Ok, Batmans, I have come to the conclusion that not even I am narcissistic enough to flood your media feed on a daily basis for the next twenty odd days. I started my 'day two' post about how I'm fun and dynamic but it kind of made me want to slap my own mouth. I mean, I guess I could do it the way the rest of my cohort did and not post every day, but that defeats the purpose in my mind of calling it thirty days of truth. So I've continued the 30 days of truth on my privet blog, at an undisclosed URL (the likes of which amounts to little more than a legable diary) It should surprise no one that it it is extra difficult to file taxes from outside of the country. A process made more so by the misplacement of certain forms. We looked everywhere, I even raised an offering to the cleanliness gods by way of celestial vaccum and still, our prayers go mocked. These events seem to paint my existence in childish relief as it is now apparent that my husband and I are among that group of man-children actively dumb enough to throw out important forms. I'm really eager to Skype Seba's parents for help. "Sure we can live in France, leave all the details to us..." I tell ya, I've never had good luck filing for taxes, wish someone would just claim me as a dependent and be done with it.
In better news
We finally found a good spot for Kimchi here in Paris. We stumbled upon the K-mart on a walk home from the Tuilerie Jardin a few days ago. We were the only westerners there and as it was a K-mart, we felt compelled to go home and come back wearing sweatpants and tank-tops. (Backfat like woah) Great kimchi by the way. I was worried when it wasn't in a jar, but when I unsealed the bag it was tender and ripe. And strong enough to stink up my fridge. Its gone now, but it's in a much better place. This Friday Sebastien, Pascal, one of his friends from work and I are going to rent bikes, buy supplies and prepare to ride 60 km out of Paris on Saturday to the National Park, Fontainebleau. Tentatively, we're going to make an overnight trip of it and possibly come back by train if our legs really hate us. I don't want to get too greedy but I really hope our hotel has a bath tub. Having said that, I also wish I had made the room in my overweight valise for my back-packer's tent...and my cast-iron frying pan. Teflon is tryin to murder a sista and it's warm enough to sleep outside. It hasn't snowed anywhere in France (aside from the Alps, duh) since December. True, it's rained some in Paris. But we've had weather in the mid-teens (Centigrade) for most of February, and the mid to high teens for all of March. It really smells like spring outside now, when it rains. And it looks like summer when it shines. This is picnic weather to the brim, and it is so great to be in a country that allows you to share a bottle of wine with your friends on a blanket. Going to have my next band practice tomorrow night. We're working on this great song called Rockinstine. It will shred your cabbage, bro. Speaking of which, I don't think I've shared enough photos with you recently. So here is a batch, some of them haven't even made their way to facebook or flickr. This is seriously a blog spot [unimportant] exclusive. So please watch your head while we rock:
The famous red windmill
Say what you want about graffiti, but this is at least five layers of awesome
Poor Mario, the princess is in another castle..
Baking powder and baking soda are not the same thing, where scones are concerned..
Two of my colocs putting up with my camera being shoved in their face, again
Trop tuff (Me and a coloc spray painted the garlen you will see in later photos...)
For le bebe
You can drink on the metro in Paris. But I am just not hobo enough to bother.
Great little night spot, Rose a Bonheur
Wild night, ended in my having a black eye. Ticklers, be cautioned...
One fish, two fish, red fish, EWWW fish..
Sebastien made us a pie on Pi day
Saint Patty's day, some friend of a friend at some irish pub. Lol
This is how I settle arguments, Libya, take notes.
Mr Universe, back from 2010
The places you'll go...
How Paris must have felt loosing to the OM again. Great match.
When we threw our first party, we were accused of killing pigeons by our neighbors...
Our garlen. And his birthday!
I go no where without a squad of cool kids
Still not so sure about cooking with silicon forms...
Dance pool boy, dance! Kitchen fiesta. No neighbor involvement this time. FTW!
Tip your cup and your cap, to fun and friends and all of that
Tuillerie gardens, getting towards dusk...
So that's a little taste. Hope everything is going grandly for you out there in cyber land. I think I'm going to do a short run before dinner. Happy trails and higher roads, mes amis!
My friend Lily over at Is it Too Early For a Martini? has successfully inspired me to get on board with the 30 days of truth thing that I am six months behind the pack on. Basically it boils down to my wanting an excuse to post more and that becomes so much easier with ye old writing prompts.
Day one is: Something you hate about yourself.
Tres simple. That would be my temper, Captain. When I get mad I go all in and really quickly I am able to lie to myself long enough to do serious damage. What I mean by that is I can make myself believe in the heat of my anger that I won't be sorry later. Also, my ability to see the interconnectedness of things really works against me in those moments because by seeing how things work together, it is very easy to see how they don't. This often makes blame an appealing option and caring bystanders are pulled into the fray.
Now, I don't so much look to astrology for guidance as much as a giggle but my sun sign is Scorpio. And while I don't particularly care to debate the finer points of scientific rigor and passion, I do want to talk about the Scorpion. It is the only animal that will commit suicide rather than lose a battle, and that at least I share with the name sake of my natal constellation. Suicide is meant figuratively for me, literally for the creature. But when I get mad and things go from bad to worse, it's as though I'm the only asshole left on the barge and I just start cutting the ropes. They're not easy to sever but I work very hard to cut each one. Not only so it hurts my fingers as it happens, but also so that if me and my barge ever stop drifting and want to tie into the dock again, it will be that much harder to start anew with these stubby shreds of rope. Yep. That's me and my anger. On a barge by myself, with blisters on my thumbs and forefingers from cutting the ropes, blaming the dock for the ache in my shoulders and the harbor master for not sending the coast guard out to fetch me. Alone and adrift on a sea of my own rage. Not a perfect metaphor, of course, but as it's a course I have charted time and time again, and I can testify that it is an honest one.
Another challenge I face is when my barge is adrift and I want to come back I don't believe I can. I ruined it, or you ruined it, or it's simply ruined, this is it, this great important moment. I will spend hours in bed, or alone somewhere not speaking just staring blankly until I muster my forces and swim to shore or a floating ring is tossed out to me. I don't deserve it, and I will sulk for many hours there after, like a scorpion who tasted it's own poison just enough to remain immobile but not enough to be done with the bitter sting of defeat gifted and wrapped in the forgiveness of others. I am lucky to have the ones who love me understand all of this and love me still. But I suppose I will have more to say about them, in the next 30 days.
Thirty Days of Truth (1) Something you hate about yourself. (2)Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15) Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself.
Look, I'm sorry. I don't like to break promises. I said I would upload you a new video blog on monday, and I didn't. That doesn't sit well with me. Honestly, I would punch my own face if it wasn't so ongoingly tender. I have to admit it's getting better though, it's geting better all the time. Had a lot on my plate with spring blueing up the sky and staring down my picnic blanket at me daily. Combine that with drunken mad-gabble-filled weekends and new plans and new friends, and you find yourself wondering how I make the time to meet with students nearly every stupid day. Funemployment, you've spoiled my core. Anyway, you don't have to wait anymore. I haven't updated you in over a week, so my writing topic of choice has also become my vblog. Hope it speaks to you.
Someday, I hope you find a person who will love you, even when you give yourself a facial rash with mascara.
I have just today come to the realization that March is the best of all the merry months. True, I wasn't born in March, so it loses points there, but it also isn't a big spendy gift fest. There are three decent holidays though, one math related, one literary-related, and one drinking-related. Obviously I'm talking about Pi day, the Ides of March and Cinco de Mayo. Jay-kayin, that's not until October.
Atanyrate, it's six pm and Sebastien and I just got back from an afternoon laid across a blanket in park and a short shopping trip at our favorite covered market. We bought some radishes which the french like to eat raw with salt and butter. (I'm thinking hummus.) Last night we celebrated Pi day, probably my best one so far. For those of you who don't know, or whom may not use the American rendering of dates yesterday was Pi Day because the date is 3.14. The cool thing about that that, which I only just noticed yesterday, is come 2015, Pi day is going to be the most epic it ever could be within our lifetime. Because, of course, as this handy chart illustrates, pi goes on to say 3.1415.... Super cool right? I know. I usually have a small party with my students, eat and measure our pizza, and play pi related large group activities and rotate through different small group math centers all day. But as I no longer have to give most of my life over to correcting paper work and parenting, I celebrated this year by watching Darren Aronofsky's film, Pi, eating lardon and goat cheese pizza, and enjoying a raspberry tarte that Sebastien made while I was at a lesson. Such a great day! But wouldn't you know it, (yes, the soothsayer would) today, on that fated moment, the Ides of March I read this article and watched a video on Salon.com which threatens to usurp my new favorite nation holiday, Pi day. (Made so in 2009) Check out the vid:
Tau Empire strikes back!
FUCK YOU followers of Tau! Using Tau to calculate the area of the circle, or Pi R squared would be harder then using that very simple equation because you'd have to half tau (given that it's twice pi) This is a very, 'it's not you, it's me," moment... I think you should be taught in schools because it does make certain functions more elegant. I will even celebrate your day too, ok? But don't go around comparing Pi to Christopher Columbus, one is a douche and the other never raped the New World. And hey, sometimes when a math class sucks, it is the teacher's fault! So the second holiday is today, the ides of March. Things are suppost to go poorly for persons who are both heroic and have a single fatel flaw. But me, I just walk around saying stuff like "et tu ______?" or "A dish fit for the gods" and the like But not even these things are reason enough for March to be my favorite month. This brings us of course to Saint Patrick's Day. Ok, once, in college--I celebrated St Patrick's Day Week. But I really would rather celebrate Cinco de Mayo, even if it wasn't a decisive battle and even if no one in Mexico is into it. It's just cooler because their beer is better. No listen. I went to Ireland and didn't have one single Guinness. Don't hate! I'm just not a dark beer person. Stout belongs in a Black and Tan, the end. move on. Mexico, by contrast, has great beers. My band used to play in this one bar in Tijuana all the time and I became very well acquainted with the cervezas and the tequilas that took their names from their regions, like a fine wine. The only mexican beer I will turn my nose up at is Pacifico. It might as well be Bud. For truth, the best thing about St Patty's day is that it's the one day when I can post this vid:
Ok, well it's the only time it's as topical. The rest of March should be more of the same, picnics, bike trips and bar excusions, laughter, sunlight and cash in cafes. My black eye now looks like raw, rotting chicken. So gross. (I think I lost a follower on Twitter, saying that.) Oh and did I tell you? I actually waited in line to get into a club last friday...never did that before. The doormen were totally diggin my leather pants and pumps get up. I was too scared to try and work that angle and get us in. I have such little practice being a hot girl. I'm just glad I didn't need to pee. Well, it's just about dinner time. I hope the warming warms you as well. Everybody loves new. Even if it is just something shiny from a store. Maybe it isn't so much March that I like, but the excitement at the turning of another season--the end of the chilly under my collar, and the lightening of the mood. Great video blog post coming up for you. Should have that done by monday. What are some of your favorite spring time activities, I would love to know?
You know how I'm always talking about how I would punch myself in the face for this or that. Well guess who has a black eye? Yeah, it's awesome. This isn't my first one. My first B-eye, as I like to call it, came to me in college. I was home for Christmas break and I was really tired depressed and didn't want to go to this stupid family event that, basically no one wanted to go to. My older sister was left in charge of getting me and my two younger siblings to come and I was a mega bitch about getting up and going. Sleep, I love you man. But you get me into a lot of trouble, you know? I forgive you and all a that shit. But for real though, you is not muh fren. Long story short I got into a fist fight with one of my older sisters. It was surreal. I've been in plenty of fights before but I had seen my older brother smash her up when I was a kid so to be in the same room fighting with her was really tripping me out. I have a bit of the writer's detachment about me, you may have noticed. And I didn't hit her like at all until the very end, until that point I was captain deflect-a-blow. But for some reason I just decided to hit her back and I punched her four times in the face. I screamed, "I don't want to fight you!" and then I did a little dance, jabbed and jibbed, huffed and puffed and found myself thinking, shit--boxers really have to get their cardeo up and Rambo'in. Respect. That's when the detachement set in. I remember staring at the kitchen clock narrating in my head, and that's when I realized I had just punched my sister in the same room as--- -but at this point she starts talking over my aside and she's all, "Got a few good ones in, didn'tcha?" Then she fucking punched me dead in my eye. I saw stars. I talked to my mom on the phone and she told me to leave town. So I hopped in the car with my band mate and we drove to Boston. My face was crazy. Blood swam across my eye like the way oil always does in the X-files when bitches be clones or whatever. And I interrupted my best friends on an acid trip. They were pretty freaked out. I had called the cops before I left and said I wanted to press charges. I had changed my mind since the drive to Boston but they cops had their own agenda and even though I wrote and faxed a letter they wouldn't let me. We didn't talk for ages. Now we're cool. Time takes time. Family is family. I love her and she's the funniest fucking person I know. It was strange though because that was the term they made me a hall advisor. I had to go back to college and meet everyone's parents with a bashed up face like, hi, I'm the one they put in charge of your 18 year old, any questions?
Anyway, this is a lot less interesting. I got hit in the face with a flying elbow. No one will ever believe that this could be an accident so I felt compelled to write about it.
In less related matters, I just saw the Garden State. I've decided I really hate films about people's lives when they're not funny. Real life is sad and fucked up enough. I know enough dead people that I don't need to watch a film to feel something or to be moved. Stop making me! This is a warning to the whole blogging community. If you ever want to watch a movie with me, and I don't need to dull my sense of perception with two or three beers, I don't want to see it. Simple. Dead out, if it isn't slapstick and predictable and contains no lines that will ever end up on a tee shirt, keep it movin--yer wasting my time. That being said, great sound track. Fuckin best thing to come out of Jersey, ever. Just downloaded this song. I basically love this particular type of Youtube video. To think that a person spent hours in front of their computer arranging stock images and sifting through fonts. It's almost more than I can take...BEER ME!
There are certain things I miss about the US, chiefly among them--Shark Week. Speaking about weeks, it's been about one of those since I've updated, I know--weak. But I've been so terribly busy playing bureaucratic dodgeball that I haven't made the time to stop and write about it. Firstly, I may still be in danger of deportation. And while I have had many French people reassure me that my general whiteness coupled with my obvious American-ness will make make me a much smaller target, I can't help but feeling a little sick inside at that. I'm like, awesome, I want to live in a country where the first thing the government considers when intervening in Libya becomes a public issue is whether or not you're going to be dumped with a fresh batch of émigré. NICE.
It has been super great here weatherwise, yesterday was in the high teens (I don't know what the équivaillent is in fahrenheit.) But on the day Sebastien and I went down to get my carte de sejour it was unusually cold. The fun part about that is we were asked to wait in line outside, for over an hour because we were informed the waiting room was filled to capacity. We had our paper work in order: a copy of our marriage license, our family book, several recent passport photos, a bill, a buy, a justicatif, the physical ID of my landlord, a certified and recent copy of my birth certificate and both of our passports.
When we were finally let indoors, not only was the waiting area empty, it wasn't even small. Also, there was about 15 minutes before they were set to close. Seba had to do his whole song and dance, "she is my wife, yes I am American as well, but I am also french..." They always smile like, you're not actually French, kid, and I pretend that Americans wouldn't do the same so that I can be upset about it.
Great news!
Turns out everything we've read on the internet is wrong.
The only way I can stay here and work legally is if I
A) leave, return to the US and get a long stay visa, or
B) Live here illegally for three years while being married to Sebastien.
................................So, if I break your rules for an extended period of time I am worthy of rights and respect, but if I come to the front door with all my papers in order I get all kinds of asked to leave.
Right.
I don't know what it would be like if I enrolled in classes and I don't know what it would be like if I apply at a different embassy in say, Belgium. So I'm not going back yet. But I already lined up two places to stay in DC if and when I must. Thats all well and whiney, but I wanted to share a list of stuff I mean to take back with me in the empty case I'll be bringing to the States.
Drugs. Tylenol because that's what I call it, bitch.
Peanut butter. It's not my fault it sounds like caca in french.
Floss. I demand quality when I pick these teeth.
Brown sugar. Really people, it isn't that hard. But it will be if it sits in the cupboard.
Hershey's kisses. Look, not all chocolate needs to be swiss.
Chips for Sebastien's totally amazing and effin hilarious new blog
My preferred deodorant. Its so hard to say good bye to yesterday.
VERMONT maple syrup. France, Canada is ripping you off.
REI socks. I pretty much have exactly two pairs, which I wear every day. Sorry.
O.G. Coca cola. High fructose corn syrup, I'm coming home!
Quit trying to tear us apart, France!
Like I said, I have no idea when, because shit is hella expensive and it will only really make sense ( in Sebastien's mind) for me to get the paper work done if he has a job. Plus, I'd have to go it alone and it could last up to a month. So for now it's cash in cafes for me, encore. Things have been dope otherwise. Parties, bars and jogging are dominating my life. Lots of pictures, lots of new things to cook. (Ever put quail eggs in your salad? Cost me less then a six pack for 18 of them suckers.) Met up with Tom from Tbr, he didn't even chop me up, and keep me in his freezer. (Which was a small let down because I've never been to the UK.)
My students are cool, even if one of them just failed an exam. I'm like, damn kid, do you not want to hang out with your new best friend Erin? Fuckin, get it together or you can't candy as soon as your mom leaves, anymore.
The band thing was pleasant, we're planning to get together again next week. We're calling it Funemployment. Maybe I'll break you off a little piece of that. Moving on, do you guys dig my jessica rabbit boobs in that there photo? MYSPACE, damn. It's ok, I never wanted to be in the Senate. Personally I could stare at Sebastien's half closed eyes in that shot all night. Sometimes I really don't want anybody else. When I think about him I touch uh, him, actually.
Gotta say, even if I have to leave tomorrow and never come back I've learned so many great words in French. I can speak with ease if the subject is known to me and I've been told my accent is cute. Awesome, I didn't know that worked in reverse. I'm reading a good book and I'm writing a story worth taking my time with. I'll post it when it's done. I also promise to video blog soon. Swearzies.
Take this and win the internets with it. It is my Gif to you.
Well, teamers, that's about all we have today from cape Erin. It is now my intention to play video games for several hours. I might also be glib. I haven't as yet decided. I'll let you know, but I'll be shallow about it, if I do. And crass. I will also be quite crass, indeed.
