Say hello to my little friend

No seriously.

This little turd has kind of grown on me! Even though she only weights 9 lbs. Even though when she barks -- at a freakishly-high pitch -- her whole body bounces up and down because it can't sustain the force. Even though she whines and cries like a little baby whenever we leave her in a room by herself and she's almost 10 years old. Even though she always licks my feet.

Even though she's going back to my grandpa in a little over a week :( It's all for the best though, because I'm heading out of the country very soon.

Yeah, this dog's grown on me immensely. I think this means, then, that I am becoming more and more apprehensive about the move to Europe by the day. I feel like I made this hasty decision to abandon everyone and everything in my life. Most likely, it's going to be a very difficult transition, because I have nowhere to live quite yet and I'm still not as fluent as I'd like to be.

But if I'm giving up everything for this trip, I have to go. There's no turning back now. If I'm going to make sacrifices in my life, I can't make them all futile and not go to France. There's one thing I'm thinking about in particular that came at the expense of my decision to go abroad. I guess I'll see whether or not I made the right choice by doing so.

Misconception

There is a huge flaw in the belief that a sizeable purchase will help to get your mind off someone, if only momentarily. Namely, once you put on said articles, your thoughts naturally progress towards, "Wow, I look good. I wish [insert name of aforementioned person] could see me. S/he would love it."

Furthermore, it's very wrong to purchase underwear. Especially good-looking ones. Because surely, you must have wanted someone to see that when you made the initial purchase.

So, by default in your character, the shopping plan has backfired and now you've tried six ways to get your mind off someone, and only one has marginally worked. But in reality, you don't want to get over him/her, beause it means that you have to emotionally separate yourself from all the wonderful emotions and moments you once shared in the past. That's the kicker, isn't it? Past, not present. Not any longer. What to do next...?

Are you READY?!

Ok, this post is going to get a little intimate and reveal a bit more of my nerdy side. However, if you already know me, you can definitely attest to that without a shred more of evidence than what you already know.

But, that's what we do in blogs and online journals, right? Transcribe our most private, deepest thoughts and feelings, while, oh yeah, forgetting they are accessible to everyone in the world. My online readers -- should you exist -- all have the key to this journal's proverbial lock.

So, back to my confession. I'm probably going to post word-for-word a conversation I had with Jenn earlier today.

So, Jeff and I went to see the next installment in the Harry Potter cinematic series earlier this week and that is the farthest I'm caught up with the novels. Honestly, the fifth book upset me because it was close to 1,000 pages and just rambled and rambled. Much like the Pirates of the Caribbean series, I really felt that J.K. Rowling was shooting aimlessly in order to keep her readers' attention. Obviously, she wants us right in the palm of her hand until the next book came out.

Well, that didn't work on me.

...Until I saw the movie. It has been a while since I read that book and I thought the movie was quite well-done.

I gave in. Besides, I secretly want to know what happens at the end of the series. And I really don't want anyone ruining it for me, which is why I have been francticly reading Book 6, because today I purchased Book 7.

Which is the point of today's entry. As I was standing in Borders this afternoon, the male checker was talking to a woman in a very adult-like voice, explaining his choice of vocabulary words to study for the GRE.

When she was done, he rang me up and said in a very loud and obnoxious voice, "ARE YOU READY?!" obviously implying for the ending of Harry's journey in print.

I was confused for a half second, and then kind of stuttered, "Oh, this isn't for me, it's a gift." I wonder if he or the other checkers picked up on my lie of the century. And might I interject here, that I don't feel as much as a giant dork when I'm sitting next to a 6-foot-4 baseball player in the theater playing Harry Potter. But there's still a piece of me that is a little ashamed to admit that I read Harry Potter at 22 years old. Despite my decision NOT to read it for a very long time. And despite all my 22+ year-old friends who already finished the story the day it came out.

So he pushed my tolerance a little further and then proceeded to ask if I wanted to give the recipient of the book a life-sized Harry Potter in the form of a poster. Shaking my head hastily, I grabbed the reciept and ran out the door, ashamed for the lie. And then as I closed my car door, all I could do was laugh at myself.

Yes, I'm sick. I know. And now so does everyone else.

Where has the time gone?

Being back in Santa Barbara for a week of non-commitment is extremely bizarre, like I've been constantly reiterating.

But more so now, because I see all the incoming freshman excitedly getting lost around campus during their summer orientation sessions.

What I would give to be back in their shoes. Lisa asked me if I would do anything differently, going back to relive freshman year in the dorms, knowing all that I know now.

My answer then, and now, was no. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to go back and do it all over again. Every single moment over the past four years, the good, boring and the disastrous, has made me exactly who I am today. I regret none of it.

But I do have this wistful feeling of days past. Knowing where everyone is at right now and how in the very near future, everything is going to become so intricately different from anything I've ever known. Are the best years of my life behind me? I sure hope not! But it did fly before my eyes and I would give anything just to hold on to some of those moments and live them over in slow motion.

These freshmen have no idea what they're in for. It's going to be a life-changing ride for all of them. And I'm pretty sure I still have a few more of those up my sleeve in the next upcoming days, weeks, years...

Grown-Up?

I think I finally found the closure that I needed.

I'm not going to say whether that's a good or a bad thing, but it certainly is a wave of relief. Life does go on.

And now I'm ready to move on with and continue my life. I guess I'm just interested to see what's next.

Or if I ever come back...

Summertime in the LBC

Here I am at yet another AVP site traveling my butt off this summer :)

This weekend is Long Beach, Calif., and in order to get here on time, I had to drive from Santa Barbara a day beforehand. Even though we're off next weekend, my parents are coming down to the Orange County Fair, so saving myself time and gas money, I've decided to spend 11 days in Santa Barbara, Long Beach and Costa Mesa.

Other than Manhattan Beach in August, this will probably be my last trip to Southern California for a long time.

Which is odd, because it's the only place I've really been over the past four years. And it's been about 20 days since I was last in Santa Barbara, so when I made my return this time, I felt even more isolated and removed from everything there.

That means, I don't make Los Angeles my home, but I identify with it because that's where I work and all my work friends are located. I don't feel like Alamo is my home, even though it's where I physically reside, because everyone I know and love besides my family is scattered throughout California. And Santa Barbara doesn't seem like home, even though I made it my home for the past four years and someone I love is down there.

I'm kind of going through life in this numb nomadic-type mentality. But I guess that kind of comes with the territory. After all, I do work in 18 different locations in 13 different states over a period of five months. And then I'm moving back to Europe for a year. But I guess this is nothing new for me.

Home is not my physical location, or the physical location of the people I love. So then where is my home?

I guess I still have a lot of growing to do and find out who I really am. Understandably, I'm pretty interested to see how things turn out. Too bad you can't fast-forward through life, even if it does seem that's the pace I've been living it lately.

It's official!!

After weeks of anticipation, I finally received my arrêté de nomination from the ministère de l'éducation nationale of France, in the academy of Nice.

That's just a really fancy, French way of saying a big package from Nice was looking at me when I opened my mailbox one hour ago.

I was slightly nervous, because one girl told me that she was placed in a very small, rural (and uncommonly ugly) village by Lyon when she was an assistant anglaise.

But I was not placed in a small city! I will be living in:

ANTIBES!!!

From the Greek antipolis, meaning the opposite city (of Nice) on the other side of La Baie des Anges. So to the East is Nice and to the West - Cannes! Which means when the Festival des Films comes to Cannes in May, I'll be living right by all the action! Oh and Saint-Tropez is not far off either. Surprisingly enough, Antibes is home to some of the only man-made beaches in the South of France. Since the waves in the Mediterranean are very mild, no beach has sand. Instead, their beaches contain large stones and pebbles. Such is not the case on the sandy beaches of Antibes.

In numerical values, Cannes is only 9 miles from Antibes, Nice is 17 miles, Monte-Carlo in the principality of Monaco is 29 miles away, and Saint-Tropez is a little under 60 miles from my city of Antibes!

Antibes was once the home of F. Scott Fitzgerald. As an expatriot (like I'll soon be) in the South of France, he wrote many a novel from his apartment overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Coincidentally, Picasso once lived in the city, and the wall I'm standing by is right outside of the Musée de Picasso.

It's going to be a good year :) Oh yeah, Antibes's sister city? Newport Beach, California. Go figure!

More Antibes for your viewing pleasure (all taken by me):

Home stretch!

I'm almost there!

My mom and I have been researching airfare prices on the Internet from San Francisco International to a handful of French locations.

But, in two months and one week (tentatively) I will be in Europe!

The game plan is to fly to France around September 17 and meet up with my parents before the fly back to California on the 20th. Then I'm going to make my way to Nice and look for some sort of permanent housing.

By September 25, I will arrive in Venice either by train or with another cheap flight to visit Raffo at his parents' house in Vicenza. There, we'll meet up with Martin from Copenhagen and maybe Andy from Santa Barbara. In one (probably) crazy roadtrip, we're driving to Munich from Vicenza.

Our plan is to hit up Oktoberfest and hang out in Germany September 26th and 27th. Then on the 27th we drive back to Italy and on the 28th I take my train back to Nice once more.

And on October 1, I will officially begin teaching as an assistant anglaise in a French primary school! I'm a little concerned that I don't know which school or what city, but that information is on its way.

It gives me a LOT to look forward to! Ciao.

"I'm too old to participate in the HR Derby"

I just found this online and it's pretty much the most amazing thing I've ever seen:

Note the syringe the batter in the logo is using to connect with a "natural enhancement supplement." I love it!

Reality Check

I guess this exhilarating roller coaster ride has finally come to a screeching halt. It's time for me to exit the car even though I've already snuck in an extra round or two.

That feeling of floating, being suspended in air and protected by the harness still lingers, but my feet need to be anchored back on concrete eventually. As much as I want to fly, it is impossible.

I'll leave that to the birds -- for now.

What a drag (pun intended)

You can’t really be in New York City and not be sentimental (read: touchy-feely time). There’s something about the city that slaps you in the face with cliché. Everything really.

We stayed in what typically would be a cute and also swank little hotel nestled away in one of the city’s side streets. If you were to walk up the street half a block, the Empire State Building is glowing in its nighttime splendor, probably closer in appearance than actual distance.

I roomed with and next to some of the AVP interns so a couple of us decided to brave the city at night – our shuttle didn’t arrive from New Jersey until close to 11 p.m. Jay even said, “If Mcauley Culkin can survive in New York, then we can do it.” Except for the whole Hollywood thing, that’s fairly true. But NYC does seem to be a big, ruthless city that sucks you right up. Especially if you’re – as I said in the last post – crap with directions.

We wandered a few blocks and found a stereotypical 24 hour diner inviting us inside. The decorations were really eclectic, modern and very New York urban. It was called Moonstruck Diner if that says anything.

But on our way back after midnight (us being two other female interns, one male, and myself) we beheld quite a sight. Waiting at a typical New York street corner many people hurriedly tried to cross the street (remember it’s Sunday at midnight). A taxi swerved without regard to any of the pedestrians and slammed its breaks at the corner right by my vulnerable toes, since I was donning sandals then.

Just as the passengers start unloading out of the cab, to our right comes this loud, lispy (a little too lispy if you know what I mean) voice. This man whose eyes were nearly popping out of his head was strutting his stuff down the street. And like the taxi, he too was swerving quite a bit. At first we ignore it because hey, we’re in the middle of Manhattan. But then he starts calling out to Jay, peppering in the N-bomb whenever he could… in a ridiculous lisp!

At first he started calling him Charlie and none of us were sure why. We keep watching him, like little children excitedly watch a large animal safely behind a pane of glass at the zoo.

“Damn, n-----! You’s like Charlie over there with all them angels. And I know this n----- is straight but he’s surrounded by three divas. You go on boy.”

All the while Jay is cowering behind us, trying to hide from this wreck, but at the same time trying to be protective of us. Nice work.

The pedestrian signal alerts us that we can cross and our lovable friend continues to swerve down the street, still calling at us and praising Jay’s heterosexual ability to pull ladies.

When a taxi was waiting for us to cross to turn, said character stopped in the middle of the street and struck a pose like he was on the catwalk – ass out to the cab and his hands on his hips. Think the Mango skit on SNL.

Exactly like that.

But all in all, New York is very European. Well at least our little corner of it was for one night. For the remainder of our journey, we kept passing grocery stores tucked away in between sky scrapers and all night lounges. In each of the store was a small floral display, open right there on the streets. And you could smell the beautiful flowers from a few feet away as you passed.

Again, I’m going to sound excruciatingly repetitive, but there are so many reminders here on American soil of Europe and its fabulous decadence.

Or maybe I’m just making myself see it in everything because I’m counting down the seconds in my head.

Thoughts in a timezone

Instead of blogging on here this weekend, I'm actually blogging at The AVP website.

Every weekend we run a blog on the site that tracks all 32 beach volleyball teams in hourly installments. It gets pretty intense, but it's fun and obviously extremely fast-paced.

This weekend's location?

Seaside Heights, New Jersey. It's... interesting. I guess being from California kind of spoils me. However, Seaside doesn't get the same fog as we do in California. I take that back, it doesn't get any fog at all. Instead we've had a few, albeit rather brief thunderstorms and showers roll through.

The site is great because we're actually on the beach this time, but the one drawback is HIV.

If that sounds dramatic -- because this is me we're talking about here -- it's not. One of the players on tour was mid-match when he landed after going up for a block, right on a used syringe. The doctors gave him a tetanus shot for precautionary measure, but who knows what was in that cartridge. Apparently this happened at the same site last year to another player. The doctors warned him to check for any unusual symptoms in the next few weeks while they test him for HIV and hepatitis A, B and C. And to think, I was walking around barefoot part of the time on Friday before it happened...

The girls who shoot photography for MLB.com (one of which is from here) joked that they don't call this "Sleaze-side" for nothing. I buy that. Then the jokes continued like, "Come on, this is where the Sopranos are from," et cetera, et cetera.

Which reminds me. My plane landed in New York's JFK airport around 10:00 Thursday night, so I had to meet up with a few other staff members and we hitched a ride to Seaside together. In typical East Coast summer fashion, of course it was one of the hardest-hitting rain storms of the year. Our driver "slowed down" to 63 mph to make the ride safe for us all, especially since it was pounding down so hard we couldn't see the windshield for any more than a split second after the windshield wipers cleared up visible patches.

Immediately before we crossed the border into Jersey (or maybe it was right after the Brooklyn Bridge, I don't really know geography, slash directions because I am a female, right?) a road sign notified drivers:

"You are now leaving (insert New York city name). Fuggadaboudit!"

Wow, really? I didn't think things like this actually existed in real life. And people wonder why we make so much fun of the Garden State in movies, radio, and pretty much every-day life.

My one final (also creepy) note about this state is also of the automotive variety. When the rain letdown to allow for a bit of visibility I noticed another sign, but hanging from an overpass. It was one of those black screen notification signs with orange lights to customize the traffic report of the day. Anyways, that night the sign warned: SLOW DOWN, YOUR FAMILY WILL WAIT FOR YOU (yes, all in caps). And no, it wasn't because of the rain, since we saw the signs again last night in dry weather.

That made my mind wander. How does whoever programed that sign know that every driver on the road has a family. And why are they assuming we're heading towards said family? Is it because the only reason one would sanely think about entering New Jersey would be to visit family we've since left? Enter my weird, twisted thoughts right after. What if the person driving lost all of their family in a freak accident of some sort? Would this sign, then, plummet that person into years and years of therapy?

Long story short, it was a weird sign. I don't like it. At least we're headed back to NYC for the next two days after tomorrow's finals matches.

I dream in FRENCH

...and my dad thinks that's weird. Mon père, whose own mother and father were native francophones! Why does he think I'm the odd one?

Anyways, I awoke this morning with the French equivalent sugarplums dancing in my head. At first I was slightly disoriented -- unsure of what continent I was exactly on. You see, just before the sun's mid-morning rays peeped through my blinds (just kidding, it was more like my dad's never-ending hammering up in the kitchen, even holidays are not exempt from new additions and home improvements), I snapped out of another countless French dream. I'm not sure how long they last, but I really am speaking in French in those dreams to other people who understand (natively I assume) the language.

Some days I'm amazed because I know the French word for extravagant objects in my dreams, which are fleeting images the next morning. Maybe my French vocabulary is impeccable in my subconscious. Other times I falter in my dreams, but mainly I have a good command of the French tongue in my sleep. I have taken over eight years of the language, including a brief summer abroad so maybe I really don't give my grasp on the language enough credit.

Either way, this is what I saw:

I was in a pâtisserie, badgering the chef about his biscuits, tartes, gâteaux, galettes, and petits fours.

I don't know where I was or when it was, but I think I saw my future. When I say I dream about my year in France (beginning in September) I literally mean it.

It's kind of funny, how today, July 4, is a day when most of us are celebrating our American heritage with pyrotechnics, flags, baseball, barbecue and all things patriotic and all I can think of is my impending expat status. American Independence, to me, is not the event it should be. Yes, I love living here and I do feel very lucky, but for the longest time I've never been home/free to properly celebrate the event. Last year, I was working at a baseball game. The year before that I was in France of all places!

So Happy Birthday America. Thanks for giving me the chance to experience a life in a different country while grounding me in the ideals and opportunities on which this nation was founded.

Can you tell the difference?

Is this the American Riviera, or the French Riviera?

Santa Barbara or Nice?

The Santa Barbara Harbor or Le Côte d'Azur?

California or France?

...All I know is that these images are imprinted in my mind. It's all I can think of and I cannot wait to go back after a two-year hiatus!

Embarking on a new chapter

Here I stand with a quasi-career and a newly-earned degree. And I am abound with more questions than before I even started this whole college career. Now that it has come to a close, I need to come to terms with a lot of my life.

No longer am I a student here. Well, I haven't been for about four months now, has it really been that long? Everything is holding me back there and I cannot let go. I eventually will have to, but right now that is impossible. This laid-back life in the American Riviera is all I have known for the past four years -- I exchanged my naive personality for a more refined, experienced one based solely on this location and the people in it. But as time and seasons force the landscape to change, it was only a matter of time before we all moved out of our familiar roles, apartments, life stages, and so on. Santa Barbara has already begun to change without my permission. And I hardly recognize it anymore.

But that is all for another time. Currently, all I can think about are two facts. And they both are very intertwined.

The first is that I am only two months away from a new life on a different continent. I do nothing but eat, drink, breathe, think and dream French. It is sort of haunting because the related topic is that moving away for a year will force me to reevaluate the people in my life. Unfortunately, in order to experience a life abroad, the price I have to pay is a heavy one. People who are so familiar and close in my life will change their status very soon. That's not to say they won't still be close, just not as close anymore. One in particular.

It seems that the journey to France is a rite of passage in my life. Linguistically, yes, that couldn't be any more true. But what I'm talking about is more of an emotional, maturation process I need to go through. In short, it is a way of mending my heartaches. While I do not have much to complain about now in that department, it will be a certainty by the time my plane leaves American soil. That is the price I have to pay. Typically the trend seems to be the harder I fall, the longer my séjour in France.

But who knows, it just might be worth it. I might become a better person because of it. All I know is that I turned down an opportunity like this before because of a relationship and look how that worked out. Maybe things will work out the way they should for me in the future anyhow.

All I can do is long for my lazy days drenched under the niçois sun. However, I know for a fact that once it happens, I will without a doubt be longing for something back home that's right in front of me now.