Unsolicited advice

I forgot to post this a few days ago when it happened, but I'd just like to draw your attention to two incidents that took place on Monday that I think sum up why part of me hates this country.

Incident #1. While waiting for the bus with a friend, a little old lady beckoned me closer so she could tell me something. I thought she was going to ask me when the bus was coming. The conversation went a little something like this:
Little Old Lady: You're very pretty.
Me (uneasy, thinking, aw crap, I know where this is going): Thanks.
Little Old Lady: But you have to lose weight! (called it) Do you know why? You have to lose weight for your health. I have a niece, she's fat too. But she has four children, and after she had them, she just let herself go. When I was young, I worked in a big apartment building, cleaning. I would go up and down the stairs, carrying big piles of linens, and I would be so busy, I would forget to eat! And when you eat, you have to eat the right foods, and not too much.
My friend, out of the corner of her mouth, in English: Do you want to move?
Little Old Lady, to my friend: Now, you should be listening to me, too. (Back to me) But really, you can't go through life fat, you need to eat right and work, and--

Then the bus came. Oh, man. I don't even know where to start. I don't know what's worse, the fact that she thinks it's acceptable to lecture a complete stranger on her weight - I know, she's an old lady, and old ladies can pretty much do whatever they want because, really, who's going to yell at an old lady? (I was this close, though. If the bus hadn't have come, I might have let loose.) - or the fact that she opened with the "you have such a pretty face" line. It's the second time it's happened to me here. The first was by - get this - a wino at the bus stop in the 17th with rotting teeth and permanently purple lips. I couldn't understand everything she was saying - something about rice, maybe? But the male wino sitting next to her told her to shut up, so I gave him 80 cents as a thank you on behalf of humanity and all those with even the least bit of social grace. Ladies, listen. If I want your opinion on something - anything, but especially on my weight (which, let's face it, is NEVER going to happen - I'm never going to go up to you, whom I've never met before in my life, and ask you, "excuse me, do you think I'm pretty? And what about this whole central region? What do you think of that? How would you suggest I get rid of it so men will like me and I can finally fulfill the dream of every sane woman of finding the perfect man who will love the newly-reduced me and give me beautiful babies and a house in the country so I can finally, once and for all, be a happy, well-rounded-but-not-actually-round, loved human being?), I will ask you. Don't just assume that because I'm fat I don't know how to fix it, or that I'm ignorant of my situation and need you to remind me once again of my rotund status, or that I'm not happy! Jesus Christ, lady. I am happy. Well, I was happy, right up until you had to go and piss on my day by telling me I had a pretty face. At least the senile woman on the first floor thinks I'm pretty - all of me. Probably so much so she'd chop me up and feed me to her cat, but still. She likes me just the way I am, so there.

Also, I call bullshit on anyone that "forgets" to eat. You don't forget to eat like you forget where you put your keys, or like you forget to run to the bank. It just doesn't happen like that, I'm sorry. Even I've been so busy that I made the conscious decision not to eat because I had too much shit to do and not enough time, despite the very noticeable growling coming from my stomach, but never in my life have I ever just forgotten to nourish myself. Bull. Shit.

Incident #2. After my friend's thesis defense, we went out for lunch at a café down the street. It was so nice outside, so we grabbed a table under an umbrella. Then the waiter proceeds to take away the umbrella, even though we strategically sat there so we wouldn't get skin cancer but could still enjoy the nice weather, without even asking us. Then - oh man - then he asks if he can move the tables over a little to give the people next to us more room. Fine with us, so he picks up the table with a carafe and two full glasses of water on it, and CRASH. Nothing breaks, but there is water all over our table, me, and my expensive leather bag. Does he apologize? No. He says something, then, ça arrive, but never do the words "sorry" or "excuse me" come out of his mouth. Then he yells at one of my friends for trying to go up to pay him, since he's taking forever to come back. Well, I'm glad we don't feel obligated to tip. And I'm glad that in two weeks I'll be back in a country where - even if it is artificial - people have the decency to at least be pleasant for the sake of not sending people into a rage over a spilled glass of water and a forcibly removed umbrella.

My mom gets in tonight, and we're leaving on Friday for about a week and a half (Madrid, Barcelona, Avignon), so I probably won't be posting until I get back. But expect some pretty pictures when I triumphantly return to the blogging universe. A bientôt!

I'd be Pun Girl and fight crime with witty wordplay... and alluring alliteration.

The countdown is at 17 days now. I never thought I'd say this, but I kind of can't wait to get home. I can't wait to spend time with my family and my friends (especially my best friend, whom I absolutely cannot go any longer without seeing), settle down into my comfy bed that doesn't hurt my back when I get out of it, wake up to the sounds of neighborhood kids riding their bikes down the street instead of sirens and scooters and, most importantly, never have to deal with guys grabbing my ass or whistling at me in the metro. Of course I'll miss the city, the mode de vie here, the bread, the fashion, the history, the art, the eye candy. Of course I'm not done forever. I'm just done for now. Yeah.

I've been looking at jobs for when I come home, and I've got to say, as much as you may think my degrees are worth, they're really not going to get me that far on my quest to be a contributing member of society. Considering I don't really want to do anything with French (sorry, parents) or art history (sorry, professor Felton), I'm going to have a pretty hard time getting my feet on the ground. I'm hoping to get into this writing program at NBC with a mock episode of The Office I'm writing with my friend (seriously, it's going to be one of the funniest episodes ever written), and I may do an episode of How I Met Your Mother and maybe Scrubs too. But that's not a job. It's a class two nights a week starting in September or October, and it's a really selective application process. I applied to be someone's assistant at a production company I interned at, but I'm not really that interested in being someone's bitch for however long it takes me to get where I want to be, wherever that is. I'm thinking of applying to be some writer/producer's assistant, but that's the same problem. Maybe I'll just go around begging for work. Or I'll just write some Katherine Heigl drivel that'll do well at the box office and sell my soul, which should give me enough to live off of for at least a year or so. Because, you know, I can just do that. Like that. (Please, you know whoever wrote 27 Dresses did that while working out and reading a romance novel. Come on.)

But the important part is that I'll be home in 17 days, and all this aspiring writer crap will be a lot easier to take care of from there (and also once I finish my mémoire, I'll be able to spend more time on the actual writing part, which is kind of important, or so I've heard). Man, I've come a long way from wanting to be a Spanish teacher.*

*A short list of all the things I've ever wanted to be in life, in chronological order: cartoonist (age 5), lawyer, doctor, Spanish teacher, architect, entertainment lawyer, talent agent, booking agent, art history professor, museum curator, French professor, producer, playwright, translator, superhero, Tina Fey.

Great minds think alike

Sentence from my Sex and the City review on SASSY, posted yesterday, but finished the day before: "And by us, I mean the cosmo-sipping, Manolo-coveting, sex-talking – or wannabe-sex-talking – fans."

Sentence from Joe Hottie's Dating Blog on Cosmo.com in a post about SATC, posted yesterday: "it's those Manolo-loving, Cosmo-drinking gals from Sex and the City who have female hearts around the country aflutter."

I'm just saying.

Also, I found out today that Gérald will be in LA in August for a week, so I'm happy that I'll have at least one interaction in French over the summer. Also also, the play is almost done, and he's sending it off next week for approval. I'm so excited!

That's pretty much all I have to say. I need to do some writing, not just my thesis, but some of my own writing, because things are bouncing around in my head and they take up so much room and sometimes they won't let me do anything else (like sleep, concentrate on other things, etc.) until I type them out. I want to have something completed by my birthday so I don't feel like a total slacker.

I'll be sorry later, I know

I realize this blog has become a lot less observational and lot more personal, and I guess I'm sorry for that? Sorry for indulging in my narcissistic tendencies to talk about the trivial events of my uninteresting life instead of making the same gross generalizations about French culture as people (including me) have been making in the last few years to try to get to the bottom of this whole cultural divide thing. I guess it's because I've spent so much time here, I've gotten used to things, or at least I don't notice as much as I used to anymore, or maybe I do, but it's not that interesting to me anymore, so I don't bother writing about it. Or maybe it's because I find the guy in the shady nightclub on a boat who flashed me the international sign for pussy while dancing three inches away from my face far more interesting than French women's ability to walk around all day in four-inch stilettos.

True story, by the way. The club was totally louche. I'm trying to bring that word into the American-English vernacular, in case you were wondering. It means something like sketchy, but also sleazy and shady. It's like an amalgam of the three - it gets the job done in a third of the time with twice the effect. I don't know how that proportion works, but just go with it. So anyways, this club. It was louche. Way louche. First of all, it's on a boat on the Seine, which is admittedly awesome, but then when you get inside and realize how hot and crowded it is, you start worrying that this is going to be the next "club disaster", like that fire a few years ago, and that tomorrow morning there will be stories about how this boat-club on the Seine sank in a fiery alcoholic blaze, leaving no drunken survivors. Thankfully, my nightmare was not realized. But I only spent an hour there, and then had to get out of the sweaty heap of twenty-year olds as I'd been elbowed one too many times in the back of the head by the couple having sex up against a pole behind me, and was ready to throw someone overboard. On the night bus home (i.e. back to a friend's place), the guy next to me fell asleep or passed out on my shoulder and my friend nearly fell out of her seat while sleeping. All in all, the night was somewhat of a failure.

Sunday night was the last pub quiz, and we won. Well, we tied, but we still got a bottle of shitty wine that no one drank. It's not the wine that matters, it's the glory. And oh, how sweet it is. I also got to meet a new Frenchie named Julien (it's fate, I tell you - or some really horrible joke the universe is playing on me), and re-meet another one I met once in September, whom I had a huge crush on but later found out was engaged. Ah well. Yesterday we played Mario Kart all afternoon and I finished a review of Sex and the City for SASSY, which is not my best work, but I tried my best. It's been a while since I've written a real review for anything, and I'm a little rusty. Plus, I loved the movie, but it was, in reality, not that great, so that was hard to negotiate.

You know that scene in Say Anything... where they're all at dinner, and the adults ask Lloyd what he wants to do for a living, and he says "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that." ? That's kind of my mantra right now. I know I've never had any interest in buying or selling ANYTHING, but that whole mindset kind of sums up how I feel about getting a job in the fall. So if you've got any tips on how to be independently wealthy, feel free to pass 'em along.

I'm going to try to be productive for a change. If not today, then tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, then definitely Thursday. If I haven't written ten pages by Friday, please chastise me harshly.

T - 4 weeks

I think my relationship with Special K has reached a new level of intimacy. It's like Special K knows what I'm thinking. And also like it knows what's best for me. Like today, when I went to pour myself a bowl from a brand new box, and it only gave me a few little chocolate shavings because it knew I only had whole milk, and if it could have talked, it probably would have said, "Allison, you don't need extra chocolate shavings. I'm saving them for when you get some skim and afford the extra calories." It also tends to give me fewer chocolate shavings when I eat it for dinner. I know I should be ashamed of eating cereal for dinner, but come the fuck on. Who hasn't, at some point, and especially in the stressful stages of their academic career, forgone the home-cooked meal and instead grabbed the box of Frosted Mini Wheats off the top of the microwave?

My brother left this morning, and now my apartment can finally get back to a state of normalcy and cleanliness. I just don't understand how it's possible for me to take a shower without getting water on every surface in my bathroom (not to mention hair and fuzz, gross), but as soon as I have houseguests, especially boys, it's like a typhoon hit my apartment. Although, they did clean up before they left, so that was at least good. We also got out to Epernay a couple of days ago and toured a couple of champagne houses, which was awesome. I drank four glasses of champagne in one afternoon and flirted with the bartender and learned some stuff. Also, now I really want to buy a château and a vineyard and make wine. But, you know, 22 year-olds don't really do that sort of thing, so I guess I'll just stick with finding a real job for the moment and work my way up to oenological enthusiast.

Other than that, I've been spending my time procrastinating. Like, crazy procrastinating. Today, I did laundry and went food shopping and dropped something off at school, but that wasn't enough. So I counted all the coins sitting around my apartment. And washed them. Well, some of the really gross ones that started oxidizing and whatnot. For future reference, a mixture of vinegar, water and lemon juice works wonders on really old crusty coins. Also, I had almost 8 euros of spare change! Amazing!


I'm rich!

Lazy Sunday

Well, it's been a completely unproductive few days. My brother and his friend got in on Thursday night, and between going out and sleeping in and cleaning up after said going out and sleeping in, there hasn't been much time to actually work. I'm hoping to finish some reading today and maybe write a page or two, but I'd much rather go bum around Paris for the day with my bro. Anyways, talking about academia kind of makes me want to ralph, so I'm just going to skip over that (and considering that I'm pretty much done with school anyways, there's no reason to in the first place). Instead, I think I'll talk about how I finished an entire bottle of wine on the Pont des Arts and split a dart at the Highlander while Stephanie kicked my ass by literally 220 points.

Um, I guess that's the story. We met up with some friends on the bridge on Friday night for a picnic and public drinking, and at first I thought we had way too much food and wine, but I was soon proved wrong, as the group sprawled out and we proceeded to finish every last crumb of fresh baguette and every last drop of our 4 euro bottles of wine. And yes, I did drink an entire bottle of wine by myself. I have no idea how I did it without throwing up, but oh man, was I impressed with myself. It was probably the drunkest I've been since my first foray into alcohol consumption in Scotland in 2004, but without the falling down and spending the next day crouched down by the toilet waiting for that last tequila sunrise to wreak its revenge. I think there's something different about bridge drinking that takes away the possibility of getting sick or having a hangover. It's just such a nice experience, sitting on the bridge with literally hundreds of other people, enjoying some cheese and bread and meats, sipping (or gulping) your two buck chuck (or four buck chuck), enjoying the sunset as you watch the colors on the Ile de la Cité change from vibrant to subdued, trying to snap pictures that will look good on Facebook while trying to deal with aforementioned setting sun, handing out crackers to winos, waving and yelling at tour boats passing underneath, accidentally spilling wine on some of them, savoring the frequent cool breezes as you realize you're sitting at the center of the world in between the Louvre and the Académie française and nothing else matters.

And then you try to stand up.

And then you try to maneuver through the crowds so you can make it off the bridge and into the next bar where drinks are twice as expensive as that entire bottle of wine you just drank, and where people seem to make it their job to keep you from getting where you need to go. But then, of course, there are those once in a lifetime occurrences, like splitting a dart right next to the bullseye while Right Said Fred plays in the background, or thinking you lost your brother to some black back alley only to find him giving himself lung cancer outside in his drunken stupor, that make putting up with crowded bars and overpriced drinks and alcoholic tools all worth it.*

And that's when you realize you have two whole months to finish your mémoire, and who really needs to get it done rightthissecond anyways?



*Don't worry, we made him stop and throw the rest out. Doctors should have better reason than that, right?

Snakes. I hate snakes.

I guess it's fair to say that since I had such high hopes - nay, expectations - for the fourth Indiana Jones movie, I was bound to be disappointed. It was a great action movie, I'll give it that much, but... where was the dialogue? Where was the witty repartee during fight sequences? Where were the comically-placed punches and unexpected kicks? Ok, a couple of scenes made the cut. But... that plot? I won't give anything away, but seriously, George Lucas. That's the best you could come up with? I know you have to find something sort of supernatural, but really? Did you have to take it that far? All in all, it was an entertaining movie, but I guess I just wanted more from what will probably be Harrison Ford's last starring role as Indiana Jones.

Also, one last thing - ok, two: first, I heart Karen Allen. Second, did you have to make Shia Laboeuf or however you spell his name look so damn greasy? I mean, I know he's a sleazeball and all, but come on now. Ok, one more thing. Casting Cate Blanchett as the villain - GENIUS. But the next time you make an Indy movie, can you make the lead a little bit more... Indy-like? And the movie a little bit more... good? I know Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade good is asking a little much, but I'm just saying - next time you may want to - dare I say it? (and yes, I do, because it's exactly the kind of joke 1957 Indy would say) - crack the whip a little harder on your writers.

Spent

Well, that's over with.

The last few days I've been killing myself trying to get ready for my thesis presentation and finish up a few last minute academic things, like my last research paper EVER (which I got an A- on and am very happy about). I was the first to present my thesis, which was incredibly intimidating, but someone has to be first, and it might as well have been me. I actually think it was better this way, because I didn't have the opportunity to get freaked out by anyone else's presentation, constantly comparing it to mine, which I would inevitably deem inferior to everything ever written or presented in the history of NYU. But the truth is, I rocked it. I rocked it hard. I'm really happy with my grade, and everyone on the jury thought it was a great presentation - very interesting, well-organized, and delivered well. So basically, in conclusion, I rock. Hard.

Last week was crazy, apart from working myself up about this thesis thing, but because of the other work I had to do, the library strike, and various other annoyances that come with the luxury of living in Paris. However, we did finally do a reading with real actors of the play we're translating, which was definitely the highlight of my week. (Sorry, I still can't tell you what it is for confidentiality reasons, but if you ask me in person, I'll probably tell you.) It was a group of actors Gérald is working with on this show, and they were all extremely nice and forgiving of my inefficiency at reading lines in French. Additionally, a couple of them were quite attractive, hence the highlight of my week. One was named Aymeric, who was probably the most adorable-attractive person I've ever met. You can tell he was an irresistibly cute kid, and lucky for everyone he kept those pouty lips. Then there was Julien, who was actually pretty American-looking, which is funny because he started paradoxical conversation about how the domination of American English in the world is actually going to lead to its demise. Alright, so maybe not the brightest tool in the shed, but great eye candy and a deep, sexy French voice, and I've always wanted to date a Julien, so what more can you ask for?

My brother and a friend are coming in on Thursday for their first stop on their Grand Tour, which is very exciting! My apartment currently looks like a tornado hit it, as per usual, but I'm working on it. Slowly but surely it will once again resemble a habitable space.

Ok, so I just hit a wall and can't write any more. I'm so burnt out from all this academia and worrying about all this academia... I should get some rest. Or at least relax just a bit with some trashy TV.

P.S. Who's excited for the new Indiana Jones? I think I actually want to see it more than Sex and the City. Sacrilege, I know.

We are the world

I'll write a real post tomorrow when I'm done in front of the firing squad, but for now, for those of you who speak french, enjoy this:

Europe as seen by the French:

For those of you who don't speak French, here's the translation (they're all pretty much pejorative):
Maison = Home
Faineants = Lazy
Poilues = Hairy
Lents = Slow
Voleurs = Thieves
Terroristes = take a guess
Fachos = Facists
Teubé = Stupid
Toxicos = Drug Addicts
Alcoolos = Alcoholics
Roux = Redheads
On s'en fout = We don't care about them
Bonasses = Softies
Putes = Whores
Mafia and Vodka = self-explanatory
Accordeonistes = Accordion players
PD = homos

Offensive, and I'm not really sure to whom, but funny.

Also, this one, France from the Parisian perspective:


Translation:
Maison = Home
Pauvres = Poor people
Alcooliques = Alcoholics
Nid de connards = Nest of assholes/bastards/jackasses
Putes & Voleurs = Whores and thieves
Dépressifs = Depressed people
On s'en branle = We don't give a fuck

And lastly, to be fair, the world seen by Americans (my favorite is the last one; note the conspicuous absence of Africa):

Paris hates me.

Paris hates me.

Let me take you through the succession of events that brought me to that conclusion:

This morning, I was on top of my shit. I had a plan. I woke up early, got ready, got my stuff together, and headed to the library at the actual time I had intended. I got there an hour early and plopped myself down near the front of the line, feeling content that I would only have to wait at most an additional fifteen minutes past the normal opening time of the library to get in. And then, at about 11:40, a couple of women who work at the library came out with stacks of fliers and started distributing them to people waiting in line. The top of it read (in French) "Strike on May 15 to defend civil service", followed by an almost page-long explanation of why some of the staff would be on strike today. A little later, a man came out and said they still hadn't decided whether there would actually be a strike or not, but the decision would be made in the next fifteen to twenty minutes. Lo and behold, at about ten after twelve, a man inside the library came up to the glass door and held up a piece of paper with the word GREVE written on it, underlined. He did it with the same gravitas and regretful expression on his face as a little journalist gopher would when coming out of a courthouse to announce the verdict of a high-profile murder case to the anxious masses outside. Also, he made that throat-slitting gesture, and someone behind him kept making X's with his arms. It kind of reminded me of the universal disappointment after O.J. was declared a free man.

You have got to be kidding me. On a personal level, it pisses me off because I was counting on this day to finish up some research for my thesis presentation on Monday, and I really do need the WHOLE weekend to work on it. I don't have time this weekend to waste standing in line to get into the library just so I can read books I can't take home. On a less selfish level, would it have killed them to make this decision ahead of time? And maybe put it on their website? And then maybe they should add "whenever we don't feel like working" to their list of days they're closed.

Also, who thinks libraries shouldn't be allowed to strike, especially during finals? Because, really, that's just cruel, not to mention an exacerbation to the problem of poorly-educated, failing students. Seriously, France, step up your game! I'm all for liberal politics and people being rightfully compensated, but if you're going to do shit like this, the least you could do is give students a break for being unprepared in class. How can they be prepared if you close the library on them?

So, after everyone dispersed, I headed to the bus stop and thought I'd go to my café, do a little reading with a crème, then go home to finish up some other work. But the bus never came. And it was raining, in 80% humidity. And I didn't have my umbrella because I thought I would be spending the day INSIDE THE LIBRARY. So I walked to my metro, resigned to eating lunch at home and finally getting through my last academic paper ever (which I have still yet to finish). So I, of course, had to blog about it first, as it's impossible for me to get any work done without a considerable amount of procrastination beforehand.

Voilà, c'est tout. Back to the grindstone. Ugh.


EDIT, 12:20 am : Who SHUTS DOWN THEIR DATABASE AT NIGHT when someone needs it to get biographical information they need to finish their paper?! Fuck you, BPI. Fuck you and the sadistic bastards managing you. You all suck. Next time I go in there, I'm dog-earing all the books I use. Take that, civil servants!