18 hours to go...

Is this really happening?

Today is really my last day in the United States?

I'm still extremely nervous/ scared/ thrilled/ apprehensive/ worried/ shocked/ in disbelief/ not really believing it/ nauseous/ READY TO GO/ shaking as I'm writing this... among many other things. Who knew one body could harbor so many simultaneously conflicting emotions?

More good news, I got back in contact with my host family from Nice (Vieux Nice, four stories above all the restaurants and bars!) and they're willing to come meet me at the airport when I arrive! Their suite is empty, so perhaps I could stay there when I'm still figuring out my long-term housing situation. Or perhaps their (EXTREMELY ATTRACTIVE) 23-year-old son, Philippe, will know of some friends who are looking for another roommate -- une colocatrice. Pick me, pick me!

Either way, it'll be good to have some (good-looking!) familiar faces around... who own a car! And two years ago, their daughter Céline joked that if I ever came back to France, she'd hire me (under the table, woohoo) to babysit her daughter and speak English to her so she can grow up bilingual. I'll do it!

Me, Philippe, Céline and Laura in Vieux Nice, 2005

Au revior les Etats-Unis! My next post will be from FRANCE!!!! Finally :)

Cold Freezing Feet.

It has been almost three weeks since I've cried.

And here I am, with one full day remaining in front of me and my life in the United States, and I cried. No, wailed. The kind where you have to sit down in the shower and hold the walls because you can't keep it in. And you don't want to keep it in anymore, the burden is no longer enough to hide.

Not over one thing, but many.

But namely, am I making the right choice? Is this a bad decision? Will I regret it?

In 33 hours I will be on a plane, leaving my home and everything I've known. I have no where to live. I don't have any friends. My funds are excruciatingly limited. Expressing myself in this language is the hardest thing I've ever done -- I can read, write, understand French perfectly. Yet somehow, when I speak, I think in my head that I must sound like a simple child. Instead of explaining the word "outlet," I describe the "round, circle thing with holes in the wall to charge my cell phone."

"Ah, tu veux dire la prise." Sure, la prise. Whatever you people call it, all I want to do is charge my cell phone.

The biggest reason why tears stained my face today [cue pathetic drumroll]...

I'm still in love with someone who is probably over me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I feel like I'm running away from the one thing that used to make me happy. Why is the hurting period so long? And is it wrong that at the onset of two of my failed relationships the only thing running through my mind was, "When is he going to hurt me and then leave me?" because God knows I get way too attached to ever break up with and hurt someone on my own.

Am I making the right choice? Will I still be able to re-discover what I thought was happiness when I return in one year?

Or am I nothing but a pathetic excuse for a normal, rational, human being?

Let the interesting French stories begin!

This is awesome.

Things are finally starting to fall into place and I'm becoming much less stressed than I was one week ago. Part of the reason is the fact that I've gotten in touch with some people from my school and city -- all extremely helpful!

But in typical French fashion -- or what I would believe is typical at this very early stage -- things didn't work out totally according to plan. Back in July/August, I received contact info for the woman at my school who deals with the English assistants and although I've unsuccessfully tried calling her numerous times, even attempting to leave a voicemail, I decided to give it another shot on Monday around 6 p.m. in France.

She answered and I think I quickly maneuvered through that conversation, only to find out the French districts re-routed and she no longer works with La Tournière in Antibes. However, she never took the intiative to actually call/email me back to notify me of the change, now did she? How would I have known if I couldn't get in contact with Mme. Serafino? I forget which city she now works for, but I think it's in the Var district. She gave me the contact info for the man she thinks is taking over for her, but of course, he doesn't believe in voicemail, so I've yet to get a hold of him. Either way, Mme. Serafino -- my "contact" in Antibes -- wasn't fazed at all by the change. She's completely go-with-the-flow about it all and acting as if she is my supervisor, giving me all sorts of advice on what I should bring and how to plan my lessons, etc. The only thing she can't answer is whether or not I'll have a place to stay.

Which brings me to my next point! I've been researching French colocation websites (roommates wanted ads) as a basic member. Premium members have 30 Euros less in their pockets each month as well as free reign of any member. I can only send/receive messages that say, "I like your post, do you like mine?" Ummm, Borat, anyone? "I like you! Do you like me?"

Again, long story short, within five minutes of posting my ad, I received a "flash message" from this guy who's renting out a room. It looks like a nice place and I consider responding.... until I see that he's 65 years old!!!!! His picture, which is strategically placed at the bottom of his ad, is of him and a girl I suspect to be his GRANDDAUGHTER. No thanks.

That's the nice thing about being a basic member. If you accept a message, I assume you get the other person's email address (since I've yet to accept a message/have mine accepted). Whereas if you reject someone's, they can't see anything. It's just like you've never received their message in the first place and everyone goes on their merry way. Not a bad deal.

Hopefully this all works out in my favor! Everyone seems so stereotypically French and really exciting! The biggest plus for me is that living with a Frenchie will quadruple my language skills and improve my chances of making some friends in the city! So far I've sent messages out to people renting in Nice (including Vieux Nice!!!), Antibes, Cannes and Juan-les-Pins.

UPDATE 12:44 p.m.: So apparently you CAN see that someone rejects your offer. The 68 year-old, yeah he wasn't 65, he changed his age on his profile today!, chastized me for responding "no." He got all pissed and explained that usually, you should just ignore someone's offer. Maybe he gets ignored frequently?

I also received another humorous offer in my inbox this morning -- in addition to three normal ones -- but these two men Edwig and Guy sent me a message saying they're renting out a room in their house, it's a nice family environment, yadda yadda... So I look up their profile and it's two gay 45 year-old men!! I must be a magnet for this kind of thing :)

This is a much better outlook with only THREE DAYS REMAINING until my plane leaves American soil.

Les Séducteurs

Pictured: Olivier Martinez -- the Frenchman in the movie Unfaithful. This will be relevant I promise.

What is it with you people?!

Whenever anyone finds out I'm moving to France, they always tell me to beware of French men and that I can't fall in love over there, because I'll never come home. Perhaps this is a result of all the literature and propaganda American and English women are putting out telling about how they went to study abroad and came back... well didn't come back really, after getting PACSed -- a civil union to stay with their sweeties in the country.

I've been given all kinds of "advice" from -- my doctor's suggestion of all people -- "You know how those French are more liberal, they're very promiscuous so be careful," to "Your mom will be so sad to lose you to a French man!"

And we're all forgetting some minor details here:

a.) I went away to school for FOUR years. I didn't run away with a boy, or a man for that matter, and I didn't move to Southern California or even out of the state to live with someone I've fallen madly in love with.

b.) I lived in France before and hardly met anyone then!

It's not like I'm some mindless girl who falls for any and everyone. I mean, who doesn't like being in love? But you can't just say "yes" to everyone who shows some minor interest. And do I really strike you people as the kind of girl guys throw themselves at? I didn't think so.

Now that I've vented a little bit, let's just say that if my past is any indicator, you don't have to worry about losing me to any sweet-talking French man.

So stop bugging me about it already!!

...5 jours!!! I'm getting so excited/anxious/nervous that I can't even sleep anymore because I'm thinking about everything that could possibly happen. I think today I'll finally put all my clothing into my suitcase, but I've been so afraid it won't actually fit.

Oh, and, I have my first real story from this journey to share another day after I figure out more about who to contact. But I got through to La Directrice on the phone, who, if I managed to understand correctly, no longer works in the Antibes school district. So I'm going to play some more phone tag with people I don't know and hopefully figure it out!

Yay, social reform!

Manifestations in Nîmes, March 2006... yes I was re-routed from Toulouse to Lyon via Nîmes -- what a nightmare.

Just when you thought the coast was clear, i.e. after I struggled to get around the country a year and a half ago...

According to the International Herald Tribune,

Employees of France's national rail network called a strike for Oct. 17 to protest President Nicolas Sarkozy's push to do away with their special privileges in the pension system.

The CGT, Sud, CFTC, FO and CGC unions plan to take part in the strike, the CGT union announced Wednesday. Three other unions have decided to consult with members before making a decision.

The strike will begin Oct. 16 at 8 p.m. (1800 GMT) and will continue the following day. Unions left open the possibility that it could last beyond that.

Similarly, the Strikes in France website warns of taking any French public transport during the fall months... like I will be doing very soon.

And apparently, two French energy unions are calling for the same thing -- big surprise -- strikes.

Could it be that any of these planned strikes happen to fall on the anniversary of Nuit Noire, a massacre in Paris during the War for Algerian Independence, when French governmental officials used unnecessary force to break up a peaceful demonstration of over 30,000 Algerians? Interestingly enough, there's a metro station in Paris renamed "17 Octobre 1961" this past February. Coincidence? Maybe, or maybe the French are just overly-zealous to quit working for an "important" cause.

Yeah, I know right, if I was forced to work 30 hours a week and take an exhausting 2-hour lunch break every day, I'd get real fed up quickly too.

With all the planned grèves, it looks like I'm going to be purchasing a bike ASAP!

(Oh and speaking of demonstrating for a cause, go see Across the Universe! I loved it!)

...UNE SEMAINE!!!

Travel restrictions

Ever since I found out where in France I was placed, I've been thinking about things I wear/do/need/use on a daily basis. I then compiled those things into an ever-growing list of what I should -- in theory -- pack to take with me to France for a year.

Now that my parents have returned from their three-week French vacation, I have two rather large suitcases up for grabs. My problem, however, is that I don't know where I'll be living, working, staying, etc. Since there are a lot of unknown variables surrounding my arrival, I've decided to take only one rolling suitcase that I can physically carry. I'm not going to go overboard and load more than I am capable of handling. Then I'm allowed two carry-ons, one will be my computer and laptop, the other I imagine an oversized purse.

That means I'm still thinking about my final check-through item. I'm allowed two, but only one is rolling, so I imagine the other's going to be a duffel bag of some sort I can just plop on top of my rolling bag.

Again, in theory this all sounds like a good idea. But when you get right down to it, how can you fit a year's worth of your life in four bags? We're not even talking things like furniture, appliances and decorations -- there's no way I'd ever be able to cart all that crap across the world with me. All I'm thinking about are clothes, toiletries, teaching supplies (should I be worried I haven't even thought over a single lesson plan yet?), shoes, jackets, towels, outlet converters, the list goes on...

I know I should have begun this process sooner, because it's extremely overwhelming right now. I haven't tried to fit anything in the rolling suitcase quite yet, but I've been making large piles of things I want to take according to their value of importance. Perhaps if nothing fits, I can just pare down from the top of the stack (least important) to the select few items at the bottom (can't live without 'em).

Fingers crossed it all fits! And fingers crossed I'll be able to easily access anything the first few nights I'm living out of a hostel and homeless!

...8 jours!!!! (I'm beginning to feel like I'm going to be the last assistant to arrive in the Hexagon)

Rock you like a hurricane

Five beers after we left the Pyramid Alehouse last night, Tyler and I decided to take a "sober up" lap around downtown Walnut Creek before I had to drive home, because neither of us were fit to drive the five miles back to Alamo.

On our way through the streets -- at 10:30 p.m., we got started pretty early -- and past the Century Theaters, we heard terrible music coming from this really shady looking bar in the middle of some side street. The bar was Tiki Tom's and a large banner written in Guitar Hero font announced that every Wednesday is a WIPEOUT WEDNESDAY sponsored by Red Bull.

At first, we were a bit apprehensive, but who am I kidding, slightly buzzed and decided right on the spot to check it out. I should have known it was going to be a good time when the bouncer stared at my I.D. for an entire minute, before making me smile and then held my card up to my face for another minute.

I suppose I barely got in because for some reason he wasn't buying that my I.D. was real. Once we decided this was going to be a good choice and settled on some drinks -- Tyler, your's was DEFINITELY pink... ok maybe orange :) -- one of the waitresses asked if we wanted to sign up for the Guitar Hero tournament. That meant the two of us were pitted against each other for the first of, I want to say, four brackets. He actually did really well for a.) being drunk and b.) never having played before. I think our scores came out to like 89 and 86% of the notes hit in that round. So that's a personal first, playing Guitar Hero a few drinks deep into the night!

Since I won, my name was placed into the next bracket against the very same bouncer who didn't believe I was 22 years old. He asked if I'd played before and I responded (falsely) that this was about my fourth time and he decided we were probably even in skills.

So not true. I kicked his ass in The Allmand Brothers' Jessica. I want to say he hit maybe 60% of his notes and after one practice in two months, I was back on track. (You know, the more I think about this, before Guitar Hero came around, I'm pretty sure that podium in the front of the bar used to hold screeching-drunks trying their hands at karaoke.)

After winning the next bracket, I was told I'd meet Aaron in the championship round. Praying and hoping that he wouldn't royally embarrass me, Aaron apparently hasn't played any higher than Medium. And he's pretty damn expert at the Medium level. His friends had a $100 bet going that I'd work him and supposedly when he first saw me playing, he wagered that "blondie" would make it to the final.

So I get up on the stage, shake his hand and his friends call out "Yo, dude who's that blondie chick you were talking about?" and he points to me saying, "Right here, bro." I'm really not that good, but with a few drinks flowing, I felt pretty damn good during that moment. With me on Easy and him on Medium, I'm certain that Aaron LET me beat him at Monkey Wrench. It was something ridiculous like 97 to 94%. Riding my wave of confidence, I decided to challenge the same waitress who asked if we wanted to play. The same girl who claims to play Expert level in the privacy of her own home. She absolutely cleaned up when we played Lynyrd Skynyrd's Freebird, I want to say 140,000 points to oh about 60,000. Time to go home :) And mission complete because both of us sobered right up enough to drive back to Alamo and Hayward.

Long story even longer... just kidding, short... I walked away from Tiki Tom's as the Wipeout Wednesday Red Bull Guitar Hero champ that night. Oh yeah, and we stayed until sometime around 1 a.m. The night definitely became exponentially more random and exciting!

My prize? An entire 24-pack of Red Bull. What the hell am I going to do with that?

Anyone want to come back with me next Wednesday?!

...9 JOURS!!! (I'm finally down to the single-digits!)

Grey's Anatomy, anyone?

Alright, the image on top is a French show which apparently just made its debut a few weeks ago, called L'Hôpital. You can watch episodes online here, at the TF1 site. While I'll get to it in a second, even the appearances of these main characters is eerily similar.

Since I recently became a huge Grey's Anatomy (bottom image) fan, I got super sucked in this season -- make that last season as the next season begins in ONE WEEK! I've heard that this French series is very similar and so I figured why not start with the pilot episode? From what I can understand, and that's when nothing else is going on to distract me in the background and when I'm mentally repeating each word in my head, there are some surgical interns who go through their daily lives at Le Grand Ouest emergency -- including one of the intern's attraction to Frank Moreno, this series' McDreamy if you will.

Maybe when I'm more compelled to exhaust all of my attention and focus, I'll try to watch more than a quarter of an episode. French films and t.v. shows are slightly increasing my vocabulary, but I'm still getting extremely let down with the amount that goes over my head. If it's this much of a struggle right now, imagine what it'll be in ten days' time. The one thing I can say in my defense that watching a medical show means a plethora of medical and surgical jargon. I can barely understand half of that in English let alone French. Perhaps if I watch more, it'll ensure me a little bit of luck the first time I have to pay a little visit to a French doctor/ER... if it ever comes down to that.

And since I'm on the topic of films, last night I just watched Jeux d'enfants which I'm still trying to make up my mind on. I think I really liked it, though the ending kind of went from a very confusing moment which could have been the end, to a neatly-wrapped up finish. Either way, it was cute and I loooove the main actress -- the chick from Big Fish. So overall I retain a general good vibe from the movie and a warm sensation in my heart for the two characters at the end of their journey -- me being the hopeless romantic that I am!

...DIX (10) JOURS!!!!

Et maintenant, un peu de nostalgie

Getting excited for France, I started researching my favorite émissions online at the CANAL+ website (figures I’d wait this late in the game to do so).

I found Les Guignols de l’info!!! Which has the kind of political humor akin to your Colbert Report or Daily Shows. Anyways, you can watch recent episodes and the one from Sept. 18 in France is hysterical! They have a parody on the French immigrant bill which kills me!

The “proposed requirements” for entering France:

-4 photos d’identité
-un extrait d’acte de naissance
-un test ADN
-savoir parler francais courrament
-connaître « La Marseillaise »
-rouler en Peugeot ( !!! haha, yes )
-manger du jambon
-être abonné au Figaro
-avoir une residence secondaire en Normandie
-savoir jouer au tiercé
-avoir de la famille en France (un père ou un mère)
-dénoncer un voisin en situation irrégulière
-être blond (chatin clair accepté)

These images are so funny to me because they conjure up the stereotypical « France profonde » … which I haven’t thought of for a few years now. But yeah, that really took me back, made me laugh and I realllllllly can’t wait to get back to France and struggle through half-way understanding television shows.

...11 jours!!!

And you thought US borders were tight...

So after reading this article from BBC.com, it seems like border patrol in France under Sarkozy is on track to be a heck of a lot more strict than the United States.

It seems that both countries have similarities in that they're both nervous of neighbors to the south -- Americans of Mexico and the French of Northern African nations.

It's extremely bizarre that the government allows and welcomes foreign language assistants to enter the country and teach their children our native tongues, especially because the more I'm going through this process, the more I'm seeing that I am on the upper end of the spectrum as far as grasp of the language is concerned. And I am by no means fluent yet. Yeah, I can get by, but not at a level I'd like. The few people I've encountered through this process who will also be assistants in a few short weeks only have a quarter/semester or two of the French language under their belts.

And yet, if you're an immigrant from Morocco or Algeria -- I assume this is directed at North Africans -- you might have to pass a French language proficiency and DNA test as well as prove financial stability to gain entrance into the country?

But Americans/English/Germans can easily enter the country with a poor knowledge of the language and hardly any financial stability whatsoever. I guess the traditional thinking is that if you can provide a worthwhile service -- instead of sapping money and jobs out of the economy -- you'll be allowed in.

That seems a little bit out of whack doesn't it?

...12 jours!!!

Define "writer"

While I usually write articles for the avp.com website -- WROTE, seeing as how today was our last tour stop!!! -- sometimes I was called upon to endorse the large sponsor checks out to the winners (see above photo from today's tournament).

Well, today after I signed the check and Matt Fuerbringer and Casey Jennings held it up over their heads, a fairly grizzled man looked over at me and laughed.

"That's the nicest handwriting I've ever seen. Seriously, you should consider going into caligraphy," he told me.

Now bear in mind, this is the same guy who apparently does absolutely nothing on site. He's always sitting in the media tent, checking emails and spouting off random obsenities over something. Then checks his "stocks and property values" and proceeds to make another obscenity-heavy phone call to someone important.

Or so he wants those of us listening to think.

Anyways, since I've established that he's fairly off kilter, WHO SAYS YOU SHOULD LOOK INTO CALIGRAPHY? It's not like we need scribes to write pretty ball invitations on scrolls anymore. But what do I know, because supposedly, according to him, there's good money in caligraphy.

Whatever.

Going back to today being my last day on tour, I'm not really sure how I feel yet. First, that means France is right around the corner, and I haven't even stopped to think about that, let alone what the heck I'm even going to pack for a year's worth of living.

But the AVP season has been a serious roller-coaster for me. At first I enjoyed it, then when I found out my boss and the other writer were quitting and I had to go to all 18 stops, I really wanted to shoot myself. And since I didn't know much about beach (or indoor for that matter) volleyball, I was almost convinced that I'd be fired for royally screwing up at some point in the season.

But I made it. And the second half has been much more pleasant. I don't know if I'd want to go back or not, partially because I think I enjoyed this half so much because I knew it was the tail end of the tour. And I didn't really get to say goodbye to all the people I wanted to properly -- people I've been busting my tail side-by-side with for six straight months. I don't think they really got to express any profound goodbyes either, running off to barely catch their flights back home.

With the internet being what it is, I'm fairly certain I'll still retain a good amount of contact with them. I'm just seriously enjoying the fact that I don't really have to do anything for a while now.

It's going to be great. And boring, which is perfect for now. I feel like I deserve a two-week break.

...13 jours!!!

Quatorze jours (deux semaines!)

Maybe I'm way too naive and overly optimistic.




...But I can't wait for something to finally work out right in my life. I don't know when that day will come, but I'm ready for it.

Espèce de carrefour?

The more I think about it, the more I believe that moving to France is only a ruse for covering up the loose ends in my life. When everything seems to fail me, I hide behind an international journey. However, I guess there could be worse options to choose from!

This will be the second time I flee the country to escape any emotional baggage I can no longer carry. A clean slate if you will. An image of something totally different -- something completely un-Monique for a change. However, the irony lies in the fact that my name is rather symbolic of the quintessential French style de vie. Without trying to at all, I am all things French solely because of my name. Maybe that’s why I’m about to embark upon this life journey.

Yet all anyone can tell me is how excited they are for me. How scary it must be, or how gutsy I am to just up and move out of the country like this.

But I want to let you in on a little secret. I’m sure anyone, if placed in the same situation -- no long-term job prospects, two utter failures in the romance department, no central localization of any friends and no debt -- would have no trouble following the steps I’m crafting.

Granted, it will be all of those things, but the idea doesn’t seem so life-shattering to me as it does to everyone else. I’m just another confused college grad looking to find herself in the world. Yawn… All my life plans, or what I thought were going to be my life plans, have crumbled and the trail of crumbs leads me down this part of the forest… forêt rather. I’ve been down this road before so perhaps the second time through will be slightly more navigable.

I’m not really sure what I’m doing quite yet. But does anyone really? All I know is that I want to be there, I want to speak French on a daily basis and I want to escape for a little while. Ten months seems fair, non?

Only when I’m ready, will I re-accept who I am here in the United States. And as they are right now, my feet then will also be at the intersection of possibilities, opportunities, broken dreams and rejections. When I return in one year, nothing will be tying me down. Just as nothing is tying me down in the present tense. And for once, I feel extremely at ease with that idea.

...16 jours!!!!

Potpourri (...rotten jar?)

Here are some snippets of what's been running through my mind lately.

First of all, I can't explain it, but I feel this strong pull towards getting a tattoo. I know it's silly and permanent and generally spur-of-the-moment, but I have been thinking about this a lot. I've always thought, "If I get a tattoo, where would it be and what would it be?" Which was usually enough evidence to convince me I don't need one. But now, I know exactly what and where. Which is odd for someone like me, who changes her mind quite frequently. Long story short, I envision myself with a small and delicate fleur-de-lys (image above) on the lower back, towards one side.

It's not really the tattoo itself, but what it symbolizes. I know I'll never grow out of my adoration for all things French, and the lily definitely stands for that part of my heritage and life experiences. We'll see if it happens or not. My parents would flip, but they're threatening to cut me off financially, so that rules their opinions out! I'm only half kidding...

Next, I recently found out that I do not consume more than 1,100 calories on an average day and about 10-12 percent of that is my daily fat intake. Aimée directed me to this website with a download-able Excel chart to track your daily consumption. And it's not like I'm starving myself, that figure typically includes three meals, snacks and beverages.

Well, nights when I consume alcohol would probably exponentially spike my calorie and sugar count, but it's not like I'm at UCSB anymore. Those days are very rare and scattered throughout the month. Either way, after less than 1,000 calories today before my low-fat, low-sugar ice cream dessert treat, I feel extremely full.

My activity these days is quite mild, taking frequent walks and crunches every other day. For some reason, my knees can't handle running like they used to and I'm getting bored of the same route. Hopefully I'll find many enticing trails and routes to get me back to running when I'm in France!

And speaking of walking and France, I've decided to get back into my old French routine. When I lived in Nice two summers ago, all of my activities consisted of walking since parking, gas and cars are so scarce in the South of France. I had to walk 20-30 minutes to class each day and then walk to go out at night, walk to the beach (ok, two blocks from my apartment!), walk to the market for food and then walk to the shopping areas in Vieux Nice.

So remembering that, Antibes will most certainly be the same lifestyle. I've been preparing myself for those days again -- which I will probably have to attempt in work clothes and heels, yikes -- by walking anywhere I can. Lately, I've walked to get lunch, to the bank, to the grocery store, you name it. If it's less than a mile away, I'll walk it!

Here's to walking the many streets of the Côte d'Azur in 17 days!

New perspective?

Maybe I'm a bad person.

I should probably start accepting blame a little more in my life.

I'd like to exchange this pair.

And everyone wonders why I have such low self-esteem.

For some reason I keep stumbling across guys who are -- in the end -- totally wrong for me. I’ve never been able to keep one interested for a long period of time. Nor have I ever dated a guy who told me I was beautiful. Not like I would have believed him, but things like that start helping to build up confidence where none existed before.

I want to be in love so badly, that I try to fit them through these little molds in which they don’t fit. And for that reason, I am to blame. For trying too hard to see the good in people and waiting to give them the credit I think they deserve, because I really am that naïve. I see people for what they should be and not what they are. And it always lets me down, leaving me hurt and completely exposed.

What makes matters worse, is that they leave me different than I started. Despite all my accomplishments and the success I should feel for myself, I instead feel worthless, unattractive and unimportant. But most of all, I feel like I am replaceable, because I probably am.

The closest analogy I can think of is like trying on a pair of pants. Sometimes you have to struggle through really crappy, overpriced pairs of jeans that show off all your imperfections and flatter you in all the wrong areas. But eventually (because I am forever an optimist), you happen across the right pair, the ones that make you feel and look like a million bucks. And then you never want to take those jeans off.

Well, it might not be like that for everyone else, but that’s how things are with me (literally, the pants-shopping process as well as the male department).

Back to the sale racks I guess. Preferably the ones near the slimming mirrors.

Apparently I like shooting myself in the foot

I don’t understand how anyone could ever treat someone they once said they “loved” the way he’s treating me right now.

It’s unfair, it’s rude and it hurts so fucking bad. You can’t tell someone you still love her as you’re breaking up and then never attempt to speak to her again.

But I guess, whether I like to admit it or not, it’s making me move on a little bit more. Or maybe it’s not and instead it’s turning me into a complete psycho because I refuse to give up hope that we’ll ever talk/see each other again. Because I haven’t let go of any of the feelings we once shared for each other, they’re still just as intense as the first time I felt them. They say you never forget your first love, and this one’s totally taunting me. Sometimes ignoring someone you “want to be friends with” and “might have a chance with again sometime in the future” might not produce the result you want, but instead the exact opposite.

Instead of pushing someone out of your life FOR NO APPARENT REASON WITH NO EXPLANATION AT ALL, you’re just making her cling on even harder. And you’re confusing the shit out of her. You’re hurting her. And of course you know it, how could you not?

I know I’m being a psycho and I know I should move on and I know I’m hurting myself over and over again. But it doesn’t matter, because I am not doing anything about it. And I don’t even know how to pry away.

Obviously, writing about it is the only way I can even start to deal with this mess that’s going on. Be glad you’re not me, I guess.

Did I really fly hoem from Vegas drunk at 6 a.m.??

Here's my photo montage of what happened over the past five days. Since I'm apparently still hung over (I slept when I got home from the airport at 10 a.m. until 6 p.m., woke up made dinner, watched a movie and am now sufficiently ready to pass out again), I'll write more about these experiences later.

This is just to remind myself that I really did go to Las Vegas -- and I've lived to tell about it. Oh yeah, if it seems like I live/work like a groupie on the road, that's because I do. I'm not sure how to take that, but I guess it sort of goes with the territory.

My bathroom at Caesar's Palace - note the flatscreen t.v. That came in handy during showers and nightly prep before going out.

The view from my room! Definitely nothing to complain about.

Day one on site at Caesar's... do you blame the fans for not showing up at 8 a.m.? I almost didn't.

Jake "Spiker" Gibb. In hot pink Karch Kiraly cap.

This is the site at night! Selection ceremony for the men's final on Saturday.

Fountain entrance at Caesar's in the lobby.

Ah the famous Las Vegas pools. Caesar's (obviously) by night. I spent many hours there (see: lobster red skin)

The entrance to the designer shops at the Forum! So amazing.

And then after walking through the Forum, I sort of happened upon this fire spectacle. Apparently it was the taking of Atlantis. Whatever.

This might seem odd to those who don't know, but for some reason I always stumble across blinged-out bathrooms when I'm out with the AVP. The one pictured here is in Blush at the Wynn hotel and casino. I do think I have a penchant for silver bathrooms, so much so that I might bling my own toilet room out someday.

Ceiling at Blush. Pretty, no? This is about as far back as my memory goes that night...

Viva Las Vegas!

There are so many things I could write in this post, for never having been to Vegas before, that I don't even know where to start.

I guess I'll begin with the plane. Last month on my way to Chicago, I had a brief layover in Vegas and I could see all the hotels on the strip when we landed and took off. But until you actually set foot in the city, that all means nothing.

The grandeur and sheer size of everything is incredible. I felt like a little kid just taking in all the glittery sights and everything. Fuck Reno! I'm so glad my parents never took me here when I was younger, because that could have been very bad. It definitely is an adult's playground to say the least.

While trying to find the shuttle at baggage claim was a huge ordeal, I shouldn't have ever worried because I'm traveling with a group of 6+ foot tall people. They're so easy to spot from anywhere, that if I ever get lost I'll just walk towards the height. So when we located our driver, he took us to a fleet of shuttles and we all piled into the Caesar's Palace-bound shuttle. Appropriately it was the huge Celine Dion car. And then I joked to everyone within earshot (probably more times than was funny), "I feel like we're Celine Dion roadies right now." It must have looked funny to see a van of professional volleyball players and staff piling out of a Celine Dion van at the entrance to the hotel -- which by the way is RIDICULOUS! I have tons of pictures to share from that.

The best part? My room's view of the American version of Paris and the Eiffel Tower. It's a fitting transition for someone who plans on living in France in less than a month!

My night was crazy and fun all at the same time. I'll leave you with that and no further details about it :)

Supposedly Matt Fuerbringer's sponsor is going to be picking up the tab for happy hour FREE drinks at the circle bar on site after his last match tonight. That means free drinks from 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. I'm so there. Only of course after the Intern Olympics, which should be both ridiculous and hysterical at the same time!

Pictures to come later, once I load them all on my computer...

I guess it's time...

Last night I made a huge step in my "moving on process," I call it that because it is by no means a healing process yet. It still hurts just as much as it did before -- if not more so this time.

Anyways, I deleted a few texts from my phone that I'd been saving because they made me smile. Trite little messages that said something as simple as, "I love you." I guess I'd only been saving them because we didn't say it all that much, so when I did hear/read that, it meant a lot to me.

I know I'm being totally weak in this process because I stayed up crying (we're talking really crying here) for the better part of the night. I know I have my faults, but jeez, why is it always such a huge struggle for me to get over someone?

Even though it's only a small little step, I think it already is a move in the right direction. Even if I do still feel like shit about the whole thing. Even if my world has been completely devastated for the past three months. Even if I am unnecessarily dragging out and bringing on my own pain and anguish. And even though I still care about him way more than he'll ever feel about me...

It's a start.

Happy Labor Day

Ah, yet another American holiday come and gone that really means nothing to me and that I probably will end up missing in Europe. Now that I think of it, this is my last American holiday for one year! Weird...

Labor Day does have a weird connotation though. For high schoolers in this area, it means back to school is here. Today's their last, lazy day of summer. I've never really thought about that in the past four years because going back to college was exciting, I didn't dread it like I dreaded back to school in high school.

It's a very strange feeling not having to prepare for back to school anymore. Well, I am, but not as a student -- so that's ok.

Back to my home life, the past three days have been kind of exciting because with my parents gone, I'm sort of like a responsible adult. My cooking's been keeping up with me as well. This morning Laura and I made whole wheat waffles with maple syrup and berries and I whipped up a banana-berry smoothie (my favorite thing to do when I was younger!). Then tonight for dinner I noticed some ground tofu "beef" in the freezer and made some quick tacos with a fresh tomato and mozzarella salad.

The salad kind of came on a whim after I fed the chickens and when I was watering the plants on the hill this morning, I noticed that the tomato plants were bursting with fruit. So of course, I had to pick as many as my little basket could carry. They really did smell so ripe that I knew I'd have to make a salad either for dinner or lunch.

Alamo really isn't as rural as it sounds. But either way, the fresh fruit and veggies are whetting my appetite for the Floral Market in Nice and all the amazing foods you can buy there each morning. I'm pretty sure if I don't live in Nice, I'll be taking the bus over there most Sundays to get some delicious food!

Vieux Nice's Floral Market:

I'm full!

Preparing for France is doing a number on my stomach!

And I’m not talking about my own preparation. I had to drop my parents off at the airport at 4 a.m. this morning for their three-week vacation to France. At first I was jealous of not being invited on their first parents-only vacation. But now it doesn’t matter!

Well, in the last week since I found out I was able to obtain a visa and prepare for the move overseas, my dad got on this “Let’s eat French food all week!” kick, until he realized that they’re going to be doing that every night for the next 20 days.

It’s not like I mind that I get to stretch out my cooking legs again, because I’m going to be preparing for myself over the next month.

This past week’s menu (prepared all mostly by moi):
-Brie and onion fondue dinner with vegetable, sausage and bread dippers
-Orange-chocolate fondue dessert with fruits and madelines
-Crêpes suzettes! Drizzled with the left-over orange chocolate sauce
-Soupe provençale
-Maple cream parfait with nuts and berries

Yeah, so I’m ready for a year in France! We’ll see how I fare cooking for myself in this last month leading up to it, and I think it’s time for me to take a French food hiatus until I’m actually over there.

But I can’t wait to stuff my face with syrupy flavored kirs, crepes, chocolates, fabulous pastries, WINES… oh là là!