So, I have the apartment to myself for the whole weekend. I know, this massive apartment, so much space, so empty, what ever am I going to do? Okay, I'm kidding, obviously. Marc going home for the weekend is the equivalent of one shoe being removed from a shoebox. As in, yes, I'm alone but it's still a shoebox.
On the plus side, this means I can do retarded things. Like right now, I am eating a a hot cheese and pepperoni sandwich. Yup. It's good. And for lunch, I got to eat all of the leftovers in the fridge, even though as a meal, all those leftovers didn't make coherent sense. But it doesn't matter, because as long as I'm happy, it's fine! And I can listen to whatever music I want to. Dance around to ABBA? Yes, please. Blast some Enrique Iglesias? Oh, you know it. And now I'm drinking sangria mixed with Sprite and lemon juice, another thing I would only do by myself. I mean, in all social honesty, sangria is already basically made of extra fruit and wine. You shouldn't really be adding anything else to it. But I happen to really enjoy my sangria when it's mixed with Sprite, and since I'm all alone, I can do whatever I want! Whoo.
Oh, and my alone time doesn't stop there. I even went so far as to go splurge on a face mask and nail polish today so I can have a proper spa evening. In preparation for this evening, I bought a bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau (a limited edition French wine that comes out once a year) and downloaded some Grey's Anatomy episodes. Now, I've never watched Grey's Anatomy. Shocking, yes? I mean, from what I hear, the show has everything that I need: beautiful people, doctors, and beautiful people that also happen to be doctors. So what better time to start becoming addicted to it than with my face mask and beaujolais?
On a different note, I have spent the last 3 weeks convinced that today was Thanksgiving. Then today, my lovely sister informs me that Thanksgiving is, in fact, next week. Yes. I found out about my mistake after I had already started making myself bread pudding for breakfast to celebrate the holiday. Oh well, I guess that means I'll just be having more bread pudding in a week! Can't have too much bread pudding.
I could probably expound the brilliance of my alone time some more, but I know that I am only enjoying it because it won't last forever. I can enjoy it because it is finite. If there was no end to my alone time in sight, then I would be a pretty sad bear. But Marc will be back on Sunday, and then the wave of visitors will be continuous until I go back home.
Oh, I can't wait for Christmas. Maybe it is the American (although I am a pretty terrible American, mixing up the dates for Thanksgiving and all) in me, but the holiday season has already begun. It appeals to the side of me that loves taking care of people. Christmas means I can bake cookies and buy presents and cook big dinners. I love it.
Alright, Grey's Anatomy calls, as does my nail polish and henna. Did I not mention the henna before? Oh yes, I have henna. I could paint my nails and tattoo myself all night if I wanted.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Suffering From Suffrage.
--On Friday night, California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger told a raucous crowd in Columbus, Ohio, that Obama needs to beef up his policy plans.
"He needs to do something about those skinny legs ... make him do some squats. ... If we could only do something about putting some meat on his ideas," he said to loud cheers.
The GOP governor introduced McCain at the rally, said the Arizona senator "is built like a rock" and called him a "real action hero."--
That was just too funny for me not to post it. I've been more quiet (comparatively) about this election than I usually am about my political views. That's because I see two things in this election: blind hope and blind fear. People will vote for Obama out of blind hope that he will suddenly change the United States. People will vote for McCain out of blind fear that the country will go socialist otherwise and that we will become militarily weak without him. Who can support either of those?
Both candidates scare me, that's for sure. Why doesn't anyone else think that it's frightening when a man has built up such a cult of personality that he can give a rally in Berlin (even though Germany is not the country he's running for political office in) to 200,000 people, most of whom have absolutely no idea what his actual policy is or even what he is saying, for that matter. It just smells a little too dictator-esque for my liking. Also, it is a wonderful point to bring up that we are spending 10 billion dollars a month in Iraq. That is disgraceful. Good job, Obama, on asking people how many schools and hospitals and scholarships we could get out of that money if we weren't spending it on poorly planned military action. But wait a second. Obama? Hasn't your campaign raised more money than any other campaign in history? And didn't your campaign raise a record $150 million in the month of September alone, to be used for 30 minute long T.V. ad campaigns and to pay the salaries of your enormous campaign team? How many hospitals could THAT money build? How many foreclosed homes could be bought and given back to families with THAT money? Oh Obama, you're a tricky one.
And John McCain...a real action hero? Did you know that a 73 year old man whose neck skin sags could be considered to be "built like a rock"? Come on guys. This is just getting ridiculous. I know you think it's all cutesy, Sarah Palin, to talk like "real folks!" talk. But we're not stupid, Republican party. We don't need you to all put on your best Midwestern farmer's accent and talk to us about baseball and being a hockey mom. That's not what I want to hear about and that's not how I want to be talked to. Also, accusing the Democrats of wanting to turn the country socialist? Where did you pull that one out of? It is probably the worst piece of rhetoric you could have thrown into the American lexicon. Now "enemy" and "socialist" can become one in the same again. Good going. And let's entirely disregard the fact that many socialist nations are some of the most stable in the world. Socialism isn't just Hugo Chavez's word vomit, John McCain. No, it is universal healthcare, like you find in most of Europe. It is universal education, which means that EVERYONE has the chance to go to college without having to worry about footing a $50,000 a year tuition bill. Now, I'm no socialist, but come on, Sarah Palin. Socialism is not the enemy. Fear-inducing neo-conservative dialogue and divisive politics are.
I have already voted in the elections, I mailed in my absentee ballot last week. The first election I've ever been able to vote in. And yeah, I voted for Bob Barr.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Writing about writing.
What to do on a sleepless night in Paris? Well, update my blog, I guess.
I sleep all day and write all night. That's not 100% true, but it's mostly true. It's more like I sleep too late, go buy food or go to cathedrals or go look at clothes I can't afford, then make dinner and spend the rest of the evening writing, ripping out pages, scratching out and adding things all over the place, and eventually I fall into bed.
It's a schedule that's working out really well for me, in fact. Although maybe being so absorbed in my writing makes me a little bit of a strange person when I set out into the rest of the world. Oh well.
What am I writing? Everything. I write what I see, what I know. I write who I know. My inspiration is always so obvious, I think. I sit down to write fiction and inevitably realize that the character I'm writing bears a certain resemblance (and by that I mean entirely similar) to someone that I know. I sit down to write poetry and volumes about Paris, about living in a city, about those that I miss, just pour out. I can't separate myself and my circumstances from my writing. I'm not saying that I write simple accounts of everything that happens to me. The events are fiction, the stories are stories. But they all come from inside of me, from what I know and who I am. Maybe that makes me less talented than people who can write objectively, who can write and entirely exclude themselves from the process. But maybe it also makes me and what I write a little bit more real, too.
The things I will miss when I leave Paris: my alone time and French baked goods.
Oh, and also half-bottles of wine in restaurants for 5 euros. I'll miss that, too.
I sleep all day and write all night. That's not 100% true, but it's mostly true. It's more like I sleep too late, go buy food or go to cathedrals or go look at clothes I can't afford, then make dinner and spend the rest of the evening writing, ripping out pages, scratching out and adding things all over the place, and eventually I fall into bed.
It's a schedule that's working out really well for me, in fact. Although maybe being so absorbed in my writing makes me a little bit of a strange person when I set out into the rest of the world. Oh well.
What am I writing? Everything. I write what I see, what I know. I write who I know. My inspiration is always so obvious, I think. I sit down to write fiction and inevitably realize that the character I'm writing bears a certain resemblance (and by that I mean entirely similar) to someone that I know. I sit down to write poetry and volumes about Paris, about living in a city, about those that I miss, just pour out. I can't separate myself and my circumstances from my writing. I'm not saying that I write simple accounts of everything that happens to me. The events are fiction, the stories are stories. But they all come from inside of me, from what I know and who I am. Maybe that makes me less talented than people who can write objectively, who can write and entirely exclude themselves from the process. But maybe it also makes me and what I write a little bit more real, too.
The things I will miss when I leave Paris: my alone time and French baked goods.
Oh, and also half-bottles of wine in restaurants for 5 euros. I'll miss that, too.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
You know, I don't know what on Earth I am doing with my life. Not a clue. Honestly.
I lost my job. I feel like an old man sitting on my porch with a pipe in my mouth. Sitting around complaining about the economy and how bread was actually affordable when I was younger.
I was given a good amount of money by someone that doesn't even know me. I was at church and they found a way to anonymously give me the money, saying that God told them they should give me the entire contents of their pocket because it was more than money for me, it was hope.
They were right. I am so happy to have my faith. A year ago, without the faith I have now, I was so much emptier, so much more unfulfilled, so much more lost. I can't say I am perfectly happy now because I am not. Times are hard (and that's an understatement). But having that soft pillow of faith to lay my head down on when life gets me down and to have that beacon of hope to give thanks to when life is miraculous...I wouldn't trade that for anything.
Yesterday, after I lost my job, I sat on the Metro with my headphones on, crying my eyes out. Today, I couldn't tell the difference between tears and raindrops on my face. And yet...and yet, I'm sitting here now, listening to ABBA and trying to figure out how to be happy again. I know I'll figure it out.
I lost my job. I feel like an old man sitting on my porch with a pipe in my mouth. Sitting around complaining about the economy and how bread was actually affordable when I was younger.
I was given a good amount of money by someone that doesn't even know me. I was at church and they found a way to anonymously give me the money, saying that God told them they should give me the entire contents of their pocket because it was more than money for me, it was hope.
They were right. I am so happy to have my faith. A year ago, without the faith I have now, I was so much emptier, so much more unfulfilled, so much more lost. I can't say I am perfectly happy now because I am not. Times are hard (and that's an understatement). But having that soft pillow of faith to lay my head down on when life gets me down and to have that beacon of hope to give thanks to when life is miraculous...I wouldn't trade that for anything.
Yesterday, after I lost my job, I sat on the Metro with my headphones on, crying my eyes out. Today, I couldn't tell the difference between tears and raindrops on my face. And yet...and yet, I'm sitting here now, listening to ABBA and trying to figure out how to be happy again. I know I'll figure it out.
Friday, October 10, 2008
The World Is Full Of Diamonds
I have a neighbor somewhere very close to my apartment that loves reggaeton. But not all reggaeton...oh no, a variety of songs would be too much to ask for. Just the same song over and over again, whether it's 11 PM on a Friday or 9 AM on a Sunday. And all I can here through the walls is the beat of the song and it gives me horrible flashbacks to reggaeton dances in college shows. So now I'm doing my best to blast The Cardigans (oh, so that's where the title to this post came from!) and pretend that Wisin y Yandel don't actually live next door.
Life is slow in a nice kind of way. Not much money, but not too many cares in the world either. I went out today and walked around the city for awhile, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. I mean, really, 60s and sunny? No winter coats or even scarves yet? Then I went to a book reading at Shakespeare and Co.. Saw an interesting author, a Brit named Tobias Hill. He writes a bunch of historical thrillers which I really don't care about but he writes interesting poetry. If you're in London, you should bother to read his poetry collection all about London. It's nice and rhythmic. Echo-like.
I'm hoping to get a day job on Wednesdays tutoring this girl in English. Just that tiny bit of supplemental income could make all the difference. I'm actually quite enjoying the job I already have though. The kids are actually adorable and can be a lot of fun, even though it is difficult to run around in a park with a 6 month old baby on one hip while trying to sword fight a two year old with a stick with the other hand.
I often wonder if we perhaps all want too much. We are all only capable of doing so much and there is a reason for that. We cannot make every single moment electrically happy. We cannot expect every single person to be world-shaking and life-changing for us. And continually throwing ourselves against the world with all of these hopes and dreams and desires will only cause us to shatter. Sometimes I feel like we just need to stop throwing ourselves. We need to stop thinking that our lives must play out like those that do on film. We need to get rid of that romantic fantasy that life must be all kisses on top of the Eiffel Tower and long-lost friends running into each other's arms on wind-swept heaths in England or whatever other Bronte-like fairy tale you can come up with. It doesn't have to be like that. And I think that life gets angry when we tell it what it has to be. Life doesn't like to be pigeon-hold and bossed around like that. Life revolts if you try to force it too hard.
So yes, still my heart and hold my tongue (thanks, Coldplay). Kicking and screaming our way through life is no way to live. Being bitter about our circumstances is only being bitter at ourselves. Because maybe you can't control your relationships or your job or who you meet or anything. But you can control how you deal with those things. To me, it looks like sitting back, breathing, and smiling again is the way to deal. Not worrying. Not crying. Not fighting. Just being.
You can say you're going to read all of these books, you can say you're going to pay your bills on time, you can say you'll drink less, you can say you'll keep in touch, but will you? Probably not. Oh because resolutions, they come and go. So the best you can do is smile at what you have, smile at what you are, and fully love those that you have while you have them. (yes, this post is ending while I'm listening to Jamie Cullum. I've been so musically eclectic in these last 10 minutes, huh?).
If you look at your cards in just the right light, I think you might find that you haven't been dealt such a bad hand after all.
Life is slow in a nice kind of way. Not much money, but not too many cares in the world either. I went out today and walked around the city for awhile, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. I mean, really, 60s and sunny? No winter coats or even scarves yet? Then I went to a book reading at Shakespeare and Co.. Saw an interesting author, a Brit named Tobias Hill. He writes a bunch of historical thrillers which I really don't care about but he writes interesting poetry. If you're in London, you should bother to read his poetry collection all about London. It's nice and rhythmic. Echo-like.
I'm hoping to get a day job on Wednesdays tutoring this girl in English. Just that tiny bit of supplemental income could make all the difference. I'm actually quite enjoying the job I already have though. The kids are actually adorable and can be a lot of fun, even though it is difficult to run around in a park with a 6 month old baby on one hip while trying to sword fight a two year old with a stick with the other hand.
I often wonder if we perhaps all want too much. We are all only capable of doing so much and there is a reason for that. We cannot make every single moment electrically happy. We cannot expect every single person to be world-shaking and life-changing for us. And continually throwing ourselves against the world with all of these hopes and dreams and desires will only cause us to shatter. Sometimes I feel like we just need to stop throwing ourselves. We need to stop thinking that our lives must play out like those that do on film. We need to get rid of that romantic fantasy that life must be all kisses on top of the Eiffel Tower and long-lost friends running into each other's arms on wind-swept heaths in England or whatever other Bronte-like fairy tale you can come up with. It doesn't have to be like that. And I think that life gets angry when we tell it what it has to be. Life doesn't like to be pigeon-hold and bossed around like that. Life revolts if you try to force it too hard.
So yes, still my heart and hold my tongue (thanks, Coldplay). Kicking and screaming our way through life is no way to live. Being bitter about our circumstances is only being bitter at ourselves. Because maybe you can't control your relationships or your job or who you meet or anything. But you can control how you deal with those things. To me, it looks like sitting back, breathing, and smiling again is the way to deal. Not worrying. Not crying. Not fighting. Just being.
You can say you're going to read all of these books, you can say you're going to pay your bills on time, you can say you'll drink less, you can say you'll keep in touch, but will you? Probably not. Oh because resolutions, they come and go. So the best you can do is smile at what you have, smile at what you are, and fully love those that you have while you have them. (yes, this post is ending while I'm listening to Jamie Cullum. I've been so musically eclectic in these last 10 minutes, huh?).
If you look at your cards in just the right light, I think you might find that you haven't been dealt such a bad hand after all.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Ennui.
A sleepy day in Paris. I woke up today at 8:00 a.m., the first time I have been up since before 11:00 since arriving in Paris. I packed myself onto the Metro with about a million other commuters and went to a job interview. I am trying to get a babysitting job at this point, seeing as most restaurant work in Paris requires a working visa and the ability to speak French under stress. Today I went and visited a family with a 6 month old girl and a 2 year old boy. They are nice children, if a little boring. How weird is that? I feel more active and exciting than a 2 year old. But I guess I can't really complain. Aren't most jobs in the world boring? At least, that's the impression I am beginning to get. Anyway, I went and played around with the baby today and now I'm sitting here waiting for the woman to call me to let me know if I've got the job for the next few months. Otherwise, I'll be beginning my job search anew.
Last night, Marc and I walked to the Lourve and watched the sun set behind the Eiffel Tower. Then I went to Shakespeare and Co., met up with an American and a Canadian, and went and drank wine with very entertaining French students by the Seine. It seems as though most of my nights are spent drinking wine by the Seine. I hope that it never loses its charm.
Real life can be kind of boring sometimes. I mean, what do most people do with their days? They go to work, they come home, they figure out what they can cook for dinner, they eat, they sit around, and they go to bed. That's about it. All the time. And yes, I live in Paris, which is fabulous (and also fabulously expensive), but it is still real life. I still wake up, try to find a way to make some money, go grocery shopping, test the limits of my cooking abilities, drink some wine, and go to bed. I do get to see some awesome things in between all of that, like all of the beautiful parks and cathedrals of Paris, but like I said, it is still real life.
I feel like I spend a lot of time waiting for things to happen. Not that life is just passing me by as I sit here quietly, just that I spend a lot of time waiting for the things that I really want. I go out and do things and make some things happen, but the people that I really want to be with are still months away. So although I am actively doing things for myself, I am still waiting for those other people that I love to show up and add some color to my life. Oh, if only it were December already.
For something totally off-topic: it's so strange to be living in a foreign country at the moment. So many historic things are taking place in my own country right now, and I'm not living through them. Presidential debates that will be forever referenced in politics, an economic crisis that my children will study in textbooks at school, gas shortages affecting the lives of millions of people in the South...I only read about these things in newspapers. I don't know what it's like to be living through them. I can understand them, and my heart feels all of these things for my country. But I don't have to live with them everyday, I don't see first-hand what is happening and what people are thinking and how the country is reacting. It is an interesting time to be in America and yet somehow I find myself on the outside looking in.
Alright, I should go figure out what to eat for dinner tonight. I'm trying to live on 7 euros a day the whole time that I'm here. Now, that might sound easy, and it's not impossible to do, but it does require some careful planning and thinking. And nothing can go to waste. All the food we buy has to be used somehow, because we can't afford to throw things away. Poverty makes you very creative and resourceful. It's kind of nice.
Last night, Marc and I walked to the Lourve and watched the sun set behind the Eiffel Tower. Then I went to Shakespeare and Co., met up with an American and a Canadian, and went and drank wine with very entertaining French students by the Seine. It seems as though most of my nights are spent drinking wine by the Seine. I hope that it never loses its charm.
Real life can be kind of boring sometimes. I mean, what do most people do with their days? They go to work, they come home, they figure out what they can cook for dinner, they eat, they sit around, and they go to bed. That's about it. All the time. And yes, I live in Paris, which is fabulous (and also fabulously expensive), but it is still real life. I still wake up, try to find a way to make some money, go grocery shopping, test the limits of my cooking abilities, drink some wine, and go to bed. I do get to see some awesome things in between all of that, like all of the beautiful parks and cathedrals of Paris, but like I said, it is still real life.
I feel like I spend a lot of time waiting for things to happen. Not that life is just passing me by as I sit here quietly, just that I spend a lot of time waiting for the things that I really want. I go out and do things and make some things happen, but the people that I really want to be with are still months away. So although I am actively doing things for myself, I am still waiting for those other people that I love to show up and add some color to my life. Oh, if only it were December already.
For something totally off-topic: it's so strange to be living in a foreign country at the moment. So many historic things are taking place in my own country right now, and I'm not living through them. Presidential debates that will be forever referenced in politics, an economic crisis that my children will study in textbooks at school, gas shortages affecting the lives of millions of people in the South...I only read about these things in newspapers. I don't know what it's like to be living through them. I can understand them, and my heart feels all of these things for my country. But I don't have to live with them everyday, I don't see first-hand what is happening and what people are thinking and how the country is reacting. It is an interesting time to be in America and yet somehow I find myself on the outside looking in.
Alright, I should go figure out what to eat for dinner tonight. I'm trying to live on 7 euros a day the whole time that I'm here. Now, that might sound easy, and it's not impossible to do, but it does require some careful planning and thinking. And nothing can go to waste. All the food we buy has to be used somehow, because we can't afford to throw things away. Poverty makes you very creative and resourceful. It's kind of nice.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Hard Times. (but not really).
It's quarter past 3 on Friday night (or is it Saturday morning?) and I'm sitting here in my little blue and yellow apartment in Paris in the middle of a bout of insomnia.
It's strange to know that all of my co-years are off at university already, growing up in a very different way than I am. I am not looking forward to university in many ways. Yes, I love meeting new people. Yes, I want to sit in a real philosophy class again. Yes, I want to walk around on a campus again (eventually). As for the other stuff that is generally a part of the university experience...thanks, but no thanks. I don't want to sit around while you all try to figure out how to cook dinner. I don't want to watch while you all test your limits of alcohol intake at some frat party. I don't want to deal with you all while you try to figure out how to live with other people, how to date like a normal person rather than just randomly fuck, how you figure out how to transition from whatever high school you're coming from into what you think is the "real world". I've done that. I'm doing it now. I don't want to do it again. Now, how pretentious is this of me? Very. But it's the truth, or at least the truth for my pessimistic self at the moment. I am dreading sitting through years of beer pong and awkward relationships until everyone figures out how to be themselves again.
You know, I was so anxious for "real life", for this time in Paris, that I thought I would relish a few hard times. I romanticized it. Now, why I ever thought that doing piles of dishes and paying bills would be fun, I don't know. It's not, if you didn't know. But at the very least, I wanted this time to change me. I wanted it to bring me that step closer to my full self. And it is doing that.
What have I learned so far? Hm.
Living with someone is hard. 30 sqm gets dirty very, very quickly. Not everyone is sincere. Cooking dinner every night is a pain in the ass. I'm a very stubborn person. Getting a job is difficult. Being the person that I want to be is difficult. It's easy to be bitter.
How is that for a superficial yet honest summary?
Before I word-vomit any more cynical rhetoric, I should go to sleep. Waking up to a sunny day in Paris will surely make things look a bit rosier.
It's strange to know that all of my co-years are off at university already, growing up in a very different way than I am. I am not looking forward to university in many ways. Yes, I love meeting new people. Yes, I want to sit in a real philosophy class again. Yes, I want to walk around on a campus again (eventually). As for the other stuff that is generally a part of the university experience...thanks, but no thanks. I don't want to sit around while you all try to figure out how to cook dinner. I don't want to watch while you all test your limits of alcohol intake at some frat party. I don't want to deal with you all while you try to figure out how to live with other people, how to date like a normal person rather than just randomly fuck, how you figure out how to transition from whatever high school you're coming from into what you think is the "real world". I've done that. I'm doing it now. I don't want to do it again. Now, how pretentious is this of me? Very. But it's the truth, or at least the truth for my pessimistic self at the moment. I am dreading sitting through years of beer pong and awkward relationships until everyone figures out how to be themselves again.
You know, I was so anxious for "real life", for this time in Paris, that I thought I would relish a few hard times. I romanticized it. Now, why I ever thought that doing piles of dishes and paying bills would be fun, I don't know. It's not, if you didn't know. But at the very least, I wanted this time to change me. I wanted it to bring me that step closer to my full self. And it is doing that.
What have I learned so far? Hm.
Living with someone is hard. 30 sqm gets dirty very, very quickly. Not everyone is sincere. Cooking dinner every night is a pain in the ass. I'm a very stubborn person. Getting a job is difficult. Being the person that I want to be is difficult. It's easy to be bitter.
How is that for a superficial yet honest summary?
Before I word-vomit any more cynical rhetoric, I should go to sleep. Waking up to a sunny day in Paris will surely make things look a bit rosier.
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