(lost and) FOUND PASSPORT!

So, I have, as usual, saved getting my visa information ratified until the very last possible moment. (Do you think the requirement "within three months of arrival" is to the day, i.e. I got here August 25, thus November 25 was doomsday, or do you suppose there is a little wiggle room?). In any case, it has taken me three tries to (hopefully, this time) get it right and send all the necessary documents to the immigration office and officially be enrolled as a (temporary) resident of France!
Anyway, in my procrastination, I found myself needing another photocopy of my passport, STAT, and the photocopy machine at the Casino out-of-order. So, Sophie offered to take my passport to work with her and make a copy there. How nice!
Anyway, she is having a busy week at work and I was not at all upset when she forgot to make my copies, but I suggested she leave the passport with me and I could do it myself at the now-working Casino machine. Poor life choice. As I rounded up the children, I put the passport in my small, brown purse along with only my wallet and keys. This purse only completely closes if you go through the motions of buckling it, and, seeing as "lazy" is my middle name, I often do not bother.
Anyway, after dropping les enfants off at school, I took a new route to the marché near the house. I had never been before and was impressed with all the produce in large, aluminum bowls as well as the traveling chicken rotisseries! As usual, I found myself wishing for the ability to make easy conversation with the workers; I'd love to know how they came up with SO MANY VARIETIES of olives! If one thing living in a country where I cannot easily communicate has taught me, it is to overcome my inherent shyness. I think, once I am back in good ol' English speaking America, I will be that person making conversation constantly with strangers--because now I know how lonely it is not being able to! So, at the market, I smiled at the French-Arab men who greeted me with "Bonjour, mademoiselle!" even though their intentions didn't seem entirely pure (I was highly conscious of my decision to wear leggings, which probably is never in my best interest and yet I don't see myself stopping anytime soon!). Alas, I did not find the "morceau de poitiron" I was searching for, and decided to leave. Looking in my bag, I realized: my passport was gone! However, I am absentminded (at best) and choose to assume I had left it at home in my haste to get the kids bundled up and out the door. I bought a baguette and headed home. The passport wasn't there.
So, for the rest of the day, I retraced my steps, thinking of everything I could have done to avoid having my passport stolen from my purse (I was convinced) by a radish-wielding French-Arab man (I assumed). I could not concentrate in French class, I began plotting my inevitable trip to Paris or Marseille, the only locations to get a new passport, and I generally felt this was an unacceptable way to spend Thanksgiving.
Ironically, I found a copy of my passport and decided to take it to the Casino for more copies. Inside the machine were two French identity cards. I patted myself on the back for the good karma I was racking up as I waited in line to hand them over to customer services. "Naomie Fleur" and her younger boyfriend will be so pleased!
Well, I think I am officially a Buddhist convert (in terms of truly believing in the karma stuff) because this morning, as I listened to the never-ending automated messages at the American Embassy in Paris and was laughed at by the consulate in Marseille for not realizing how busy they are patrolling the Italian border (or something), I heard the beep of call waiting. It was Sophie: the police had found my passport!
I rushed over and was happily reunited with my little buddy, who has been so many places with me! My horrible French led me to ask the policewoman, "Vous connaisez qui... retourner?" As in, "Do you know who returned it?" She explained, I think, in rapid-fire French, that Sophie had also asked on the phone but the police did not know. I wanted to say "Thank you!" and perhaps make him a pumpkin pie!
In summation: I think the world is a lovely place and I happy we can all look out for each other.

I'm also pretty pleased with the latest additions to my tumblr.

FIN.

i'm just really busy, you know?

topics to be addressed when i stop being a lazy piece of merde:

• how hilarious it was to find myself waiting at a bus stop with a young turkish man, listening to the american music on his phone, and explaining that no, "poker face" does not translate to "cheater."
• how freaking happy it makes to have a breakfast burrito dans le matin. sophie is so nice to buy my favorite foods! i like that "je suis avocat" can mean "i am a lawyer" OR "i am avocado." i choose the latter. and i just ate a whole one.
• i think it's funny there are "sos prieres" available. in case you find yourself in the midst of a spiritual crisis.
• i appreciate realizing that i actually am making progress with the french. it's difficult and i feel like a retard but i am happy to have the opportunity to try, in france, to learn this language. and i will!
• okay, so maybe i should have thought ahead and thought, "oh! berlin for new year's!" but i guess paris will still be okay... ha!
• je dois etudier le français!!!
• i like the colors of fall.

the real reason i am here.

(street)styleblogs.

so, even i am interested in fashion to an extent i think most people who meet me may not recognize (especially here in France where i have a limited wardrobe and packed things that i felt more neutral, which is counter to what i usually gravitate towards when getting dressed). i think also, though, my floundering and indecision is indicative of this time in my life. i am no longer a college student who can wear anything as sloppy or as refined as i wish. yet, my job currently is as "jeune fille au pair"--not exactly a title which commands pencil skirts and chanel chain bags (someday i will have you!). plus, i am in a constant state of thinking, "if only i were THINNER, this would look better..." which is so useless/annoying/stupid!

anyway, the whole point of writing this was to compare to street style blogs: both which i love but neither of which i think i will ever be fully elligible for:

the first is hel-looks. shot in helsinki, finland, i appreciate that the photographed get the opportunity to explain what they are wearing and why they like it. the people in these shots are often wearing tons of layers; their outfits are so multi-faceted and colorful, "boring" is the last word that would come to mind. i loves these looks. honestly, i feel best about myself when i have many layers, many things going on, nothing boring. i see pictures of myself when i was younger, and i was good at matching my brown wood earring to my plant-splashed shirt. but now, i am way more interested in mis-matched but INTERESTING. yet, is that okay? when i eventually, inevitably, unfortunately succumb to the corporate world, i hope i can still bring some of this excitement. it reminds me of something a friend of mine said, when we went out for some local music and framboise lambics at mia's in flagstaff and i wore a neon yellow denim skirt, gray tights, stack-healed ankle boots and a purple fur jacket. "what were you thinking when you put that on?" she asked, in all seriousness. "i was thinking that no one else would come up with this combination."


then, there's the inimitable sartorialist, with his book deal and his classic looks. His photos are so well-done, which I definitely appreciate. His models are always beautiful; their style, so refined. They seem, to me, untouchable. Maybe that is why I am more drawn to the helsinki photos: these people, in their glorious imperfection, have looks that are attainable. the sartorialist is fun to look at, but it's not something i could do, i feel. i haven't the money, or the perfect hair, skin, figure, etc., required. yet, i keep coming back to both.

and, i have to admit, i was most excited when i myself was asked to be photographed last summer in new york city for a blog called "style sightings." (believe me, it was in all the best interest of everyone involved here that my face be covered... not to discredit my one-time internet fame!) now, if i could only move to helsinki, where i, too, can state that "i mostly buy second hand"...

PHOPHOPHOPHOPHO!

I got the standard "i-prefer-Australians-to-Americans" glance today from a sweet Asian woman in the Vietnamese restaurant we found near Guillotiere. We were noticeable in the small shop first for our white-ness ("this place is authentic!" we assured each other, looking around at the Vietnamese patrons) and then for our lack of French. The rotund woman, who wore an orange shirt, black, pilled stockings, and flip flops, giggled as she counted out our change, "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven!" Then, a man with the most horrifying set of teeth I have ever seen explained to us, in his Asian-accented French, that the area we were in--which was lined with Vietnamese restaurants--was not a good place to be alone. "Couper? Vous comprendez 'couper'?" he asked us, while making a stabbing motion into his side. He then mimed smoking something ilicit, shooting up something evil, and snorting some powders. A good place to be, indeed! But, the soup was good and fulfilling after yesterday's fruitless search for Pho (my mind is still blown regarding how EVERYthing can afford to be closed on Sundays!). Yet, after my wikisearch of "pho" lead to the information that tripe sausage is indeed a common ingredient, I stand by my decision to let the unidentified meatballs float on by!

Íkea.

Is Ikea one of the places one should not venture alone, kind of like Disneyland? Is it worse to be here without someone special, as the average customer is here with their significant other (picking up cheap but still relatively good-looking furniture for their first apartment together, naturally) or their cute and small family? I kind of like it. I also like that the wine flows so freely in Europe; I am fairly certain that there is not a worker at Ikea, Tempe, assigned the job of pouring white and rose wines at the start of the food line. How quaint! And the fact that you can buy entire twist-top bottles for, like, four euros? C'est brilliant! I am proud of myself for resisting!

Maybe Ikea is bad, though. I mean, I can recount at least one blog that suggests going here post-breakup will only lead to sad, sad memories of coming here with the now-ex boyfriend. I personally think of the scene in "500 days of Summer," where Joseph Gordon Levitt (god, please grant me a boy dressed in sweatervests and pumas. please?) and Zooey Deschanel (i'll take her hair for myself, please), frolick in the model rooms. And I myself can't help remembering going to Ikea with a boy I once loved, who picked me up with my favorite coffee drink and bought shelves he never put up just so we could spend time together. Ikea is romantic, apparently, after all.

I think I'll go buy that bottle of wine. I wonder how much French I would need to know for the job of official pourer?

everything's amazing and nobody's happy!

frenchie things. part 1.

les enfants and I pass this foot-tall nipple on the way to school every day.
such a horrid sight would not be allowed in the united states, i am certain!

i think it's funny to my american brain because it is so unnecessary; it could easily have been covered by one of the flowers she us lying on; to the kids, though, they would never give the photo a second glance.

i'm personally happy for the nudity because even if i never achieve my dream of having asian babies, i can at least console myself with the knowledge that my own nipples look a little asian. i would probably never know this otherwise.

thanks, france.

“… my brain is so cluttered with strange and conflicting ideas about what a blog should and shouldn’t be and what I’m trying to do, in general, with this kind of writing — because, I do think that blog-writing is a different kind of writing than edited printed-matter writing– that I’m having trouble figuring out what I even want to say. I keep doubling back and second-guessing and tweaking my word choices and my grammar in even the most basic (i.e., m-dash-free) of sentences. I’m rereading everything to see how it looks through the eyes of some half-imagined critic — a critic who, no matter what I do or say, will always think that I got here, wherever he supposes that to be, by dint of something other than hard work and skill. There is no pleasing this critic, I know. Also, he is (half) imaginary. But I can’t get him out of my head.” “Truths to be self-edited”, Emily Magazine

That being said, here I go:
I have been lucky to spend several lovely Sundays with the family. Last Sunday, I went with Sophie, Bertrand, Jeanne and Julien (Antoine marched off to his friend Alex's house to attend a birthday party; he relishes being allowed to walk the half-block to his friend's apartment alone--what a big boy!) to "Parc Grand," a lovely, grand park outside of Lyon. We were supposed to meet up with some friends, including the small little boy who melted my heart when I first congregated with the Roanne friends by saying to his mother, "She said 'bonjour,' but now she is speaking in English!" and then he stood, proudly looking up at me, and sucessfully told me his name en anglais before colapsing in a fit of giggle. Sadly, the family forgot their cell phone so meeting up did not happen in the huge park, but it was a beautiful, sunny, lovely day and I am luckily not an inch over 5'3" and thus was able to fairly comfortably ride Antoine's bike around the park. Then, we sat in some grass (my favorite activity, bar none) and ate a snack of baguette and white chocolate. "I do not have any black chocolat for you!" Sophie said apologetically. It's so cute how they all say "black chocolate" instead of dark chocolate... I guess it really does make more sense, but it's funny. If and ever I am fully fluent, I know I will make the same sort of "mistakes" (if they can even be called that!) and I have to hope they will be also viewed as "cute!" As I sat with Sophie and watched Bertrand play with his youngest children near the lake, I was again (as I so often am) struck by what a perfect life this seems to be for them. It is honestly picturesque. Maybe some dirty laundry will be aired in the next 8 months but I can't imagine what it could be! So lucky to be so charmed!
This Sunday, I had the honor of enjoying a delicious meal of "moule and frites" avec Sophie's "belle mere" and her "friend." (At least they keep the "friend" designation constant; it was the same word used for Bertrand's father's "friend," the one whom he goes on 7-week-long roadtrips with... ha!). It's funny to me (perhaps because I really did grow up in a house where the art of cooking was pretty much ignored) how healthy Sophie can be about her own diet and the diet of her kids, but on Sundays its pretty much a free-for-all. They even brought out the deep fryer for fresh fries! (My as of yet still abysmal understanding of the language leads me to believe this device was borrowed from a friend.) Three servings of mussels and fries later, we then ate salad, bread, and cheese, natch. THEN for desert was a huge chocolate "birthday" cake and a fruit crumble. All so delcious!
After lunch, the kids were excited to "cut" the pumpkin I had tracked down at Carrefour on Friday. Thankfully, Bertrand stepped it up and assumed his man role because, as I scooped in the innerds from the cute, round gourd, I realized that I have actually never put a knife to a pumpkin myself! I think the entire exercise was a success, and our vampire pumpkin may not look very scary (leading me to think his given name of "Larry" is more appropriate than "Scary Pumpkin"), but it was a good time. On every window of the house, there are blinds that I thought were just to keep light out at night but I realize now are to help keep the cold out! By shutting these on the kitchen windows, the glowing pumpkin (Bertrand inserted the candle successfully) was able to shine. Now, the seeds are drying out and hopefully tomorrow I will be able to successfully give them a true "taste" of American Halloween! The rest of the day was spent rang-ing ma chambre (I was horrified by the state of my living conditions when asked to show Jaqueline the au pair accomodation, as she had never seen them before!). Now things are clean, and I have made up quizzes for Antoine to practice for his next English test. Julien picked some rosebuds in the garden and they are sitting in a cute glass bottle on my table. Tres jolies! It has been a good day and I am looking forward to this week, studying for and doing well on Thursday's French test, TURNING IN MY GLIMPSE APP (!!!), and plotting for Halloween in Nice. Thank goodness Claire's is an accepted American chain here (though possibly because it's American origins are not known--"'Claire" is a French name! My sister's name is Claire!" Sophie told me when we went to Part Dieu and she picked out hair ties for Jeanne and Jeanne's enthusiasm over the large fountain the escalators was a joy (these are tiny things I want not to forget but have already neglected to write!).
I mean this this time: A DEMAIN!
In conclusion, I am going to make more of an effort to update this blog because I think it will be fun to look back on. I am going to try not to worry about how fascinating it is; practice will help me learn to cut the crap!

oh, oktoberfest. what to say! it was an amazingly fun 36 hours...
emily and i left the house at 4:30 am on Friday, compote and "gingerbread man" cakes in tow, thanks to the ever-charming, helpful and fantastic employer, madame sophie.
60 euros later, we arrived at the airport with time to spare. emily sucked down a pre-flight fag and we hurried to the boarding area... where we then waited for a 10 minute (?!) bus ride to the plane. it was quite a small plane, "lufthansa regional" and all...
i think the pictures sum it up best:

"hey! i had a good crack at that goat!"

le fin.

"i am very hot in my big socks!"

so, i haven't done a very good job of updating this thing... it's like i feel there is so much to say and not enough time or ways to say it all! my experiences here can be summed up and pieced together if you were to look at the different messages/emails/postcards/chat transcripts/text messages(!) i have had with friends back home since being here. such is life, i suppose... all these pieces are part of a whole. but i will forget the awe and amazement with which i approach so many things on a daily basis if i don't write them down, in a place for me, where i can remember.

and now i can't remember what i wanted to write! maybe this is why i like to take so many (excessive) pictures. i am not as good as i purport myself to be at describing things in a way that they can be truly "seen." it's that old 6th grade creative writing lesson: show not tell! yet, i still have not mastered it. practice will help, i suppose!

another problem i have with writing this is that i want to get away from simply stating my day by day happening; i want it to be something more. maybe if i just START it will evolve naturally in what i want it to be. i'll be able to say (and show!) things the way i really want to be able to. here it goes, i suppose!

overall, i am so happy with my situation here in lyon. i was so worried that it was somehow all a scam, that no one would be at the airport to pick me up, that i would have flown halfway around the world for nothing... and that hasn't been the case at all! i guess, on a simple level already, my faith in humanity has been somewhat restored: the fact that this family would open their home so warmly to me, a complete stranger, and be nothing but helpful and accommodating and willing to offer me this great experience, is incredible. i am so grateful. i could not ask for a nicer couple to work for. and the kids, though a handful at times, are generally so sweet. and, really, i can remember why i wanted, ever, to be a teacher now. it was so FUN working with julien on his english "dictée," and even more fun to see the pride with which he showed his parents his perfect, "100%!!!" practice test. the kids can just be so cute! i feel like i am able to doubly see things "through the eyes of a child" living here as i am allowing myself to be awstruck, impressed, and interested in, what must seem to the people living here, the smallest trivialities. for instance, the cute little 63 calorie coke cans make me smile. the old women riding the bus, who test my french abilities by asking, "vingt trois?" and my new bensimon shoes that me feel just oh-so-french as as i look at my matching counterparts on the metro/tram/bus. public transportation itself gives me such a thrill, and i am pleased continually to such a silly extent when i figure out alternate routes all by myself (directional dyslexia is a challenge, okay?!).

i love being in a city like this, with so much history. i love the fabulously designed tourism guide books (so much so that i have begun a collage on my wall of them--cheap interior decorating? yes, please!). i like the old statues, the old architecture, the cute, quaint streets and the plethora of museums (that i need to make much more of an effort to visit! however, i think i am doing it alright by saving the indoor things to do when the weather isn't quite so fabulous!). i like the idea that could get off at every bus stop that i take on the way to school and see something new everyday (and eat a kebab for lunch!). i like it all.

"but i must say and this is goign to sound cheesy; but i think of you when i feel lost sometimes b/c what you are doing is brave; okay that sounds so cheesy esp over fb, but i admire you; we all have our shit."

aw, shucks, craig's list roomie!

BON!

this time last week i had never:

launched myself into a house of complete strangers with complete faith; traveled a foreign metro/tramway alone; eaten ratatouille; HEARD of roanne; eaten ratatouille in roanne; known that "ratatouille" is a common enough word to not be highlighted by spell check; encountered a thirty-something career-minded, family-oriented ARIES woman; encountered such surprise when requesting cream in my coffee; babysat children who have no idea (okay, only SOME idea) what i am saying; spent so much (or any!) time in the presence of people exclusively speaking a language i do not know; felt so adventurous!; felt so inept!; compromised my way of speaking in an attempt to acclimate; felt my grasp of English slipping away due to lack of use (!!!); made an extremely long distance phone call that should have been altogether avoided; drank such good wine; seen mini coca-colas--the european standard--worth only 63 calories each!; drank le pampelmousse rose sirop avec mon eau; eaten so much bread!; and cheese!; dranken espresso with sugar cubes with such stereotypically european people; thought to myself, "this is a good choice."

FIN.

FOUR DAYS...!

"sox win 8-7!"
became
"visa arrives!"

thank god.
i think!

things i love:

people/places/things/events/relationships that elicit PASSION.

par example, mention john lennon and, in my experience, receive either an expression of deep reverence and a teary eye over his early death or an exasperated gripe that he is way "overhyped." either way, his existence, which ended forty+ years ago, continues to incite passionate feelings. sometimes, he is met with contempt, as when my former roommate once spat, "it's only because everyone has a boner for the beatles," in reference to their constant appearance on top ten, best-of-all-times lists. alternately, there is a facebook group (highly meaningful, i realize) entitled, "everyone should be a little more like john lennon." it has 9,000 members.

Then we have Yoko Ono. I love her because she is Asian and I love all Asians and I wish more than anything to grow up to be one someday. She is also simultaneously revered and hated. Jah, jah she broke up the Beatles, whatever. She now writes shit like this and posts it on the internetz (on a list called "25 things even my best friend didn't know about me until now"):
5. Okay, I must confess. I love wearing high heel shoes. I love wearing silk stockings. I love wearing hot pants. When I arm myself with those three, I feel like a tough girl from the 1930’s. If I didn’t look at myself in the mirror, I might just mistake myself for Rita Heyworth, or Marlene Dietrich. How great is that?! 6. Oh, I forgot to tell you about my ankles, calves and thighs. Well, later."

Which brings me to another one of my great loves: wearing things that are not flattering. I'm all for that. She exhibits it beautifully here. and with such confidence. I appreciate her reverse body dysmorphia and hope to develop the same ailment through osmosis. by purchasing a poster-sized print of this photo. and gazing at it on the daily.

thoughts also associated with this photo:

i want a man some day to have a shirt with my name emblazoned across it. that is love.

copping a feel is totally underrated.

yoko ono is on the gilmore girls soundtrack. so are the shins. i wonder what she thinks of being in such company? that she has better calves?

rompers/big waist-cinching belts/knee high boots for life.

black and white photography. i dig.

"imagine." it's good, okay? i get goosebumps nearly every time i hear it. and i cried really hard at 16 and pregnant earlier. okay?

in conclusion, my to-do list goes something like this:
find something to be passionate about.
move to france.
be happy.
in reverse order.