The cover sheet of my TPS report

Well, I quit my job yesterday.


I literally took a nap after I wrote that line.

I cried when I told my mom I was thinking of quitting because I didn't even make it a full month there. But just trying to meet the physical and mental demands of the job  would have been hard enough, if they didn't run counter to every other aspect of my life.
Let's pretend you're a new recruit.  First, don't worry-you'll get two days off a week, not Saturday and Sunday, mind, but any two days off in a row if they can swing it. The other days you would go in at 10:45  have a coffee and start work at 11. You would work till 3pm, have a big lunch and come home. You are now off until 6:30 when sit down to eat and start work at 7. You're probably not hungry, but there will be no more food options until after midnight so get some protein in your belly. Work from 7 to 2 AM, at least three times a week, though on the early nights you'll be home before 1 AM.
Remember: 10 drinks, three normal cokes with no ice, two Zeros with no lemon, 2 of one kind of beer, two of another--one of those is only a demi, and the rest easy to spill martinis...you remember which burger is well done, right? Is that tartar préparer or poêlé?  How many people need a sharp knife? Did you really forget to put bread down on table vingt-deux? They want the ribs, but no pomme au four, substitue frites. But just for one-- Je sais qu'elle a dit, "aparaît" mais, elle vas prendre haricots verts, supplémentaires !
You got that?
The quesadilla comes out first, but they want the soup with the meal. Wait, have three people told you yet: He wanted a large salad, but you tapped a small.
Is there really no new silverware on table trente-deux? Their second course is almost done, reclaim it! Table quarante-cinq is just drinking tap water, lots and lots of tap water. When you have a second, can you bring them  more of that? Great, the total bill comes out to cent quatre-vingts-neuf et cinquante centimes, split it four ways.
They are not tipping.

But if you've got a good sense of balance and a good mind for factorial trees, you'll rarely screw up. Don't expect anyone to care if you do your job properly, they will only notice the times you fall short of that mark. And no, you're not changing lives, you're serving lunch, so pretending that what you do ultimately has any meaning and is therefore worth stressing out about may be difficult for you. It certainly was for me.

It was also really hard for Sebastien who suddenly had to be in charge of cleaning, laundry, all the dishes ever as well as cooking for himself....which means he ate soup nearly the whole time I worked there. Sometimes he laid down to cuddle with me for my midday nap, but that was really all I saw of him.

Look, I know I have basically been on a two year vacation in France. It's made me feel pretty shitty about myself, but jumping off the deep end into extreme physical labor was not (apparently) the answer. Not while I live in a colocation with six other people who have normal day jobs and don't care that I have to work brunch on Sunday morning--because if you haven't gone to sleep yet, it's still Saturday night, and if they want to play guitar in the kitchen to impress a trio of girls at 6 am that's just what they're going to do.

I could always move out. But that means that my days off are spent looking for new places to live and then moving there....something I couldn't really put on the table as an option until I had a full contract with this company--which would only be granted to me a few months from now in the best of circumstances.

So anyway, I have a part time gig a few days a week for more money per hour than I ever made in the States. I can read and write blog posts again and take short trips on the weekends. I can cook with my partner and have a social life in the evenings. Obviously, I still feel bad about giving up...but I'm sure I'll get over it, I have a lecture to prepare..

You have read this article French / funemployment / No / Paris / Rage Comics / TPS report with the title funemployment. You can bookmark this page URL https://trendcelebrity2014.blogspot.com/2012/02/the-cover-sheet-of-my-tps-report.html. Thanks!

Faire la moonwalk

I'm not one to need the excuse of a new year to tempt me into changing who I am. But a blogger friend of mine brought up the concept of mantras and new beginnings (See full post. ) And it has me glancing and staring at a few things in my life. So here are some productive changes I feel compleled to attempt.

Your bat signal is staring at me

Be more rock and roll before 11 am. 

My colocs and I were at a great show for this group La Cafetera Roja and one of them (the spicy Italian) commented that I had on a short skirt and was lookin good. And I was like, um, I always dress this way. And my other coloc who is also funemployed said, you are not so rock and roll at 11 am.
The truth of it is, I'm rarely awake before 11 am. 

And I want to be.
Especially when the sky has been so blue and both the river and a hilly park are both so close. 

Let men chase me more

I'm often on the hunt. I have a type and I can usually snag them. But really, they like to hunt too and evasion tactics can be pretty fun as well. (I have to say, 'no you can't have it' is my favorite game in the world... but only after I've had it...) 

Frankly,  and lets be Frank here, Al, in all matters of the mattress I'm direct and playing the game otherwise is a contradiction of my nature. But why not shuffle the deck now and then, am I right?

And on the topic of the game, Betty...you just lost.

Speak French.

Ok, I do. Sometimes. Like with the kebab guy if Sebastien isn't there. Or with the bread guy, if Sebastien isn't there. Or with anyone if I'm nice and tipsy. Right. So, I can choose to be half-cocked around the clock or just practice more at home with my friends...and study on my own. Because I have the time.

Do more graffiti

I was really getting into it back in DC. I should produce some pieces that I can be proud of and paint this town red. Or, you know, which ever color is cheapest. 

Be more thrifty

I barely have money so I really need to be on my grind a little more. I just like sharing and I don't care that much for budgeting. We have about enough money to keep us here for 5 or 6 months. But if we don't worm our way into the social security system, get them to recognize our union, get Sebastien a stand up on the level job and get him through the 3 months trial period, we'll have to leave or give the French government 8 percent of what we made jointly last year to enjoy their socialist bennies. No spank you. 

Go to school...maybe..

I don't want to be a teacher for children. No listen, I really respect teachers and it's basically the most obvious thing for me to do with my work day and skill set. Thing is, come three thirty, I detest children. Why are you still talking? Go home!   But in 4 or 5 years, I plan on having a couple. I don't want to hate them and have no time for them and all of that. In a perfect world, I would finish with my work, fix them something fun and yummy for dinner, and pull out their learning standards and see if I can't tiger mom them into a higher social postion then myself. 

So I'm thinking, go back to school....but not for teaching. Maybe. Ok, thats more long term and has to be sussed out. 

Anyway, those are my goals, pretty much in the order of importance to me.  Right now though, this warm weather and I have a date. We're going to the park, but we may stand quietly and watch the river for a time. We might think about the transference of energy along waves, and think of sound waves and of ocean waves and the cold sting of the Atlantic back along the section of la mere that I called my own. Once at the park we might stare at the trees, fresh buds sure to loose to winter's next frost. Happy and green. Deep breaths in. The weather and I will look at what we've done and what we've seen and I dare say we will see so many different things.
But that's just my plan, and like all plans, it's a little romantic. Who can really say until it's come and gone.
I don't know. So here I go. That's my new mantra, the internet. (If new can be something you've only just now noticed.) Shrug. I don't know. So here I go, indeed.

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We have met the enemy, and they are ours.

So sorry to have to tell you this in writing, my fellow fun-employers, but I've had a little something on the side for awhile now that, if he were feeling pissy about it, R Kelly might call English lessons. Yeah, I know, it's all very sudden. I just wanted you to hear it from me, first.
So that's it, then: I basically get paid 20 euros an hour to have coffee with a stranger and listen to them talk. I think it's a bit like being a therapist or newly in-love. "Tell me again what your favorite song is, Venanzio.." 
So far I have three students that I've been meeting with regularly. 
Student one is an Algerian French teacher who wants to move to Louisiana to help spread French culture. We practice interview questions and I've been schooling him on academic buzz words, *think, differentiated instruction.* He drew me a map and explained that he believes with organizations like the one he is working with leading the charge, it will only be a matter of time before French culture spills out of Louisiana and into the neighboring states. Don't worry people, I didn't even laugh at him. In fact in the nicest way posible I simply told him that will never happen. 
Student two is an Italian documentary film maker. He is working on a script for German and Italian television. He's been here in Paris for 20 years. His English is fine, but he has to read a lot of source materials written neither in Italian or German mais avec that lofty academic language we are so fuckin well known for in America. Ah, discorse. 
Student 3 is a young lady who hates English but has to learn it to pass her blah blab bah. She is the hardest to work with, and the one I need to lean over the table the most at. But she likes music, and can read fairly well in English. So we're talking about the lyrics of her favorite songs. You were born in the wrong era, kid, not to mention the wrong country.
You know, I think I would have always left my country. But I recognize if there had never been a Sebastien to love, this Erin would probably be lost somewhere in the Americas. We may still end up there, if ending up is really what you call another leg of our journey together. Cross that bridge when you get there, first socks, then shoes...water, water everywhere...Please watch for falling platitudes, at these latitudes, gents


We got the most adorable European coats. Sébastien had this leather jacket that he let get absolutely ratty. It was very soft at one time, but he broke the zipper last winter and it never did anything for his butt.  So now he has this really cute tight fitting gig. He's such a mec now. He may dart-off on his vespa at any time for the coast. 
People keep asking me if I'm English. Guys, do I look English? I'm from New England, granted.

Click to see if I'm English

 But we don't have very much respect for our funny talkin' cousins there.... They were too stupid to put on camo or duck when they heard sniper fire. (Read as musket fire) Plus lets be honest, the battle of Put-in-Bay, gave us mad victory points in the war of 1812. ....I didn't even look that up. Ok, I might have...if Sébastien wasn't here to fill in the deets...Don't you wish you had a Sébastien? (also, I found the é key...who's proud of me?)
We've belatedly been discovering our neighborhood. Refrain from hating me if you can, but we've mostly been shopping at super markets.  Mais, dans nous cartier,  we have four butchers, a fish market, six bakeries--that I've notices so far, five or so vegetable stands, and we just found a great place to buy cheese. All this and a coffee roaster. 
But you don't have to take my word for it. ...

Click to see if he's English

Lonely Planet has this to say about our neighborhood....
"Two sorts of foot traffic give the 10th arrondissement its distinctive feel. The banks of the Canal St-Martin draw leisurely strollers while travelers part (and are reunited) on the platforms of the Gare du Nord and Gare de l'Est. Outside, the cafés and brasseries do brisk trade, catering to travelers and locals. Nearby the Blvd Magenta rushes like a swollen river, the noisy, impatient crowd spreading through the adjoining streets and pouring out onto the place de la République.  
The Buzzy working class area around blvd de Strasbourg and rue du Faubourg St Denis, especially south of the blvd Magenta, is home to a large communities of Indians, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, West Indians, Africans, Turks and Kurds. Indeed, strolling through passage Brady is almost like stepping into a back alley in Mumbai or Dhaka."  I've never been to India or Senegal, but I have been to the passage Brandy... yesterday we even bought Séba a new hat there. Can you imagine writing fluff for guide books? I would punch myself every time I wondered into the semi-romantic...which, were I to write for Lonely Planet would seemily occure with a painful amount of frequency. It's strange, you think they might have at least mentioned the hookers. Boff, all's well that ends well. And sometimes it's better even before that. 
Well, I have to go pick out a love or anti-love song for the Febtober blog swap. It's hard to believe that come the 14th Sébastien and I will have been together 5 years... at the risk of sounding semi-romantic I'll say only, what a long strange trip it has been. 

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So hammered, well nailed

Actual picture of me, some friends, some foes, in a pastlife

I am a powerful dark sailor, who has sailed many a gibawa wave. .. .
I read this from a book of poetry in my dream.  I had the sense then that it was quite famous and I was considering updating my Facebook status with it to see how many of my friends would recognize it.
I am at once annoyed and amused that Facebook status found its way into my dreams. For my part, and more creatively, I  started writing a poem for it this morning. I was, however, quickly out of my depth, and it will take a long time before I deign it worthy for your ingestion.
Eat something else why don't you. How bout the rich?
Funemployment is loosing its luster. I keep trying to schedule sessions as an English teacher but it takes so much bloody effort to read in French and then respond in French. It's like they don't even want to work on their English. *wink*
A lot of dudes are writing me to have sex with me, too.  Asking me if I "teach other courses" or explaining they want a companion, male or female, and in my age range....why so picky, bro? Someone even put their prices in their email, 200 euros an hour. I mean, thanks or whatever, that's certainly more than I could make teaching you English. But, think of all the front end investment in yoga and hot wax that would mean.
I do have some great fuck-me-boots but those get put to fine use as is. Everything is pretty super around our apartment. I feel really lucky to be friendly with the folks who share my space. It's just that well...I really miss having loud sex. I miss it so much. I miss it as though it were a 4 packs of oreas and I am a kid still away at fat camp and I want it more then I ever wanted a piece of the Agrocrag. (Check out our 20sb discussion on the matter)
Truth be told, I bet my flatmates probably already think I have loud sex. But honestly, I am totally keeping it down for them. Ok, there was Friday night when one of the guys was being generous with his whiskey, and Sebastien and I ended up at the bar afterwards...
It's funny going to bars.
There I am, finally practicing my French, flirting haphazardly with the bartender, being silly with some English guy named Peter all the while slurping down a 6 euro whiskey and coca when a handsome shape catches my eye, turning around, my body abruptly warms, I notice the man I absolutely must have my legs wrapped around in the next five minutes or else. Oh yes, the internet, I am just like you. I go to the bars to find someone to practice my mantra with. Thankfully, the male I selected was likewise inclined, and thankfully he also had the key to my apartment, because I had left my copy up in our room.  He smiled back at me as I slinked toward him meaningfully, all while thinking, but my face surely not saying, why are we spending money here? We could be upstairs messing up our sheets...
So yeah, we had loud sex on Friday night. Although, I think the second time was much quieter.
On a somewhat unrelated note, as most of my blogger friends already know, Sebastien and I are in an open relationship and we've selectively been telling our housemates  now so that they stop introducing us as the "American couple." A couple of Americans is just fine. You are what you eat, after all. Damn, I must be rich. Rich in spirit at the very least, for I am a powerful dark sailor and I have sailed many a gibawa wave.

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