What I Do On Vacation

I never used to go to cafes alone. I would have preferred to sit hungry and alone at home than to speak French to waiters. This time around I’ve been forced to be more autonomous and outgoing. Eating and drinking by myself in cafes is becoming second nature. My pen is my cigarette, my crutch, my blankie. Chomping on it, I watch passer-bys (who are usually alone too!).

Day Twenty Nine: Apartment Pary

Little J, Eliza, Miss C and I had a dinner party. First course: ice cream bars. Second course: broccoli with butter garlic sauce. Third course: Pasta. Fourth course: stinky cheese. Fifth course: yogurt. Overall yummyness.

Day Twenty Seven: Carte Professionale

With this little card, I get into most museums for FREE!



France can be really awesome sometimes....

Teacher's First Day

I was not prepared for today. Throughout high school and university, I hated being in front of the classroom. It’s not that I’m shy. There’s just something about standing in the front of classroom that I despise – probably me being self-conscious. Today all eyes were on me. Today I had to keep talking even when I ran out of things to say. Today I was a teacher.

So anyway, three out of my six classes showed up. I had some introductory questions prepared and thought that I had everything under control. During the first class I fell flat on my face (figuratively speaking) and let them out early while I basked in my humiliation. First lesson learned; have back-up plans. The second class was two talkative girls. I was so thankful that they were talkative!!! I wanted to hug them. They talked for the entire class. My third class was four shy girls. By class three, I had back-up ideas in mind and I’m pleased to say that the class went successfully.

Walking down the hall after my third class I overheard this snippet of a conversation:

Girl 1: Right there, that’s the English Assistant!

Girl 2: She’s soooo pretty!

Their conversation made my day

Day Twenty One: Nemours is Beautiful.

If only I lived in town and not in the middle of an industrial park. This is Ile de France. This is lovely.

Day Nineteen: Attack of the Bedbugs!

I should have known not to use the blanket. I was cold. The school said that they cleaned it. I trusted them. The blanket looked so warm and inviting. Now I have lines of bites all over my body. I’m itchy. I’m irritated.

Dinner last night with the accountant and his family was awkward. About three hours into it, the accountant and the roommate started bashing the United States. Roommate said that he hates the U.S. and all Americans. Accountant said that Sarkosy wants to be George Bush junior. They hate American tourists, the American government, the American lifestyle (all Americans are fat and eat hamburgers everyday!), the American mentality, globalization, commerce, international trade, international humanitarian aid, guns, fast food, TV, music, celebrities, and peanut butter. I’m so glad that I know where they stand. I’m so glad I’m neighbors/roommates with them. I'm so glad that they hate my country and my people so much.

Little J moved out today. I’m going to miss her. Eliza moved out over a week ago. Two days ago, Miss C moved in. Welcome to Hotel Nemours.

Day Seventeen: Dinner Invitation.

Received my first dinner invitation! The school accountant invited me and the roommate to dinner tomorrow night. I still haven’t started teaching. I’ve observed some classes, nothing major. I feel very in-the-way. Eliza and I went to the movies tonight. The film was about the wall street journal writer who was beheaded in Afghanistan a few years ago. We didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into. I wanted to cry.

Day Fourteen: Broken Bed.

Roommate fell through his bed this morning. There was a loud crash. I looked in and he was sitting on the floor staring at his bed. This place is crap.

Day Thirteen: Carte de Sejour.

Starting the “green card” process was easier than anticipated. Anne and I only had to wait for three hours before turning in our paperwork! My registration picture makes me look a devious serial killer. We met another assistant while waiting. Another friend to add to the repertoire.

Day Twelve: New Rug

Little J and I carried my new rug through the Paris subway, the Ile de France train system, and then 30 minutes up hill to my apartment. The rug is only 4 months old and was given to me by an ex-assistant. She’s moving back to the states. She also gave me a nice wooden cutting board, a bamboo veggie steamer, and hangers. On my first trip to her place, I was given a small rug, 3 small canisters, bed sheets and laundry basket. I did pay 10 euros for that stuff. I am one happy little immigrant.

Day Ten: Cleaning Detail.

The school promised to send professional cleaners to the apartment. I got tired of waiting. So far I’ve been through 2 sponges and 3 packs of paper towels. Sometimes I want to puke. I cleaned the grout in the shower with a toothbrush and I’m quite pleased with the results!!! I think I’ll start taking showers WITHOUT my sandals. I have a new bath mat, bathroom rug, and trash can.

Day Nine: Well-educated Parisian Gays.

My roommate belongs to a facebook group called “well-educated Parisian gays.” My question is: who defines “well-educated?”

On other news, Paris had her "Nuit Blanche" last night, an all-night artistic expo. These are my buds at 6AM.

Staying up all night is overrated.

Day Eight: Escargots

I found this lovely guy in "snail alley" - a path between two warehouses near the apartment. Isn't he beautiful? I've never seen a real snail before. I was extremely excited to find him.



Perhaps if I kiss him, he'll turn into a millionaire?!?

Day Seven: Tour Guide.

Nemours offers two museums; Les Lis chocolate museum and the Ile de France pre-modern history museum. As the low ranking squirt on the totem pole, I was elected to be tour guide to a bunch of enthusiastic high school exchange students from Slovenia. We had a great time. The kids and I took turns pretending to be goofy Neanderthals. We got lost. We got free chocolate! It was an incredible day.

Day Six: Delusions

Why am I here? Am I merely running away from growing-up? What is a grown-up anyway?

Day Five: Tour de Force

At 8:45 this morning, thanks to 4 school officials, the homeless man is given 4 hours to pack and leave. He leaves a trail of trash behind. I am overjoyed.

Day Four: Izzy Cries

I hadn't seen anyone associated with the school since the vice-principal dropped me off at the apartment Saturday night. No attempts to check up on me. No direction. Nothing. Sometimes independence is overrated.

Yesterday, at the regional orientation, all I could do was lament my living situation. My ATM card still won't work. I'm mooching money off friends. I haven't been able to contact my parents. I have my period. I'm emotional. Internally, I'm a mess.

So today, I ventured into the great industrial park unknown in order to find my school. Google maps let me down. I walked for a half hour in the wrong direction. A kind little old man told me to go back to where I came from. Boo. Another half hour and I made it to the school. A secretary led me to an administrative room where the principal and his minions were gathered. First question: how is your housing? I grimaced. You don't like it here? Tears started to flow. What's wrong? I back out into the hallway, not wanting everyone to see me sob. Everyone follows me. Me against 9 seemingly concerned faces. I explain about the mentally unstable, stinky man living in my apartment. I try to say how dirty it is. The nine faces start talking among themselves.

Oh that's right, the homeless man lives there!
What, he's still there? I forgot all about him.
He was supposed to move out last December.
Ever since he attacked that teacher....
He might be crazy, but he's harmless.
I don't think it's our job to kick him out, let the police do it.
She has a key to her room, doesn't she. A key is all she needs.
It's not our problem.
It can't be that bad. She's too picky.

Somehow I agreed to return tomorrow morning at 9. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Day Three: New Shower Curtain

Today marks the first time I've taken a shower/bath since I left the United States. Why? Because I bought a shower curtain!!! It was cheap, bright and, best of all, mold free!



Part of me expects the creepy guy to rip it down. I am truly afraid of him. His noises only stop when he's sleeping. He moves around the apartment constantly banging on walls, locking and unlocking doors and muttering to himself. Today he surprised Skinny Mex with a knife. I want to move. I need to move.