J'ai dit NON

I want you all to know that I accidentally partied with 18-19 year olds last night, and this morning after reviewing my photos (which i uploaded on fb already) I realized some of them are my students. ALso, I def recognized one of my students last night and went up to the bar where he was behind the counter (which was actually some kind of abaondoned/empty building) and said in english, "Where can I get a drink?" We just stared pretty dumbfounded at each other but ended up having a good clean time together. He left before I got absolutely wasted with the other girls, as none of our usual boy counterparts were along for the night, and probably wouldn't have allowed us to leave the well lit bar we were at to go to the dark and secluded "house party" 10 minutes away. Word to the wise French jungle juice involves any possible liquor and whatever boxed juice is available on the countertop/elevated dance platform.

It was fantastic. The French in so many ways are more reserved than Americans which makes large raucous parties less about Seven Minutes in Heaven and more about dancing in a circle with your arms clasping the stranger's next to you. Although the French and maybe Europeans in general still have that sense of patriarchy which governs male-female relationships, something which I don't think is as prominent at home. For example. During the party, this guy grabbed me and made me dance with him to the song Johnny Be Good (no freaking joke), and tried to kiss me out of nowhere before I shoved away. Then a SECOND guy grabbed me when we were outside together and tried to kiss me. After that I marched inside the warehouse/covert operations headquarters and announced in English, "I'M READY TO LEAVE NOW" and launched into a slurred tirade on how in MY country we have marketing campaigns against forceful come-ons. Terrible tourist.

Despite all of that, I've been dying to find where the kids hang out and what happens when the 3 bars in town close at 1 a.m. and am now completely satisfied. Now I feel settled in and don't feel like I'm missing so much at home. I feel like I can enjoy my experiences here and not wonder who's singing what at Sardos.

I got to bed at 4:30 in the morning after eating a can of Tartiflette (fancy potatoes and ham) all in all very pleased with the evening and this general case study on French culture and teenage social settings I call 'work'.

Settler'd In

It's December and I'm well nigh settled in after 2 months in France. I haven't really REALLY gotten homesick (despite my last entry) except for on Thanksgiving day. Explaining to my students the deliciousness of pumpkin pie (which you can't find in France) and telling the day's general timeline of Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, football, food, sleep, football, food, sleep was just depressing. "In my country in approximately 4 hours...."
It's a pretty incredible thing that a country the size of the United States engages for the most part in one holiday from coast to coast. Shops shut down, people migrate home, and turkeys meet a butcher for the first and last time from California to New York. I made a powerpoint explaining the somewhat tainted history of Thanksgiving and describing how modern day Thanksgiving came to be, including: The presidential turkey pardon each year dating back to Truman and Black Friday. I never really gave much thought to this holiday as anything more than a TON of food and as I grew up, an excuse to meet old high school friends and get drunk on college vacation. Trying to convey TG's significance to a bunch of non-American teenagers and feeling the heaviness of home sickness (maladie du pays) actually gave Thanksgiving the validity that 24 years of Hallmark always tried to but could never accomplish.
The 5 Americans in Vernon created the most impressive Thanksgiving dinner of substitute ingredients that ever was and shared it with our English and German counterparts to unanimous applause. Delicious. Because if there's one thing the French and TG have in common, it's butter.

December 1st: SNOW! Yes, I've seen falling snow 2 or 3 times, and been to Tahoe and snowboarded (attempted to) but I have never lived in it. It. Is. Glorious. COLD. But glorious. It's 5 days in and I'm still giddy at the sight of the now brown clumps. Will this honeymoon period last through March (as I'm sure the snow will)? Who knows! For the time being I'm exhausting my camera and enjoying the frostbite :)

la maladie de home

First the film Ironman, then Arrested Development, I Love You Man, Zombieland, and True Lies, now The Sandlot??? Where does it end? Is everything filmed in LA?? I have a fabulous hard drive that I brought to France, filled with films and tv series alike but I can't watch a certain number of them because they feature beautiful, exciting, too-good-to-be-true visuals of Los Angeles and various neighborhoods I used to frequent 2 months ago. It's aggravating. I just started watching The Sandlot, heard the phrase "The Valley" and clicked out. I can't handle this. Obvi I'm adjusting fine, wrists intact, but I made the mistake of watching the series finale of Sex and the City (based in New York, mind you) where Carrie goes to Paris and has difficulty adjusting to life there, experiences culture shock, doesn't speak the language fluently, and misses her 3 best friends, and totally fell apart. I spoke with another friend today and found out she had a bad night recently too. Homesickness: it's catching.

When I rule out obvious LA references (to- my old life, routines, comfort, stability, family, security blanket, total and serene peaceful existence) and films I've already watched, I'm left with the remaining films on my hard drive: Love Actually, The Notebook, and Romeo & Juliet. Though lovesickness is a fate worse than longing for your country, R&J features the most violence of the three and for that must be commended above its competitors. And it practically features psychedelic drugs as an indirect lead so what's not to like? Really if there was a giant Ecstasy pill bemoaning the "Ides of March" after Mercutio's drag dance number it couldn't be any more of a major plot indicator.

Hide yo kids! Hide yo husband! HSN is comin' for ya.

Bah.

misc

My town is 24,000 people and probably 4 miles in diameter, counting all of the residential neighborhoods. And still I get lost while running well mapped routes, complete with maps.google satellite images.

Most of the leaves have fallen and changed colors already - something I haven't seen in years and something I've never seen on this magnitude or color spectrum.

It's begun to rain at least weekly. But even though I walk everywhere and cars park on the sidewalks here, forcing me to walk in the street sometimes, I haven't really gotten wet.

There have been exactly 4 cars since I've arrived that blare their music and pump their bass like they live in LA.

And if I make it out for a run before 10am, I will inevitably cross paths with an old man, who walks with a cane and wears a page boy cap circa 1935. I always say good morning to him as I pass and he replies in turn, "Bonjour belle mademoiselle!" every time.

Hair today...

Sometimes I get restless and usually when I feel like things are out of my control or I need a change, I do something impulsive. Like move to France.

Last Friday, I was feeling restless and decided to brave the pirate waters of foreign hair salons for a trim and some layers. I tried to prepare as best I could, but couldn't find the colloquial French word for 'layers' in my French-to-English dictionary and so decided that asking for different "levels" in my hair would have to suffice, hoping with mime and emphatic facial expressions I would get the point across. The stylist (who was young, cute with a fashionable hairstyle herself - in short, trustworthy) understood I wanted layers and even provided the correct term for it, "degrade". Believing that my French was working, I went on to specify I wanted 2 inches trimmed all around and also pointed out the level at which I wanted the shortest layer to be. She then cut off everything beneath that. She literally made what I wanted to be my shortest layer, my longest. A good 5-6 inches. The woman owes me a scarf. On the plus side it was one of the cheaper haircuts I've gotten at 18 euros (roughly $25), but maybe that's because the stylists are fresh out of L'Institut de Paul Mitchell.

Actually I like it. Despite the initial shock, I was toying with the idea of chopping it all off (again) anyway. So maybe I should be thanking her or finding the French Yelp online. I'm not all that particular about my hair and am a big believer that 'it grows back, so let's not worry about it'. But I wouldn't recommend attempting a foreign salon for the faint of heart, or the high maintenance. Adventure is out there!

I am not agree!

After a charming dinner at the Italian restaurant El Teatro which featured salsa dancing lessons but no theatre, several English professors and language assistants went back to someone's house around the corner for after dinner drinks. We got to talking about swear words and phrases in our respective languages (French, English, German, Spanish all being repped) and I thought it time to reveal my last resort swear word phrase of damnnation to be used only in cases of extreme disrespect: Je me fais chuir. A lovely French woman I met in Santa Monica taught me this phrase among others before I left home and loosely translated it means you make me so angry that I shit myself.

I paused for reaction. All three French women were staring at me, mouths agape. Was it really that blasphemous? Did they not think I had such extensive knowledge of their language? One of the professors asked, "Do you know what you just said?"

Always a bad sign. "You make me so angry that I shit myself?"

"That would be 'je me fais chier'. You said 'je me fais jouir'. 'I'm coming'."

The entire room doubled over in hysterics. I LITERALLY SAID I'M CLIMAXING in a room full of virtual strangers, thinking I was uttering this intense, menacing equivalent of "Fuck off, shithead!" Once my absolute horror wore off the tears of shock and awe gave way to a fit of giggles that continued well on into the evening. Especially when I remembered that dirty jokes are a national pastime for the French and the professors began taking turns telling their favorites about Pierre's "baguette".

L'interFETE

At long last, after exactly 30 days since I left the States and my constant web connection, it's happened. Internet. Cue the angels singing and bright lights because it was a freaking miracle navigating French technology and their system. (Let the culture clash continue!) At home in the good ole U.S. of A. if one were to sign up for internet, you'd get hooked up within 3 business days max, and even then I feel like that's a long time. Here I was told it would take at least 15 days, which we later understood to mean business days, and when that day came and went and we went to investigate in town, we discovered someone canceled our internet order the day after we initiated it. To remedy matters and assuage the clearly inflicted wounds, the service provider employee told us it would take ANOTHER 15 days and we would be hooked up by November 9th. WHAT!?! Drinking ensued and we thoroughly abused the French and their "system" for the next 3 days until magically we received a text proclaiming our internet activation 2 weeks ahead of schedule. WHAT???? Whatever. Thank God, thank the French, thank you Orange Internet for doing something right. Although I have enjoyed hanging out with the other assistants at all hours and there's nothing like an unjust cause such as internetlessness to band a group together, it was starting to wear on me. My friends and family are mostly 9 hours away from me and it's been difficult to communicate via wifi at MaCorner with French rap blaring in the background and random mecs (dudes) shouting GOOT MORRNINK at you at 9 o'clock at night because they sense Americans/anglophones. I am utterly relieved to never have to go there again.

Unless I want a burger.

I did NAAAAAAHT

Since arriving here I've pretty much avoided all films set in the U.S. for fear of homesickness moving in to my apartment. But for The Room, I made an exception. Thank you Tommy Wiseau for bringing your talent to the world and broadcasting it into my little french home.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQ4KzClb1C4

French: The language of love

Sooooooooo Vernon has an adorable movie theatre which has some surprisingly up to date films like the Drew Barrymore Justin Long film, "Going the Distance" - a title that has a kind of hopeful American optimism to it.

I took a picture of the French poster for the film whose title has been changed a bit to adjust for French cultural relevance and which is supposed to be comparable to the original title in english.

"Trop Loin Pour Toi" translates to "Too Far for You"

SPOILER ALERT: Which I guess is how the film turned out! Yikes! Are the french just THAT realistic or pessimistic or do they just love spoilers? Also, take note someone crossed out the 2nd "plus" in the tag line "plus c'est loin, plus c'est bon" in order to add in "moins" - the farther it is, the worse it is - roughly translated.

Monsieur Poulain! Don't move! There's a baguette sized chip on your shoulder! But whatevs. I didn't wanna see that stinky film anyway. American naivete at its best? Cultural differences you win again.

Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques

I've been giving random updates to specific people here and there, and have been been receiving death threats from others if I don't update again soon, so!

The last 11 days have been pretty fantastic. I finally settled into my studio apartment Monday night, only to realize I don't have any food. I ended up walking down to the store to find it closed, then settled on eating the end of the day's baguettes from a random boulangerie/sandwich shop near the school, and from there discovered MaCorner on the walk home. MaCorner is one of those prized european fast food joints that encompasses all major american shops in one: McDonalds, Burger King, Popeyes Chicken, Dairy Queen, Subway - all the while offering free WiFi. We're friends. (although they don't offer burritos or tacos, so we're not that good of friends)

Speaking of which I've met all the assistants in my town and neighboring towns and am pleased to say no one appears crazy or violent :) Actually I like them all. And while I have my own studio apartment, the Spanish assistant and German assistant live just next to and across from me, and the other English assistants who work at neighboring schools live 2 floors above us. It's been really weird because we all can't shake this feeling of summer camp crossed with the first week of freshman year college dorm living. We knock on each other's doors when we want company on the quest for free wifi at MaCorner or if we're bored and want human interaction at home. Really, that's been the only issue for me this past week - the lack of things to do. And after coming from 40 hour a week work weeks at a law office, that's not actually a problem at all.

Adding to the whole new-kid-in-school feeling, I followed around a different student Wednesday and Thursday through most of their classes. Meaning I sat in on History, Math, Spanish, Italian, and of course English classes all in French. And got to experience a teacher and student argue and snip at each other in French. Also, I never liked Math and it's even worse in your second language.

The kids are awesome. Obvi there are some girls that still hold a torch for the old assistant (a BOY of all things) but most of them have been incredibly friendly and asked me if I'm 19, making me love them instantly. Some of the older kids (I'm teaching 15-20 year olds, I guess) can see through my charms and Hollywood glamour (I lived near hookers) and don't seem that impressed with my french but for the most part seem pretty excited and willing to learn english from me. Time shall tell! Meanwhile I've already had a few requests for tutoring from various professors at the school, for themselves or for their children but we'll see if that pans out. It's just really nice that a few people have already decided I would be a good person to learn from.

There hasn't been much culture shock except while observing classes, I've gotten the distinct feeling that I'm supposed to represent my country while publicly lauding how much better France is. It's weird. Truthfully, most places the world over have a better vacation schedule than America and France is leading the pack with 6 weeks paid vacation, along with compulsory holidays. Its health system is ridiculously all inclusive and its people make amazing wine, cheese, and bread, blah blah blah. Obvi. And while I try to remain truthful that there are pros and cons to every institution and America is not solely comprised of bigots, faulty politicians, and fat people there's the other side of the coin that blasts Rihanna and Taylor Swift in every department store I walk into here. I'm not experiencing a fit of nationalism or getting personally offended by the leading nature of certain questions - it's just interesting and totally foreign to me. A bit of culture shock.

All of the professors have been ridiculously accommodating, offering rides to town (a 15-20 minute walk), the use of their bikes, wine bottle openers, and in the case of one English professor, his home for the weekend. He is the contact for (person assigned to) one of the other American assistants who is from Virginia and he also went with us to sign up for internet in town with the local service. He's away visiting his parents somewhere in France for the weekend and opened up his home to us for a wi-fi free for all. So we've been skypeing like crazy and catching up on world events and also managed to go out to 1 of 3 bars open Friday night until 1am to meet some other assistants we know in town. Also passed a restaurant on the way which does karaoke EVERY. THURSDAY. NIGHT. Deets to come. Once we got to the bar in question, I had a great beer with tequila in it and played a winning game of foosball with a German, an Australian and a Frenchmen. I'd like to say there's a terrific punchline at the end of that setup mais non. Also kept trying to tip the bartenders and kept getting shot down, as it isn't French custom. Fantastic.

At the end of a great, relaxing weekend we're on to meet an Englishman for coffee and I'm sure, a spot of tea. I can hear someone playing an off key version of Frere Jacques, frere Jacques dormez-vous? on a flute in a neighboring apartment. Hopefully will get internet in the next few days and several other posts up here before I melt into French culture and become one with the cheese....

3 major food groups

Champs Elysees. Jet lag. The Eiffel Tower. L'Arc de Triomphe. Blonde Icelanders. Tunafiskasalmok. Trains. Dozens of trains. Empire State. Connecticut's ravenous insects. Broadway. Elk Grove. Cal Fit. The Fam. LA and the Valley. The big 2-5. It's been a long month. I'm exhausted and tickled just thinking about it. And it would seem that all of this would make for an exhausted American girl were it not for the fact that I've been prepping for this for SO LONG (middle and high school, college, books, amazon.fr, people, the french, cheap cheese) that it feels like it's always been leading to this. There is a smug sense of rightness and meant-to-be and accomplishment that is so permeating that although it's only been 3 days since I landed, it just feels like going off to college again. The culture shock hasn't set in and the language barrier although present doesn't appear to be insurmountable. Basically, I can't believe my good luck. Pour commencer...

Leaving JFK sucked. Again. And my phone died before I boarded the plane so if I said I would call you before takeoff and I didn't - that's what skype is for. Immediately the french blessings began and I sat next to Jean-Louis a 26 year old frenchman who answered my questions and also left me alone to sleep. I've heard horror stories of friends who took trans-atlantic flights only to be harassed by adjacent travelers who think the 11 hour flight is the equivalent of a date and try to take advantage of the dim lighting. Jean-Louis was no such traveler! And there wasn't even anyone in the middle seat so I kept to my window and he to his aisle. BON. Also I can't do math. Remember how I kept ranting about the 11 hour flight, the injustice, the dreariness! It was 5 hours to Iceland and 3 hours from there to Paris. Whoops?

Iceland is incredible. One of the most beautiful airports I've ever seen and even through sleep deprived eyes there's no mistaking the ridic geography. First of all the country has 300,000 people and half its population believes in elves. What's not to like, right? And after flying for 5 hours over only ocean you can suddenly see a speck of land that becomes bigger, until it grows into a coast and then an airport. The beauty of Reyjkevik airport is that while other airports on a coast take you inland several miles, over buildings, over beaches with people, over freeways, you fly maybe 1 mile over clear, lush, empty, green land and then hit the runway. It's literally right on the water. And the people! I've never seen so many natural blondes in my life! Good tuna fish sandwiches at 6:00 am/midnight/9pm. The connection is quick and I jump on the next plane within an hour.

I sleep off and on for the next 3 hours on the flight next to a dozing french couple and wake up, literally as we cross onto French land, the clouds part and I see the beaches of Normandy. WWII, PEOPLE! It's like history slapped me awake to give me a proper French welcome. Charles de Gaulle airport is high tech and faaancy and also terrifying. Jean-Louis is on my same plane again and we reunite in the baggage claim where he guides me through the labyrinth until his family finds him. The guy just finished a 6 month backpacking trip and one can only admire the dedication to stinkiness.

I grab a taxi with this awesome driver who navigates lanes like he's in Tijuana or at least snaking through NYC. He learned all his english from his passengers. He is awesome and also makes fun of me for saying I'm from California instead of saying America. (Parisians are a bit more worldly and so, don't give a shit really) We get along fine and it's here that I discover that I actually do speak a bit of French. I am awesome and he tells me so. We drive down Champs Elysees to my train station, him pointing out landmarks all the while. I lug my suitcases up 2 flights of stairs in the train station and treat myself to a decidedly french chocolate croissant. The train ride is quick and I get to listen to some North African women prattle on in French and whatever else it is they're speaking.

I jump off (read: slowly drag my suitcases full of dead body parts and bricks to the exit) and find my contact Frank waiting for me right on time! I love him immediately. He takes me to Brigitte's home along unbelievably quaint, old, rustic, beautiful streets and I'm witness to several adorable french girls who kiss each other goodbye on their walk home from school, on both cheeks. The family is incredibly hospitable and even allows me to sleep for 4 hours, leaving me to wake up and have dinner at 10:30pm. IT'S AMAZING. I won't bother describing all of it because it's just deliciously french and light. However I didn't expect that after all the courses (including crepes) my hope beyond hopes would be answered. After 45 minutes of eating by myself and talking to Brigitte (who had already eaten), she pulls out a plate from the fridge with TEN DIFFERENT CHEESES ON IT and tells me to help myself. They are literally piled on top of each other on this one plate, showing they do this ALL. THE. TIME. EVERY NIGHT EVEN! The bread that she brings with it is delicious and complementary and everything I've been imagining forever. The next night this same thing occurs but with a wine bottle from 1998, which apparently everyone has just lying around. If ever I had any doubts, they are silenced with camembert and a red Buzet.

I end up sleeping from 1am to 5am. I fall asleep just as the kids start to wake up for school around 7am and then don't rouse until 4:30 in the afternoon. I literally slept all of friday and woke up at 9am California time. Leading me to get a pitiful 3 hours of sleep friday night. Bleck. I woke up today at 9am after being up since 4am just to make sure I could sleep regularly tonight. Jet lag blows.

Finally, I just went to a catholic mass en francais wherein I understood the "Amens" and "Allelujahs".

Also also, the 2nd family I'm staying with now has an adorable cat called Minette, that reminds me of my childhood cat, Kitty, only Minette speaks French.

Alors, I'm really excited and cannot WAIT to move into my living quarters on the school campus and finally freaking unpack after 3 weeks on the road. Le siiiiigh! Hopefully only incredibly french and exciting things are to come <3