about a girl

Happy Birthday!

2010-08-28T03:21:00.000-07:00

Today I am celebrating my one-year anniversary in Paris.

It's strange to even think about it, really. Some days I feel like I've just gotten here--I'm still struggling with communicating in French (at least longer than simple conversations, shopping, and public interactions) and although I am finished with classes and beginning my internship in a couple of weeks (eek!) I don't feel fully settled or at home. I miss my friends and family terribly right now. I never thought that I would be the type of person who needed to be close to her family (I am, after all, an only child and my family is relatively small), but having no way to communicate except by phone is beginning to take its toll. I want my mom and dad and Brit to see how I live, to know what I'm talking about when I talk about the market I go to each week, to know what my house looks like. I want them to know Monsieur, who has become such a big part of my life. It's a palpable ache that is always in the back of my mind. I have made this decision, and while I am so happy living in Paris for the most part, and I appreciate the fact that I am living a dream that I have had since I was a little girl, it's difficult to have only a couple of people close by who I can count on. It is definitely hard to make lasting connections in Paris.

On the other hand, I feel sometimes like I've been here forever. I chat with my market vendors now, I explore new neighborhoods every day, and I am in love. Monsieur and I have largely come to terms with our differing personalities, so even though he still drives me crazy about leaving his shoes strewn around the house and his finances left to chance, now I find it mostly endearing instead of fury-inducing. We just got back from an amazingly relaxing vacation and are leaving again in two weeks for a short trip to Portugal just before I begin working. I am happy and in love and although I get stabbing pains in my chest thinking about the "what ifs..." of the future and my future in France, I trust that our commitment to each other will get us through.

I'm planning on going on a pickle and hot sauce making adventure with Meg today and having a picnic with some girls from school on the canal tonight to celebrate my awkward leap into parisienne-ness. It's definitely days like these--cool, sunny late summer days spent cooking and laughing and lounging with friends--that makes all of the heartache worthwhile.

Recap: Part Two

2010-08-05T12:18:00.000-07:00

Another sporadic post, to be sure. I feel very listless these days, but it seems more often than not that I am alone with my thoughts and unable to directly put a finger on what it is I am feeling, let alone what I want to say.

In April school began winding down. I felt like I could see the light at the end of the tunnel; yet, the "tunnel" was school in Paris, not necessarily school itself. I began worrying about the future. Monsieur and I were still going strong, but it wasn't just for him that I was feeling anxious. I honestly felt like I had only begun my journey here in France--only scratched the surface of what could be, what I could be--and knowing that the first stage was nearly over was frightening. Meighan had her birthday party where I came to realize that my anxieties over my French friends weren't only anxieties--most of them, while nice enough, weren't the type of people with whom I felt a real connection. A few were even shallow, hateful towards other girls which in turn made me feel like I had never really left L.A. Meighan and I began talking of our plan to move in together once the semester was over, as my apartment would be unavailable after May.

May went by incredibly fast. Finals, end-of-the-year cocktails and dinners for my program and graduating classmates, and desperate searches for an apartment occupied a great deal of my time. I came to realize that a mutual parisienne friend of ours had asked Meighan to live with her, and although M stated that she would never "leave me out in the street," that her loyalties lied elsewhere. This was really difficult. Monsieur, having to vacate his own apartment in the suburbs at the end of June, asked me to move in with him. Against my better judgment from lessons learned in the past, I agreed. What is life but an adventure? I would rather give my heart freely than be wondering "what if"... . After a few false starts (mostly having to do with my non-EU status), we found a tiny one bedroom in one of my favorite neighborhoods. We also had an opportunity to meet my friend Eva and her husband in Alsace for an amazing weekend filled with cows, mountain views, camping, and laughter. I honestly wish she lived closer because it was such a thrill to be in the company of someone who I can not only speak freely to, but who has known me before all of this! We finished the month moving into the aforementioned apartment.

June. Oh, June. I began classes again--a wonderful class on Food, Identity, and Communication which focused on comparisons between gastronomical discourse in France and nutritional discourse in the U.S.. We culminated our exploration by going to the Jura region of France to sample Comté cheese and other terroir products. It was a very intense three weeks, but it also offered a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Unfortunately, the time-consuming class, the coordinating trip, and unpacking/making myself feel at home took its toll on my relationship with Monsieur. We had such terrible, terrible fights over the stupidest things. I chalked it up to readjustment and stress, but he seemed completely at odds over what to do. Meighan and I bonded over the World Cup, which was nice. It definitely gave us an excuse to meet, google image photos of cute players, and generally hang out at pubs around town. Being with her gave me a break from the turmoil at home and reassured me that I really did have a good friend here.

In July, things began to get better, especially by midmonth. I finished my last class as a grad student (the most horrible class I have ever taken btw), and started searching for my internship in earnest. I was so completely stressed out by it all--I had sent out approximately 35 CVs and cover letters over the past two months with no response--that I began mentally preparing myself to have to write a thesis instead and at the very worst, to go back the U.S. I also succumbed to a horrible bout of depression and homesickness which was completely surprising and viscerally painful. I haven't seen my parents or my friends in almost one year and it is shocking to think I may go almost another year before seeing them again. I think seeing me like this really helped Monsieur to realize how difficult it is to live in another language all of the time, without those people who know and love you best. I think it really helped to have him take extra care to make me feel at home here. And, at the end of the month I had a whirlwind interview and offer of employment at a parisian ad agency! I can enjoy this last month off and look forward to going back to work....

And now, we're in august. I am more in love than ever, excited for my new job, and looking forward to going on not one, but two vacations. Paris is completely dead--I was told countless times, but it is still shocking to see throngs of tourists amid closed boulangeries, boutiques, and restaurants. It's difficult to be at home alone all day; I'm still terribly homesick, so I walk several miles around Paris when I can, avoid the tourists at all costs, and cook at night for Monsieur. I honestly think he's going to freak out when I begin working and all of the homemade desserts and complicated dinners stop. We are going to a friend's house in Bretagne, off of the Pink Granite Coast, in one week. After that I have to hurry to get my birth certificate translated for health insurance, submit my renewal for my visa, and take care of my loans before we leave for Portugal. Yes, Portugal! I am really over-the-moon excited to take this vacation, as it will be my first (successful) trip outside of France since I arrived last year (let's never talk of Barcelona again). It is also the last vacation I will have until at least next summer, so I am going to soak up the sun, the architecture, and the food of course for as long as I can.

I really do want to start writing more, even if no one really reads this blog. It helps me to relax, to focus, and to sort through all of the complicated feelings, both good and bad, that I have about living here. I hope I can get back into the habit soon.

recap: part one

2010-07-07T05:34:00.001-07:00

True to form, I didn't have time to post at all last weekend, but true to my word, I'll give a quick recap on what I've been up to the past 9 months.

September: The weather was absolutely gorgeous. I felt like I was being pulled in 100 different directions; each day was a new experience. I became well acquainted with French bureaucracy as I navigated my way through the French banking system, the Carte de Séjour process, La Poste, and French cell phone companies. Classes began and I realized just how difficult it is to adjust to student life after 5 years on the outside. I connected with a few good girl friends, notably Meighan and Cassandra. Together we began to explore the city....

Lessons Learned: Give yourself an entire afternoon at least to run errands. American customer service and efficiency doesn't exist in Paris.

October: I found a Mexican restaurant for my 26th birthday party! (which has now since closed. of course.) Meighan began dating a frenchman who introduced us to another group of fun friends. At one of their parties, I met Monsieur, who slowly worked his way into my heart. I took a school trip to London and had a crazy Halloween in the East End with Meighan and two Londoners we met along the way.

November: The weather! I realized that winter was really something that I had forgotten about while living in Los Angeles. School became more intense, which cut into my newfound social life. Monsieur and I continued dating casually. It was really difficult to do, but I managed to explain to him the whole concept of "dating" in America and how I wasn't instantly his girlfriend just because we were seeing each other regularly. He seemed bemused by the whole idea, but he was totally a good sport about it and let me have my way. Meighan and I hosted an amazing Thanksgiving dinner party at Monsieur's huge house in the suburbs where we roasted two turkeys and improvised Thanksgiving classics. It was a complete success and people still talk about it.

December: School finally wound down and despite the cold, I discovered how truly beautiful Paris is at Christmastime. I met Monsieur's family at Christmas, and was happily surprised at how nice and welcoming his mother and stepfather were to me. I ate approximately 5 kilos of foie gras and terrine de canard and promptly went into a food coma which lasted several days. Monsieur gave me tickets to the Opera as a Christmas present and I had a major freakout because they were for March and I still hadn't made up my mind about our relationship....

January: Meighan and I went on an ill-fated trip to Barcelona that ended in us coming back to Paris early, sans computer, phone, house keys, passport, credit cards, or dignity. It's a long story, but let's just say that I will not be going back to that city. School began just as I was getting my life back in order. Monsieur was so very sweet during the whole thing. He held my hand and drove me around to my various appointments at the Préfecture and embassy without a complaint. I discovered a Lucha Libre Mexican wrestling bar in Paris with real nachos! and margaritas! Monsieur and I finally became "officially" a couple. I decided that I needed to let go of all of my past issues and either enjoy my time with Monsieur and a be open to our relationship or just move on.

Februrary: Planned a trip to Bretagne (Brittany) France to stay in Monsieur's family's house there.

March: Went to Bretagne for two weeks and had an amazing time, despite a battle with food poisoning. I learned how to roast a chicken and tasted some of the best oysters of my life.

more to come...

Well, that took longer than I thought it would....

2010-07-01T12:43:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in almost year. At first, I thought that I would pick back up after my first semester of grad school had ended. Those first few months in Paris were filled with activity, new experience, shocking adjustments, and new friends. It was difficult to describe everything that was going on in my life, so I didn't. Then, I thought of maybe abandoning this blog, giving up on my attempt at documenting my life here in Paris and instead concentrating on staying connected to the people at home whom I have come to miss so much. Now, I've decided to make amends to my poor, long-neglected space. I have one more week of classes to go, so I really don't have an excuse not to write. In the coming days I hope to recap the past nine months to get myself back into the groove again.

I hope you won't be disappointed. I hope I'm not....

the girl's summer in denial comes to a screeching halt

2009-08-04T14:43:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in so long.
That, of course, is an understatement.

I'm currently sitting in Brit's living room waiting for my homemade egg noodle dough to dry enough to cut into what will probably be my dinner (and the dinner of all my friends) for several days. I have been staying at Brit's house for over a week now, baby-sitting her dog and pretending that I once again live in LA. I've been seeing the boy regularly, going to dinners and shows, meeting his sister, brushing our teeth together and waking up in the morning to see him off to work. It has been nice. comfortable. Several times I have caught myself thinking, "I could get used to this...."

But like any complicated lie, the truth soon rears its ugly head. Brit returns tomorrow, and I will retreat back to OC to attempt to sell my car, give away an apartment worth of belongings, and begin packing for my move. My self-delusion will eventually give way to reality and all of the casual nights watching movies, taking dogs for walks, and generally playing girlfriend/homemaker will be replaced with "okay, so I can probably make it up next thursday, but only after rush hour, and only if I have a place to spend the night."

The truth is, I have enjoyed playing house back in my old neighborhood with a boy that takes me to my favorite restaurants and wants to spend every day with me. With only three weeks left, it becomes difficult imagining going back to the way things were a few months ago, meaning pretending that we're a couple and that i'm not going anywhere. In his painfully quiet way, I can tell the boy is feeling it, too. Instead of improvising, we've begun to make definite plans weeks in the future, trying to squeeze out every LA experience we can before I leave. I'm feeling the pressures of family, friends, and responsibility.

I still can't say whether or not anything would come of this if I wasn't leaving. Sometimes I let myself daydream about falling in love again, waking up next to someone who knows me best, spending holidays and weekends together as a complete unit, in sync with each other's moods and nuances, ways of speaking and telling jokes. I feel myself forcing myself to pull back, to assess the situation rationally, logically. I find myself questioning what the point of all of this is, what it's going to end up doing to me, or worse, to him.

It's always easier being the one who leaves. You have the opportunity to reinvent yourself, to change direction, to discover new things. Life isn't the same as it has ever been before. The person left behind, both physically and emotionally, is left with the same life and the same experiences, but without the person who has become a fixture in it all. I feel like a terribly selfish person when I let myself dwell too much on what's to become of him after i'm gone. In my own overly analytical and self-depricating way, I assume all responsibility for what becomes of this relationship, this friendship that I have allowed to develop. But is it really me holding the puppet strings? He has known, like all of my friends, that I am leaving. Isn't it ultimately his responsibility to take care of himself? Is he?

I'm not sure how to resolve this situation. I care about him, but i'm not in love with him. I've carefully distanced myself from those feelings on purpose from the beginning. I guess that all that's left is to enjoy the few, fleeting moments I have left, to embrace all of the good things that have happened to me this summer, and begin to prepare both myself and those closest to me for my imminent departure.

the girl and the boy

2009-06-13T15:45:00.000-07:00

Life has sort of taken on a set schedule these past few weeks. Monday through Friday I get up, go to the YMCA, come back and make myself lunch, study some French, watch a movie or surf the Internet, and then fall asleep by midnight utterly exhausted. I don’t know where this fatigue is coming from because it isn’t like I’m working out that hard (or at least I haven’t gotten the results that I expected if I have been.) I go to my tutor twice a week now, feeling more and more ill prepared for Paris the closer I get to going. I’m waiting for that lightening moment, like I felt in college, where all of a sudden I understood almost everything I heard on listening comprehension exercises and could express myself, although ineloquently, without stammering and racking my brain for the correct verb conjugation. The website that my good friend Eva sent me has helped me to fit in a few more listening comprehension hours per week, and my Advanced French Review book is helping me recall all of those pesky verb tenses that flew the coop shortly after graduation, but I’m beginning to worry about how well I’ll do on my own.

My weekends have become unexpectedly more interesting. My “I’m a broken, lonely human being who feels unloved and superstitious about begininning the new year without a new year’s kiss” makeout partner, who then turned into my “we’re stranded and drunk so let’s try to get home safely” cinco de mayo karaoke partner has become, gulp, sort of the guy I’m dating? Spending time with? I’m not sure how to adequately describe our relationship, other than the fact that I sleep over sometimes, we go to the movies and to brunch, and he’s even gone to karaoke a few times with Brit, D, and me (which is admirable—most guys would run for the hills. Karaoke is a serious undertaking for us.) He’s told me that I’m beautiful, he’s gotten up early in the morning after a night of drinking to get me a McDonald’s Diet Coke (my personal hangover cure), and he’s told me that he’s going to miss me when I move to Paris.

That’s the problem, though. I’m moving in two months, so I can’t determine whether I’m spending time with him because I genuinely like him, although he Is definitely not my usual type (which is probably a good thing), or if it’s just sort of a “practice dating partner” in order for me to get over my heartbreak, soothe my bitterness, and be open to falling in love again. I like that he’s seven years older than me; therefore, he’s not an arrogant asshole trying to go out every night to bars in order to sleep with as many 21-year-old aspiring actresses as humanly possible. I like that he is extremely intelligent, especially about history and politics. I like his apartment—superficial sounding, I know, but I happen to believe that how you decide to live says a lot about you. His walls are painted in complimentary colors, he has actual furniture that goes well together without being too matchy, and he keeps his alcohol in those antique decanters with the silver labels hung around the necks on tiny chains. I love those things. I love that he takes me to Jazz Brunch in South Central LA and to grab drinks at the Frolic Room. I love that I’ve known the entire time that I’ve known him that I’m going to Europe, so I’ve been able to be myself without caring what he thinks about me. If he is turned off, so what? I’m going to be having an illicit affair with the City of Lights.

He’s really shy, though, which bugs me. Sometimes I don’t know whether he’s having a good time or is wishing I would leave. There’s none of the infatuated, silly conversations that guys I have dated before initiate late at night and in the morning. He doesn’t try to impress me, which although refreshing to my independent feminist side, sort of smashes my idealistic feminine sensibilities of courtship.

I don’t know if there would ever be a future for us, or even if I would want this pseudo-relationship to develop into something more. I haven’t let myself entertain the thought. When he mentions coming to visit me, I sort of smile and answer in a polite but non-committal way. I have no way of knowing what direction my life will take, so I’m afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings. I’ve mostly decided to let go of my suspicions and questions and just allow myself to have fun with someone without expectations. I’ve never had this type of relationship before, so I’m treading in unfamiliar territory here, but it’s really my only solution to the realities of my own situation, without giving him up altogether. And I guess that the fact that I don’t want to end our friendship is an indication that I should just roll with the punches, take things as they come, and generally simplify my last months in LA.

I’m happier than I have been in awhile, and I guess that’s what counts, right? I feel like I’m mostly too neurotic and over-analytical, especially about friends and lovers. I find it difficult just to let things simplify themselves naturally, allowing people to come in and out of my life like the tide. I get scared, bruised, and end up needed to hold onto people tightly in order to make some sense out of things, when in actuality, the universe would continue unfolding whether or not I understand what exactly is unfolding around me, why people are acting the way they are, and how I’m supposed to be dealing with the sometimes messy world I’ve constructed for myself.

Random Update.

2009-05-21T22:01:00.000-07:00

I've been incredibly lax in writing lately. I could blame it on the good weather, the almost random extended weekends that i've had with friends in LA, or the fact that I haven't thought of what i've come to call THE EVENT in quite some time, but I can't pinpoint it exactly.

I got my visa quietly, without fanfare, on May 5, Cinco de Mayo. That day was overshadowed by an almost desperate need to celebrate one of LA's most revered holidays. To me it has always heralded the beginning of summer--of pool parties and weekend trips and spontaneous, sun-soaked adventures. This year I ended up stumbling around the east side in platform shoes, drinking tequila, sangria, and imported beer; watching hockey, catching up with friends and almost-friends, singing karaoke, and making bad decisions. Getting my visa wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought it would be, so I breathed a deep sigh of relief and found myself embracing LA once again, acting like the kid I had been last year, when ambition was upstaged by simple happiness and idle days. I probably wasn't the most responsible person, but I hadn't been so happy since college. . . .

I booked my ticket two days ago. My move has been talked about at length, but it still seems so far away. I now only need to secure my student loans to be completely prepared for my new life. I've begun thinking a lot about how a drastic move forces (or allows, depending on how you look at it) someone to reinvent themselves. Do I tend to move so often because I honestly love meeting new people and experiencing new places, embracing the personal growth that goes along with feeling alone in unfamiliar situations? Or is it some kind of personality flaw--moving when things become too difficult, or too banal; when people and things become oppressive it's better just to rip the seams and begin anew, building upon what was learnt during the last stage of mistakes? I honestly hope that it's the former. The Fiona Apple lyric comes to mind:

"I'm good at being uncomfortable so I can't stop changing all the time."

I think that when we leave a place, we think of the people we leave as just shuffling along as usual, making the same mistakes, sleeping with the same people, working at the same job. It's a selfish thought, that we alone are embarking on some sort of idealistic idea of a "big life", while our counterparts are not willing to make one of their own. We lovingly place memories into alphabetized compartments, taking them out in order to be comforted on lonely days, or to impress new friends with our witty world view. It's not a fully formed idea, just some random thoughts that have been filling my head lately. I'm sure I'll come back to them in depth later.

In other news, I have joined the YMCA, and love practicing pilates and yoga with my (mostly) senior citizen classmates. It's a nice, healthy distraction (and release) from my intermittent bouts of stress and boredom. It's located at the base of the Upper Newport Bay Nature Preserve, so sometimes after class I hike through the quiet hills of indigenous plants, watching hawks and water birds. It's peaceful and fulfilling, something that seems to validate my presence on the planet, and yet allow me to escape to something that is so outside of myself.

I feel like so much has happened lately that I can't adequately discuss it all, so I'll leave it at that for now. I need to get my writing groove back.

slacker

2009-05-13T14:00:00.001-07:00

so much to tell! i've been so neglectful of my blog, but i'll catch up soon on:

visa

nous non plus

french tutoring, part deux

book reading

sewing

i promise!

Tomorrow is the day . . . .

2009-05-04T22:59:00.000-07:00

Visa appointment at the French Consulate in Beverly Hills.

I've heard horror stories, so I've made five copies of everything, just in case.

Wish me luck!

Feeling Good

2009-05-03T16:30:00.000-07:00

In honor of the beginning of May, when legions of workers revolt, immigrants rally for equal rights, and the rest of us feel the rejuvenating effects of Spring hit us full-force, I have decided to fight for a change of my own. For months (what seems like years) now, i've been complaining, suffering, and generally feeling lonely and unlovable. Going to Paris seemed like an incredibly long-off plan, which after the first flush of excitement became a passing thought only experienced when some new paperwork needed to be filled out.

But, in the words of Nina Simone "Freedom is mine, and I know how I feel. It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me. . . ."

I should be happy. I am incredibly lucky to have this opportunity present itself at just this moment--it really is a gift. Yes, some incredibly callous, insecure people hurt me. Yes, I made mistakes, too. Yes, I long sometimes for people and things that probably weren't good for me.I have gone through an extraordinary amount of change and upheaval this year, both emotionally and physically. Ultimately, I have to remind myself that the outcome is Paris--and not everyone gets an opportunity to reinvent themselves. Even less get to start over in a place they have wanted to live since childhood, getting an education that will enable them to to something positive for the world.

I have always thought that I would do something important, or at least that I wanted to do something important with my life. This Spring, I am shedding off all of this emotional baggage and making the decision to accept the warm winds of change into my life. I can't help what happened before, but I have the power to follow my dreams, even in their somewhat unformed infancy, to wherever my soul desires. I am young. I am intelligent. I am free.

I'm ready to set my compass due northeast (and maybe my iphone's GPS as well).

I'm ready to really focus on myself, my happiness, and everything that needs to be accomplished for Paris.

I'm ready for my heart to play a little catch up as well.

I'm just ready. I can feel it in every morning, every sunshine-soaked day, every glimpse of a palm tree or taste of salt spray. I'm saying goodbye piece by piece.

I'm feeling good.

My New Obsession. . . .

2009-04-26T16:29:00.000-07:00

I have always loved history, especially personal or family histories. I think I was the only person in my family to dig out photo albums and scrapbooks with any regularity. Photographs not only record the events of daily life, or mark the passing of special occasions. They also evoke strong emotional reactions from the viewer. I think that the creation of that instantaneous emotional recall is incredibly interesting. Family dynamics, the state of relationships between groups of people, and the mental state of the subject can all be inferred from the few seconds it takes to snap a shutter. Looking over the personal mementos of people my grandparents' age or older makes me wonder if we are all so very different, or if the human condition, i.e., growing older and finding our place in the world is more universal, just told in a different way. I see photographs of young women in the 20's preening in their dress-up clothes and lipstick in much the same way that a group of contemporary girlfriends would pose before a night out. I see children riding high on their father's shoulders and whole families piled into a sedan. In these sepia-toned prints faded and torn, the people may no longer be living, but the essence of what they were remains. They blew out birthday candles, curled their hair, baked hams for Easter and posed proudly in front of their first car or house. We may have access to more information and therefore have more decisions to make about what we ultimately want our modern life to be, but a day at the beach with friends or a family backyard barbeque will always retain the same warm memories, just as photographs of ex-lovers and deceased loved ones will always evoke pain. Photographs are haunting, emotionally-charged remnants of our past. I think that it is incredibly important to remember that our daily triumphs and trials have been experienced before, and are essentially what makes us all human.

Lately I've been spending hours pouring over snapshots from the 1900s-1970s on the Square America archives site. I especially love the photos of the circus and the summer vacation snapshots. Check it out on the Square America website here

Paralyzed.

2009-04-24T01:13:00.001-07:00

I finally did it. I don't know why or how--the words just flew out of my brain....or my heart. I hope it makes a difference. I hope that I have experienced something that could be called wisdom. I hope that I have made some repair.

I hope that I'm no longer adrift in a deep, grey sea.

Yesterday Was A Hoot!

2009-04-22T14:44:00.000-07:00

(sad pun, I know. . . ).

FG, FM, and I went to a national chain wings place (think not-so-hot girls in orange hotpants with mostly surgically-enhanced, um, bustlines) to watch the Ducks game. It was supposed to be an official viewing place for the game, as said on the website. It's also right across from the Honda Center. They also have fried pickles and approximately one million t.v.s. Enough explanation? Unfortunately, almost every other sports team in the greater Los Angeles/Orange County area also had a game that night. So we ended up waiting forever for a seat at the "bar".

This "bar" was actually a wooden counter in between the wet rubber mats the where the waitresses collect drinks from the bar and food from the kitchen. Our view was of the twelve sweaty men toiling over fryers full of buffalo wings in the kitchen. The bartender was a surly girl with skin the color and texture of an orange peel and baaad extensions who could have been any age from 28-45. We realized that the whole restaurant was studded with t.v.'s and from our vantage point we could only see three 24" models circa 1992. We asked for the sound to be turned onto the Ducks game, after all, this was supposed to be an "official viewing party" of their first home playoff game, and were surprised when the Angels fans behind us complained. Excuse me, fella, but the stadium is across the street. Sit outside if you want to hear the game. We didn't come to this "delightfully tacky" establishment to watch muted t.v. and down Miller Lights.

After we had the stations changed and the sound turned on we ordered food and decided to make the best of it. I wouldn't have suggested moving the the larger table three feet to our left if I had known that Surly Bartender would turn psychotic, but how could I have known? Having been a waitress myself, I know when people are being unreasonable and when you just suck it up and give the customer what he wants. Surly Bartender apparently doesn't prescribe to my school of Restaurant Thought. When we moved to the aforementioned table (which was in full view of a large, crystal clear television with the Ducks game, and also within view of another t.v. showing the Lakers playoff game, for FG), Surly Bartender began to loudly protest that we had seated ourselves AT A DIRTY TABLE! The flurry of super young waitresses that began waiting on us seemed equally perplexed at our decision to sit AT A DIRTY TABLE. After spending ten minutes assuring everyone that we understood that we were sitting at an unbussed table, and that we didn't mind waiting for it to be cleaned, we seemed to have gotten everything under control. We even tipped Surly Bartender for the drinks she had served us in a pathetic attempt to get back into her good graces. Apparently, it didn't work.

FG overheard a waitress asking the bartender who's food was waiting at the counter (ours), and Surly Bartender loudly attested that she had no clue who had ordered the two plates of appetizers that we had asked for from her about ten minutes earlier. She insisted to the manager that she didn't know, which is when I approached the waitress and told her that apparently Surly Bartender was pissed at us for moving because the tray belonged to us. Guess what happened next. Yes, the food was cold. And yes, for all of those who know me, I made the manager make us a new batch. Best fried pickles I've ever had.

Surly Bartender was forgotten in our booze-induced Ducks fan fervor, and we spent the next half hour moaning over the Sharks' goals and cheering as #9 got into a fight (he's even hotter when he's angry. . .) My guard was down, in short. Little did we know that this "official viewing party" was also "Tuesday Trivia Nite!" hosted by the very chipper Tricia. Waitresses handed out trivia answer sheets to each table along with a neon-colored crayon. The sound of the game was cut so she could enthusiastically ask us questions about 80's music. After the first two rounds, I was fed up (and full of beer). I took our answer sheet and and wrote "We want to watch the Ducks game" on the line that said "Team Name". We guessed on most of the questions, with FM's knowledge of REO Speedwagon being our only sure bet. Imagine my surprise when, on a bathroom break, I heard Tricia say that there was a tie for winner. It was between "Team Eye Candy" and "Team....um, I can't read it....ohhhhh they want to watch the Ducks game." I was made to stand next to a woman and perform a half-hearted and utterly embarrassing game of Simon Says. I won within twenty seconds. I was made to stand on a stool in full view of everyone in the restaurant and spin a prize wheel.

I am now a proud owner of a teeny tiny black tank top emblazoned with the logo of the restaurant and its tagline.

Fortunately our dining experience and subsequent drunkeness were entertaining because the Ducks lost 3-2.

Meditating on this:

2009-04-21T01:08:00.000-07:00

'Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'
'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.
'I don't much care where --' said Alice.
'Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.
'--so long as I get somewhere,' Alice added as an explanation.

Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

An Electronic Post-It

2009-04-21T00:45:00.000-07:00

To help me sleep, (er. . . and not lose my mind) I'm making a list of things to accomplish in the next month or so. I've always been fond of lists. Blame it on Feesh, who left whole tablets of notes by our phone in the kitchen growing up.

1. Forward thinking! What is in the past remains there for a reason!

2. Passport - should be here by this week or next!

3. Visa - make appointment at consulate for mid-May, with all of the necessary documents

4. French tutoring - with my own "homework" as necessary

5. Yard Sale, consignment shop - sell all of my old stuff/furniture that I won't need for at least a year.

6. Sew! Make that dress I've been eyeing in the topshop catalog, and mend all of my favorite (damaged through excessive love) vintage pieces.

7. Road trip to SF, the desert, or both

8. Pay off Credit Card (with or without you-know-who's help)

9. Brakes for my aging car

10. Plan trip to Indiana to see fam

11. Plane ticket search

12. Boot/trench search

13. Save the $3000 I need to make it this fall. . . an ongoing endeavor

14. Make the rounds with the loans people to beg them for subsidized money

15. Soak up the Southern California sun with friends/family

An Unlikely Fan

2009-04-19T12:13:00.000-07:00

When FG asked me if I wanted to go to an Anaheim Ducks game a few months ago, I thought, why not? Little did I know that I would become a jersey-wearing enthusiast in such little time.

1. It helps that FG has such good seats--second row near the left goal--so you are actually startled out of your seat with every thump the players make as they slam-- or are slammed-- into the plexiglass wall.

2. I've said it before, and I will say it repeatedly forevermore, hockey players are extremely hot. I'm not the type of person who goes on and on about supposedly attractive actors/sports celebrities/musicians, for me it's usually about some je ne sais quoi and not some dude's muscles or 5 o'clock shadow. This is why hockey players are attractive in a way that other professional players are not: Not only are most of them physically attractive (even when they're not, there's some French Canadian thing that I just can't pinpoint. . .), but they are so masculine with all of their shoving and pushing and punching that it makes them hot. AND in interviews they're all so nice and articulate, doing things for charities, staying married for years and years to their high school sweethearts, etc.

3. Hockey is a fun game to watch. Unlike baseball, which has to be the most boring thing that i've ever tried to sit through (besides an IU football game), hockey is a fast-paced, highly athletic, penalty and fight-strewn, action-packed game. I actually understand what's going on and my attention only wavers when there's a beer or soft pretzel in hand (strange weakness for soft pretzels).

I played street hockey as a kid in the cul-de-sac (remember the Mighty Ducks Disney movies? Yeah, I was a product of that ingenious marketing ploy), but in spite of the cold Indiana winters, hockey just wasn't a popular sport. Of course I'm only now being exposed to it, when the season is almost over and I'm moving to Paris in August (and France's team sucks, according to Mathieu).

I'm leaving out #9, the super young, newly acquired Duck that I get all hot and bothered over every single game for a reason, you pervs. I honestly like the game, and even if my love for Bobby Ryan had never manifested, I would still wear my pink-and-grey Ducks jersey with pride. He's just the chocolate sauce on hockey's metaphorical ice cream sundae.

Tonight the Ducks are playing the San Jose Sharks in the playoffs. Best out of 7, and Anaheim as already won once. . . .

I highly recommend that you check it out. Hopefully they move their asses and get less penalties this time, and more shots on the goal.

Hot Blooded

2009-04-19T11:04:00.000-07:00

This weekend was full of sun and plans.

The weather is (finally) warm, in the 80's (31 degrees Celsius today), with that clear turquoise-blue sky only found in Southern California. Brit and I had plans to go to the beach on Saturday. I was actually looking forward to it all week. After our conversation Tuesday, I finally thought that she understood my loneliness down here in Orange County, and my need to have some of my LA friends make the effort once in awhile to come to see me. I'm living on a very fixed income right now and just can't be driving back and forth to LA all of the time. Unfortunately, Brit's boyfriend DB has a bike race today and needed her to drive him around to get all of the necessary equipment needed to prepare. Why this wasn't addressed earlier in the week, I have no idea. Why he couldn't ride his bike or take the metro is another quandary. All I know is that once again I was left with the choice of going by myself or staying at home another Saturday.

I was also supposed to go to a party for the HBO movie "Grey Gardens". J and I have been obsessed with the original documentary for months, and we spoke about dressing up as Little Edie and having people over to her house for the premiere. I realized yesterday that it was showing last night instead of today, like we had originally planned. I didn't receive a call or a text regarding the change. My texts went unanswered. So either I was uninvited to the party or I was left out of the loop regarding the change. It could have been an honest mistake, but I can't shake the feeling that things will never be the same between us. I think it all has to do with the fact that her boyfriend or fiancé or whatever he is these days isn't exactly a person that i want to know anymore, and I believe that he feels the same way about me. I think that I'm the only one who knows the extent of the emotional, physical, and psychological abuse, not to mention all of the weird controlling behaviors he has exhibited. (i.e., cutting up her credit card and taking her keys and phone during fights so she can't leave, controlling all of their money, spying on her texts and call history, following us around, etc.) I care about her, I worry about her, and I hope against all hope for her happiness, but it gets to a point where I become the bad guy because she just doesn't want to leave him. I don't understand it, I'm keeping my mouth shut about it from now on, but I'm guessing that this is why our friendship has gone from constant to fleeting.

Boyfriends. I still miss the one I had, now and again replaying our relationship's magical beginning in my head (this time last year we were. . . . ) If I'm completely honest with myself, I find that I still miss the one I severed light years ago, the only relationship that really affects how I see men and love to this day (hopeless, hopeless romantic meets fatalist). Sometimes I miss the stability and the comfort and the validation that I was wanted and needed and desired. Yet, these days I take comfort in the fact that everything I do is my own decision. My future is being molded into what I want without hindrance from another party. It's exciting, scary, and bittersweet all at the same time. I don't have all of the answers, but I know that I am remaining true to myself through it all.

In relationships you are constantly involved in a dance of give-and-take, of compromise. Every decision, from what to wear to what to eat to whether or not to go back to school is affected by your feelings for another person. It makes me wonder whether there will be a point in my life where I will no longer feel like there is something more I need to achieve, somewhere else I need to experience. Maybe I'll never be satisfied with one life with one person--with petty disagreements over household chores, concerns over what comes along with children and marriage and domesticity, with day-to-day bills, a house and a yard and a car. Or maybe, I think (if I'm feeling optimistic), I'll find someone a bit more like the me that I want to become--someone who is not afraid of change, who wants to understand themselves and the world a bit better, who wants comfort and love and loyalty and knows how to give it in return.

I'm thinking about this as I sit by the "spool"--FG and FM's absolutely stunning 12'x12' jacuzzi that's almost as big as a pool, handmade by FM over the past few months. Maybe a little vitamin D will do me good, although I probably won't be getting a tan wearing SPF 70. Today will be a good day, a little sun, a little pedicure, a little Girl Scout's fundraiser dinner, and later, a rendezvous with my "boyfriend" on the Anaheim Ducks (#9. . .)

PARLEY-VOO FRAN-SAY?

2009-04-16T00:49:00.000-07:00

I had my first meeting with my French tutor on Monday! (finally)

His name is Matthieu and he is originally from Toulouse. We will be meeting at this lovely organic boulangerie/café in Los Feliz. I was EXTREMELY nervous, and screwed up grammar and pronunciation right away. I warned him he had his work cut out for him, but it was so very frustrating to finally come to terms with the fact that I lost the language that I had worked so hard to learn. Ever since I was in second grade and my d

ad taught me how to say words like "orange juice" and phrases like "what time is it?" en français, I have been obsessed about learning about both the language and the culture. I begged my parents for those 'Muzzy' French tapes with the furry monster helping precocious children count to ten.

Time has flown by (gulp) and I now realize that it has been five years since I have used French. Soberly, anyway.

Anyway, all self-pity aside, I really think that Matthieu will be very helpful. We're going to work on grammer straight away, and then review basic vocab and conversational necessities before beginning more advanced topics. He's going to bring in articles on the arrondissements to help me in deciding where to live once I get there (we have a week-long orientation where we're assigned to a housing agent).

I am worried (in almost equal amounts) of sounding like a mentally handicapped five-year old AND of living in some neighborhood full of middle-aged people, tourists, and offices that essentially shuts down at six.

First things first, let's tackle le subjonctif.

DTLA is Not My Home

2009-04-15T23:15:00.000-07:00

I just returned from a weekend in L.A.. Once again I house-sat for Brit and her boyfriend while they were on vacation for Easter. It was nice to have a nice, quiet place to relax for a few days. I cooked, drank wine, and watched movies. I had lunch with J at Pete's and crossed eating blue cheese fries off of my list. It's still strange to me to be Downtown, especially in the Arts District. The ghost of relationships past still haunts me, although I can usually talk myself out of the dilapidating sadness that I once felt. I let him know that I would be in town, hoping against the odds that he'd respond to my email and actually give me some money. I still fantasize (against my better judgment) that he will man up and set up a payment plan with me, that we can talk like human beings and put everything that happened between us in an amicable light. Apparently it isn't to be. When J told him that I would be going to Paris in the fall, he seemed shocked (according to her). Since then, everyone that I know through him--his best friend, his neighbors, his co-workers--have come up to me congratulating me about my plans, and/or remarking about how the French "suck" and how they hope I don't end up falling for "sleazy" French men. I still see the pity in their eyes when they ask me how I am, and it's heartening to be able to say enthusiastically that I'm looking forward to the future. I hope that it comes across as genuine (it is) and that he feels a pang when he hears (however ignoble that may be for me to say).

I have enough to keep me busy these days--dealing with the mountains of paperwork that will allow me to travel to and live for a prolonged period of time in France, tutoring, organizing more freelance work, and now my French tutor (!)-- but the more distance I put between my broken heart and the woman that I want to become, the more I wonder if I'm correct in my assumptions of his character and what happened, or if distance is distorting the truth. Sometimes I don't care, I think if that's what I need to move on and heal myself, then whatever works is fine. Other times my troublesome tendency to take care of hopeless cases surfaces, and I wonder if I really did all I could to help him, or if maybe I went about it in the wrong way. Is the end always this cold? I guess my past relationships have always had a long, drawn-out ending, with tears and frustration on both sides, ending only when we were both tired of wrestling with the inevitable. Maybe, after all of this, I'm just realizing that I'm a control freak and need things to end on my terms. Or maybe I should just stop with all of the maybes and take it for what it is--a year with someone who turned out to not be "carefree and artistic", but rather lazy, selfish, and stagnate. I think that I'll be wrestling with this for some time, but I like to think that I've made some progress on the only thing I am able to make progress on in the one-sided breakup--myself.

I'm writing this without internet, so I know that I'll have to post this at a later time. I really want to write about my first French lesson in years and years and years, so it might end up being a double-post.

A Pause

2009-04-10T15:34:00.000-07:00

Today I am overwhelmed with worries about money, getting my visa, and trying to balance what I want with what I need and what I'm able to do. To top it all off, I still owe almost $2k on various bills/credit cards and my ex refuses to ante up some of the money he still owes me so I can pay everything. Instead of worrying over things that will not change overnight, I'm going to take a deep breath and make a list of everything I want to do and see this last summer in SoCal.... an exercise in the power of positive thinking.

1. THE GRIFFITH PARK OBSERVATORY

2. SANTA BARBARA WINERIES

3. COBRAS AND MATADORS

4. OLVERA STREET

5. SPRING STREET SMOKEHOUSE

6. PHILLIPPE'S

7. SWIFT

8. WASTELAND

9. SHAREEN'S

10. PIZZERIA MOZZA

11. MR. RAMEN

12. TACOS DE MEXICO

13. DISNEYLAND

14. THE GETTY VILLA, THE LACMA, THE MOCA, THE GEFFEN

15. SEWING CLASS

16. DOWNTOWN BAR CRAWL

17. SKYLIGHT BOOKS

18. BRUNCH AT FIG TREE CAFE

19. LAGUNA BEACH

20. COOKING LESSONS FOR ERIN

21. HIKING RUNYAN CANYON

22. ROSEBOWL FLEA MARKET

23. FAIRFAX FLEA MARKET

24. HUGE GARAGE SALE OF MY OWN (WITH MIMOSAS AND MIXTAPES, HOPEFULLY)

25. OUTLET SHOPPING

26. KING'S SEAFOOD AND DARYA WITH O.C. FAM

27. CATALINA ISLAND HIKING

28. PALM SPRINGS MOCCASIN SHOPPING & TRAM RIDING

29. CHEAP SHOE REPAIR

30. MEND/MAKE MY OWN STUFF FOR PARIS

31. SUMMER CAMP!

32. ROOFTOP PARTIES

All Work and No Play. . .

2009-04-09T21:53:00.000-07:00

makes a girl feel better about life.

No, seriously. I haven't written in over a week because I actually got a freelance wardrobe job (my first in almost a year!) One of the wonderful things about the job (despite a depressingly low day rate, swollen feet, and running around like crazy for 14+ hours a day) was the first shoot day's location. We were in Topanga Canyon, an area of Los Angeles County that was once known for its hippy/rock/counterculture ties in the 1960's and '70's. Today it's a refuge for mostly wealthy young families in the entertainment industry. Although I mostly scoff at the gentrified, sterile environments in which most of these wasps choose to live, Topanga is decidedly different.

Once you get off of the main two-lane highway, you are immediately surrounded by old trees, bubbling creeks, and wooden cottages and log cabins (faux 2-story log cabins with four-car "barns", but still, this is L.A.). The air actually smells like plants and trees, not car exhaust and taco stands. I was instantly taken back to my childhood in Indiana. The house where we shot was surrounded by hills, trees, and meadows, and chickens, dogs, and horses roamed around the property. There was even a creek! I'm thankful that I grew up surrounded by vast, empty spaces, and got the chance to interact with it daily. The kids we were filming were so excited to get out of the Valley's suburban sprawl and into nature. It deepened my belief that L.A. just isn't the place for me in the long term. I can't imagine being confined to a cramped apartment or house with a tiny patch of grass for any of my potential children and/or dogs to play on. I encouraged the kids to play in the creek and taught them what poison oak looks like. Luckily we were doing a "real-life" shoot so a little mud just added a little authenticity to the wardrobe.

I took several pictures of the house (vintage Art Nouveau wallpaper, an old barometric pressure meter, and an old window) as well as the property (chickens and creek) for your viewing pleasure.

Little Piece of Home in France

2009-03-31T01:06:00.000-07:00

I found my friend Eva on Blogger today! I'm not sure if she knows it yet, but I stumbled upon the lovely blog that she writes with her husband a few hours ago. Along with her blog I got to see what my other former coworkers were up to, from those halcyon "Sunspot North" days....

I'm glad that I had the opportunity to work for Eva's family as a teenager. Her mother, Joan, is the sweetest, most generous person, who taught me so much about herbs, green living (before it was cool!), and the magic of this little thing called life.

I am so looking forward to visiting her in Selestat this fall! (And eating from her garden... ) She assures me that there is a newly-completed TGV from Paris-Strasbourg that will whisk me to Alsace in about 2 hours. It's comforting to know that I have a little piece of home nearby. . . and someone to talk to who won't be (too) disappointed by the state of my French.

(The above photo was taken in the Pantheon in Rome. And yes, I do miss my long hair.)

Silver Lining

2009-03-27T02:16:00.000-07:00

Wow. . . didn't know that I was such a troubled individual, did you? After the last post, and before I force myself to sleep (did I forget to mention that when I'm troubled I can't sleep or eat?) I decided to relay some more positive news:

1. My unemployment check came early! Distressed that I'm excited about being unemployed? Well, looking on the bright side, I now can pay the €360 confirmation fee for my Masters Program. Thus, I will be officially going to the school in August (pending my official visa comes through).

2. I received my OC library card today. The sad little library is only a mile away, so I can order books from better libraries and walk there to pick them up, saving me on the money I've been spending on reading material.

3. My tutoring skills are working, at least for now. He got a C on his Spanish quiz (up from an F, so I'm not complaining), and he got a call from his school saying that he did REALLY well on his quiz today. Maybe I'm not a failure, after all, mom and dad!

The Sun In California

2009-03-27T01:05:00.000-07:00

I've written about it before, but for some reason, it has begun to really hit home--I feel L.A. distancing itself from me, and me from it. Let me explain:

I have come to realize that for some reason that has yet to reveal itself, my personality contains a rare quirk. I'm extremely involved in my friends' lives. Now, I don't have many people that I would call "friends." I may call someone a friend for ease of explanation in conversation, but for the most part, I only have acquaintances, people I used to party with, ex-lovers and their friends, and the nearest and dearest that I have spent many, many hours getting to know. I can count my real friends on one hand. I think that it's the deep connection to the people that I allow into my sometimes dark, oftentimes funny, and always articulate corner of the world that makes me get, well, sort of motherly with my friends. I genuinely care about them and their triumphs and heartaches. I even pride myself on my ability to empathize with seemingly unimportant things (and people) that for some reason they care about.

In short, I am the person to whom you can trust with a secret. I am the friend you turn to when you don't know where you are, or you need a solution to a major life decision. I am there when you need to move and I am there when you need to know who it was that we met six years ago in Switzerland. I am there for ALL of the boy drama. All of it, really! He asked you to marry you? He cheated on you? He picks his nose? He won't clean up his socks? He beats you? He said the funniest thing the other day that you just can't wait to share? I've got you covered. You're depressed and you can't eat? I'll make you dinner, force you to eat it in between gulps of wine, and listen to your sobs for days. Weeks, even. I'll even throw in some well-seasoned snippets of advice. I like to think that once you crack my shell, I am one of the most loyal people you can have in your corner.

So why is it, dear reader, that I have been laid-off, dumped, found out post-break-up that the so-called "man" I was in love with was corresponding with the sister of a friend via email, relegated to living out of boxes, a suitcase, and a storage facility, sent to live with the only person who could take me in my fractured, unemployed state (FG, of course), am now forty-five miles away from all friends, activities, and semblance of life that I have been accustomed to for four years, and yet no one, NOT ONE of my dear friends has offered to come and visit me? To come and take care of me for a change? Can anyone shed light on that situation for me? I had two good months of sympathy--maybe. And that sympathy came in the form of texts and rendezvous at chez amis (if and when I had the gas money and time to make the hour-to-two-hour drive north). I've actually been laughed at when I've made the suggestion to said friends about coming down here some weekend. Others have remarked that perhaps I can come up to L.A., pick them up, then drop them back off at home after we hang out. What do I have to say to make the idea more palatable? We can go to the beach! We can go to a bar! We can do whatever you want, just save me from loneliness!

I'm not meaning to bad-mouth the people closest to me. I know some people may read this and bristle, saying "How dare she? Does she forget all of the times. . . ."

Believe me, I remember. And I appreciate it all, really I do. But as I feel myself preparing and planning to move almost six thousand miles (!) away, I realize that I'm going to really miss these people. I enjoy planning things, taking care of details, showing up on time, and putting in the extra effort. I know that I can be perceived as bossy, blunt, and opinionated in my less-than-stellar moments. Hell, I know I've earned my (endearing, I hope) nickname. I just also realize that I have the whole summer left before I go. And I know that I don't have my usual, steady-stream of self-deprecating, humorous stories. Dating adventures gone awry. Workplace faux pas. The (monetary & geographic) ability to just drop in, to share in a casual chat.

I just wish I didn't feel the premature stepping back, the pulling away, the distance between myself and my old comrades-in-arms.

I'll just leave with this final message to the universe, in case anyone is listening:

I'm afraid that I'm not missed, that I won't be missed, and that all of those perfect, spontaneous moments we shared really didn't mean all that much. That I really am alone in all of this. Because, all of you who I've loved, whether we have kept in touch or let circumstance get in the way, I really do care about what's-his-name's relationship missteps, the color of your new curtains, and the alienation and uncertainty you feel about your job, your future, your life--because I'm feeling all of that, too.

(in more certain times, mid-road trip with some of my peeps)

Currently listening to: The Autumn Defense

Smart=Sexy

2009-03-25T16:24:00.000-07:00

I just watched another Louis Theroux/BBC documentary. I don't know if it's his subtle use of irony, his ability to be slightly smart-assed while still being respectful to his subjects, or his bespeckled, school-boy charm, but I happen to think he's extremely sexy.

The more I think of it, I seem to have an affinity for articulate, dark-haired, near-sighted foreigners. Remember my college crush on Jarvis Cocker?

In The Still

2009-03-25T00:28:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot the past few weeks. I've been trying to figure out what to do with my time left here, in the city that I have struggled to find a place in the past four years. Normally, being "banished" to Orange County (as I melodramatically call it when I'm lonely and nostalgic and alone) by the ex-boyfriend whom I thought was the man that I was going to be with forever would leave me feeling like I have been thrown out with the bath water. I'd think of how hard I had fought to climb the slippery rungs of the city, to make friends and carve out a life for myself out of the stubborn, smog-choked stucco. I would cry and want to drink and smoke and regale friends and family with tales of woe and longing, remembering the so-called "good times" and forgetting the nagging voice that always warned of his haphazard approach to life.

When I heard that I had been accepted to my Master's program--by email on my iphone just minutes after I had been stood up yet again for a meeting to exchange money with my ex-boyfriend-- I broke into tears. I called everyone on my phone's "favorites" list, acutely aware that his name is now absent. I felt my heart lift for the first time in many, many months. It seemed too unreal for my bruised ego to understand, for my battered heart to truly accept. I reveled in delicious fantasies of trenchcoated strolls down narrow, picturesque 19th century streets. I began to devour expat blogs and anglo-paris sites for secrets to understanding Paris's notoriously unfriendly façade. After a few weeks it became almost a game to play at--me, life-long francophone gal from the Midwest finally realizing her expatriate dream. Girl with the blonde bob sitting at cafés with the ghosts of Wharton, Miller, and Stein. I can't lie, my new focus did help with the nightmares; I found myself forgetting for whole afternoons the fact that my world had crumbled, that lovers and friends had scattered like dustbunnies into shadowy corners.

Then, I received my "welcome packet" from the university. It was less full of the cheerful information on where I would live and what my program would be like, and more full of cautionary tales about botched visa attempts and the consequences of not failing to budget properly. I am now the proud survivor of the CampusFrance experience, (seriously, WHAT is the French Government thinking with making students apply to apply for a visa, then turn around and apply for a carte sejour? Why not skip right to the point already?) I'm slowly amassing the mountains of documents needed for my consulate meeting, and I'm collecting informations about government loans for grad students (and bitterly lamenting the fact that because I'm not a single parent on welfare, I will not be receiving any government grants.)

Being able to actively arrange my departure has been good for me, but it is with a wistful heart that I feel myself distancing myself from a life I once loved. I don't go out as much as I did, phone calls with friends go days upon days without resulting in plans being made, and I've found myself not really caring about the people that I date/engage in random flirtations. I arrived in Los Angeles full of hope, aspirations, and energy. I lost a best friend and (maybe) the only man who has ever truly loved me in the process, but the sunny, glittering atmosphere held too much promise for me to truly lament my choice at the time. I quickly saw the reality of what my roommate and I dubbed "Hell-A" and "The City of Broken Dreams," and suffered through a devastating heartbreak and two years of boring, soul-deadening work in the entertainment industry before I began to find myself again.

And I did. I found myself. By the time that Brit, my best friend from hs had moved out here, I already had a group of close girlfriends. We made lives together in abrasive-yet-exciting downtown, and I finally met someone again. Someone real. Intelligent. Passionate. Lovely. Or so I thought. I've been lied to, stolen from, and left alone and scared, but by the grace of my resourceful genes, and the help of my parents and my lovely FG, I seem to have survived. Broken, but able to be patched (at some distant point in the future). I ache less these days because I can feel the winds shifting, my time here coming to a close. I can wax nostalgic and bittersweet about the reality that used to drive me to tears; i can relive the alienation, heartbreak, and listlessness without feeling it really affect me. I'm beginning to feel 'bien dans ma peau' again.

So thank-you, Paris. Thank you to whatever is out there that enables us to have second chances and fresh starts. Thank you for the strength that has enabled me to surge forward into uncertainty with a curious and optimistic heart.

...and thank-you, Los Angeles. You have been a real bitch, but we have five months or so to atone for the past. You were my first adult home, my first experience with loneliness, narcissism, endless summers, good tacos, and most importantly, you were the first place where I learned the meaning of friendship, love, and self-preservation--all important life lessons in their own right.

a life less traveled. . . .

2009-03-23T21:53:00.001-07:00

So, after months of not writing anything, I actually have a lot to say.

I was accepted to the Masters Program in Paris! Life has been a flurry of FAFSAs, Stafford Loan Applications, CampusFrance forms, and correspondence via fax and email with my lovely and patient admissions counselor. I am absolutely elated at the chance to start fresh in a new country, with a new life. Of course, there is so much to do, and even though I have four-and-a-half months to get my visa, passport renewed, loans settled, and car/belongings sold and/or stored, it seems as though the weeks are flying by.

I think L.A. has been a good starting place for whatever my life will become. I grew up immensely during what will be four years of living here. I lost my naïveté about relationships, friendships, and men in general. I gained and lost in almost equal amounts people that I believed would be in my life forever. And I loved deeply, if not blindly, which I believe everyone must do at least once in their lives. So, I am now a street-wise, people-smart city girl who knows who she is and knows what she wants (and who she wants to be with). Los Angeles has become haunted with painful memories of my ex, wonderful memories of sun-drenched adventures with friends, and bittersweet memories of the first steps in my career. No matter what type of nostalgia it evokes, the streets of this city are still haunted, and I believe that it is time to move on. I am thankful for all of the friends and family that have helped me on my journey, and hope that as I prepare for one last summer in the City of Angels, I get to spend as much time as possible with them (while hopefully eating copious amounts of Mexican food).

I'll write more later on what is happening in detail, but I wanted to begin transitioning this blog into a travelogue of sorts.

A Bientôt

When Life Hands You Lemons....

2009-02-03T10:53:00.000-08:00

I am also doing the Master Cleanse with my friend J. She has stomach ulcers that the cleanse supposedly will cure, so I'm going along with it for support--and to take a little break from drinking. Yesterday was the first day, where I only ate raw and steamed fruits and vegetables. This morning I had to drink a saline solution (to, you know, keep everything movin' along.) I was surprised at how little appetite I have, even after living on steamed spinach and apples for a day. I made a pitcher of the "lemonade" so I won't have to squeeze lemons 12 times a day, and I just had my first glass. Tastes like a sorta sweet bloody mary. Apparently, I'm supposed to drink 8-12 glasses of this stuff along with distilled water all day for the next week. Laxative tea at night and saline solution in the morning. I was pretty leery about it all, being a vegetarian and interested in being healthy, I know that if you consume less than 1200 calories a day your body starts to eat your muscle....but I figured that if I can stay active I will counter-act it.

And...Beyoncé lost 22 lbs for Dreamgirls. Just sayin'

Dream Lover

2009-02-03T10:17:00.000-08:00

I had this crazy dream this morning. I ended up sleeping in because I wanted to finish it, but it only got weirder and more uncomfortable. I was with my ex-boyfriend in a car and we crashed. One of his best friends from high school was with us. We flew out of the top of the car and were holding onto each other as we fell to the pavement. In the next part of the dream, I was with J and a bunch of friends in what seemed like New Orleans. I couldn't get into a bar because I was wearing flip flops, so I went back to the room to change. There I found a scrapbook of his. In it, he had pictures of him with different girls that I had suspected him of sleeping with since our breakup. He also had journal entries in which he had told himself over and over again, to stop thinking about his mother (who passed away when he was a teenager, leaving him practically an orphan), an ex-girlfriend of his, and me. There were also personal things written about me. When I showed the book to J, she pointed over across the street where I saw him and his friends sitting at a table. They were dressed all in red and they were glaring at me. I was so upset because we had just helped each other out of a car wreck, and now he wouldn't talk to me again. Then I woke up.

I'm not so naive to not understand the blatant symbolism in the dream, but these dreams have come with such frequency lately that it's difficult to know how to deal with them. Here is what the dream dictionary says:

If you are changing your shoes, then it refers to your changing roles. You are taking a new approach to life. To see a scrapbook in your dream represents old feelings and things that you may have forgotten. They symbolize the past and things that you have put behind you. Red is an indication of raw energy, force, vigor, intense passion, aggression, power, courage, and passion. The color red has deep emotional and spiritual connotations. Consider the phrase "seeing red" to denote anger. Red is also the color of danger, shame, sexual impulses and urges. To dream that you are in an accident signifies pent-up guilt in which you are subconsciously punishing yourself over. Perhaps you have done something that you are not proud of. Alternatively, the accident may symbolize an error or mistake you may have made.

A Long Winter

2009-01-28T18:00:00.001-08:00

It's been so crazy the last month...

1.) I've been job hunting.

2.) I've been grad school application-ing.

3.) I've been doing the whole "live with the fam and yet pretend I don't live with the fam by going to LA every chance I get" thing.

4.)I've been brooding.

I still hurt so incredibly much, but the sharpness of it has subsided, thankfully. He still hasn't talked to me, written me back, or paid the money he owes me. I'm still stuck down here, feeling like a mooch and a loser, living off of the kindness of my family and the State of California's sad excuse for unemployment benefits. It has taken this long to even update this blog because the slow realization of what was really happening and the permanence of it all knocked the wind out of me for a time. I was so, so wrong about someone that I had loved with all of my might, but as I look back on it, even in the midst of still going through the pain, I know that even though it didn't work out, I proved to myself that I could love and be loved again. Anyone who knew me two and a half years ago knows what a feat that was. My past mistakes were not and are not indicative of my future as long as I can still reflect, stretch long unused muscles, and make adjustments--even if the position seems awkward and the movement causes pain.

I am so very thankful for my fairy godmother, my family, and for my good friends (you know who you are) who play good cop and bad cop at just the right times...

three good things to end with for now:

1.) My Paris application has been sent! one down, two to go!

2.) I've lost eight pounds since the breakup; I feel better about the way I look and can almost convince myself that I will be able to date again in the foreseeable future.

3.) I have a second interview tomorrow.

waiting game

2008-12-05T12:00:00.001-08:00

I find myself staying up too late, watching crime shows on t.v.

somehow seeing horrific crimes dissected into neat rows of forensic evidence soothes me.

I find myself wringing my hands, my feet pacing the floor.

somehow involuntary movement clears my mind, and i can think.

I find myself smoking packs upon packs of cigarettes, greedily sucking down the harsh smoke.

somehow sharp inhalation helps me breathe deep; the tight buzzing feeling in my chest subsides for a time.

I find myself dreaming of you, dreaming of me. Trying to give meaning to what was lost, dignity to what had been.

you won't talk.

you won't talk,

and yet there is so much left to say.

untying the strings....

2008-12-05T03:00:00.001-08:00

where are you?

where are you tonight?

where are you in the infinitesimal space between my heart and yours?

talk to me.

i said i love you with no strings attached.

you held on.

you said i was who you wanted to spend your life with.

i wound you to me.

why won't you give me any answers?

anything to give a little dignity to what we had, and what you felt, for reasons unbeknownst to me, you had to let go.

you look at me with cold green malice.

like i'm a blemish on the face of one of your canvases.

i know that you must be feeling something, or else you would free me.

why won't you talk to me?

i strain my ears to listen when i'm near, grasping at the air between our bodies,

searching for something that you may not be speaking in words.

you wanted a home with me, you said.

you wanted to adopt a kitten with me, you said.

i am the smartest, strongest, most beautiful girl you have ever met, you said.

words lose their meaning when backs are turned.

the ties that bind our hearts are slashed.

leaving me reeling, alone in the dark.

without your stories to help me sleep.