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.