Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Je Peux Sortir Avec Les Vaches

I have reached my final resting place in France: I'm staying with the school accountant and her husband, in the small town (literally 9 square miles) of Hillion. Human population: 4,031; cow population: 1,456,324,123 and counting. They're everywhere. And the weirdest thing? I don't really mind the smell anymore.  But what I do mind is how they tend to stare. 
I DON'T KNOW YOU, COW! STOP JUDGING ME WITH YOUR EYES! (but it's cool how you provide us with delicious dairy products. Carry on.)

Let's see...last week was entirely uneventful. I managed to avoid embarrassing myself (for the most part); I read two books; I dropped some knowledge bombs on French children; and I even caught up on 30 Rock episodes. My life in St Brieuc has become increasingly normal and it's beginning to feel more and more like I live here. Which is equal parts awesome and sad because this is my second-to-last week teaching... and is also somewhat happy because, even though I've been planning my escape to Europe since I was 10, I do love the good old US-ofA and I miss my friends, family, and Manny (not Dusty, that little shit). 
except for my sister and her boyfriend because they are tan and pretty and just went to St Croix and I still look like Casper the Friendly Ghost's more-dead-looking Uncle Nuttellabelly

BUT! before I depart this wonderful country of baguettes and berets, I am going to visit Paris for two and a half days. I should probably save the buildup for next week's blog, so lock up your kids and hide your valuables, cause pictures of antiquities from the Louvre with witty captions will be present. 

Sunday there were regional election here, so I went to the city-hall/centre-ville/civic center place with my new host family to see what this whole "voting in France" thing was all about. I'm going to be honest: I was nervous. This was the perfect opportunity for my crazy/socially-awkward tendencies to rear their ugly head and get me arrested for tampering with the sacred process. I had visions of me stuffing the ballot box with pictures of George Washington, or perhaps standing just outside the curtains of the voting booths to frighten the unsuspecting citizens while holding a sparkler. I don't know where this stuff comes from, but it generally involves some sort of act of "patriotism." Woof? Indeed.
"Damnit Katie! Do you know how hard I worked to make us legit? I HAD DYSENTERY! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!"

OK, but really...I didn't do anything to shame the Founding Fathers. I stood quietly in the corner while my host family went about the voting procedure - identical to that of the US, only they put the actual envelope with the ballot into a clear box - and didn't so much as hum "Yankee Doodle". 

So, there was this one time (last Thursday) that it was 11:45 p.m. and I needed a pair of scissors to cut a tag that was itching my back. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a pair of scissors in my room, or the bathroom. I didn't want to go opening and closing cabinets all willy-nilly so late at night, so my genius mind came up with this: take my disposable razor, break it open, and use the blade to hack at the offending piece of cloth. Great plan, right?

Right. Until I actually tried to break open said razor. They are made surprisingly well and are in fact much more durable than one would think. During the ten minute period of time that I attempted to extract the blades, I managed to break three nails, cut both of my thumbs, get spots of blood on my sleeping-shirt, and break the blades in half.

Flash-foward to 12:12 a.m. : I have tissues wrapped around my thumbs, I have a half-cut-off tag hanging off of my shirt, and now I don't even have a razor. Needless to say, if you can't find scissors and your tag is bothering you, change your damn shirt and leave the razors alone. There is a reason they are encased in plastic. I felt very Liz Lemonesque as I was standing in the kitchen at half past midnight  munching on some bread and I saw scissors sticking out of a drawer. BLERG.

Things that are hard to explain with my level of French-speaking ability:
1. The Health-Care Bill
2. Why people don't like the Health-Care Bill
3. Why it took so long to pass
4. Why Americans don't always get to retire
...basically most things that are politically relevant. But hey, who doesn't enjoy perpetuating the stereo-type that all Americans are poorly informed?

Currently listening to: Nirvana Nevermind
Currently reading: "The Sea" by John Banville
Currently craving: a title for my thesis. I proposed "Naked Ladies on Vases: THE MUSICAL!" but that didn't fly; I've gotten "Not Your Mother's Flower Vase", "Women on Vases and the Men Who Loved Them NOT", and "Diet Coke and it's Influence on the Roman Empire: How Naked Ladies Took Over" by various members of my family. Not to sound ungrateful, and I won't name name's here (but it rhymes with Grace), but my thesis has nothing to do with the Roman Empire (but, to be fair, everything to do with Diet Coke). Suggestions? Also, BASEBALL SEASON IS NIGH. 

13 days, children. 13. days.

Peace, Love, and Opening Day!
- Blowfish.

1 comment:

  1. um, Zambrano's Mamel Toe makes me feel uncomfortable...and pleasantly surprised.

    I miss and love you and am counting down the days until I can lay my head on your bosom.