Reality sets in

It seems that I now have a finite number of days left in the United States. Which is funny to me, because when the visa process started out as such a burden, I just imagined that I would not go. Even when I initially applied to go abroad in December, I didn't think I would actually follow through with it.

But I have.

And I've never actually stopped to think about what that means. In 29 days my world will be upside down. I'm going to have to start EVERYTHING over, including trivial daily acts such as accessing a bank account, trying to explain that something is broken in a foreign language, even reading my cell phone in French. All small tasks that will turn into a very different nature.

Then I start thinking about walking through French cobblestone streets in my new boots and pea coat during the fall and winter months. I imagine greeting friends and strangers with the typical French bises -- kisses for both cheeks. Sipping coffee, tea, hot chocolate lazily from cafés facing the streets, deeply lost in thought and observation. Twelve hours of work a week and nothing else tying me down.

It all sounds so exciting, strange, challenging and lavish at the very least.

Yet one thought was very removed from my mind and that is my monetary stability. I've never really had to stand on my own because my parents have chipped in for everything. While I do have a savings account, I always assumed that'd be a safety net for when I finally began a salaried position to help with payments on apartments or cars or something else looming far off in the future.

I never quite imagined I'd be dipping into it already for food, rent, travel (which seems is going to be quite limited), cell phone bills, insurance, bus tickets, teaching supplies, etc. When all my friends received large checks for graduation, I received a box of European outlet converters. Puzzled, I asked why I didn't get any money to start off on my feet (because my current job is only paying $1,500/month plus food, hotel and airfare) and my mom said, "Don't worry, we'll be putting money into your account for France anyways."

Yet two days ago my dad asked me how I was going to fund everything. They told me I need to grow up and support myself someday and apparently that day will come in October. I don't understand, because I'm only going to be making around 700 € which when measured by the US Dollar is less than $1,000 a month. The typical rent in the South of France runs from about 400 € to 600 €...

Call me ungrateful, and maybe I am, but I thought they were at least going to help me to get on my feet a little bit. I certainly will be dipping into my savings -- probably much, much more than I would like -- and when I get back in one year, I'll have nothing lined up. No source of (real, salaried) income, no job, no place to live, nothing.

This trip that I've looked forward to for the past year (maybe even longer) is starting to weigh on me a little bit. It's without a doubt the experience of a lifetime, but what if I'm going to be struggling for the rest of my life after this?

I guess I'll just have to stick to my original plan and marry rich ;)

...I'm only kind of kidding.

I would

Wow, let's all hear how much of an f-ing klutz I am! I swear, these aren't just random occurrences, this is actually a daily feat in my life:

As I was at the gym working out yesterday, I went to go pull the drawstring tighter on my pants (which are those cheap things you see in toursity cities -- mine happen to say FDNY in huge letter on the butt), when I heard something rip. I just assumed it was the drawstring and took extra care in tying them together.

Then I get off the treadmill and proceed to do some yoga stretches and sit-ups, when I notice a bunch of guys in front of me catching glances at me. Usually I don't get hit on or anything like that in public, so I learn to ignore these kinds of things.

But when I got home and changed out of my clothes I realized what the ripping noise was. I pulled the drawstring so tight that the cheap material split right in the crotch.

You could see my underwear right through the hole -- especially when laying down in the sit-up position.

Awesome.

No turning back

I HAVE A BILLET-ALLER TO NICE!!!! For you anglophones, that's a one-way ticket!!! I paid $500 (which at this time of year is pretty reasonable) and I arrive in Nice at noon on September 30.

Wow this is so exciting!!!

Ah mon dieu!!!

Someone up there IS listening to me!!!

After the most horrendous experiences with the French consulate in San Francisco I finally have a visa in my hands! I can go to France, it's official!!!!

...Well not quite, I still have to purchase my ticket. But the hardest part is behind me.

Let me just update you on what I had to go through to get this god-forsaken sticker pasted inside my passport. Last time I tried to make an appointment with no avail since the website was down. So after going to the consulate, I was rejected -- three times.

Anyways, I almost kind of gave up on this. Actually, I did give up. I applied for a whole bunch of jobs with minor league baseball teams and sports pages across the country. So if anyone tells me I have a job, I'm probably going to turn it down. Back to my comedy of errors though. Today I'm all ready to go with all of my paperwork; I hop into my car and turn it on... only to hear the engine never actually catch. It keeps trying to start up for a very, very long time. Shit.

Although my mom just left for work an hour before, I begged her to come back home to get me and drop me off at the closest BART station in time so I could get to the city before my 11:00 appointment. But the French gods were out to get me today.

On the way home, my mom apparently encountered some light traffic, basically meaning I'd miss the train I wanted to be on by five or six minutes. Ok, no big deal, I was just praying that I'd make the train to arrive at 10:45 and then walk the 15 minutes to the consulate as fast as my little (BLISTERED) feet would take me.

Two-thirds of the way there, the BART train stopped. Three times! And at this point I'm completely panicking. So we finally get there and I sprinted. It only took me six minutes to get to the consulate from Market Street, which last time took me over 11.

I probably jinxed myself by calling my mom and telling her I had more than 10 minutes and I was going to get my visa without a hitch. She told me to hang up and go get it already. My favorite security guard was standing there and I prayed that he didn't remember me. After some snide little comment I handed him my appointment slip and passport, when he asked, "Do you have a copy of your passport?"

Of course, I have three copies of everything. But I couldn't find them! He told me not to worry, that STA Travel next door made copies. But in true French fashion, they were closed for a three hour lunch. Then my heart starts racing again. He said I could run to the corner of Bush and Market and get a copy made at an Internet café. So I sprinted, despite my burning feet. And I couldn't find the shop. I ran into a UPS store a little farther down the street and located the only copier in the building. Frantically I pressed a million buttons and the machine would not comply with me, nor would the cashier who was blabbing away on his cell phone. Luckily it worked, I threw him a quarter and ran back up the next two blocks -- with my fingers crossed so tightly they were turning purple -- hoping that I'd make it back before 11 a.m.

Instead of wonder and excitement about the French corner of San Francisco with the Tabac and cafés, I cursed it all for mocking me so. Even though I had my camera, I vowed right then and there that regardless of the outcome, I did NOT want photographic reminders of this nightmare to obtain my visa.

Of course, I made it back with five minutes to spare, my heart still racing every document they checked over, because I had a gut-wrenching feeling that I forgot something. But I didn't. So naturally, I stressed myself out a thousand times more than what was necessary.

And after my paperwork was in, I sat down in a chair to wait for them to print out my visa (an unnecessary two hour process!), sweating and trying to catch my breath. And then I found my passport copies -- figures!

At least I got to meet a few other girls who were also in the process of applying for their teaching assistant visas as well. Just talking with them for an hour made me more excited than I ever have been during this entire process! I cannot wait to go to France in one month :)

Sally the camel has two humps

In keeping with the theme of random stories shared amongst my family members, during lunch my mom mentions in passing that this 60-year old woman in Australia was killed by her pet camel -- given by her family members for her birthday.

So my dad's cousin wonders aloud, "I wonder how it killed her."

Her husband's witty response: "It humped her to death."

...har har. But really though, I almost laughed out my ginger ale. It was perfectly executed.

A few hours later over dinner, she wonders again how this camel possibly could have killed its owner. So I run to the computer and Google "camel kills woman" only to find this article:

An Australian woman was killed by a pet camel given to her as a 60th birthday present after the animal apparently tried to have sex, police said yesterday.

The 10-month-old male camel - weighing about 150 kg - knocked the woman to the ground, lay on top of her, then exhibited what police suspect was mating behaviour, Gregory said.

Now that's irony for you.

Sweeeet Caroline, oh Oh OH!

I swear to God, you people in Boston are RIDICULOUS. First it was the accents, they kill me! I know I was here last year, but it never gets old! EVER! I could keep saying "NOMAH" and "You're wicked retahded" all year long and never get bored. How do you like them apples?

But this just tops everything. Singing the Elvis Presley version of "Sweet Caroline" on the 30th anniversary of The King's death? Amazing. WHY DO YOU ALL KNOW THE LYRICS? I realize you're a faithful nation of dedicated Red Sox fans and all, but singing it during the AVP finals? Really?!

It's amazing. I really do love this city (although, I've never experienced a Bahstan winter in my life.... thank GOD).

Next up? The Big Apple, baby. Staying at The W Hotel in Times Square. Things are about to get crazy :)

Let there be light!

[Preface to this post:] It wasn't until flying on Wednesday night that I realize I feel utterly isolated.

Yes, I have close friends via electronic communication; however, I'm up in the Bay Area alone and I've just gone through a really hard situation also leaving me emotionally abandoned. In times like these during college, I'd go out with friends or have a physical shoulder to cry on, watch a movie with the girls... the list goes on.

And when I thought about all that on the plane, I couldn't keep it in. I've never before acted like this in public and I could not hold back the tears stinging my eyes.

Luckily it was a red eye flight, so it was dark and hardly anyone was awake when I rank back to the lavatory to grab some kleenex.

It all just hit so hard and I've had three days to digest it all. Even though I'm totally overwhelmed, I'm starting to put things into perspective and convince myself of how to think, feel and act.

Working constantly for two weeks is helping take my mind off everything. Especially with a lightning storm here in Boston to break up the monotony of 12 hours of volleyball matches. And since this IS the AVP, it was only fitting that they evacuated us from our metal "cage" to a neighboring bar and dance cabana. Hey, at least they had an overhang!

There really is never a dull moment here on tour. Especially when you mix staff, players and local drunks :)

...But when it all comes to a screeching halt at the end of the season, I'm getting the feeling that I'm going to have a lot more time to think about my present situation some more.

Fleurs du mal

Le Guignon

Pour soulever un poids si lourd,
Sisyphe, il faudrait ton courage!
Bien qu'on ait du coeur à l'ouvrage,
L'Art est long et le Temps est court.

Loin des sépultures célèbres,
Vers un cimetière isolé,
Mon coeur, comme un tambour voilé,
Va battant des marches funèbres.

— Maint joyau dort enseveli
Dans les ténèbres et l'oubli,
Bien loin des pioches et des sondes;

Mainte fleur épanche à regret
Son parfum doux comme un secret
Dans les solitudes profondes.

— Charles Baudelaire

A new morning

Today I woke up and had a question burning within me.

I thought to myself, as hard as it is, I'm going to ask this question. One of two things could happen:

a.) I get the answer I want and just wait for it to happen.
b.) I don't and face the long road ahead of moving on.

And 10 minutes ago, I asked the question. I didn't get the response I was looking for. So now I think I'm ready to make that arduous journey. It's going to take a lot of strength and tears, but now I know it's the only way.

I'm going to stop hurting myself and try to grow up. Try to. Let's hope I have the strength to do that, because I deserve so much better than what I've been going through lately.

There, I said it. I just wish what I deserve finally comes to me one of these days, instead of letting myself get hurt in situations like these over and over again.

On the road again...

I feel like I just made a really symbolic ride through my life today, going up I-5 from Los Angeles to the Bay Area. On the way down there, we stopped in Santa Barbara one last time and it was a complete and utter disappointment. I thought I'd find what I was looking for, but instead was brutally shot down. And I couldn't even hold it together one last time.

Basically, I'm alone in this journey whether I want to be or not.

Then I traveled from somewhere I would one day like to call home to the place that I now physically call home - by virtue of storing all my possessions there. To tell you the truth, I don't know if I ever really will feel at home anywhere at this point. I'm really scared about what lies ahead, because I know I'm going to have to do it without friends, family or a loved one present if it's in the L.A.-area. For someone as dependent on others as I am, that's a frightening thought. Really, it is.

Anyways, on the way up here we got into a minor collision when someone rear-ended my mom's car. It was the kind of thing to really shake you up and make you worry, but not bad enough to really mess anything up. Here's the metaphor of my life. I always have little shakes. Nothing ever is disastrous enough to really wake me up and take me out of my element. I think in that kind of situation, I'd have to learn to adapt and become comfortable outside of myself.

But I'm always stuck right in this comfort zone with minor problems that I end up making mole hills into mountains of. I need perspective in my life. But more than anything, I want to know how things are going to turn out. I want to know what job I'm going to have, where it's going to be and who's still going to be in my life when I go there.

I just want that comfort if it's not too much to ask for.

Greener Grass

It's funny that once someone -- ok it was more like a few people -- told me they were jealous because, right before I graduated in March I had "the perfect boyfriend (baseball player), amazing grades (true), and an awesome job lined up (although it was not my first choice)."

And at the time, all I could do was smile and say thanks. I wasn't going to make any apologies, because I've worked really hard my whole life in classes and preparing for a job I want. As for the relationship, I've only ever had one before the comment and I thought I had waited a long time for the right person and that was finally paying off.

Now here I am a few months later and all I can do is feel sorry for myself. Well, maybe that's not it. But still.

I just want to be happy and to be with someone who will make me the center of their world. That's all I'm asking for, because apparently I fall way too hard and get way too attached for my own good.

And how much of a shame would it be for me to stop doing that? When the right time comes (IF it even does) I'm sure I would want to feel that same exact way, because I imagine that when it's reciprocated my world will be complete.

I guess until then, I'm going to envy everyone that told me my life was perfect back when, because they at least are happy with significant others now. Who cares if you can't figure out what you're going to do in life... as long as you have someone there for support to help get through it all. I don't even have that anymore.

Topsy-turvy

It seems everything has changed since I once began making initial life plans for myself!

And it all started with college [insert flashback noise and images here]...

Since visiting the campus my junior year of high school so many years ago, I've always known that I wanted to someday live in Los Angeles. Despite my extensive activities, honors, high gpa and test scores -- I was denied entry into that school.

At the time, I thought Santa Barbara was the shorter end of the deal and I was settling. Oh how wrong I was! The past four years have been incredible and I'm really glad I got to experience them. (Keep this theme in mind for the rest of this post).

Even though I have encountered some setbacks to my original life plan, I'm still moving along rather smoothly. While I again was denied my heart's desire for a job in major league baseball, I still was able to land a job in professional beach volleyball that I've grown to love as the months go on.

Even though I most likely will not be going on to France -- something was initially mixed up and confused about, but later grew to want that and only that -- I've been tentatively offered a chance to stay with my current company and perhaps land a full-time, salaried position!

Which means, I finally get to circle back to where I originally wanted to be, by moving to Los Angeles in the next month and a half (or so).

Life has a funny way of dropping you in places you want to be and it seems like it has a different agenda and schedule planned out for me than I had for myself. Oh yeah, and, Manhattan Beach, here I come for the final Southern California AVP Tour stop in 2007.

Good with the bad

As much as the A's seem to suck lately (ok, on and off) I think if I end up staying in the United States next year, I'm going to be very happy with that decision based solely on Major League Baseball -- which does not exist in France.

Enough about that.

For my brief visa update, I've made an appointment for August 27th-ish. Since my blood pressure seems to rise to unspeakable levels whenever I even think about the French Consulate, I'll merely state that I have nothing to lose by going to get my visa.

Either I'll have it sent to me on time and go abroad (and pay ungodly amounts for last minute Europe flights), or I'll have "wasted" a half-day in the French corner of San Francisco with a visa sticker on my passport to show for it.

I guess then I could always pretend that I've spent this lavish year in the south of France.

Also thinking, it may be much easier to keep up all my sports industry-related contacts if I remain an American resident.

...But that also means the possibility of jury duty.

Oh well, it's like tossing a coin. I'm losing out on something either way, but I'm also gaining a lot from both sides. All I can do is wait and see.

La choque

I guess I'm going to start August off with a new outlook on my supposed European journey:

Salops.

Today is the day I was supposed to apply for my visa. Read that line very carefully. After getting off BART, I was pleasantly shocked to see San Francisco heavily covered in a chilly layer of fog. But my spirits were up, because soon I was going to have physical evidence of becoming a French resident. As I turned a few corners -- impressed because I was navigating the big city alone, something I've never done before -- my energy seemed to increase as I saw more and more signs I was getting close.

It was as if I had been transported right into the heart of a French metropolitan city. To my right I saw a Tabac sign, just like the ones I grew acustomed to on every street corner in France. On the left, L'Hôtel des Arts and then another small, yet bustling, French café opened its doors to Francophiles along the gray streets of San Francisco.

The tri-color flag just down the street signaled the French consulate and I was gliding on air at that point. Standing in line, my eyes wandered to the consulate's hours of operation sign. My heart raced a little when I read the words "Appointment only." How did I miss that on the website? I triple checked the website to make sure I had all the right papers with me. Two copies and the original of my passport, passport-sized photos, my arrêté de nomination, the visa application and an itinary for my flight. It was all in my envelope, taunting the fact that I was not 100% prepared.

I figured I'd give it a shot anyhow. What's the worst that could happen? I'll stick around after making an appointment in person? Turns out I ran into the rudest security guard I've ever encountered in my life. He spoke neither English nor French very well. After he informed me that I could only make an appointment online, I still wasn't panicing and called my mom to see if she could do it. However, the link was broken.

Trying my luck a second time, I walked up to the security guard and told him the site wasn't working and if I could just please speak to someone who could help me make an appointment in person... But he would have none of it and sent me off, broken-hearted.

I'm beginning to learn a lot about my character as the years go on, because my eyes welled up with giant tears right there on the street. I couldn't hold it in, but by the time they started falling, I was already fleeing the French corner of the city that I so badly wanted to be in.

Now all it stood for was a dream that was always just beyond my grasp. If I'll ever be able to make an appointment, you have to do so three weeks in advance. That takes us to the end of August. Then it takes 2-3 months to process a visa request, which would be about late-October to November -- too late for me to start teaching by my October 1 deadline. I tried calling the program coordinator, but I don't think she can do anything to expidite this process. All I can do now is wait and keep checking the website each day.

So now I'm at a loss once again. Do I schedule my ticket and risk blowing $1,000? Or do I wait until I have my visa to do so and then have to pay close to $2,000 so close to the departure date?

And if I don't go, I know I'll always be wondering what it could have been like, upset at myself for never siezing this chance when in reality it was kind of impossible. Then I'll be stuck in the United States with no job, no place to live and no boyfriend, because in preparation for my departure, we kind of decided to split up in order to lessen the pain that could possibly ensue had I left for France fresh off the break-up. The one thing that's worse than breaking up with someone and not being able to see them because you're thousands of miles away is being only 300 miles away, without him.

So that means that right now I'm heart-broken without a good cause. And the only thing that could make me feel a little better about that fact is slipping away from me.