It's no fun to talk about the ordinary ones, sooo...

Like America, France is home to a rather diverse population of males. I enjoy diversity. It keeps things interesting. However, I do wish that French guys would find a happy medium between completely uninterested and creepy obsessive follow random girls down the street saying things that I don't understand and it's probably better that way crazy.
Two nights ago, I was walking home with my housemates. One is English (Catherine), the other is American (Anya). So naturally we were speaking English. Walking slightly ahead of us were two French guys. One of them was wearing a mini skirt, and the other one was wearing a vampire costume, complete with black eye liner. These more than likely single because who in their right mind would go out with them guys heard us speaking English. Then the vampire asked in English "you are English?" and Catherine replied in French "Yes, but we speak French." Then the vampire said something that I am not even sure if it was French or English, and the guy in the mini skirt asked if we wanted him to lift his skirt up. We were all like "NO!" At this point, the vampire started walking next to us, and asked if we would like to go out, and again, our answer was no. He then started saying more things that I could not understand, but he kept dropping the F bomb. And for whatever reason, French people using English profanities is hilarious to me, and I could not stop laughing at him. And he replied with "What the f$#&? A crazy f$&@ing French vampire is walking next to you, and you are not f*$%ing scared?" And then the guy in the mini skirt (walking a couple steps ahead of us) decided to lift up his skirt, revealing a pair of red hot pants.

Luckily, crazies are not the only guy choice that France has to offer. My personal favorites are the French gangsters. These are the little hoodlums, spitting on the tram, yelling, acting tough, etc. Throughout history, we have had the Roman Army, the Spartans, the Huns, the Vikings, and the Nazis, just to name a few. Even today we have the Latin Kings, the Colombian drug Lords, mafias of various nationalities. But let’s get serious, French is not a threatening language. It’s the language of love. France is not a threatening place. Paris is the city of love, the city of lights. I laugh a little when I see the French gangsters because I imagine them sitting in a cafe, nibbling on a croissant, and then going out to cut someone, careful to avoid getting blood on their scarves.

I have heard, although I have yet to see one in person to confirm their existence, that there are French red necks. I am not leaving here until I see one. I don’t know much about their appearance, but apparently the Tour de France is the NASCAR of France. Think about it…

Of course we also have the stereotypical Frenchman. This is the guy riding around on his bicyclette, carrying two baguettes, wearing a scarf, and smoking a cigarette. They are usually pretty, like really really pretty, prettier than most of the girls here. I outweigh the stereotypical Frenchman by about 25 lbs. They look as if a strong breeze could snap them in half. I am not positive what the stereotypical Frenchman does for a living, but I think it has something to do with sitting in a cafe for hours on end, chain smoking and getting all fired up during a discussion about football.

This post would not be complete without the mention of a disproportionately high percentage of French males. I am of course talking about the drunks. This is good advice-if you are in the vicinity of a drunk Frenchman, do not try to drive or operate heavy machinery. Breathing the air around a drunk Frenchman will put most people over the BAC legal limit. Okay, that is an exaggeration, but there is a definite smell. It is always a mix of alcohol, cigarettes, garbage dumpsters, urine, and BO. Time of day is meaningless to them. They do not celebrate happy hour per se. From the time they are old enough to crack open their first 50 cl can of VanPur, their life is one continuous happy hour. I have seen men drinking beer on the tram at 7:30 on a weekday morning. The men at the market on Saturday mornings take swigs of beer in between weighing sacks of vegetables. Morning, noon, or night, weekday, weekend, it makes no difference. A seemingly shared trait these men have is a complete lack of personal hygiene-unshaven, missing teeth, dandruff speckled shoulders, and their aforementioned smell. After putting an embarrassing amount of thought into it, I have come up with a reason for good personal hygiene being somewhere between running for public office and getting a doctorate in classical languages on their list of priorities. If these guys stopped drinking long enough to shave, shower, and put on clean clothes, the alcohol would start to wear off. This would lead to a hangover, years in the making, which would be so severe that it would kill them. Survival of this subspecies depends on their lack of hygiene. The frequent potent urine smells and suspicious wet spots covering the sidewalks and corners of buildings are a just a little present from them to the rest of the world. A few weeks ago, I was at the Laundromat, and a drunk Frenchman made me help him fold his sheets. He probably could have folded them himself, if he would have put the can of VanPur down long enough to use both hands.

milk again

Going back to my issue with the horrible horrible milk here, I started thinking this morning that David Sedaris wrote something about milk in Me Talk Pretty One Day, which is an absolutely hilarious book that everyone should read if you haven't already. Lack of suitcase space forced me to leave that book at home, but I got online to try and find what he wrote about it. I laughed out loud when I found it, because it is oh so true.

“…nothing is more disgusting than a glass of milk, especially French milk, which comes in a box and can sit unrefrigerated for five months, at which point it simply turns into cheese and is moved to a different section of the grocery store.”

As American as groaty pudding

I am getting more in the swing of things here.

I have a semi regular schedule at both my schools. I have 19 different classes to prepare for. So much for learning names or bringing treats.

My French is getting better. I can now hear most of the words people are saying, I just usually have no idea what the words mean. I guess those years of cramming vocab the night before an exam and then forgetting it as soon as my pencil answered the question has finally come back to haunt me.

I got my debit card, and once you have a European debit card, you are golden. There is this little chip in it that lets you use the debit card for train tickets, tram passes, more cell phone minutes, and I a pretty sure it can be used as your ticket to the alternate universe, although the French are very tight lipped about that. Unfortunately, the magic chip in the card feeds on Euros, which my bank account currently is lacking.

We got the TV to work, and in the process turned the living room into an amazing jungle gym of extension cords, plug adapters, and Ethernet cables. I was told that TV is an excellent way to improve one's understanding of a foreign language, which may be true, but it is a painful method of learning. One night spent watching French TV shows will leave you crying to return to the country that gave us quality programs such as The Moment of Truth and Viva Laughlin.

Really though, things are good. One of the teachers was telling me that she is very excited to have an American assistant. She went on to say that they have never had an American assistant, they always get British ones, it will be good for the kids to hear an American accent, learn about American culture, etc. So I was feeling pretty good. Then, after her class she was explaining to me what she wanted me to do for this week. Here is the conversation. Please do enjoy.

Her: Do you celebrate Halloween?
Me: Yes. I went trick or treating when I was a kid [no need to tell her I trick or treated every year until I was 17]. And adults go to parties. It is very popular in the US.
Her: Well I hate Halloween. I want you to teach about Guy Fawkes Night instead. Do you celebrate Guy Fawkes Night in America?
Me: No...

I like this teacher. She is super nice, and I don't mind teaching about whatever. Thanks to my English housemate Catherine and Wikipedia, I now know all about Guy Fawkes Night. I have no clue what I'm going to do with it, but I know about it. And I think I'd choose door to door begging for candy over burning effigies of Catholics on bonfires any night.

pictures and not much else

I can't write anything. Not because I had a particularly exciting weekend. I think the reason is because there is nothing to do here on Sundays. Really, NOTHING. So by the time Sunday evening rolls around, my brain has forgotten how to work. So writing anything clever or interesting is out of the question. So here are some pictures instead.

First full week is done!

I worked a grueling 3 days this week. While I did not work my regular time table, I will only be working 3 days a week, so it is basically a fun week. I will be working Tuesday morning, and every other week one class in the afternoon, and Wednesday morning at College Jean Zay. And I work every Friday, from 8-3 at College Jean Jaures. This week, I was with 10 different classes. In every class all I did was answer questions about myself, America, etc. Today was funny though, the kids in my first class asked me if I had ever met any stars. I said that I met Rihanna. By the end of the day, I had random kids coming up to me and asking if I knew Rihanna. I kind of hope that is not my claim to fame for the next 7 months.
But the kids are really really cute. And all the teachers, except one, are very nice. Next week I start working with the kids, either co teaching, or working with small groups. One class wants to see some American money, which kind of sucks because I don't have any, and it costs money to exchange it. So I might ask around to some other assistants, to see if maybe one of them still has some. But I am glad to start actually doing stuff next week, because it was actually really tiring to answer the same questions ten times over. They all told me I have a bizarre accent, and they have less than flattering impressions of American accents. They also like to ask me to say things in French, and then laugh at my accent when I speak French. :)

schoolio!

Today I had my first day of school with the students. We didn't do a lot. I did two classes, one of 14-15 year olds, the other class was probably 11-12. In both classes, the kids freaked out when they found out I was an American, and then we spent the rest of the class period letting them ask me questions about myself, and then I got to ask them questions. They asked questions such as how old I am, how many siblings I have, what are their names, what my parents names are, who my favorite celebrity is, if i have ever been to Hollywood, what I like to do for fun, how many languages I speak, how France and American are different, if I liked France, what I have done in France, and on and on and on. They were off the walls spazzy, but they were cute. I had a pretty good day, and I know this is only the first day, and I am sure their will be bad days. But I am pretty optimistic about school right now.

I don't understand this, but I love it

France is weird. It's definitely a good weird, but weird just the same. Every time I leave the house, I see something that makes me say "wait...what?" And I love it. Last weekend we were just kind of hanging around, and we started hearing music. It was coming down the street. As it got closer, we could see that it was loosely organized marching band. I took a little video of it as the walked by. I don't get it either.

We all like food, let's discuss it

France is known for wine, cheese, baguettes, pastries, etc. I like all of this food a lot. It is one thing to eat like that for a week or two while vacationing here, but I am here for 8 months, and I can't do that to myself. While my regular diet at home is far from perfect, I am really more of a skim milk and vegetables kind of person.

My first week here I did not have a single fruit or vegetable. This was due largely to the fact that I was living in a hostel. My breakfast was half a baguette and some coffee. Lunch/dinner was usually a single meal I ate around 5 that consisted of a baguette sandwich. Needless to say, after a week of that, combined with no vitamin and no working out, I was feeling really crummy. So when I moved in with my host family, I was very excited to buy groceries and try to get my diet semi normal again. I am on a budget because I don't get paid until the end of October, and even then it is only 70% of my normal salary. And I use the term salary very loosely. It is more of a stipend/allowance than a normal salary. But I thought I could at least buy some broccoli. I love broccoli. Fresh, frozen, raw, cooked, it does not matter. I love it. So I went to the store, super excited to buy my broccoli and other good for me foods. I walked up and down every aisle, and the only broccoli that I could find was frozen pureed broccoli. I don't like any food enough to eat it frozen and pureed. So I got some romaine lettuce and canned green beans instead. It is not perfect, but it is better than what I have been eating. I also discovered a couple of other interesting things about French grocery stores and French food in general.

1. It is really hard to eat healthy when you don't know what you are buying. The majority of the food at the grocery store is mystery food. The morning that I went shopping, I had happened to be flipping through my textbook from last year, and I saw the word for "whole wheat" which I remembered when I was at the store. Then, as I was standing, staring at the different kinds of bread, I realized that i did not know the difference in brands. I don't know what the French versions of Wonder Bread and Sam's Choice are. So I picked a random loaf of bread. It is not the greatest. In fact, I think I might buy several loaves before I leave to bring home and reshingle the garage.

2. French store bought cookies are waaaaaaaay better than American store bought cookies. And unlike America, where the cookies are contained to one single, easily avoidable aisle, the French grocery stores put cookies in every single aisle. I came up with a theory for this. Baking powder (and I haven't been able to find soda either, although I am told that it is around) does not seem to exist here. Therefore, French people can't experience the joy that is a homemade cookie. So they have to overcompensate by putting the most delicious store cookies everywhere.

3. Pringles do not just come in regular flavors like sour cream and onion. They are a meal in chip form. The other day I saw steak and grilled onion flavored Pringles. The downfall of my diet has always been sugar, so I don't spend a lot of time in the chip aisle of American grocery stores. Maybe this variety of Pringles in available at home. I don't know, but I haven't ever seen it. I will probably have to try them before I leave, if for no other reason that to be able to say that I have eaten steak and grilled onion flavored Pringles.

4. Peanut butter does not exist here. A year or two ago, I discovered (courtesy of my mom) Smart Balance Peanut Butter. The flavor is not as good as Jif Extra Crunchy, but it helps me to avoid having to eat a spoonful of flax oil every morning. So it is well worth the trade. I am not surprised that I can't get Smart Balance here. No biggie. But I was hoping I would be able to at least find some sort of peanut butter, because peanut butter banana toast is a delicious breakfast. But no such luck. I met a British girl, Alice, last weekend. I saw her again at orientation yesterday. I asked her if they had peanut butter in Britain, and if she knew if I could get it anywhere here. She said they do have it in Britain, but that it was so wrong, and should not be allowed anywhere. Then she said she has never seen it in France. I guess the peanut butter banana toast breakfasts will have to wait until next summer. That is okay though, because come to think of it, I haven't seen a single toaster since I have been here.

5. French coffee-WHOA NELLIE! We have this in America as well, only it is sold in hardware stores under the name paint thinner.

6. The rent I am paying to my host mom includes breakfast. She asked me what I ate for breakfast. Usually my breakfasts are a mixture of fruit, flax oil, liquid vitamins, and water, blended together into a delicious smoothie (another courtesy of my mom), or else peanut butter banana toast, or Kashi Go Lean. I didn't think that any of these were an option, so I just said anything was good. After telling me why I should not drink milk, my host mom went out and bought me some milk, coffee, and cereal. The milk tasted a little odd, but I didn't know if it was whole milk, 2%, or what. I am a skim milk person all the way. I think it is delicious, cold, and refreshing, everything a person could ever want from milk. I will tolerate 1%, but I really don't like it, and I think that 2% and whole milk should be illegal. This milk was obviously not skim. I put some in my coffee, and just enough in the bowl to make my cereal not dry. Last night, my host mom was giving me my 5th tour of the kitchen, and she opened a cupboard under the counter, to tell me that this is where the extra milk is kept. Now I am really wondering what kind of milk can be left out for days on end. So I started reading the carton. I am still confused as to what kind of milk does not need refrigeration, but I did find the fat percentage. This "milk" is not milk at all. It is half and half. I will not be pouring myself a big refreshing glass of that to drink.

Yesterday I went to a local high school for my orientation. It was all day, but they fed us in the cafeteria. That was an experience all its own. And since I have already rambled way too much about food, and probably the only person who read this whole thing is my mom, I will save it for another time.

pictures, if I can figure this out

Here are some pictures, assuming I can figure out how to post them on here. If I can't do this, all my pictures are on my shutterfly page. Orientation all day tomorrow, all in French. I have a hard enough time understanding administrative talk when it's in English. I'm hoping to have a good song or something stuck in my head tomorrow because it's going to be a loooooooooonnnnnng day.



This is the outside of where I live




This is my bed. Yes, I am 26 years old and several articles of clothing did not make the cut into the suitcase in order for my bear Ted to come along with me. But I am really glad he's here.
One of three random living rooms in my 'apartment'


The kitchen



Hmmm...I thought I had another one, but I guess I don't. I should go work on my resume some more and quit playing pictures.