I'm going to Holland.

Merry Christmas Darlings

First Snow

4 am. Asleep in the fort. My phone rings. "Stand up and look out the window."
What do I see?
My best friend, standing below, waving to me while snow falls all around him.














Thus began this monumentally wintery day.

Rather than catch the normal bus to work, my roommate and I decided to walk halfway there. Sauntering through the quiet, snow-covered neighborhood, we were like little kids, exclaiming over each perfectly formed snowflake.
Today, we Americans were a conspicuous bunch. We're almost entirely from Southern California, and as such, are in awe of the snow. We did our best to hide our excitement from those whom might think it a little much, but the minute we greeted one another, the exclamations of joy resonated through the hallways.
Things at work were simple, shows canceled in exchange for sets, the parade slowly making it's way through heavy snowfall, the night parade canceled completely. Embracing our chance to leave work early, a group of us decided to walk the entire way home. Though it took us quite awhile, it was a long walk full of snowball fights, sliding down hills, and giant beaming smiles.

Now, it's time for this perfect day to come to an end. I can't think of a single way this day could have been improved upon.
I've had alot of those lately. Unforgettable days. Skipping work to go to the Champs-Elysees Christmas Market. Spending my entire day off in the fort with my best friend, watching movies and eating nothing but finger foods. These are the things I'll remember. Though I know I don't have many days left here, I know without a doubt that many of them are sure to be just as memorable.

Now, if only the French would stop striking so I could actually go somewhere to make these memories. Staying at home doing nothing, though memorable and great, is only memorable or great once or twice. After that, it's just boring. So let's get those trains going again folks, Paris beckons.

Forts, they're the new Forks.

Last night we made a fort.

A Fancy Francey Fort.

I think I'm in love with it. All day long, a little voice in the back of my head just kept reminding me that when I got home, the fort would be waiting. I was invited over to a friend's house for mexican food but almost didn't go because it meant tearing myself away from the fort. The highlight of the party was discussing the fort, and bringing home 2 friends so they could experience it for themselves.

You see, my fort is just like the Weasley's magical tent. From the outside, it looks homely and lumpy and a bit like a giant elephant made out of sheets. But crawl inside and you'll find a magical Christmasy land with giant bay windows, moonlight, a Christmas tree named Linus, and lots of pillows. And now, my roommate Kym has given me her "very rare only possible to find in Japan" Fleur Delacour Beauxbatons wand to call the fort it's home, where it so obviously belongs.

The only problem is that the fort is composed of literally every piece of communal furniture our living room holds. As such, we no longer have a functional dining room table, couch, or, well, any sort of chair. I'm anticipating this may be a problem for my roommates, but I trust that the minute I invite them inside my magical world they will understand. It would be impossible to enter this holy place and leave with the intention of destroying it.
There are people all over the world who get along just fine without a dining room table. But take away a girl's fort, and you take away her will to live. Would you want that on your conscience?
I should think not.

The days are beginning to blur.

I'm not sure if that is due to speed or monotony.

Probably both.

Time is flying by. People told me it would. "Yeah, I know," I would reply half-heartedly. But their words ring truer than I could have even imagined. November is upon us. Where did October go? September even? The first month or so here was an eternity, since then, the time has gone by in the blink of an eye.

I'll be home soon. One more blink.

Fast Forward

Ireland happened and was perfect. The 4 day weekend known as, "Castle Quest '09!" was epic. We visited 5 castles. Kissed the Blarney Stone. Drank at pubs. Saw a leprechaun. Got lost on Irish roads. Stayed at hostels of varying degrees of comfort. And we were surrounded by green. Rolling hills and fields of the brightest, lushest green anyone has ever seen.

My mother came to visit. For a detailed story of her time here, feel free to visit her blog; http://marybethr.blogspot.com/
For me, the best thing about her trip was having her with me. We did so much, but the key thing was that is was "we", she and I, doing those things together.

But now. Today is October 7th, and I am alone in France. My roommate, best friend, and partner in crime has flown back to America.
Half of my bedroom is empty. I moved to the other side of the room. It's a better side, plus, now, the empty side isn't Sarah's. It is the side formerly known as Emily's.

I have to say though, even though it is sad she had to leave, her last few nights here were absolutely legendary. Knowing she was leaving, sleep was a waste of time for us. Why waste hours sleeping when we could be adventuring?
The first night of fun started with art projects. The poster Sarah drew for me of Ariel is on my wall now, forever reminding me of our good times. At about 2 am, Sarah made a proclamation that a trip to Roly Poly Hill was necessary. We headed off to Roly Poly Lake and spent an hour or so rolling ourselves down the hill under the brightest full moon of the year. Once we felt too dizzy to continue, we layed on the hill, gazing at the stars and talking about life. Sleep, not necessary.
We spent Sarah's last day in France at Disneyland, running around, visiting friends, taking it all in. I was seeing the park through her eyes, it felt like I was saying goodbye to it too.
Time for her farewell fun. We went to Billy Bob's and watched the French line dancers. Anyone who says all the French hate America need to go to Billy Bob's and they'll see plenty of French people doing America proud. Back to Boiserie for one last hopping night for Sarah at 4613. The entire evening revolved around "Le capsule de temps," our time capsule. We (a bunch of Americans and a Dutch) filled an empty wine bottle with treasures and memories.

The burial.

Anyone who thinks that burying a relatively large item in the hard French ground at 3 am with nothing but spoons and ladles is easy is wrong. We ran around, trying to find an appropriate location. Too many roots, too exposed, too hard, too close to security. Finally, we found the perfect spot and the digging began. More than one spoon was broken and mud was strewn everywhere, but the activity was a success. Our memories are buried at the Boiserie, and in 5 years, we'll be back to re-live them.

The next day, we said goodbye. I held it in, and I gave Sarah the goodbye I knew she wanted. The second she was out of my sight though, I lost it. Praise God for the Dutch. Back to 4613, to say goodbye to Maggie who was moving out to stay her last week with her family. And now it's empty. Today, my day off, feels different than any other day off I've ever had. Because there is no one to come home later. Right now, 12:30 in the afternoon, is lonely in the exact same way it will be in 5, 6, 7 hours.

Little Bits

I love cemetaries. To truly know a place, you've got to visit their graveyards. I am a firm believer of this. As such, I was in heaven at Père Lachaise, the world renowned Parisian cemetary.

I don't even know if "cemetary" is the right word to use. It's more like a city. A city of tombs and graves. New and old, famous and unknown, intermingling in tranquil harmony. We spent our time wandering it's streets and still only experienced a small portion. We visited such famous residents as Yves Montand (my personal favorite), Frédéric Chopin, Collette, Oscar Wilde, and Jim Morrison. Edith Piaf eluded us, we searched and searched but couldn't seem to find her exact location. Despite this failure, the day was perfect and beautiful. The old trees gave us a feeling of having left the city behind, but in reality, we had just found our own little oasis right in the middle of all the hustle and bustle. It just happened to be full of dead people.

I recently celebrated my 21st birthday here in Paris. It was a perfect day, beginning with a Skype birthday party with all my friends back home. Later, my roommates and I took a bottle of champagne, baguettes, jam, and chocolate to the Eiffel Tower and picnicked by it's sparkling glory. Wandering the city with a bouquet of flowers, I was wished a "bon anniversaire!" by many a local frenchman informed of the day's significance. I really did feel like the city was mine, and everyone in it was there to celebrate for me. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve such attention, but nevertheless, it was mine. A truly unforgettable day.

I feel like I've hit a bit of a wall with my french. I've learned as much as I can as long as I am keeping conversations to a one minute-two minute maximum. I can ask your name, your age, who your favorite disney princess is, how your day has been, tell you how beautiful you look, and ask for a kiss. However, I may desire to speak to someone over the age of 8 someday, and as such, I've got some work to do. I've recently acquired a French pen pal ; ), so that has inspired me to pick up a book and actually study. I have a lot to re-learn, it's amazing how much french I've forgotten since I moved to France.

I have been neglecting this site, and I apologize. Life has been a whirlwind of parades. Now that the summer season has ended, I hope to have more free time. But then again, we're starting rehearsals for Halloween soon. Never a dull moment.

Upcoming Events: Next weekend...Ireland. After that...visit from mama.

The Land of the Scots

Metro, bus, customs, security, we had made it. We, 3 young Americans, were sitting on an airplane about to leave France for the rolling green hills of Scotland. Suddenly, a voice begins speaking over the intercom. We looked at each other and immediately began laughing. The moment we realized we were going to have a harder time understanding the Scottish than we do the French was the moment the laughter started, and it didn't stop for 2 straight days.

Brian, Scott, and I were a mess.
Anytime we were unsure where we were going or what to do, we'd look at each other anxiously. "Somebody should ask somebody"....The only problem was, we'd ask, get an answer, nod our heads, and walk away just as ignorant as we walked up, seeing as how none of us understood the response. "Which track for Edinburgh?" "querlkjsann stroiuseet stlakjdin" "Oh. aaaaaalright."

The worst part of it all was our inability to refrain from laughing every time this happened. Brian trying to get out an "Excuse me?" without giggling in the train conductor's face was priceless.

But we finally did arrive in Edinburgh. A lovely, comfortable, clean train drove us past lush fields and quaint towns until we arrived in one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. A friendly, helpful taxi driver took us our hotel where the kindly man at the receptionist desk told us he had a hotel full of Americans thanks to some Texan wedding and he was all the happier for it. (Please take note of all the adjectives I use to describe the various Scotsmen we met. Friendly, helpul, kindly, etc.)

We were starving.

The Pub Hunt began.

Up and down the streets of Edinburgh we traipsed, begging Brian to settle on a pub. He had his idea of a "true Scottish pub" so deeply ingrained in his psyche, he would settle on nothing less. We finally settled on "Dirty Dick's," one of the first pubs we passed, came back to, passed, came back to. It turned out to be the perfect pub. Unique, quaint, good food, good drinks, aaaand, they were playing Belle & Sebastian, which delighted me to no end.

Pub hopping commenced, the highlight being stumbling upon a live musician and a pub full of people clapping and singing along (we, of course, didn't understand a word). We jumped in with the clapping and did our best to mumble with the best of 'em.

After another sweet taxi driver took us to the hotel (with a momentary detour at a chip shop. chipshopchipshopchipshop) and we crashed.

We rose very early, an hour earlier than we planned or realized, thanks to Scott forgetting we weren't on France time. That was fine however, because it gave us the opportunity to eat a true Scottish breakfast, black pudding included. Scott, ignorant to the ingredients in black pudding, ate away in ignorant bliss. Brian and I didn't feel the need to spoil Scott's breakfast, but avoided our black pudding as if it were the black plague.

Initially, our plan was to try and book a bus tour up to Loch Ness, but everything was booked, so instead we took in the sights of Edinburgh. Edinurgh Castle, J.K. Rowling themed-landmarks, the Queen's retired yacht 'The Britannia', it was all magical. Brian and Scott did a special whiskey tour while I treated myself to a 3-course Thai meal. The boys bought kilts, I bought boxers with a dragon on the front/back, and we met Tom. Tom will be 90 years old next year, May 12th exactly. For thirty years he has stood on the streets of Edinburgh in his full Scottish regalia, kilt and all, raising money for sick children. Love him.

Busy busy day.

Time to head to our "hostel" near the airport. Train to Glasgow, dinner at T.G.I. Friday's, and a train out to the airport. We found the Free Phone (labeled as such) which was a direct line to our "hostel" and a woman in a Range Rover came to pick us up. As we drove through a suburban neighborhood, we started to feel a little bit confused. I was just waiting for her to pull into a driveway and declare us there. Somewhere amidst all the houses though, there was a hotel. "The Manor Park Hotel," is NOT a hostel. It is a beautiful hotel with a giant bar and lovely accomodations. As we pulled up, walked inside, and looked around, we were so confused. We thought we had to be in the wrong place. Then we started to worry we'd been brought out into the middle of nowhere to this nice hotel only to have something horrible happen to us. How Scott managed to book us a room in this sweet hotel for the price of a hostel room, I still don't know, but after we finally accepted that it was legitimate and we weren't going to be murdered in our sleep, we enjoyed ourselves immensely. Storytime in Kilts was the highlight of that night, without a doubt.

The next morning it was back to France, where we at least have the excuse of not knowing the language when we don't comprehend. We were quite sad to leave though. The people in Scotland were some of the nicest, friendliest people. I felt quite bad in fact, that half the time I couldn't understand the help they were trying to give me.......

Londontown

“I’m driving to London Tuesday to meet up with my parents, wanna come?”

And so it all began.

English Emma took me and Sarah (my American roommate) on the best, spontaneous, whirlwind of a road trip we may ever experience.
I’m not sure how to describe the exhilaration Sarah and I felt after getting in that car and setting off. We were in a car, number one (even if it was a backwards English one), and number two, we were leaving France. LEAVING FRANCE. Leaving the Disney bubble. This in itself was pleasure enough. Knowing we were driving towards a country where everyone speaks English sent shivers of excitement down our spines. England, here we were on our way.

First things first! We had to get there.

You may be confused. “Isn’t there a huge body of water between England and France?” If that is what you are thinking, yes, you are correct. If you weren’t thinking that, you may need to consult a map. After you have done that, come back. You’re sure to be thinking it now. Do not worry friends, the Eurotunnel exists! Water cannot stop us with the Eurotunnel around.
The Eurotunnel goes under the Channel. Magic, I know. Its things like this that make me sure the wizarding world exists. After driving through the UK Border check (You do WHAT in France?) we drove onto the train which was going to zip us under the English Channel. This was a bit nerve-wracking, driving onto a train, knowing we were essentially trapped. A bit of knitting took our mind off things however, and we were in England 30 minutes later.

Wrong side of the road. Weird. ‘nuff said.

About 2 hours later we arrived in the city of London. Our hotel however, was just outside of London. OH our hotel.
The Rossmore Hotel, room 45. This room will go down in history as the shadiest room 3 young girls ever stayed in. The multitude of mirrors. My goodness. A plethora of reflective surfaces overwhelmed us upon our entry. My favorite was the mirrored headboard. The large bathtub in the corner of the room (surrounded by mirrors of course)was quite awkward, especially when Sarah tried to take a private shower but was foiled, seeing as how we could see her reflection on every wall in the room no matter how she cleverly tried to arrange the small shower curtain. It provided us will a place to sleep though, for which we are very grateful.

Wednesday morning found us on the Underground, making our way into the city center. Emma took us to the theatre in Leicester Square where many big movie premieres take place, including Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince just a week earlier! After that we wandered around Covent Gardens a bit, then we met up with Emma’s parents, one of the loveliest British couples I have had the pleasure of spending the day with. Seeing as how they are Northern Englanders, every few minutes we were informed that “in the North…” things are done a bit differently. I plan to visit them soon to find out for myself.
The big event of the day was a visit to Madame Tussauds wax museum. We spent the day taking pictures with celebrities, movie characters, and political figures. I really enjoyed running away from a giant disco ball with Indiana Jones, and of course, meeting the Queen. What trip to London would be complete without a private audience with Her Majesty?

Saying goodbye to Emma’s parents was a sad moment. I think I may have been more emotional than Emma herself. It was so wonderful to be around a mother, and saying goodbye to her felt a bit like saying goodbye to my own mom. I can’t imagine when that day comes in September, in fact, I won’t even try. It’ll be bad enough when it happens.
After that we hit up an authentic English Pub for an authentic English tea. I had proper fish ‘n chips, they were well good (I’m learning more English than French here I swear). Satisfied with our meal, we hit up the glory that is Primark for some cheap shopping (boots for 8p? shirts for 5?!?). I just wish I had had more energy to take full advantage of the glory that is Primark. Next time, I’ll be prepared. We made sure to hit up Tesco’s (the big grocery/anything you need store) for some last minute English food items and best of all, books.

It was time to hop back onto the Eurotunnel, this time back towards France. It took us longer to get home then it took us to get there since Emma tried to avoid toll roads, but, sure enough, 36 hours after leaving France, we were back. I was lucky enough to sleep in the backseat all night while the girls drove seeing as how I had to work the next day and they both were off. Despite that, the next day I looked a bit like a zombie while heading off to work. But it was worth it. Well worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
In fact, as soon as possible.

Fine Line

Have I been extremely busy? Or accomplished nothing?
Depends how you look at it.

Either way, I only have a moment for you, dear friends, to let you know that I'm here. Still here.

I'm tired, in more ways than one. But I'll be ok, and I'll be less cryptic as soon as time allows, I promise.

Spit Spot

Tuesday afternoon my roomie and I headed into the city. It was already 1 o'clock by the time we left our apartment, but we managed to have quite a few adventures before returning home.

Our adventures began before even leaving the metro station. As we walked through Nation on our way to switch trains, we passed a store filled with dresses. "Do you mind stopping?" Sarah asked. I didn't, and we both ended up buying quite a few things. I knew Paris was quite fashionable, but who knew you could find great clothes without even setting foot on the city's streets?

We continued on to Montmartre, visited Le Murs des Je T'aime, enjoyed a lovely vegetarian meal at a slightly hidden cafe, admired the artists and their works, were awed by Sacre Coeur, ran back to the cafe to retrieve my bag of train station-bought dresses I had left at our table, and then sauntered down the steps in front of Sacre Coeur, enjoying the people, the performers, and the beautiful weather. Crepes were purchased and consumed. We made plans to meet my dear friend Katie in the city, so headed to our favorite area (Notre Dame) to wait for her there. *see romantic moment below* After joyfully greeting Katie, we walked to L'as du Falafel, Lenny Kravitz's favorite falafel joint. That was pretty much it for our Parisian adventures. We wandered the city finishing our falafels and made our way back to the metro, parted ways with Katie, and took the good ol' A back to the wonderful world of Disney.

* romantic moment*

Sarah and I were taking the metro to Notre Dame. We stepped off the train onto the platform and began to walk toward the stairs. As we passed a few of the train cars, I looked over into the train and noticed an attractive guy. No big deal, if nothing else had happened it would have just been a moment of subconsciosly noticing a cute guy. However, as I was about to look away, he looked over his shoulder (I had just seen his profile) and caught my eye. He turned away, but then quickly turned back, almost a double take. As if that didn't take me by surprise enough, he gave me this big, beautiful smile. Now, I'm gonna be honest, this guy was very attractive. In the perfect, cool but not trying, clean and intelligent looking, kind of way. Almost as a reflex, I smiled back at him before we walked out of his line of sight. Kind of giggling to myself, I figured that was the end of that. However, before we reached the stairs, the train pulled away from station, and his train car passed by us once again. I looked up and he had turned to face the window and was standing there with one hand pressed against the glass,the other hand waving, flashing me that beautiful smile. Though he was smiling, the look on his face was slightly sad, yet a little hopeful.

It's the kind of romantic chance encounter that only happens in movies. The kind of moment that would make me roll my eyes and make a cynical remark. But it really happened to me, in Paris, in my French harem pants that are all the rage here.

In Disney news, hopefully soon I'll be spending some quality time as everyone's favorite English Nanny.

Hogwarts Express, where are you??

Yesterday I went on an adventure in search of The Hogwarts Express. Don't get your hopes up, I'll let you know straight off the bat, the quest was not a success.

The Hogwarts Express is somewhere in France, touring train stations all over. I think, rather than traveling on a track, they have chosen to apparate it just beyond my reach.

Last night after the parade, my friends Scott and Shane approached me to see if I was interested in going to see "the harry potter train." That is all the information I was given, I had plans to go out with some other people, but all I needed was to hear those four words and everything else was forgotten.

We should have known we were in for an interesting trip when we had to sit on the train for a half hour due to "traffic." I'm not sure how a bunch of trains on tracks can experience traffic, but whatever. While we sat there, I gathered what little information the boys had (what little they knew they had gathered from a mysterious facebook invitation). The invitation boasted The Hogwarts Express, full of costumes and sets from the movie also had such glories as cast members and Hedwig! The train would be closing to visitors at 8pm (it was already 6:30), and it would be at Gare de Lyon. We finally arrived at Gare de Lyon just before 7 and began searching for the train. Scott took it upon himself to ask at an information booth. "Ou est le train Harry Potter?", he asked in his best French. He was answered with a blank, confused stare. "Ou est le train Harry Potter?". Still nothing. "WHERE IS THE HARRY POTTER TRAIN!". "oh! Gare du Nord."

Gare du Nord. Alright. Back to the RER. Led by Shane, we made it to our track to hear an RER train about to pull away. Shane yelled at us to get on, which we did, which we shouldn't have. It led us the opposite direction of our destination. Off at the next stop, we changed tracks, and were finally going the right way. We arrived at Gare du Nord, a gigantic behemoth of a station. At this point, we knew we may not make it on the train but at least wanted to see the thing. Scott wanted to just touch it. Shane threatened to lick it. I just wanted a picture. All three of us thought about kidnapping Hedwig. First thing was first, we had to find it. We began to ask around, and to our dismay, it seemed as if no one had any idea what we were talking about. We finally made our way to the tracks, looked around, obviously didn't see The Hogwarts Express (it would probably be a bit conspicuous). Dejected and heartbroken, we went to the information booth in one last pitiful attempt at finding it.
"The Harry Potter Train? It left."

"It left."















And that was that.

Disappointed, we ate and headed back home, where more unlucky events awaited us. We just missed our bus, so had forty-five minutes or so to kill. I had been invited to meet some people at one of the various Disney Village bars, so we all headed over there to kill some time. Apparently by the time we got there, everyone had already left to go to Hurricanes (the gross night club), so we just sat with a couple English girls at the Sports Bar until it was finally time to head home.

The trip wasn't a complete failure. I spent some quality time with Scott and Shane, who are fantastic. I got my first french "kebap" aka Turkish Sandwhich aka Gyro and a crepe for dessert.
And hey, it's quite the story, right?

Animals Two by Two

The weather has been quite unpredictable the last few days. Sunny mornings give way to rainy afternoons, it makes getting dressed for the day quite difficult. Yesterday, the rain surprised us in an even grander way by finding it's way into our little apartment.

Sarah, Maggie, and I were sitting around, eating dinner, enjoying the sound of the rain, when we happened to notice the water level on our balcony was rising. Not too alarmed, we knew there must be drains of some kind, so we continued eating. Maggie made a few jokes about getting some goldfish and having a pond. As we all laughed at that fabulous joke, I got up and immediately found myself standing in a puddle. Our "little pond" had turned into a gushing river, coming in over the lip of our balcony door, across our entire living room. The water extended from the balcony to our kitchen, a length of about 10 - 12 feet.

Maggie was quick to action. A POT! As you can see, her efforts to scoop the water out of the balcony and over the side were quite fruitless.

We ran around the apartment complex, seeking a mop and the help of, well, men. Our dear manly friends kindly unclogged our drains and helped us clean up. Our once filthy balcony is filthy no more, our living room floor got a much needed mopping, so I think we came out on top.

(Here you can see our lovely male helpers, Brian the water sweeper with his "frickin' technique!" and Matt, Sham-Wowing our kitchen floor)

Castle on a Cloud

I have debated whether to document the events of this weekend chronologically or start with the bits I know everyone wants.

Chronological. Why? Because I say so.

I have officially had the most American meal of my life. And yes, I had it in France.
Friday night we went to see "Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show" in Disney Village. It's a dinner show, much like Medieval Times. Our meal began with chili and cornbread, moved on to ribs, chicken and potatoes, and ended with a hot apple crisp topped with vanilla ice cream. To drink you had two options, coke or beer, both of which flowed endlessly all night long. Not only was the food extremely "American" but the entertainment hit the spot. Buffalo Bill, Sitting Bull and his indian warriors, cowboys, Annie Oakley, horses, buffalo, rodeo games, and of course, Mickey Mouse. I am a little concerned about the portrayal of the Native Americans however. I was sitting there, watching the show, and it seemed to me like every segment with the Indian warriors was dark and quite creepy. I am a 20 year old American woman who has grown up being exposed to Native American legends and imagery, and I was was creeped out by these painted men crawling through the dark with flaming arrows and strange chants. Imagine the reaction of the poor little French, Dutch, and Italian children the room was filled with.

I spent Saturday in the city with a friend who is studying in Paris, Owen. His French host sister took us out to brunch and showed us around the 4th. Being escorted around by Paris by a true Parisian gives me a new appreciation for the city. I hope someday I can be as confident as she was, navigating through the various streets, pointing out great shops and cafes. Later, I took Owen to the English bookstore, where two Swedish guys insisted they knew me from somewhere and invited me to a tea party. I plan on attending next time I have a Sunday off.

VERSAILLES. That's right, my flatmate Maggie and I met an old childhood friend of mine in Versailles, where she, Michaela, is currently living as an au pair. We strolled through the palace and the gardens, despite the slightly rainy weather, and had a marvelous time. My favorite room in the palace is a long ballroom, lined with floor to ceiling windows and chandeliers. Maggie and I waltzed through that room with our imaginary Princes, much to the amusement of the other tourists and the palace guides. While we walked through the gardens, music came from hidden speakers and we were lightly sprinkled with rain. I can't wait to go back and spend an entire day getting lost in the gardens. Finally, it became too cold to linger in the gardens any longer, so we sought the shelter of a nearby cafe. We were just in time, because a few minutes after we ordered the skies opened up and for five minutes the rain came down in a thunderous downpour.

Maggie and I said our goodbyes and hopped back on the RER, chatted with a cute American couple, stopped by my bookstore, and then headed home. We shared a train compartment with a man in a Hello Kitty sweatshirt who thought it was ok to smoke on the RER as long as he cracked a window. Sir, I would address the smoking issue, but I'm actually more concerned about the Hello Kitty sweatshirt.

Cloudless Skies

Summer has begun here in France, at least as far as the weather is concerned. Cloudless blue skies have greeted me every morning this week, making it much easier to get out of bed and go about my business. My business included such things as; Leading the parade as Mickey Mouse's favorite pup. Marching around as a militant green toy. Obeying Captiain Hook's every order (Mr. Smee is quite obedient).

I have officially come to hate the ever so popular super store known as Auchan. The only way to describe Auchan in terms that may be understood by my beloved American family and friends is to call it the French equivalent of Wal-Mart, if every Wal-Mart had a giant grocery store downstairs. I much prefer shopping at the market known as Champion, seeing as how it is much smaller and less overwhelming. I could walk around Auchan for hours without finding everything I need. At least in Champion, to walk from one side of the store to the other in search of honey doesn't leave me too exhausted to go back to the other side for a baguette. I shall do my best to avoid Auchan at all costs, even if it may seem more convenient for one reason or another. I must remember that convenience by locale doesn't necessarily mean an easier shopping trip for me.




The highlight of my week (besides receiving dark chocolate covered pomegranates from my mum) had to be going to the ballet. That's right, my dear friend Katie took myself and her visiting friend Alyssa to the the Palais Garnier, aka the Paris Opera House, to see the ballet. Without a doubt, the Palais Garnier has to be the most amazing building I have ever been inside. As we walked up the grand staircase in the entrance hall, I couldn't imagine it getting any better. But upon entering "our box" and seeing the theatre, I think my heart may have stopped for a moment. I felt like I had stepped back in time. The chandelier, the private boxes. It was like something straight out of Phantom of the Opera (which just so happened to be inspired by this opera house, fyi). As the ballet started and I watched those dancers on that huge stage in that beautiful theatre, I got such a rush thinking about it from their perspective. What a dream come true. To be a part of the audience enjoying the ballet, sitting in that grand theatre, looking at the dancers was wonderful. But to actually be performing on that stage? Looking out into the theatre? Doing what they love doing? They have an even better opportunity to appreciate the beauty.

Honestly, just watching was a dream come true. I had to keep reminding myself to watch the stage, I was so taken by the theatre itself part of me just wanted to look around, take it all in. The experience at the ballet has me even more excited to see more of Paris. I realized there are so many things I don't even yet know about that are sure to blow me away. I didn't really know anything about the Palais Garnier, and it had such a powerful affect. I can't wait to stumble upon beauty after beauty after beauty, discovering more and more things I will remember for the rest of my life.

Solitary

I have the flat to myself all day. My flatmates (only 2, we're down to 3 of us) are working and I have today off. Yesterday I spent my day off in the city with Katie and her friend Alyssa. Today I think I'm just going to take it easy. Go to Champion (the market), load some pictures (I actually took some), maybe even get some laundry done. This is one of the first times in awhile I have been truly alone, we'll see how it goes. Back home, I cherish solitary confinement, but if I have learned anything from being here is that everything is so different, I find comfort and discomfort in very different things than before.

Music and I have such a strange relationship right now. I have always found such comfort in music, thanks in part to the strong emotional connection I have with a beautiful song. Just read my post on our life soundtracks and you'll see a bit of that. Right now music is still very much tied to my emotions, but since many of my emotions are depressing ones, music I would usually find beautiful and stirring now seem to stir me close to tears. I'm finding new meanings to songs I've listened to a thousand times. It's a dangerous game, playing shuffle on my ipod. Russian Roulette with my emotions. So today, I'm gonna make a happy playlist. Music that just makes me want to get up and dance, nothing too closely tied to a memory, just good music standing on it's own, making me smile.

This might be harder than I thought.


Let's talk about yesterday. Paris was sunny, one might even go so far as to say it was hot. I ventured into the city with a few Disney girls and we went to mass at Notre Dame. They went off in search of falafels and I met Katie and Alyssa. I have an aversion to the word "falafel" and as such, also have an aversion to the food. Instead, croissants were consumed on a shady bank of the Seine, a very Parisian sunny Sunday activity. We strolled through the Notre Dame gardens and then Katie took me to an even holier place. Shakespeare and Company, the English bookstore by Notre Dame and my new home away from home. Wall to wall books, old and new, co-mingling in perfect harmony. After putting my nose into as many antique books I could find, we were off to Sainte Chappelle. The sunny day we were having made it perfect to see all the beautiful stained glass. When I reached the top of the stairs and entered the chapel, Katie looked back at me and couldn't help but laugh at my reaction. I may have gasped, in fact, yes, I am sure a gasp was heard by all. After sitting for awhile, taking in the beauty of the Saint Chappelle, we were off again, walking by the Seine, passing Pont Neuf, just taking in the streets of the Paris. A visit to the Louvre gardens ended our day, sitting in the shade sipping Orangina and enjoying the sights and sounds of tourists and Parisians, co-mingling in the sun.



I love the French children. The toddlers and babies. They are so beautiful and carefree. My best interactions with the French thus far have been with toddlers. No language barriers there, just smiles. Smiles meant just for me, to brighten my day.
I feel like I have the most in common with the children of this country. I go where I'm told, when I'm told, and do what I'm told. When I'm not being told what to do, I feel aimless and am unsure what to do, so I find silly ways to amuse myself. I take naps. I go for walks. I daydream. I eat grilled cheese. My vocabulary is probably very similar to that of a 2 year old. I can tell someone when I am hungry or thirsty, and what I would like to eat. I say please and thank you.
Yes, in this foreign place, I am a 3 year old. 3 year olds are allowed to cry when they don't get their way, so I should be to. Don't judge me, I'm just a baby.

Yum Yum Gimme Some

French Food. Aside from the obvious (baguettes, croissants, cheeses, crepes) I have begun to develop a fondness for certain food items not commonly found in the United States.
Here are two I am enjoying at this moment:

By far, the best discovery so far, and possibly ever....Speculoos! Ok, so it's actually Dutch, not French, but I discovered it here in France so it counts. What is Speculoos? It's like peanut butter...but not. Although it is the consistency of peanut butter, it tastes like Teddy Grahams. Good on bread, or just on a spoon, Speculoos will be one item I pack my suitcases full of 8 months from now.


Orangina. Though not only found here in France, it is certaintly more common. Though we buy it in giant 2 litre bottles, each bottle only seems to last a few days in our house. Available at Cafe's and restaurants all over, it's a refreshing alternative to soda and/or coffee, both of which I try to avoid.

Other than that, my diet thus far is much like that of an American bachelor. Bacon is my go-to food. Just ask my roommates, if I am cooking in the kitchen I can almost always be heard to say "oh, this would be good with bacon" and in it goes. My absolute favorite thing is to throw fresh green beans, bacon, salt, and garlic in a pan with a little olive oil, heat it all up, and consume. Usually alongside a bacon sandwhich or grilled cheese. If I'm feeling really adventurous, I'll make a little pasta and throw my green bean concoction on top of that. I think I've eaten some form of that every night for the past 4 days.

For breakfast I have a bowl of cereal. For lunch, I'm at work, but so far the only things I really like there are the baguette sandwhiches or pizza.

I am officially a single man in his early twenties with no culinary imagination and a limited budget.

Day By Day

I have officially been approved for Ariel AND Mary Poppins. Who knew my life could become even more of a dream than it already was? It will still be awhile but just knowing it is in my future is quite exciting, and helping me remember why it is I am here.

Saturday I went into Paris. I met my dear friend Katie and we walked around the Louvre, had lunch at an Austin Powers-esque cafe on the Champs-Élysées, and stood beneath the Arc de Triomphe. We met a co-worker of mine and I had tea with her and her husband at their tiny little flat in the 20th while Katie had dance class. Mary (the aforementioned co-worker) awoke in me a love for peach tea I was unaware I had, I am forever indebted to her. After that, Katie took me to her place in Corbeils where we made Pad Thai and had a sleepover. Sunday morning my trip to Paris was completed with mass at Notre Dame and my first official French croissant at a little bakery nearby there.

I have decided to spend as much time in the city as I can, even if it is by myself. I don't care if I do other traveling, since only having two days off would make any trip a stressful, fast, and overly-eventful one. I don't do well in that sort of situation, so I will choose returning to a favorite spot or quietly discovering a new one over flying off to spend a few hours in some other country.
These are my 8 months to do what I please with.

I am currently in my bed. That may not seem all too miraculous, but if you knew my internet situation, you would have gasped at that news. That's right, I am stealing internet. I don't know whose, I don't know where it is coming from, all I know is that it didn't ask for a password, and here I am.

Our flat is beginning to feel more and more homey, the girls did an Ikea trip and I hit up Auschan and Maisons du Monde (my new fav) for some room accessories. I'm sure that over the next 8 months I'll accumulate more and more to make these place feel comfortable. Being at Katie's inspired me to make this place my own, it will really make a difference.

Ssssshhhh, Sarah's sleeping. Goodnight world.

French America

Things are looking up.

As most you know, my first weekend wasn't a good one.

Sunday, I hit bottom. Depressed, stressed, sick, starved (but unable to eat). I knew I had to get out the apartment before I went insane, so I thought a walk around the neighborhood would be nice.
When you picture a French neighborhood, what comes to mind?
Not where I live, that is for sure.
Instead, try to imagine a Stepford Wife-esque neighborhood. All the houses are the same, all the cars are the same, every block is the same. I found a little lake, with a walking path around it, and realized later there is another one a few blocks away. It's like a boring American suburb, but not. So I can't even take any comfort from it.
I don't live in France. I live in French America.

However, starting work has been a much needed distraction that is beginning to lift my spirits. The job will be good, keep me busy, happy, active. I just don't know what to do in my free time. It's crazy, this place is one big party. Which is fine, I understand, and I'm sure I'll join in on the fun too, but every night? I physically couldn't do it, I don't know how these people do.

The best part of my week though has to be my visit from Katie. Katie is an old friend of my brother's and a fellow bridesmaid in his wedding to the lovely Brigitte next year. She has been living in France for 5 months and we have been emailing alot. She was a huge help in preparing me, and such a huge blessing.
She came out to visit me and we spent an hour and a half in Disney Village (downtown disney) talking. Katie gave me so much hope, she is like a pillar of strength I can lean on, since right now I have none of my own.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
It will continue getting better.
I will visit the city of Paris and finally feel like I am in France, not just some twilight zone version of America.
I will be a Disney Character and Princess and make European children smile.
I will get internet in my apartment as soon as I have a bank account and life will be so much better.

First few days

I'm not gonna lie.
Totally miserable.

The stress of this whole experience has left me physically unable to do much of anything other than sleep. I can't eat, I just have this overwhelming feeling of nauseau. My emotions are constantly on the surface, the littlest thing sets me off crying. I haven't felt this sick and awful in years, it's really frustrating because I can't get anything done. I don't want to feel this way.
Last night and today I began to feel better, but the stress of me being unable to get a bus pass and my roommate losing her passport took away any energy or appetite I may have had. I know my body is still suffering from jet lag, so that doesn't help. I've slept more than most of the other people here, but am still in worse shape than everyone.

I didn't know missing people could hurt so much.

Hopefully starting work Monday will help me fall into a routine and help me begin to feel more comfortable here. My housemates are awesome, they have been taking such good care of me. Janet, you know Sarah Roberts? My roomie.

There are 4 of us in our apartment. It's pretty nice. Bare, drab, but bigger than I expected.

We are very close to Val d'Europe, the big shopping mall nearby. That is where we got our cell phones, and the best grocery store is there, Aushan. It's humongous. McDonalds is the fancy place to hang out, free wifi and everything.

The countryside here is beautiful, everything is green and lush. The young people are nice, the man who helped me buy my phone thinks I should invite him over for parties, get a french boyfriend, and learn about "the french kiss." A french guy from my apartment complex gave me money to buy my wireless card, because I didn't have exact change.

I miss you all. So much. There are no words. 8 months. Dear Lord. One day at a time. One hour at a time. One breath at a time.

Off we go

It is currently 4:15 am, my mother and I are preparing to leave our hotel room for LAX. I think I've had about 2 hours of sleep. Good, because maybe now I'll be able to sleep on the plane. The hard part will be staying awake for the first 5 hour flight, and waiting to try and sleep through the majority of our second 8 hour one.
I have friends with me. Howard, my trusty ee-pod (as the french would say). Bear, my beloved blankie (don't judge, he's been with me much longer than any of you. ok, not you, Mom). My bible (3-in-one Friend). C.S. Lewis' complete spiritual collection (a light read). My squishy pillow that feels like it is full of rice (I'll hug it and think of you Jan).

To most of my friends out there in this cyber world, au revoir. I will miss you truly, madly, deeply.

To Katie, I will be seeing you soon.

Stardust

I believe we all have a soundtrack. An unheard musical background, following us through our lives. Sometimes the music is subtle, making the mundane moments a little less mundane. Other times, it is epic. Think of your favorite movie moments. Often those scenes are paired with a song that is just as integral to the moment as the actors and the dialogue. Then there are those times when silence is even more powerful than a song could be. Life is like that, whether you know it or not. It's there, and if you listen, you'll hear it. Those moments when a song makes your heart stop, your breathe catch, those are serendipitous moments when the unheard soundtrack and the music you hear align. Other times, a song may bring you back to a moment, bring back a feeling or a memory. You may have never heard that song before, can't really place it, but it triggers something. Musicians have a heightened sense, of not only their soundtrack, but the soundtrack of others. They create music for their memories, my memories, your memories. Past, present, and future.

My soundtrack? I don't know much. You can't really. I do know a few things. Nick Drake for the romantic moments. Michael Buble lends a little bit of cheese. Patsy Cline for the ironic times. Sufjan Stevens for the road trips. The Beatles for the adventures. Gregory Page for the tears. Muse for the high speed car chases. Jimmy Durante, Louis Armstrong, and Nat King Cole when I'm feeling sentimental. Ray LaMontagne just because I love him. And of course, the instrumentals. A heavenly blend of all my favorites, Yann Tiersen, George Winston, John Williams, Jan A.P. Kaczmarek, maybe a little Theodore Shapiro thrown in the mix. And others. Any melody that tugs on my heart strings, it's in there.

Freckle Weather

What sunny weather we are having. Most agreeable. Sundress weather I think. Yes, most definitely sundress weather. Sandals even!

Of course, on this day of all days, I am sitting in an office watching the shorts-clad passersby go about their day. Normally I wouldn't consider myself a beach goer. However, I seem to find myself daydreaming about the possibility of venturing westward. Atlantis must be beautiful today. But then again, the lady who likes to sunbathe nude may be there. I have had more than one awkward meeting with her on sunny days such as this. Part of me really wants show up with a sketchpad and ask her if I can sketch her nude form. Obviously, I have no desire to do so. I just like to dwell on awkward experiences of my past and imagine how I could make them even more awkward.

Though I am big fan of business casual, (in case you were unaware, I am a big fan of business casual) today I would love to trade in my tights, pencil skirt, and wedges for cutoffs and a tank top.

Or, as mentioned before, a comfy sundress and strappy sandals.

Conspiracy Theory

I am suspicious. Today I am in the office of my second job, receptionist at a charter school. As my mind wanders (my duties are few and far between), I find my attention drawn to the business suite directly across my office. Often I have wondered about them. My mother and I have had a few conversations about their unusual habits. My curiosity prompted me to google them and now I am even more confused. Taitsu America, I don't trust you.
Their employees pee way too often. I am have never seen human beings go in and out of a bathroom so many times in one day (the suites share a community bathroom). I rarely see customers and when I do they are almost always well dressed Japanese businessmen going into this suite employing mostly young, attractive, hip Japanese people. We accidentally received some of their mail once and, happy to have an excuse to enter, I went over and took it to them. The place smells rank. Today, after googling them, I see them advertised as a hardware store? Hardware?? I have never seen anything but people go in and out of there. No hardware. There are a few possibilities that would render them a legitimate business establishment, one of which is probably accurate. But to make my long boring days here a little more interesting, I'm going to go on believing they are operating a drug running/prostitution scam twenty feet away from me.

A Hold On Me

The hours of 1 and 2 am have become very familiar to me. Thanks in part to a new work schedule that means never having to be in before 11, and in part to Skins series 1 and 2 on DVD (a gift from my dear friend Shaun Conde), the hour I fall asleep keeps getting pushed later and later. My bed and I now spend many wakeful hours together and have become much better acquainted. Now, instead of simply being a surface to sleep on, it is a place to cuddle up with my laptop and my blanket, watching my favorite british tv actors lead wonderfully dramatic lives.

Part of me really wants to get out of this bed however, and go outside. 2 o'clock in the morning seems to be a magical time to be alone outdoors. So quiet, dark, sometimes foggy, dreamy. If I wasn't plagued by the fear of National City wildlife (skunks, possums, even coyotes), I might. Alas, I am held captive by the fear of, no, not the gang members and drug dealers that may inhabit this ghetto-ish neighborhood, but the skunks. Not your typical co-existing demographics.