My Rhetorical Life

Well, I have to say I could not stop laughing reading Chelsea Handler's My Horizontal Life. Again, it was a recommendation from a co-worker and I picked it up at the trashiest place I could think - the Las Vegas airport - back in December.

Well it did not disappoint - initially. Her stories are littered with irony, sarcasm and flat out shamelessness, almost to the point that I'm not entirely sure I believe all of Handler's escapades. For example, hooking up with a tequila midget at a party in Mexico, or getting roughed up by an acrobatic Carnival cruise employee? Really? What about the slew of black men she brought home only to freak out her father?

Some of it, I believe. I just am perplexed as to how a woman could sleep with so many men and be so open about it. Or even as to how she could have slept with so many men.... Why have none of these guys come out of the woodworks about her stories??

Let's think about it here, if you pay attention to her humor, I mean really pay attention, the woman does stand-up for a living! Her main job is to get people to laugh at all costs, even herself. So does anyone else think that she took a wealth of creative liberty to poke fun at herself to a.) sell books and b.) get people to laugh and possibly increase her fan base?

I mean, I haven't done the research on her personal life (and maybe I should) but a LOT of her dialogue is extremely sarcastic. That's how she is. I am therefore ascribing to the belief that this isn't all entirely truthful.

For those of you who read My Horizontal Life, what do you think?? Do you believe all of her male exploits are serious? Did you enjoy the book?

As I've said, I could not stop laughing. Some of the shit she says is absolutely ridiculous (as in her beliefs on black women, alcohol, pissing off her father, her Mormon sister, etc.). Nothing is off limits and I find that HYSTERICAL. But just one part of the book did disappoint me. There wasn't much cohesiveness found in the book. And it just abruptly ended. I mean, I get the subtle hint of irony at the end but wasn't ready for it to just end like that. And I want to know, did she actually change?? Or did her life continue along this path once she hit celebritydom?

I might just have to do a little bit of research now. Either way, I liked the book enough to follow Handler on Twitter and I'm really eager to pick up her next two. Also, J.D. read what I believe is the male counterpart of this book last summer. It's called I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by Max Tucker. I'd like to contrast his stories as part of a He Said/She Said type of perspective :)

Phew, it's only been two books but we've already covered historical murder and sex-crazed alcoholic humor. Man, how do you follow that up?? I'm open to suggestions, but I think it's time to take a turn towards fiction!

How Did I Forget About This?!?!

I knew I loved Jeopardy! for a reason...

Since J.D. and I have been gone for a while, we have about three weeks of shows to catch up on our DVR. And yes, I am a dork who records Jeopardy. I love that show and hate missing a day of it!

Well, did any of you happen to catch the April Fool's edition?! Not only was it super easy for some reason, but it was -- wait for it -- HYSTERICAL! The NPH Barney Stinson reference at the beginning was classic, but even better was the solid gold Will Ferrell SNL Celebrity Jeopardy reference for the Final Jeopardy.

I've never been so proud of a broadcasting company in my life. And just in case you missed it (or want to watch again), here it is, in all its glory. Skip to 1:15 if you're impatient:



And Part 2 (For the love of GOD, please go directly to 10:20 into the clip):

Just because it annoys Ben

So I NEVER watch American Idol. In fact, I can honestly say that I've never once seen an entire episode of it.

But then, how would I know about crap like this, if I never saw it?????



"Pants on the Ground" was one of the many songs that unfortunately did not get a hopeful singer to the judging stage of American Idol. But it did go on to make this sweet remix, which is my boss's ringtone, and will be stuck in everyone's heads for quite some time.

Is it wrong that I think it's hysterical?!

Pretty sure this is my new favorite website

It's pretty funny. From the people who brought you Ten Words You Need to Stop Misspelling.

Also, I'm tired. It's Friday. So don't judge me. Just let me enjoy my açai berry topper from Jamba Juice (smoothie, granola, banana, what could be better?). 22 consecutive blog posts in January, bitches.

Created by Oatmeal

Close Encounters of the Fuzzy Kind

My boss is gone on a road trip to Pepperdine with our men's basketball team. Usually this time of year when he's on the road doing radio, he asks me to watch his two dogs. Since I'm a dog person, I don't mind. His dogs have somewhat grown on me.

The bus took off yesterday, so my boss drove to work and his car remained in the parking lot all afternoon. As soon as J.D. got off work, I promised him we'd come by and take his car back the half mile to his house, so it didn't look like he was gone for a few days.

Driving back from Sacramento adds on another hour and a half to J.D.'s commute than mine, so we decided to feed the dogs and return his car after dinner. I drove him back to my school lot where he picked up my boss' car, but I arrived at his house first.

Let me set the scene, it's dark and sort of misty on his block and the only light in front of me was the security light coming off the roof of his neighbor's house. As I pulled up to an empty spot on the sidewalk, I see a cat running across the grass and towards my car. Upon turning off my headlights, I realized that it wasn't a cat, but instead what appeared to be a domestic bunny.

Poor little guy, I thought to myself. It's escaped from some miserable kid and is wandering through the street!

Determined to get it and knock on a few of the neighbors' doors, I squatted down low and made clicking noises in efforts to usher the bunny towards me. Hearing my calls, it crouched low and began to hop towards me. Within arm's length, I felt confident that if I moved slowly enough, I could grab the little fur ball and keep it safely while looking for an owner. Even if I had to put up posters or post on craigslist.

It was at this point that J.D. drove my boss' car into his driveway. Making the sharp turn, his headlights shone into the hedges between my boss and his neighbor's yard. The light scared out at least three other rabbits from the bushes. These rabbits, I convinced myself, looked wild. They were dingy little gray rabbits, while the white one seemed to be big and had well-maintained fur.

With the white rabbit still inching closer to me, doubts began to fill my head.

Maybe this isn't a tame rabbit? What if it's a really friendly wild bunny with rabies who's hoping to be fed? Oh my gosh, what if it bites me and I get rabies?

Frozen in my tracks, J.D. tries to call me into the house to go feed the dogs, but all I can do is stare at these cute, evil little bunnies who are curiously staring at me.

At this point, the white one speeds up his pace and starts feverishly hopping after me. He must have said something to his fuzzy little friends, because the other three then joined him and all four bunnies hopped towards me.

Freaking out, I had convinced myself that they were wild and rabid.

Shrieking, "I don't want to get rabies!" like a crazy person, I ran through the grass and towards the front door. But slipped in several piles of rabbit turd.

After the door safely shut behind me, I texted my boss, "WTF?!?! You have rabbits living in your yard?!"

To which he replies, "Yeah, they are to get Rocky (his dog) in shape. ... They are my neighbors'."

Once I was done recounting the tale via text, he called me laughing. Explaining that the parents bought bunnies as pets for their kids, but one day the bunnies doubled. And then there were more, so they decided to rid of the males and keep all the females loose in the backyard.

Lately the bunnies have been burrowing and have dug holes under the fence and into my boss' backyard. He has since blocked off his yard from the curious rabbits and so their next move has been to run loose in the streets. And it's been this way for quite a few weeks.

Crazy, tame wild bunnies roaming the streets.

I think my boss summed it up best when he said, "The visual of you being chased by rabid bunnies is quite funny."

FML.

Why does this always happen to me?

As I said earlier, we had our road trip to kick off Big West Conference play this week. Our Pacific Tigers took on Long Beach State for the conference-opener, and we actually won! (Yes, I wrote that story... that's what they pay me for) We haven't beaten the 49ers since 2003, but they finally did it. And that part pretty much makes the rest of what I'm about to say almost irrelevant. So here's my 36-hour trip to Long Beach:

Wednesday afternoon: We're set to leave for noon. Or so I though. The timeline said noon, and it also said "get lunch at 12:30," so I assumed that meant leave as a team and get lunch.

Oops, I was wrong. As soon as I packed my stuff on the bus, I realized that everyone else was scrambling to get food at 12. So no worries, I'll just go to my car, drive to Subway and grab a sandwich. It wasn't until I went back past my office that I forgot I didn't drive that morning. J.D. drove me to work so my car didn't have to sit in the lot for two days. With only 15 minutes left until departure, I told my boss about the mistake and luckily he had peanut butter and bread, so I made myself a nice little sandwich.

Which was not long enough to hold me over until dinner. We were set to check-in the hotel at 8 p.m., so I was thinking we wouldn't eat until after that. But luckily we stopped at the Macaroni Grill after passing through the Grapevine and I was able to eat at 5:30 p.m. But I was feeling very uneasy from 12:30-5:30, since I only had a banana for breakfast.

Wednesday night: Upon arrival to the Holiday Inn in Long Beach, the night staff has no idea where our room keys are. We had about 15 rooms and 25 people waiting in the lobby at 9 p.m. for their room assignments. So they swipe and re-key 25 new keys and hand them out to us. Once we checked in at 9:30 p.m., I realized I had a room all to myself! This was going to be awesome, since I didn't think I'd ever get a room to myself with a soccer trip. I always did with baseball since I'm the only female they travel with, but there are several roommate options on the soccer team. But I got lucky!

Or I thought I did....

When I opened my door, I put all my stuff on the floor and went to go wash my face in the powder room area. Then I realized I heard water running in the bathroom, so I went to check it out. And my toilet was overflowing from the top part where the flusher mechanism is. The water was seeping out quickly, flooding the entire bathroom floor and into the powder room area/hallway. So I try to call the front desk desperately hoping for someone to pick up. They never did, so I frantically grabbed all my belongings and went downstairs to the first floor. They gave me a new room without any problems. I went to get ready to meet a friend from the area for my "second dinner" since I only had pasta, chicken, a small PB sandwich and banana to eat all day. As I make my way down into the lobby about 30 minutes after switching rooms, I noticed that there was a large flooded area down on the first floor, with caution cones.

The problem wasn't actually a leak, but that FLOODED TOILET dripping down from the third floor and into the lobby. I looked up and noticed that the lobby ceiling tiles had crumbled onto the floor and water was leaking from them. So that means that room had leaked down into the second floor - someone else's room - and into the lobby. Only in Long Beach....

Thursday afternoon: Our women's soccer team beat Long Beach 1-0. In high 80º weather, despite reports claiming it was going to be mid- to low-70s. I had originally packed pants, but realized after we grabbed lunch it was going to be too hot for pants. So I took out my khaki shorts that I thought I had washed a few days before. But I was wrong, they were still dirty from my last home soccer game, when I somehow got rust all over the bottom of them by rigging up the electricity lines to our extension cable for internet and power. So I hand washed the shorts in the bathroom sink. And had to sit in damp shorts during the bus ride, since the hairdryer wasn't powerful enough to dry them completely. But luckily it was hot enough that they dried out in the first 10 minutes I got to the field. And then with 30 minutes left on the pre-game countdown, I was sweating profusely. And continued to do so throughout the remainder of the game.

Thursday night: After the huge victory, the team decided to celebrate by dining in Long Beach near the campus so all the girls' parents could stay and catch up. We also got a little bit of extra spending money for dessert too! About halfway through our dessert (and the three-hour dinner) my friend Lisa called me to say that she heard there was a massive oil spill on the Grapevine that closed most of I-5 down. Once they had started cleaning up the mess, the closure had blocked traffic from two hours south down the road. One of our players' parents drove back up immediately after the game and said he'd been sitting in traffic for nearly three hours - the same amount of time we'd been eating dinner.

So it actually turned out to be even better that we won and took our time with dinner, otherwise we'd be stuck! When dinner finally finished around 8 p.m., we took an alternate route... 405N to figure out which would be the best way - go three hours out of the way and take 101 N through Santa Barbara/San Luis Obispo and then try to reconnect with 5, or just take 405N to 5N and pray that it'll be open?

Our bus driver kept radioing people and heard that the Grapevine was back up and running, so we decided to take 405N to 5N. It was fine on the 405, but once we got to the Grapevine we encountered a bit of traffic. And at that point I think I realized I had drank too much water.

Early Friday Morning: So I tried to fall asleep on the bus, but couldn't beacuase it was too uncomfortable and I didn't have a pillow. I kept tossing and turning and by 2:30 a.m., woke up to realize we were getting off at the school's exit. So I called J.D., waited for him to come pick me up, went home, brushed my teeth and passed out after 3 a.m.

My boss told me not to worry, get some sleep, and come in at noon on Friday for work in the office.

Friday afternoon: Instead, I slept through my alarm and woke up at 11:45 a.m. on Friday. I showered faster than I ever have before, got ready and make it to work by 12:15 p.m. And now I'm exhausted. Can't wait to go home and pass out.

Anticipated Friday Night Plans: Make pizza with J.D. and then maybe go out! Because....

THIS IS MY FIRST FREE WEEKEND!!!!! Hopefully we'll go wine-tasting tomorrow and do some house-cleaning on Sunday.

Have a good weekend everyone.

F My Life

Yes, that infamous line from Superbad continues to haunt me. All the boys in Santa Barbara used to say it all the time and now everyone at work continually repeats it to me.

Why's that? Because of this amazingly, ridiculous website.

***********

Today, my first graders released the butterflies we've been raising. The kids were sad that one had died in his cocoon and wouldn't be set free. Turns out that butterfly may have had a better fate: a flock of birds ate half of the others. Immediately after releasing them. In front of the kids. FML

***********

Today, at 4 AM, I locked myself out of my apartment. After calling friends in vain, I decided to just sit on the doorstep and wait for someone to come in. I sat for 10 minutes before a homeless man insisted threateningly that I move. I was kicked off my own front doorstep by a homeless man. FML

***********

Today, I finally got my cast taken off my leg after a long month of crutches. I was so excited, until four dead spiders fell out. FML

***********

Today, I was at my boyfriend's house.I've been a vegetarian for 4 years, and his mother made lasagna with meat in it. After telling her I don't eat meat, my boyfriend's father proceeds to say "we know who's meat she does eat." My boyfriend, his mother, and I were standing right there. FML

New Year, Old News.

Now that 2009 is here, stories are starting to come out in retrospect analyzing some of the 2008 calendar year.

The first one, I obviously can't avoid. Everyone's talking about it.


The 2008 stock market figures show that last year was our worst financial year since the Great Depression. That's promising, that's really promising. I know I didn't major in economics or anything, but I feel like the stock market is all a virtual indicator that somehow predicts real life. So unless someone smarter wants to fill me in, here's my take on it.

Much like gas prices, everyone is so scared about a stock market crash. People have stopped investing because "stocks are down" and companies are going stale or laying off employees. So why don't we embrace the low stocks and start buying?? If prices are low, that should encourage more spending activity. And wouldn't that in turn raise stock prices and the overall economy? It just seems like such an easy fix that people aren't willing to latch onto. And so what if the dollar's weak? Let's just spend the hell out of it and try to get back up to par.

But then again, that's just my opinion. I'm at least enjoying all the ridiculous year- and season-end sales and plummeting oil prices.

The other thing I can't not talk about is..... Barry Bonds. Quite possibly the bane of my baseball existence. I think Derek Jeter and the Angels used to don that title, but I'm giving it to Mr. BALCO himself today. Unappologetically.

Apparently the all-time home run leader is undergoing hip surgery so that his hopes of playing in 2009 can be satisfied. Look dude, you've been accused, by a federal court no less, of lying under oath for having taken steroids illegally. So maybe he wasn't the biggest user of them all, but for some reason Mr. Bonds won't own up *cough*asterik*cough* I'm sorry, I think I'm getting sick. (Please note, that article is taken from The Onion, and is minorly satirical.)

But I digress. He went without a team in the 2007-08 offseason when the Giants finally broke up with their home run love affair, I mean for God's sake, AT&T park (are we still calling it that now?) was built for him to tee off the cove in right field. Shockingly, not a single team was lured into Barry Bonds last year. So why the F does he think someone is going to do so in 2009? That's quite the New Year's resolution Barry Bonds, quite the resolution.

And I better not have to eat my words in the future (meaning Oakland, I swear to God, if you snag Bonds this year, I might just have to become a full-time Dodgers fan or something).

Magic.

I know some of you are curious about what I do at work all day.

Well, it is the summer so nothing too exciting's going on. But I was told to play around with and learn PhotoShop because I will be using it often as the year progresses.

Don't be jealous, but check out what I did two days ago:


Admit it, you're jealous.

Can you hear me now?

I'm pretty pissed off right now. Why?

Well, because I don't want to look like a crazy, space-aged alien from now on out. Maybe that, or I'm just a little bitter (I'll get back to this). Although, David Beckham doesn't look so sci-fi and futuristic, so maybe I won't in 2035 when I, too, jump on the bluetooth bandwagon.


I'm not really sure why he showed up when I Googled "bluetooth headsets," but here Mr. Beckham is in all his facial glory. Maybe because he's too old to play soccer (decently) he reverts to smothering his face over all things American. Whatever, I'm not going to stop looking.

Anyways, after taking my GRE today -- I kind of feel bad for not ever caring/studying, but I still hit my 1100 range and am already accepted into a grad program, so who am I to have a conscience? -- I answered a phone call in the car and almost had a heart attack.

You know that feeling I'm talking about, when your chest literally caves in on itself and you have to take an extremely deep breath because you've been scared enough to almost wet yourself.

Oh, you don't know that feeling? Maybe it's just me then.

But anyways, beginning TOMORROW, July 1st, all motorists in California must refrain from answering their phones while driving on the road. This really pissed me off. It seemed so far away in 2006 when Arnold signed this into effect.

Well, I'm a little jealous about looking like a space-age freak, because my P.O.S. cell phone is broken and does not detect hands-free bluetooth devices. And I can't seem to find the headphones that originally came with it, and they can't be just any set of headphones because it's a USB charging cable.

So instead of shelling out money I don't have for a new phone -- which is silly since I think my contract is up for renewal in two to four months -- Monique's going ghetto style.

That's right, if anyone tries to call me while I'm behind the wheel, you're getting put on speaker.

Let the ridicule begin....

(I am also super excited about re-joining the workforce tomorrow! Wish me luck!!)

It's what's for dinner

I completely forgot about this recent development in meat marketing (ha, get it?)

Even more shocked that I never posted an entry about the new voice of BEEF when I came back from France. If you have no idea what I'm talking about and are slightly curious, check out this sound clip to hear the newest voice of beef advertising. It's both funny and slightly disturbing at the same time.

Recognize that unmistakable voice?

No? Need a hint?

...........

........

.....

...

..

.



(You know you've made it big when BEEF asks you to be its official spokesperson.)

Might want to think about what you put in your mouth from here on out...

I knew it was a good choice at some point

So I know there are a whole lot of Bush-bashers out there, and I, at times am indeed among those of you.

However, I'm still not going to deny the fact that I helped vote him into office back in 2004. At the time I thought it was a good decision and after months and years of no longer holding to that opinion, yesterday changed my mind in the blink of an eye.

George W. Bush has given me, personally a $300 check. Never mind that it's a federal economy stimulus check and many families earned twice that amount.

But, would Al Gore have done the same for me?! I don't think so. His silly movie/book would have never came out had he been sworn in and too busy with presidential matters and consequently would not have the Nobel prize to his name either (don't get me started on the fact that those people actually RESEARCHING global warming as well as the producers and/or the cameramen should be the ones garnering awards, not the big celebrity who filled in as a voice-over). So, Al Gore should be happy we had all those issues with hanging and pregnant chads, otherwise he'd be just another boring president.

And he wouldn't have given me a check, because he (most likely, though I have my doubts after 9/11) wouldn't be bombing the shit out of the Middle East thus causing our prices of oil and overall living to skyrocket on account of the American people really just not trusting the president and his current "executive" decisions. Though, in W's defense, Congress and everyone still had to allow his decisions, it's not like it's just Bush that's supporting all of this.

So that's my story. Thank you Mr. President for ruining the economy and then giving us all $300 to $600. I'm sure we won't be in debt or economic panic anymore now that your deus-ex-machina has saved us all...

(But hey, I'm not one to complain about free money! Neither is my currently unemployed bank account.)

That's what friends are for

Wow, I definitely didn't see this coming:

Last week, when I was in Santa Barbara, a few friends invited my sister and I out to a restaurant/bar down town to grab some food during happy hour and watch the Lakers game.

One margarita into the night, I made a quick comment in passing that our waiter was kind of attractive. And -- come on he's a waiter and clearly makes a living off tips -- he started getting friendlier as the night went on. Which could have very easily been confused with flirtier.

Anyways, my smart little sis decided to mess with me when the tab came to us. On the receipt, she wrote:

"You're hot. Call me. -Monique (phone number)."

At this point, I'm extremely embarrassed and tore off the top section that said "you're hot." So now he only has a mini half-ripped paper that says "Call me," with my number attached.

As he goes to pick up his tips, the waiter starts reading over "my" little note closely, at this point everyone but myself goes inside and starts yelling in his general direction, "Come here Monique. Monique!" to make it relatively obvious that the only other girl in our party wasn't Monique.

Now I'm beet read and standing at the street corner, waiting to cross and close this chapter of my life. Because I don't do very well in flirting situations like this. I'm never the one to give out my number or make a first advance! ...Which explains why I've only dated two people here.

Anyways, fast forward one week. I still haven't heard anything and wasn't ever expecting to, really.

But today....... that all changed.

I received this "mysterious" text from an 805 area code (Santa Barbara area) that read: "Hey, it's Bobby from (restaurant name). Wanna grab a drink sometime?"

Goodness, NO! I deleted the text in complete horror. He actually had the balls to call me, well sort of call me. And anyways, SB is over 4 hours by car from here, so that drink's gonna have to wait. And I don't even want to go through with this, because I'm too embarrassed any of it ever happened!!!

:-\

Surprise

After paying the 77 Euros to have my mail forwarded to the United States back in April, I'm getting some pretty interesting things from France.

For example, the City of Antibes sent me an official package (huge) for my "summer options." What options?

Child care options. For the centre de loisirs -- basically babysitting your kids at the closest school to your house, while you work during summer hours. This is the second letter I've received from the city of Antibes. At the end of February they sent me another extremely official looking document saying that I needed to declare my family earnings by March 1. As in, how many children I had and could get "government assistance" for.

This is all new knowledge to me.

I don't think I ever once registered anything for the city of Antibes, let alone claimed dependents. Maybe they assume if you're registered as a "teacher" then you must also have your own children. Also, last time I checked, teachers don't work during the summer, so where is any logic in this scenario? The only paperwork I filed for the city with my French home address was my carte de sejour application and CAF folder. Both stated I was single, unmarried, living alone and a part-time teacher (also a foreign citizen).

I hope they keep sending me information about my children's summer options, because I really have no clue what I'm going to do with them while I work during the next few months. (P.S. I don't even have a job.)

As much as I love manatees....

If any of you have seen my Facebook account, you've seen this one coming for a few days now.

I have loved manatees since the first time I saw them in Florida and had to write my third grade animal report. Yeah, it's kind of sad I remember that.

But anyways, as long as that's been happening I adopted a manatee from the Save the Manatee Club (FYI: Jimmy Buffet is their spokesperson, wow), I have manatee Christmas cards every year, manatee pictures/postcards adorn my walls, as well as little manatee trinkets and thimbles, which by the way, I used to have a thimble collection as well.

Long story short, I think my manatee fascination is over now.


Yep, the Florida Marlins have male cheerleaders called the Manatees. Click on the picture above and zoom in to read the details... that is, if you don't mind losing your lunch.

Trying to push the entertainment aspect of the game, the Marlins this season have featured a disc jockey in right field during weekend games, plus a heavy-set male dance team called the Manatees.

Wow. Wow. That's really all I can say.

Coincidentally, I finally gave the last push in my room's redecoration today. All the manatee photos are now gone from my walls, as my "French state of mind" lives on in vintage French travel postcards and Parisian prints have taken over. (See below)

Global Warming Killed My Boyfriend

I'll have to update this with picture proof when I get back to Antibes. But I've finally succumbed to a French love-affair.

It all started *cue flashback music* in Switzerland of all places. This chilly Easter morning, I experienced my first real falling flakes of snow in quite a number of years. It sparked something in me that hasn't yet been awaken. Kind of like a child-like state. So in this "weakened" mentality, I was able to let it in.

In Neuchâtel, Switzerland I saw this little guy. My first glimpse of a snowman left by some other love-struck wanderer and suddenly, I was inspired beyond my years.


Since I'd already been heart-warmed by this child-like state, a few hours later and back in Annecy, France chez mon papa, I was quickly reminded of my brief infatuation from earlier in the day. Just like that, a wave of emotions I've never felt rushed over me.


A new idea struck my little American brain and love walked back into my life. This is the beginning:


Just when I thought I'd never have a French romance, I was willing and patient to let things develop. I was trying to catch something before that wasn't yet ready to materialize.


It took a lot of hard work and energy -- even the eventual delay of my favorite nightly ritual: tartes from the local bakery.


In order to make things work with a French man, you must be patient. You have to be willing to see what you want to see and accept the rest for what it is.


French men never smile in photos.


But in the end it'll never work out. Our differences are greater than the miles that span the Atlantic Ocean and separate California from France. Eventually I'll have to go back home. His temper got the best of me the few short hours we spent together. Because of his French heritage, he is cold and slow to let people in.

I made a joke about him being thus and he took it too much to heart. So then I pointed out the obvious stereotype: "If you're so upset about it, why don't your run crying to your mother." However, I didn't know he actually does live with his mom.

I let myself sleep on it and in the morning decided that I needed to apologize and we could work out whatever kinks exist between us.

...But in the morning, he was gone.

* * * * * *

I told you snow makes me feel like a kid. Though, I had to put up with a lot to get here, like a 13-hour delayed flight. I arrived at the Nice Cote d'Azur airport on Friday at 6:30 p.m., a little early for my flight. When the kiosk finally opened, my gate was never listed and "Flight Delayed" kept flashing by all the Easy Jet flights.

Well, three hours passed and the two flights of the night that were later than my 9 p.m. flight had already come and gone. Our plane sat patiently at the designated gate, waiting for people to fill it up. By 11:30 p.m., we were finally given the green light to board. Alas, after 30 minutes in the hangar, everyone was told to leave and go back beyond security to the airport's main lobby. Everything in the airport was closed and half the lights were off. Instead of flying out that night, every single passenger was given free transportation to the Park Inn hotel right by the airport along with a (HUGE, un-France-sized) breakfast the next morning and transportation back to the airport.

Long story short, I made my way to the Basel airport for a snow-filled weekend in Germanic Switzerland with my parents. Here's my very first glimpse of snow, before even getting off the plane:


Though I don't yet know how this story will end. It's supposed to snow heavily for the next three days in Geneva, so only time will tell if my flight will be able to leave ground this afternoon...

Love is in the air...

I guess it's fair to warn you all now. I may not be coming back to the United States at the end of the academic year.

After yesterday, it seems I have my pick of at least seven suitors and I'm pretty sure they all would agree to marry me so I could stay in the country legally.

Let's see how this day started, shall we?

When I went to my first CE2 class, the little boy who does the best in my class and walks with me to school some mornings came up to me at the end of the period and asked me with rather sad looking eyes, "Monica [they all think I make my name sound French because I'm an American living in France, so untrue!], your birthday hasn't passed yet, has it?"

Not really sure why he wanted to know such information, I responded with a smile, "Nope! You guys are lucky because France gives two weeks of vacation for my birthday; it's the start of the April vacation."

Then he looked really pleased, hid a little smirk and ran off to recess.

The nice thing about teaching is that I also get the recess. But I get both recess periods, so I essentially have 30 minute breaks throughout the day. Enter what I'll call Scenario No. 2.

While I was sitting in the teachers' room with the door open, I noticed the "sick bench" was full of giggling boys. I looked back to see what was so funny, but didn't recognize a single one of them. Going back to making my copies, I heard from around the corner, "'Ello Monique!" when it turned out one of my students was certainly in the doorway.

I looked back, waved and they all erupted in giggles a second time. Shaking my head and smiling to myself, I kept at my work. But during the next 10 minutes, they kept making excuses to come into the room or provoke me to enter the hallway where they were seated. Finally, it all culminated in my one student nudging his little friend, asking, "Sooo, Monique. What do you think about him?" pointing to the boy right next to him. Then I couldn't help but join in the infectious laughing, noticing that at least three of the boys were blushing and waiting for a response.

However, I didn't give them the satisfaction of hearing a response. I figure whatever I was going to say would have probably been illegal, because I can't refrain from making a good joke. But I kept it to myself.

And now for the third and final "romantic" part of my day.

When I went to my second CM1 class after lunch, the teacher greeted me hastily as soon as I walked in the room. "Don't start getting ready for class yet, we had a poetry unit this morning and two people would like to read poems they wrote about you."

Now I was the one blushing. Did all the students conspire today to flirt with their English teacher who's twice their age?!

Well, the poems were hysterical. They actually started to make me kind of nervous, ha. Either way, this is about the gist of what they said:

Monique. Elle est dynamique: Elle est tres énergique, mais jamais diabolique. J'aime comment elle est sympathique. Des fois, elle est vraiment acrobatique. Jamais alcoolique. Elle est super magnifique! Monique: elle est très très unique!

It's basically just a whole bunch of nice words that rhyme with my name. There was actually much more, but I can't really remember it all. Either way, it was pretty funny slash cute.

There you have it. The French really must be great seducers if they all do things like this from such a young age.

But what do I love?


Smoothies. And a few days ago I was trying to pass time and stay warm waiting for a friend in a bookstore. Wandering past the cookbook section, a smoothie recipe book caught my eye. And while I've seen my share of smoothie recipes -- I'm an addict, what can I say? -- nothing compares to the French ingredient lists! They're so creative and bizarre, so I'm going to try making one tomorrow.

It's kind of my twist on a recipe I saw in the bookstore, but the ingredients I have on-hand that will be going in are as follows:

-Vanilla soy milk
-Green tea
-Grapefruit (meat and juice)
-Pineapple yogurt
-Honey

Here's to hoping it's as good as it sounds!

Beware of Dog.

So everyone knows that dogs in France are up on a higher pedestal than children most of the time. However, I find dogs here to be a little mangier than their American counterparts. While they're allowed access into restaurants, gyms, on the bus/train, hair salons and what have you, they're not as neatly-kept as most pets I've seen at home. But then again, I did live in Santa Barbara for awhile where people kept their little doggies in purses and painted their claws. Sick.

Last Friday when I was having lunch with my mom and sister in Juan-les-Pins, this big gnarly Burmese Mountain Dog was busy shoving its nose up a tree, investigating hours and hours of other dogs' piss. That's exactly what I want to see right before I stuff my face. He also was almost entirely white, except the tips of his fur were extremely gray and dirty, thanks to the lack of care he's given by his owner.

Long story short, said dog starts bolting after an older woman and her dainty little old dog. Instead of shrieking and freaking out, the woman pulls her dog close to her and looks directly in the Burmese Mountain Dog's eyes.

"It's nice to meet you. You don't scare me," she says and continues walking on her merry way.

It's almost like they think that dogs are equally rational beings here. Then again, I wouldn't be so apt to call many people that I've met here "rational." Oh well...

15 More Days Until France BANS Indoor Smoking! :)

- and -

8 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS IN FRANCE!!

I SUCK at life!!

Really, I do.

Oh man, my phone fell out of my purse in my dad's car back in Toulon. So that means, no morning alarm for me. My roommate really saved me on this one, as he called her from my phone and she came to pick my up from the train station and she's going to wake me up tomorrow, ha.

...Come to think of it, possibly Tuesday too.

I swear -- to use a totally over-used cliche -- I'd lose my head if it wasn't screwed on tight. But I see where I get it from. Dad and I got our hair cut together yesterday, total bonding moment, and my digital camera was tucked away in my jacket pocket -- or so I thought. When she put the drape over me, the hairdresser put my jacket and shopping bag in the closet. As we're leaving, I reached into my pocket, then my purse and started to freak out because of course, the camera wasn't in either place!!

Turns out it was instead under the seat in my dad's car. Gosh, I don't ever drop things down there. But point of my story, as we returned to Jean-Claude's house, my dad had the same mental lapse. He started freaking out looking for his camera because he too thought it was gone. I think his car is a kleptomaniac, because his camera had also fallen into its depths. That glovebox is pretty deep.

And again this morning, after he put the camera inside of his suitcase, he couldn't seem to find it. But alas, it was in that darn bag all along. We really do make a fine pair.

But what I REALLY want to write about in this blog entry has nothing to do with me (and my dad for that matter) being a total mess. Nope.

It's about Miss France. Mees Frawnce.

Total joke. The best part about it was, actually there were two really good parts, French singer Johnny Hallyday's performance. I wish I could put into words what I saw. He's got to be in his 70s to start with and he's a total washup in my mind. Anyways, he actually sang during the performance but I swear to God, the man doesn't know how to play a guitar. He had three other people playing instruments with him, while he strummed his guitar -- infrequently. His left hand never once moved up or down, while with the pick in his right hand, he just kept going back and forth systematically. I'm pretty sure that was all for show.

The other amazing part of the night was the woman in charge of "cultivating" all the young competitors -- Geneviève de Fontenay.

Isn't she a looker?

Man I had nightmares from her. She only wears that hat and is completely plastered in make-up -- nay, face paint, like the stuff circus clowns put on. It seems as if she no longer has any hair, because it's pulled back so tightly as an alternative, or perhaps a supplement, to the years and years of Botox treatments this lady must be receiving. As a result of her hair like that, her eyes, mouth and cheeks are stretched very tightly to the sides and back of her face, like a circus clown's creepy smile once more. And because of all the stress she must be putting on her decrepit skin, her forehead has these terrible splotches all over the place.

I don't think I'd ever want, in my entire life, coaching lessons on how to win a BEAUTY pageant from this woman.

The best image I can conjure up would be just to leave you with one final question:

Have you ever seen the movie Death Becomes Her?

23 More Days Until France BANS Indoor Smoking! :)

- and -

16 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS IN FRANCE!!

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!!!