putain, i'm so nul.

I guess we're all entitled to days of complete and total inadequacy. I had one of those days, where every single person in this city could speak english better than I could speak french. It started when I met with one of my students, who, after an hour of speaking english, asked if we could speak in french. I said yes, despite the fact that, for whatever reason, I find it really difficult to transition from english to french with my students -- I think it has to do with the change in dynamic because for that one hour in our little English lesson bubble, I get to be the one who understands everything. But as soon as the bubble pops, I go back to being the foreigner who struggles to keep up.

Anyways, so he starts asking me about the U.S. and the differences in lifestyle to France, a subject which I have been able to speak about rather easily in the past. But now, even stringing together a coherent sentence was like trying to do calculus; my brain was just not having it. It was super embarrassing, because he knows I studied in Aix, that I have a minor in french. And I completely bombed. I felt like such a nul because here I am, a degree holding certified TEACHER for goodness sake, with nearly three years on my student, having lived in this stupid country for nearly six months unable to say things that a student in french 101 could say.

I was completely boffed for the rest of the day, even in my next lesson, I had a hard time even being able to speak in English. It was such an ego blow. Though, I'm aware that, as my lovely sister eloquently put it, "there are bound to be plenty of days where the brain is particularly flatulent." But talk about STOOPID.

Thank goodness the weekend ended up being a lot better -- and it certainly didn't hurt that the weather was absolutely gorgeous; it got up to 22°C on Saturday, which is close to 72°F. One of the teachers at the school put on a chasse de trésor (treasure hunt) on Saturday, which was really fun. She invited a whole bunch of people from the three language schools where she works and put together a team of foreigners (two Americans, an English dood, and a Mexican) against a group of local Toulousains and we were super stoked to have won! But it was a great day to be in and around the city and meeting people. We had a petit goût in the park afterward where everyone brought food or drink, so I made some last-minute chocolate chip and hazelnut cookies and the french sure loved 'em. Mmm, to be American.

The following day, I spent most of the morning sunning myself on the balcony, listening to my french podcasts (due to the lack of confidence instilled by the aforementioned language disaster) and then later got a text from a student telling me he had an extra ticket to the international expo and if I wanted to join. Of course, I said bien sûr! The expo itself was weird, there was a lot of furniture being sold and not really a lot of international things... But we ended up just drinking some local beer and chilling in the sunshine, and I think it's safe to say that it was pretty sweet. I persuaded him to speak in french most of the time, which we did and man, cela m'a mis en confiance. So, now, I can go back to just being bad at french and not really fucking terrible (f-word for emphasis).

:)  biz biz

je crois que je me suis bien adaptée à la culture française.

SPRING! How glorious. This means that every morning I can sit outside with my freshly brewed PG Tips, two slices of brioche and jam, sunglasses on and watch Monsieur DuChamps in his workshop or Jean-Pierre pacing and smoking his cigarettes outside, which has quickly become my favorite part of the day. I can do this, y'know when it's not raining outside. Apparently, for most places in the world, spring means rain... News to me.

(side-note: while those people are real, their names are not... I don't know them, I'm just a creep and watch them and create fictitious lives for them... I swear I'm not a loser)

While Isaias was here visiting this last weekend, I think we did justice to the french lifestyle indeed -- on Friday, we went out with every intention of strolling around the city, but within the first few minutes, we decided to stop at the Carrefour to get some lunch supplies, including a bottle of rosé (that's blush wine for you nerds) and headed back to my balcony to enjoy it on a table we fashioned out of a discarded piece of plywood and a bucket. It pains me how classy we are. After two hours of drinking, eating and chatting, plus a bottle of wine between us, it was time for a siesta. So, we brought the air mattress outside and took a nap for about an hour, basking in the sunshine. OH, how lovely indeed.

 

Monday (lundi de Pâques) was a bank holiday and gorgeous, so we hired bikes for 1€ and took them all around the city, which might have been one of the best things I've done so far in Toulouse. We took them along the canal, all the way around to the north of the city, through the city center, then stopped at a café for something to drink near the Garonne and enjoyed the sunshine. Then we adventured into the city center to see if there were any good films playing. It was glorious, so calm and so nice. Et si je ne me trompe pas, c'était très français.

In fact, this weather is so great, I kinda dread to think what it would be like any hotter... There definitely isn't A/C in the metro nor in my apartment... Woof.

In other news, someone in my apartment building decided to share with world some intimate details using the side of the mailboxes as his (her?) medium of choice. Wonderful how people here choose to invite the world to their lover's quarrels, whether it be through vandalism or the terrifying shouting that takes place through the thin apartment walls. I'll let those of you interested enough to wordreference "niquer." Yikes.

bisous xoxo

un sens d'humour est nécessaire.

So far, I haven't really minded living by myself. Besides the usual problems of eating alone, cooking alone, and you know, coming home drunk to an empty apartment, it's really not been too bad. That stuff I'm more or less used to now. Plus, there are a ton of bonuses too -- like never having to shut the bathroom door, being able to do everything in my underwear, cleaning up on my own schedule, and there's nobody around to make you feel inadequate for not showering or changing out of your pajamas all day.

While Kat was here visiting--a-hemm...

<3

... we discussed the benefits and drawbacks of living alone. One thing we both agreed is scary as shit was the fact that if anything happened to us (god forbid), how many days/weeks would it take for someone to realize that we'd gone missing? Would the stench eventually waft through the door and capture the attention of the people above me? What would happen if, by some freak accident, we needed the heimlich maneuver but there was nobody around to help us? I don't even know the phone number for 911 in france! Yeah, I guess it's a little morbid, but it's a scary thought.

This past friday was another realization of a drawback to living alone. As I was preparing materials for a private lesson, I plugged in my printer and suddenly all of the electricity went out. It was around 6:15 and due to the fact that one giant shutter has still not been fixed (putain d'agence!), light was fading quickly. I sort of panicked, mostly because even if I knew where to buy fuses, I had no idea how to get at them to replace them -- the "electricity box" in my apartment is a plastic box with some french words scrawled in ancient looking pencil and some weird knobs. So, I texted my student to cancel the lesson, telling him what happened. Being the gentleman that he is (and being sympathetic to my problem of being the foreigner), he grabbed some extra fuses he had at work and drove over to help me. Thank goodness he knew what he was doing! But it made me realize, if he hadn't offered, I'd probably have to call my parents and ask them to help me, transatlantic style. Blurg! At least I know now how to fix it now. I think if I had a roommate, they might be more familiar with fuse boxes and the situation wouldn't have seemed as desperate. Things are always better if you have someone to laugh with.

This next one is a little cheesy. But I realize how much it really sucks being sick and living alone. I've had a fever, sore throat, aches and the works for a few days and I don't mean to complain, but man. It really makes a difference just having someone else there to ask how you're doing, helping with little things like preparing food (which I'm already inept at), and someone to hang out with you and watch lame movies. I do miss stuff like that.

When I start estimating how long my death would go unnoticed, I have to pause and let the ridiculousness of the idea sink in. It's easy to become unnecessarily weirded out, so a sense of humor is necessary. So, I make sure I take small, manageable bites of all my food (to prevent choking) and always make sure not to blow dry my hair in the shower. Death prevented, pas de problème.

Oh, france. You're practically hilarious.

uniquement, sur les points, s'il vous plaît. les points.

Since around mid-November, I've been thinking I really should get a haircut. I'm in France where everyone says you get can a good haircut pretty much anywhere and there are coiffeurs on nearly every street corner. It's like Walgreen's in AZ. About four months later (six months after my last haircut), I decided ok, now this is just ridiculous. So, I found the courage inside me to investigate coiffures based on a logic I use in the U.S.: find somewhere that isn't the most expensive, but not the cheapest either. Though the concept of SuperCuts doesn't really exist here, I still didn't want a hack job.

I found one, went inside, and asked for an estimate -- it sounded reasonable, so I asked for an appointment. In fact, the woman says, you don't need one. Are you ready now? Uh, sure. Ok. I knew what I wanted, I knew how to say what I wanted -- but even when you tell them exactly what you want and you're speaking in the same language, you're not always gonna get what you ask for. Needless to say, I was nervous.

The women in this particular coiffure looked like the kind of women that are going to eat you. They had the typically french aloofness, but their own hair looked like they spent way too much time experimenting with various colors and cuts on each other. Not to mention the fact that they all looked like they hated their jobs. Be brave, Lindsay. Be brave.

So, the first woman spends about 45 minutes highlighting my hair very diligently, and the whole time says nothing to me. I wanted to break the tension so badly, but I was debating between the getting eaten thing and the me not speaking French thing as well as the fact that I'm not sure I would even have much in common with this woman. Sitting there, as I was thinking about how I'd describe her, a scene in the The Lion King came to me, a part which used to have me in a fit of giggles as a child: when Pumba has just been chased by Nala in the jungle and screams to Timon: "She's gonna EAT ME!" I chuckled to myself and the lady asks something which I didn't hear -- I think she was asking me if I was doing ok, it may not even had anything to do with my little outburst. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, laughed again more awkwardly this time and went back to staring out the window.

At this point, I'm thinking "alright this isn't so bad." Minus the fact that there were three ladies working the store, and about seven customers which meant getting juggled between everyone, it was ok. I was optimistic. After getting my hair washed by someone other than the colorist, the scariest woman of them all dried my head and took me around the corner for a cut. When she asked what I wanted, I said, "just the ends, and the same style as it is now. The less you can cut, the better." Yes, yes ok.

The whole thing was over about 4 minutes later -- she cut my entire head of hair in less than 2 minutes -- no exaggerating, I'm for real. No checking to see if it was even, she just flung pieces of hair into my lap and down my neck. She hacked off a good two inches and used a razor to make it thinner. Which is rather counter-productive for me and my fine hair. The then blow-dried it while having a conversation with someone in the other room, until it was a big birds nest-y type mess. She finishes and says "heu, c'est jolie, non?" I'm like, "...did you not hear a word I said woman?!"

what happened to my hair?!

I scrambled with my wallet, whipped my hair into a ponytail, and was getting ready to pay and when she asked if I would come back to them for my next haircut, and I said, "...no" with the intention of letting her know that I wasn't really satisfied with my experience. And then she said, "no? you won't come back?" And then, blast it! The nice person that I am came bursting out of me and I blurted, "maybe. euhh... maybe." Merci, au revoir and I ran home and messed with it until I decided that I guess after six months, maybe I actually needed a pretty good hack job.

The color is nice actually, natural and subtle, there are just way too many layers. Beh. And well, there you have it. I think next time I'll go back to my lady in Pacific Beach -- that is, in another six months.

Zut.


p.s.

oh, there it is. whew.

xoxo