la vie française, c'est parfois abrutissante.

Somedays are good. Other days, you get your spirit crushed by a French person.

Good days are what? Finding $10 on the ground, being told that you're doing a great job at work, having a moment of self-discovery, a smile from a cute dood on the metro even. Yeah, I'd say all of those would fall within the limits of what a lot of people would consider a happy boost in their day. For me, what would really make an average day great is being given a compliment in my French level. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be told I helped someone at work, or maybe to have more hours, or hm, perhaps even a work contract?! But in the meantime, I'll settle for a "your French isn't bad, you know."

Recently, I went to the movie theatre to see a film with friends and when it was my turn to approach the woman behind the counter, I asked (in French) for "one ticket to Source Code, please. And I'm less than 26 [so I get a discount]." The woman glances up at me and in taking my money, asks me whether I know that it's in original version, which is English, and only the subtitles are in French. My friends and I start laughing together, as one of them exclaims, "She's American! Of course it's not a problem!" And the woman gives me a smirk as I smugly take my change and ticket from her, feeling elated that I somehow managed to pull off a decent enough French accent to fool someone into thinking that I was French. Granted, I'm sure there was a lot of noise and maybe she couldn't hear me that well, but I couldn't help feeling smooth anyway. Instant day-maker.

But bad days? Mildly bad days can involve maybe slipping on the subway grate, or going into a bakery to get a delicious brioche only to realize you don't have enough money, or realizing your umbrella is broken as you step out the front door to pouring rain. Well, if there's one thing that French people seem to be really great at, it's piercing your spirit with a soul-crushing yet plainly stated piece of brutal honesty and that can ruin more than just your day.

For example, after exchanging emails with a friend of a friend (in French), I admitted to him over coffee that I tend to have mental roadblocks which keep me from speaking French at a level I would like. Instead, in order for me to really be able to carry on a long and, indeed, quite interesting conversation would be to find that limit between 3-6 drinks where I'm uninhibited enough to try out those new words I saw on Plus Belle, La Vie but not drunk enough where I forget how to say basic things like "I'm gonna set my alarm clock now" or "your friend just vomited under the table." In explaining this mental problem to him, he casually told me between sips of his drink "yeah, I notice you make particularly a lot of mistakes when it comes to tenses. And you often use a lot of expressions incorrectly. And it's true, when you're drunk you really can't speak French at all. It's actually hilarious." And I'm thinking... Wait. You're not supposed to whole-heartedly agree with me! I then found it even more difficult to speak with him -- it seemed that suddenly, he was speaking two times faster and my blood alcohol content had increased ten-fold, but without the fun side-effects. As if he had taken my ability to speak at all and crushed it under his thumb, the way you would a stray crumb on the table: absent-mindedly.

I experienced one other particularly soul-crushing situation, which left me feeling entirely helpless. After a long day at work, I was walking towards the metro when I was thinking about a few things I needed to pick up -- a light bulb to replace the one that broke, a new dishcloth, maybe some hooks to hang stuff. As I was pondering to myself, I noticed two people standing outside one of the many designer shops along this particular street. One was an older woman dressed sleekly in crisp off-white pants and matching slick blazer with light-brown high heels and bouncy blonde hair and she was standing next to a man who I can only assume was gay, dressed exactly as you would expect a French gay man to dress (that is, impeccably). As I walked towards them, I noticed they both give me the once-over -- admittedly, I was dressed quite plainly for such a chic street: a pencil skirt, flats, a cardigan: your basic plain-Jane getup. But as I passed them, I noticed their reflection in a window straight in front of me. I saw the man saying something to the woman, his eyes still on me, and after she turned to watch me walk away, they both put their heads back in loud ego-bruising laughter. Simultaneously my jaw and stomach hit the floor as I hurried behind the corner. Now feeling too self-conscious to get that new dishtowel, I rushed home to be sure that I didn't leave toilet paper treading out of my skirt or had traces of hangover on my face from the night before. Once home, I saw that there was nothing worthy of that mortifying laughter to be found and I still have no idea what made them laugh like that... But the fact that I lost the courage to even finish errands for the day is just pathetic... Isn't it?

A French stranger somehow harnesses the power to insult and injure my ego like no other random American has been able to do to me thus far in my life. And you know, sometimes I chicken out of doing even basic things, like going into a hair salon to ask about the prices or going into a pharmacy to get ibuprofen, simply because I get a nasty look from someone behind the register. Why must they make it so difficult?!

I think this is why, when I return to the US, I'm only too happy to talk to everyone and generally feel more at ease at home.

[Obligatory French-people-suck-sometimes-but-I'm-still-here-so-that-clearly-makes-me-some-sort-of-masochist comment]

xx

mais ça, c'est vraiment trop bizarre.

I already discussed the French things that I'm cool with... What about the things I'm not sure I'll ever get used to? Well, ask and you shall receive.

1. Showers. Anyone who has been to Europe has inevitably encountered some weird stuff in bathrooms -- one of them being how they separate the toilet and the shower. That's nice, I guess, if you have to go when someone is taking a shower. But one of the bizarre things is this whole tub/shower, but lack of shower head attachment. Basically, you're supposed to hold the shower head and wash yourself at the same time. But, am I supposed to sit down? Stand up? Squat? Maybe this set up saves more water (maaaaybe) but it's such an uncomfortable experience. This is why in my bathroom, I've shimmied a make-shift shower head installation using two suction cup hooks to solve this problem.

i'm just so handy.

2. Dog shit in the street. As the eloquent Demetri Martin said:

Owning a dog in the city is like saying, 'my need for companionship outweighs my distaste for picking up shit. I don't like shit but I am lonely. I'm gonna get a German Shepard and a shovel.'

Why, god, WHY don't the French understand this?

3. My personal bubble. Being that everything is bigger in the US, I have a personal space bubble that I consider to be much larger than most Europeans. I just don't like strangers all up in my biz. As a result, when someone in the métro stands next to me when there is clearly a huge amount of space to be had elsewhere, I become insufferably uncomfortable. Rather than moving away from my little corner (which would naturally be letting the other person win), I send mental vibrations to the person, saying something along the lines of "BWAAA, MY BLOOD PRESSURE, MOOOOVE" which inevitably leads to maximum force bitchface and then I just come off looking mentally incapable. But really, if you just stood two feet to the left, we wouldn't have this problem.

4. Air Conditioning. I know I'm being a total turd about this, but having grown up in Arizona, I rely heavily on the comforts of air conditioning. They should get on this -- especially in the public transport. The Toulousain métro in August leaves something... to be desired.

5. The Charm. Let's forget about the fact that I've been here more than a year and a half now. One of the things I thought I would be immune to at this point is the accent -- youuuuu know, when a foreign person opens their mouth and speaks in English, you can't help but think "oooo..." I'm still such a sucker for the accent -- but I'm not talking about my students, no no no. I mean, when I hear the right things said from the right person, I turn into a big pile of goo. I actually have to stop the person, and say "No, stop, that's it. You're no longer allowed to speak English." But it's not even that much better in French -- c'mon, being told t'es trop belle, ah-mehr-ee-can gehrl would make you melt like butter too.

6. Government offices. In the good ole USA, we have lots of offices we have to go to in order to take care of administrative stuff -- mostly though, we tend to avoid them like the plague. Applying for a new social security card? Noooo, thank you. Sitting for three hours in the DMV? Haha, fuck that shit! I'd rather watch my hair get pulled out strand by strand than voluntarily deal with unhappy government workers during my free time. And that's exactly the way I feel about doing such things in France, maximized by ten. I have the impression that anytime anyone has a question about anything government related, they go to the Mairie (town hall) or the Prefecture, so maybe they're just more used to waiting... But you would have no idea, based on the number of times old ladies try to jump me in the supermarket check-out -- I know you're old, but I was here first, goddammit! Fine, go ahead. ::bitch face::

Hôtel des Impôts, tu me fait chier.

Even just sitting here, I'm thinking of more and more things to add to the list... But I do love France. And I love the US. But unfortunately, there's no utopia.

Et ouais, c'est tout.

gros bisous, friends.

c'est bizarre? meuh, non!

France is such a weird place. Except when you live here for a while then you start to realize that it's not actually that weird after all. Uh oh...

1. Non-refrigerated milk. I thought that this was gonna be much more difficult to get used to, but surprisingly it wasn't at all. You can buy milk in bulk here (unless you wanna buy it fresh, which will cost you at least three times more) and store it for several weeks, even months -- the milk currently sitting on my shelf was purchased for .56 centimes and only needs to be refrigerated once opened. Yeah, it's totally weird and gross but, you know, actually it's not. (p.s. you like the name of that powdered sugar? "daddy" -- that, I'll admit, is weird).

2. Not smiling. I saw a thing on the internet for "Chronic Bitchface" and I feel like that that accurately sums up the majority of French people. Nobody walks around with a shit-eating grin (unless they're crazy) and nobody asks questions about why you look like someone just told you that your Chanel perfume is "so last season" (apparently, this happens?). I think I do this too now, which I'll chalk up to "adapting." Oh, shut it.

3. Tiny coffees. To be honest, I really didn't like coffee all that much before I arrived in France, so maybe this was easier than it should have been. It's sorta unusual to take a big coffee, or a grande crème, at a café and even though it takes about 17 seconds to finish, I enjoy the small espressos a lot now, even forcing my family to use our espresso machine every night when I was home. That makes me such a snob. Oh well.

4. The metric system. loljk, I still don't get this.

5. Sundays. By far, this was the most difficult thing to get used to, probably because it's such an inherently normal and usual thing. Most everything closes on Sundays (including grocery stores) and pretty much everyone stays home because the French are all about rest. Though it originally started due to religious reasons and since everyone is Catholic "by tradition" in France (e.g., not Catholic at all), it's now a thing to just stay in bed until like 2 in the afternoon, go for a walk, make dinner and then go back to sleep. I really didn't get it at first, but I do now -- and I can enjoy being in my PJs all day without even a trace of guilt.

6. Small breakfasts. Coffee/tea, a pastry or bread with nutella and that's it. Though I think most Americans my age just enjoy coffee and cereal, there is also the tradition of bacon, eggs, sausages, pancakes, waffles... Which sorta nauseates me for breakfast now.

With each of these things, I'm feeling more and more snobby...

shh, this was in Barcelona

I'm gonna stop here for fear of sounding like a holier-than-thou piece of poo euro snob. But I hope you guys get the idea. I still love me some burritos and queso and I'd still rather have In-N-Out than a filet mignon any day of the week.

American, OUT!

xx

ça m'a fait lol.

So, I've been putting together this list of quotes for a long, long while. I kinda forgot about it and only recently rediscovered it and realized how hilarious foreign people often are. All of the quotes in this list are from a variety non-native speakers, so naturally, hilarity ensues.

From various occasions...

"Do you want some raped cheese?"

"I'm sorry, what now?"

"Raped. It's in pieces."

"I think you mean grated. Unless you've just violated your cheese."

 - in French, it's fromage râpé

"So, you like the night life here?"

"Yeah, but I can make party anywhere, you know? I'm the SUV of party."

"Do you want to get a drink? Maybe a quick cock?"

"A wha? Did you just say..."
"Cock. The drink..."
"Ummmm..."

"Coke! C-OH-ke. NOT a bite rapide! Nobody wants that." 

French child: do you have any kids?

Me: Are you kidding? No, I don't have kids!

French child: Well, maybe you're old enough to have children.

Me: No way. I'm still a kid!

French child: Didn't you say that you're 23???

[a friend handing me a glass of water]

"What can I say when I put this in the end?"

"The end? What do you mean?"

"I mean, the end of you."

"The end of me? Where exactly are you planning on putting it?"

[waving his hands around] "The END!"

"..."

"HAND! Ohhhhhhhh...."

and the same dood...

"but I believe it is very important to bwehksiclee."

"Sorry? It's important to what?"

"Bwehhhsehckeeel."

"One more time?"

[concentrating immensely] "....rrrrrrrrrr-eeeehhhhh-sehck-lie"

"..."

"Meuhhh, laisse-tomber!!!!"

 (turns out, he was trying to say recycle)

with students...

Student: Teacher, what does it mean OMFG?

Me: Well--

Another student: --OH MY FUCKING GOD!

Me: So, who knows the verb 'to trip'?

Student: Is it similar to "to trip on drugs"? Because yes, I'm... familiar with this.

Everyone: ...

[Reading a text that begins "In riding to and from his wife, a commuter is a man who takes the train..."]

Student: Is the man riding his wife in this context?

[during a discussion]

Student: ... and I dropped my wallet so I fell to retrieve it.

Me: You mean, you bent over. 

*laughing from one student*

Me: (ignoring him) Uhm, so, to bend is an irregular verb. "Bent" is the past tense of to bend, plier, and to bend over is se pencher and it's this motion (acting it out). See? To bend over.

*laughter from everyone*

Me: Seriously. That's it, someone tell me what's so funny.

Student: Lindsay... Um. "Bend" sounds like the French word for an erection. And you're saying it a lot.

[teaching my French students how to properly pronounce the "th" sound]

Me: It's important to exaggerate the motion when you practice -- althhhhhhough. Remember, stick your tongue out. Like this.

Student: Oooh, this is so erotic!--

Me: --Ok. we're done now.

Student A: Was Chuck Norris from Belgium?

Student B: No, you're thinking of Jean Claude Van Damme.

and sometimes funny things happen in french too!...

Me: Arthur, s'teuplait. Assieds-toi sur le coussin.

Arthur (age 4): meuh, Leendsay! C'est pas un coussin! C'est un coussing!

-- this kid was correcting my pronunciation to be more "Toulousain" -- adorable.