead of the item you ordered
we are sending you something else.
It is not the same thing,
nor is it a reasonable facsimile.
It is what we have in stock,
the very best we can offer.

If you are not happy
with this substitution
let us know as soon as possible.
As you can imagine

we already have quite the accumulation
of letters such as the one
you may or may not write.
To be totally fair
We respond to these complaints
as they come in.
Yours will be filed accordingly,
answered in its turn.

Ode to American English
Barbara Hamby

I was missing English one day, American, really,
with its pill-popping Hungarian goulash of everything
from Anglo-Saxon to Zulu, because British English
is not the same, if the paperback dictionary
I bought at Bretano's on the Avenue de l'Opéra
is any indication, too cultured by half. Oh, the English
know their dahlias, but what about doowop, donuts,
Dick Tracy, Tracy Dick? With their elegant Oxfordian
accents, how could they understand my yearning for the hotrod,
hotdog, hot flash vocabulary of the U.S. of A.,
the fragmented fandango of Dagwood's everyday flattening
of Mr. Beasley on the sidewalk, fetuses floating
on billboards, drive-by monster hip-hop stereos shaking
the windows of my dining room like a 7.5 earthquake,
Ebonics, Spanglish, "you know" used as comma and period,
the inability of 90% of the population to get the present perfect:
I have went, I have saw, I have tooken Jesus into my heart,
the battle cry of the Bible Belt, but no one uses
the King James anymore, only plain-speak versions,
in which Jesus, raising Lazarus from the dead, says,
"Dude, wake up," and the L-man bolts up like a B-movie
mummy. "Whoa, I was toasted." Yes ma'am,
I miss the mongrel plentitude of American English, its fall-guy,
rat-terrier, dog-pound neologisms, the bomb of it all,
the rushing River Jordan backwoods mutability of it, the low-rider
boom-box cruise of it, from New Joisey to Ha-wah-ya
with its sly dog, malasada-scarfing beach blanket lingo
to the ubiquitous Valley Girl's like-like stuttering,
shopaholic rant. I miss its quotidian beauty, its querulous
back-biting righteous indignation, its preening rotgut
flag-waving cowardice. Suffering Succotash, sputters
Sylvester the Cat; sine die says the pork-bellied legislators
of the swamps and plains. I miss all those guys, their Tweety-bird
resilience, their Doris Day optimism, the candid unguent
of utter unhappiness on every channel, the midnight televangelist
euphoric stew, the junk mail, voice mail vernacular.
On every boulevard and rue I miss the Tarzan cry of Johnny
Weismueller, Johnny Cash, Johnny B. Goode,
and all the smart-talking, gum-snapping hard-girl dialogue,
finger-popping x-rated street talk, sports babble,
Cheetoes, Cheerios, chili dog diatribes. Yeah, I miss them all,
sitting here on my sidewalk throne sipping champagne
verses lined up like hearses, metaphors juking, nouns zipping
in my head like Corvettes on Dexedrine, French verbs
slitting my throat, yearning for James Dean to jump my curb.

good poems for hard times

2008-07-04T16:30:00.004-04:00

i'm in love with this book, which is a collection of poetry selected by garrison keillor. who i am now also in love with, despite (because of?) his signature hokeyness.

here are some i particularly like.

What's in My Journal
William Stafford

Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't find them. Someone's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.

My Husband Discovers Poetry
Diane Lockwood

Because my husband would not read my poems,
I wrote one about how I did not love him.
In lines of strict iambic pentameter,
I detailed his coldness, his lack of humor.
It felt good to do this.

Stanza by stanza I grew bolder and bolder.
Towards the end, struck by inspiration,
I wrote about my old boyfriend,
a boy I had not loved enough to marry
but who could make me laugh and laugh.
I wrote about a night years after we parted
when my husband's coldness drove me from the house
and back to my old boyfriend.
I even included the name of the seedy motel
well-known for hosting quickies.
I have a talent for verisimilitude.

In sensuous images, I described
how my boyfriend and I stripped off our clothes,
got into bed, and kissed and kissed,
then spent half the night telling jokes,
many of them about my husband.
I left the ending deliberately ambiguous,
then hid the poems away
in an old trunk in the basement.

You know how this story ends,
how my husband one day loses something,
goes into the basement,
and rummages through the old trunk,
how he uncovers the hidden poem
and sits down to read it.

But do you hear the strange sounds
that floated up the stairs that day,
the sounds of an animal, its paw caught
in one of those traps with teeth of steel?
Do you see the wounded creature
at the bottom of the stairs,
his shoulders hunched over and shaking,
fist in his mouth and choking back sobs?
It was my husband paying tribute to my art.

The Goose
Muriel Spark

Do you want to know why I am alive today?
I will tell you.
Early on, during the food-shortage,
Some of us were miraculously presented
Each with a goose that laid a golden egg.
Myself, I killed the cackling thing and I ate it.
Alas, many and many of the other recipients
Died of gold-dust poisoning.

The Cure
Ginger Andrews

Lying around all day
with some strange new deep blue
weekend funk, I'm not really asleep
when my sister calls
to say she's just hung up
from talking with Aunt Bertha
who is 89 and ill but managing
to take care of Uncle Frank
who is completely bed ridden.
Aunt Bert says
it's snowing there in Arkansas,
on Catfish Lane, and she hasn't been
able to walk out to their mailbox.
She's been suffering
from a bad case of the mulleygrubs.
The cure for the mulleygrubs,
she tells my sister,
is to get up and bake a cake.
If that doesn't do it, put on a red dress.

absurdité

2008-06-27T02:39:00.007-04:00

this post is all about ma colocatrice. colocatrice, the feminine form of 'colocataire,' is french for 'roommate,' 'co-tenant,' or 'flat-mate.'

contrary to what my experience thus far may have led me to believe, colocatrice does NOT happen to be french for 'anxious middle-aged woman who waits around for her young and stupid american co-inhabitant to screw up.'

yet charlotte, my own coloc, the woman charging me 600 euros a month to share her apartment with her, happens to be all those things and a bag of potato chips. a bag of uncool, extremely stale potato chips (just so we're all on the same page here.)

i'm the pig in this scenario.

my first impression was definitely misleading. when i first met her, i thought we were going to get on great. the apartment itself isn't much, but she has all these awesome books and quasi-artsy photographs hanging up and she talked to us about her friends who are in bands and work in galleries and model for painters and do other hip things befitting the image i have of youngish adult parisians.

unfortunately, it didn't take all that long for the truth to reveal itself beneath that shallow surface of european cool, that truth being: for someone who, at this point, should be used to big city single gal life, charlotte is strangely neurotic, paranoid, and immature.

she hates being alone at night, and requests that i be in touch if i'm ever going to be out late. she will ask me several times a day, beginning right after our 'good mornings' until i give her a definitive answer, what my plans are for that particular evening. more often than not i don't actually know, and i tell her so. she then, without fail, follows up with a request that i send her a text\call her when i know what i'll be doing. yes, i realize that this isn't an especially outrageous demand, but come. on. i barely know her, she barely knows me, what i do with my free time should be none of her 'swax, so long as it's not interfering with the way she lives her life. although apparently what i do DOES affect what she chooses to do, because she's CRAZY and incapable of being on her own for more than an hour.

perhaps i'm overreacting here. then again, i'm not paying ridiculous amounts of money each month to have a nagging mother figure in my life, especially given the fact that my own mother doesn't even do these things anymore.

the other night for example, i was out watching the eurocup semifinal game with some friendlets. i told her i'd be home "after the game," which ended a little before 11. this is the text i received from her at 11:32-
'le match est il fini? tu m'écris un sms quand tu es sur le chemin du retour?'

ughh. typical.

once she was sick, and texted me asking that i stop by before spending the evening out. i didn't respond right away. she called twice. finally she sent another text informing me she had a friend coming over around 7 to 'take care of her.' (mind you, this woman is 34 years old.) when i finally did arrive home, it turns out the only reason she had wanted me to come back at all was so she could tell me to lock and bolt the door behind me.

and the fun doesn't stop there. for whatever reason, charlotte seems to believe it's only a matter of time before i fuck something up. so far, i've been accused of breaking her washing machine (and am now not allowed to use it without supervision) and of leaving the stove burner on, even when i very clearly had not. apparently on this particular morning, she had woken up, gone to the kitchen to get her breakfast on, and, felt that the burner was still hot (BECAUSE I HAD JUST COOKED SOMETHING). naturally, she assumed i was the one in the wrong and had forgotten to turn the stove off.

overall, her entire attitude towards me is very condescending. all these little annoyances really add up and begin to take their toll after a while.

some have suggested i bring these matters up with her, but i get the impression that such an attempt would be futile. she is who she is, and unfortunately, you just can't reason with crazay.

okay, after a re-read this post comes off a little harsh. i should probably end with a couple of positives.

1. she likes Lost. Lost is a great show.

2. in the grand scheme of the possibilities provided by the craig's list apartment share section, it could have been worse.

oohf, i'm spent.

merry christmas, you filthy animal

2008-06-23T15:42:00.003-04:00

not paris related. and i'm sure everyone and they moms is already all over this, but:

NEW GIRL TALK ALBUM HERE...pay what you will

find out what happens when people stop being polite...and start getting real

2008-06-17T05:12:00.009-04:00

it was aboot time for an update, eh? i know all my loyal readers (uh, all four of you? or are we up to five now?) have been chompin' at the proverbial bit, eagerly awaiting the latest news and photos from gay par-ee.

unfortunately, you're gonna have to wait for more pics. i was by notre-dame about a week and a half ago, and, being the obnoxious tourist that i am, naturally whipped out my camera. this was what resulted:

mon appareil est cassé...tristesse!

alors, maintenant, that little bitz is at canon's factory service center. in the meantime, allow me to catch you up on some happenings that have occurred since i last wrote...sans photo illustrations. (my B.)

i have in fact confirmed that my eight-plus years of french class amount to very little in the real world. my conversations with french people are, en général, full of 'comment?' s and 'désolée, je ne comprend pas' s. occasionally i manage to form a coherent phrase, or even sentence, and am told 'si, vous parlez très bien le français!' after that, the expectations for the exchange have been set, and knowing i can never live up to them, i get awkward and nervous and revert back to my stuttering, infinitive-rife franglais.

speaking of the real world, my little experiment in supporting myself for the summer has turned out to be a tad stressful. yes, i know, i'm in PARIS and it's beautiful and magical and a once-in-a-lifetime type opportunity, and i'm crazy to let the stress get to me, but it is a little unsettling not knowing whether or not i'll have enough money for groceries and the rent next month. if this is what we almost-seniors have to look forward to next year, then, as kaveets would say, 'mama, take me back!' (i think we can all agree there's nothing more soothing and stress-free than the warmth and comfort of the uterine environment.)

lucky for me i like my job, and have been scheduled for mad shifts the past two weeks. as i mentioned briefly, i'm working (illegally...shh, DON'T DEPORT ME) as a waitress at an American diner called...Breakfast in America! it's pretty adorable. milkshakes, fries, burgers, AMERICAN COFFEE...awesome stuff. honestly, i'm not sure i could handle the whole being-on-your-feet-for-eight-hours-with-no-breaks thing for more than a few months. but for now it's fun and i get to talk to people, and it pays the bills. you know.

last week, i was feeling particularly homesick. i'm not even quite sure why. i guess being poor was getting to me, as was the fact that most everybody else i care about is in nyc or jerz or williamsburg. yes, they're also working crummy service industry jobs or putting in a lot of unpaid time at internships or taking classes, but at least they're together.

the good news is the homesickness is definitely a little better this week. i'm a pretty big homebody, i think i just need to get used to being off on my own. also, my mommy sent me a card that the whole family signed! and anya's been a very good pal through my quasi-rocky adjustment period.

and you know what? i woke up today, and the sun was shining, and i looked out my window and realized...sure, i can't afford to eat in restaurants, or shop, or travel, or maybe even pay rent next month (eek...), but hey man. i'm young. i'm in paris. la vie est belle and it's really all about putting things (and keeping them) in perspective.

oohf, that was corny, i apologize.

to make up for the corn, here's a little france-related ditty from flight of the conchords. they speak french like i do!

later gators.