May

It hailed yesterday.



Yeah. That was my face.

OTC

How I miss that phrase. Over the counter. It's a sick ex-pat's dream on a Sunday, when every pharmacy in France is closed and I stupidly didn't think to go get drugs yesterday.

Miss you America. When I could recklessly self medicate and do it for under 5 bucks to boot.

Sniff.

Pros (and cons) of France

Prostitutes. They're everywhere. No matter what time of day, they've got a job to do. On my way to the gym at 2 in the afternoon, they line certain sidewalks, and on my way home at 4pm they're chatting with well-dressed businessmen. And it's always the well-dressed, normal-looking joes, with kids and a wife at home too.

France is the country of equality, fraternity, and liberty and that includes the oldest-profession known to man. The way its regulation works is, prostitutes are not fined, but their customers are. Which seems incredibly backward to me, but whatever. It's so weird, especially because, as far as I can tell and from what most French people have told me, none of the 'pros' are French. They're all immigrants. So then, decriminalized prostitution just seems like a way of encouraging (or rather, not discouraging) racial/economic job profiling. No self respecting French woman (or transvestite, as it sometimes is) is going to do it, so that leaves the vacuum wide open (no pun intended) for newly arrived, impoverished, accented immigrant women.

As my first year English students would probably say -- I am not agree!!

End rant.

Hearts in Rouen

Revision #813: I began my journey to write my very first full length novel six months ago. It was partially inspired by NaNoWriMo, part boredom, and part serious desire since I was 10 years old. I've been writing little stories or wanting to since forever, and teaching in France has given me the free time to do it. Now that the school year is finished, and I don't know how long I'll be moving back to California for in the Fall I'm on a desperate crunch to get this baby published. YES!

But that also means, diving head first into the world of publishing, agents, and query letters.
Badda bing! Badda boom! The problem with queries is agents receive hundreds a day, sometimes. So yours has to stand out quick! And if you query the wrong one, you often don't get a chance to send on to another agent at the same agency. It's funny because I thought about seriously pursuing acting in Los Angeles, but for some reason, this level of fast and dry applications appeals to me so much more. Especially when you find stumble across the perfect agent for your book.

The publishing saga continues.......

Santorini

Was gorgeous. Like, whoa. Beautiful picturesque sunsets, beaches, and really superlative Greek views. Even down to the black sand beach, Perissa Beach, whose tiny black volcanic stones whipped at us and lashed our swimsuited bodies in the tumultuous April wind. Even that was beautiful. If painful. Fratzeskos (sp) was probably my favorite part of the island, because I am a fat, seafood-loving , kid at heart. The tiny restaurant only opens when they have a catch, so the first night they were closed. The second night and fourth night on Santorini we dined there because it was so delicious. However, the two giant feta and tomato stuffed squid for 10 euros we got the first night, was a semi let down the second night, because we were one short. Don't ask me why but the second time we ordered the exact same thing (it was so good) we were served one instead of two. Such is the appeal of small, family owned restaurants, I guess. I definitely wasn't complaining because IT WAS SO GOOD and I'd heard of what lack of gratitude gets you in Greek. The finger! We also visited Akrotiri, the literally, prehistoric town, preserved by volcanic ash somewhere around 500 B.C. Take that Pompeii!! It was exactly what you think it is. Dusty skeletons of doorways and pottery, but pretty fascinating within the climate-controlled specially designed building, constructed around and over the excavation. Fira, the capital was awesome, but still quiet, in terms of capitals. We dared the 45 minute walk descending the stairwell, on the side of the cliff to reach the harbor, dodging mules (like 100 of them) as we went. Since we grew up in the country, both of us were skittish and nervous to walk behind the donkeys, but after the thirtieth stared blankly away from us, we got over it. From there we took a tiny ferry sailboat to the volcano. I don't think I documented the ferry ride to Santorini yet but the 9 hour trip from hell made me reluctant to ever reboard another boat. (Serious wind, APRIL YOU WENCH, and the enclosed space of my economy seat sent me up the desk within the first 10 minutes of boarding. So we literally spent all 9 hours at the top, getting wind whipped and ocean sprayed. Trish is such a good friend, she stayed with me the entire time. I didn't vom. But I wanted to. Instead I consumed almost the entire box of Samoas Girl Scout cookies that she smuggled from home for me. But I digress.) The sea was much calmer here though, and approaching the volcano from the boat was magnificent. We climbed and took pictures from the top. On the way back, we took a dip in the hot springs. Sounds great, right? But we also had to swim through thirty meters of FREEZING ocean water to get there. It felt good, swimming against the current to reach the enclosed lagoon area, heated by the volcano's subterranean activity. Then Ia, for one of the most beautiful sunsets in the world. All this was by bus by the way. We had the good, if inconvenient, fortune of coming to Greece just before the high season officially starts. So we were often the only tourists in empty restaurants, but we had limited choices for bus times. We were also pretty broke. Our last euro trip we were ACTUALLY poor. Little serious income, Trisha was couch surfing, and we had a strict daily budget of 20-25 euros, max. We often drank our dinner, and consumed protein bars and almonds for meals. Two years later, we got cocky and kept saying, we should really watch our spending, and I'm sure we will. Tomorrow. Budget. Starts. Tomorrow. PAROS! A mere 2.5 hours away from Santorini, we arrived in good spirits, after discovering motion sickness pills, and accidentally upgrading our seats. (I forgot that I had bought the business class tickets, since they were the same price I was expecting economy to cost. WORTH IT.) All the locals we met kept telling us, no one means to come to Paros but everyone comes back or stays on purpose. And as far as we could tell, it's true. We loved it there. Also, most of the locals we spoke with were transplants. They were never from Paros, but just sort of found their way there. That, and they were mixed. Someone's parent was Greek and American, or married a Greek, or were Greek and Australian. It was incredible the number of mixed couples or mixed heritage people we met on that island. We also discovered the Pirate bar and Entropy bar, both great places to hang out. Entropy is run by an American couple (the man is Greek and American) and they have tequila Tuesdays. I don't know if Trisha was tickled by going to the American bar at first but I was STOKED. Tequila, the good kind, is hard to come by in France. So much so, that when I got a random shot of Patron, I didn't recognize it. We had a great time there and made a bunch of friends with the locals, even returning to hang out the next night. Wednesday evening, after meeting up with the group we went to the local hangout, Islands. Only Greeks were present. It was awesome. We even got to witness traditional Greek dancing, but with napkins. I guess a few years back, smashing dishes (a tradition done to release bad energy, and let good energy flow into the world) was costing too many people too much money (you're drunk at a party, you wanna let go the bad joo-joo, SMASH! There go your cousin's boyfriend's mother's plates) so they outlawed it. Now, in public places anyway, you do the traditional dance with napkins. Little white, square cut napkins floated on the air as dark haired, Greek men lifted their knees and clapped from side to side. Loved it. We enjoyed a glass of wine before the sunset on the beach, our last night in Paros, and I allowed the millions of mosquitoes to attack my bare legs. No regrets. A dio!