je vais au coiffure (de temps en temps)

Sometimes (meaning every six months) I go to the salon for my bi-annual haircut. I've really been trying to make an effort--I even cut it before Christina's wedding in May!--but even though I have noted "GET A HAIRCUT YOU LAZY BUTTHEAD" every week in my agenda, I always end up conveniently ignoring it and instead decide I don't have time that week. Besides, I've had pretty much only weird experiences at the French coiffure -- either they don't really listen to me or they don't listen to me and they spend the entire time ignoring me and sometimes even leaving me in the chair with the blonde dye burning my scalp.

But you guys, this time, I had a really good experience. I decided to go to a more upscale-y salon and had the most wonderful woman cutting my hair. She was bubbly and making jokes the whole time and not only that, but the woman actually listened to what I wanted! She found just the right shade of red-brown and the end result is, if I may say, awesome. I love her. And I love it.

I wanna shout it from the rooftops! I don't have any post-coiffure remorse for once!!! YAYYYY!!

j'ai la flemme. du coup, je vous presente encore de citations!

Me: So, you have a lot of vacation coming up!

Student: only three weeks.

Me: yeah. it's a lot, though.

Student: no, it's the minimum.

Me:  Well I guess there's a reason why the word for "vacation" in French is always plural, amirite?

Student: ...

Me: Just... Don't ever move to the U.S. for work, ok?


[listening to a dialog about iron deficiency with a student for TOEFL prep]
Student: I don't understand. She says there's a lack of... higher?
Me: Actually, she says there's a lack of iron.
Student: What is eye-run?
Me: It's a mineral... In French, it's le fer. 
Student: ... OH! It's like Eye-Run Man! (Iron Man)
- Seriously, I could fill the internet with moments I have like this.


Me: "So, tell me, what did you do this weekend?"

Student: "I visited the monkey forest. and then I went to the eagle dungeon. And then a vulture tapped my wife on the head! It was a very nice weekend."

Me: "....Were you playing a video game???"

Student: "No."

Student: What do you call the husband of the cow?

Me: Husband of the cow? Um... You mean a bull?

Student: Oh! Like Red Bull?!

And what kind of teacher would I be if I couldn't laugh at myself? So here's a conversation I had with a group of people in French (I've translated)...

Me: "Where we were staying in Spain, there were almost no Spanish people, just French and Germany--"
Friend 1: "Oh you mean, Germans."
Me: "Ah, yes, that's right, thanks."
Friend 2: "I can't believe you just corrected her in front of everyone, how embarrassing for her."
Me: "No, no, it's ok. Please, I want you to spank me when I'm wrong!"
Cut to everyone bursting out laughing and me wondering what the eff is going on... (apparently, "corrige-moi" would be our equivalent of saying "I've been a bad, baaaad girl...")




ca suffit pour l'instant!
xx

j'adooOooOooOOOoooOore

i think i'm in love.

le rêve de californie

You know how sometimes a light and easy breeze can kind of hit you right between the eyes? A wave of nostalgia and you realize you miss something so desperately that just a few seconds earlier was miles from your thoughts.

I've had a stupidly busy week at work with lots of test preparation which, while straightforward enough to do, is exhausting for everyone involved. It's simply just repetition of the same concepts over and over again, correcting mistakes and reading and rereading long texts and explaining grammar rules in lots of contexts. It's not like I can just shut off and give them the right answers -- I also have to understand and explain them too. I would compare it to something like the SAT, for reference. The hours are long and even though the students are very nice and motivated, at the end of the day I just feel like collapsing. It feels a little something like spending the day in a library, pouring over a final essay or revising subjects for your end of year exams.

So when I buzz out of the building and walk down the chic street, sun in my eyes and a gust of warm summer wind blows my hair over my shoulders, it strikes me as eerily Californian, which is absurd. Toulouse is a few hours from the sea, I'm located in the city center with towering buildings on all sides and it's July without air conditioning. But somehow, there is something very sea-like about this breeze -- like I could stop and close my eyes and imagine seagulls above me or sitting at Kono's with a towering stack of pancakes, staring into the breaking waves of the pacific.

I try to remember what it was like living in San Diego, the way the wind feels whooshing past as you speed along the freeway or the thickness of the air in the morning. I can try my best to imagine, but it seems very far away sometimes, like it was a different lifetime ago. Maybe it was clouded by thoughts of coursework and classes and papers, but it seems to be fading -- the tactile memories of living in what I still claim to be my favorite city in the world.

In the world. 

Meaning, if I had to choose between living in France or living in San Diego, it would rip my heart out either way, but San Diego is pretty damn hard to beat.

PB