A week before registration, class schedules are made available to students. These schedules are not available:

1. online
2. in a photocopied form

but are instead posted outside of each department's main office. There is only ONE (1) copy of course listings with their days, times, and room numbers, and it can only be found in ONE (1) specific place (outside the department's office).

This means that if a student is majoring in philosophy, for example, but he would like to take some German on the side, he's obligated to go to the German office to find out when the German classes are available.

In other words, there's no course guidebook, complete with all courses in all departments. Everything is broken down by unit, and students have to go to each individual unit when looking for classes. And each individual unit didn't post their courses until one week before registration.

So my department - which houses French, French Lit, Comparative Lit, Classical Languages and Linguistics - had an informational meeting yesterday. It proved to be completely useless, but that was sort of to be expected. The talk was boring and it was mainly for the 98% of people there who weren't doing linguistics, so hardly anything said pertained to me. Good thing, too, because French students apparently have no qualms about talking during lectures. I mean, really, just straight out babbling away about some new shirt or how assholey Uncle Fabien was being last night. I finally gave up and started reading my book.

Following the meeting, there was a mad rush to the department's hallway to consult the course times/dates. I had already done that last week (first day the classes were posted, baby!), but I sauntered over nonetheless to double check.

While most people were huddled around the Comparative Lit and French Lit sections, I noticed a girl over at the Linguistics boards. I walked over to her, and we had the following conversation:

Me: Are you registering for linguistics?
Her: Yeah... I don't think there are many of us.
Me: No, yeah, you're right. I don't think so either. So, when is registration? I thought it was today at 13.00 but today during the meeting the directrice said it was tomorrow.
Her: Yeah. It's tomorrow at 9.00.

Huh, I thought to myself. That's funny, I could have sworn it was today at 13.00. I decided to dilly dally for another hour or so, just to be sure.

Instead of dilly dallying, I spent the spare time running from department to department, filling out my electives and finalizing my plans. I ran to the English department, which is three magestic floors up from the Linguistics department. I emphasize the use of the term "magestic," which is just a nice way of saying "with really long staircases." The ceilings at the Sorbonne are high, which is lovely, but it also means the space between floors is considerably larger than in a modern building.

From the English department, I went to the Arabic department, which is also three magestic floors up. Of course, you cannot connect to the Arabic department from the English department on the third floor, that would be too easy. Instead, you have to run down the three flights from the English department, walk along the main ground floor, and climb up three more flights to the Arabic department. I made that trek more than once.

By the time 13.00 rolled around, I was pretty tired of stairs. I had slept poorly the night before (registration nightmares sort of kept me up) and had woken up early, too. So I was rather exhausted and suffering a lull in energy.

Nonetheless, I arrived at the enrollment center and got in line, only to find the director-lady (from here on out called The Directrice) saying, "If you're in this line, you're enrolling in mention FLE. This line is only for mention FLE." (Mention FLE is a sub-diploma that you can get alongside your main diploma).

Weird, I thought. I swear the linguistics board said that sign up was at this time, in this room, on this day. I decided to go investigate, but as The Directrice was now surrounded by a dozen confused students, I worked my way over to the woman posting more information on more informational boards.

I shit you not, this was actually our conversation:

Me: Hello. I'm enrolling in Linguistics, and the Linguistics board said that enrollment was this afternoon, in this room. But now the directrice has come out and said that this line is just for the mention F.L.E. So am I in the wrong place?
Her: I don't understand your problem. Everything you need to know is on the Linguistics board.
Me: No, I know, I already looked. But what she said contradicts what was written on the board.
Her: (mocking me) What she said, what she said. Well, you're just going to have to make the decision between whether you want to adhere to what she said or to what was written.
Me: Well, can't you tell me if the Linguistics enrollment is today or not?
Her: Mademoiselle, I can't know everyone's enrollment date. I suggest you go to find the answer from the information provided by your department.
Me: I already did. But apparently either the boards are wrong, or she is.
Her: That's for you to determine.

It was as if she were trying to make my life difficult. Like she wanted me to play some strange sort of guessing game. I just laughed and flared my nostrils once my back was to her.

I meandered back to the line, and magically stumbled across a linguistics enrollment form, yet another item to show me that I was in the right place despite what the authorities said. Looking over the form, I was unpleasantly surprised to find that I not only had to have my classes for first semester planned, but also for second! I bolted out the door and again went running from department to department.

Panting, I came back twenty minutes later to hear The Directrice saying, "Ok, so now the only people left in this line are people for the mention F.L.E, right?" By her tone, I gathered that all the linguistics people had already enrolled (in the 15-20 minutes that I had been running around).

I squeezed my way through the line and jumped into the room, asking if the linguistics enrollment had already passed. The woman I asked said, "You're in linguistics? Where have you been?!? You almost missed enrollment!" and she directed me to a corner booth for enrollment in linguistics.

I shit you not, it was run by the lady that wouldn't tell me if linguistics was today or not. She was the only - the only one - in charge of linguistics enrollment, and she wouldn't even tell me! What a bitch!

Anyway, there were tons of other little mess-ups, one of which I caught and brought to the attention of the Snappy Bitch. After that, she had some respect for me and thought I was ok. Suddenly, she was all smiles. She even told me she would call me if there were any problems with my enrollment. I think it will be handy to have a secretarial friend.

I'm just worried about all those other linguistics people who thought enrollment was tomorrow. Snappy Bitch will surely sink her teeth into them. Poor little lost, confused students.

In the end, I enrolled, and I'm ok. Sure, I still have to enroll individually for all of my electives in their individual departments. Because God forbid there be any sort of communication between departments. Any sort of computer system linking everybody up. Any sort of management software or common system for the entire school to use.

So electives enrollment is tomorrow. I think. Or at least, that's what the boards said.

1. Sign up for the job and cross my fingers that we can figure out a way to work around my schedule (I was strongly discouraged from this option because another girl - available 24/7 - REALLY wants my position). This is problematic because I have something insane like 10 hours of classes on Mondays, and I'm told that my most-requested day at my school will be, yes, Monday.

2. Quit the job and pray that there's an opening in the Paris school district. Somewhere. Anywhere. At any time of day. Other than Mondays.

I'm sort of bitter. No, I'm really bitter. In lots of ways. I clearly marked on my file that I needed to be in Paris, and that I couldn't be too far away if put in a suburb. That I needed flexible hours. That I would be in school at the same time. Apparently, they didn't even look at my damn file before assigning me somewhere.

I'm truly heartbroken. I love teaching, and I've been dying to get back to it. I also love having a job, and I've been dying to be employed. And to have a paycheck. I've done everything in my power to make this work. Why is it that three days before the program officially starts, they tell me that I can't do it? Couldn't they at least have had the decency to let me know this two weeks ago? Maybe we could have found a solution. I have to give them an official decision by Tuesday (the day before the program starts).

So I don't know where that leaves me. I've sent out emails and am saying prayers that the people in the Paris school district find an opening for me. I highly doubt it. I kept getting the administrative comments such as, "Well, we've never done anything like this..." or "I wouldn't get my hopes up..." or, even better, "This is such an exceptional case, I can hardly believe we're even discussing it."

So anyway. First, I found out about that.

Then I went to the Sorbonne and found out that my Arabic class is cancelled. The one I was so, so excited about. I have the option of taking a different, more intensive course which has 6.5 hours of classes per week. This sounded like a great option, especially considering I won't be working, apparently. But one of the required classes for that program (which has six 1-hr classes per week, half of which are on Monday and half of which are on Tuesday) falls right at the exact same time as one of my required lectures. There's no way around it. So I don't know what I'm going to do. Apparently, attendance is required. I'm going to inquire about maybe auditing the class. Or taking the class, but not taking the test at the end (that would give me a diploma). I don't know. I'm so disappointed.

Then I came home and told The Boy about the job situation, who so kindly said, "What's wrong with you? Stop being so dramatic. You're acting like the sky just caved in."

Not the comment to say. I let him have it. I was absolutely livid. We ended up screaming at one another and then doing the whole silence thing for awhile. That put in me in the best of spirits, naturally.

Then I found out that Edward Said died yesterday. And that Robert Palmer died of a heart attack in Paris (ok, I'm not really a Robert Palmer fan, but still...). And then I learned that Starbucks is going to open up a store in France. I quote: "Historically, French cafes have served as the 'third place' to authors, philosophers and artists," Chairman Howard Shultz said, adding that he believed Starbucks "will fit well into the French cafe tradition." What is the world coming to? Keep your freakin' crappy coffee to yourselves, America! I don't want your fluffy purple chairs in my neighborhood!

I was supposed to go out and be social with a whole bunch of people today. I just couldn't hack it. I took a nap and woke up to find the boy feeling bad about how he had reacted. We talked everything over, he turned into Supportive Boy. I cancelled my evening plans. We're just going to stay in, order pizza, grab a movie. I think that's what I need. I have a tendency to escape feeling badly by running myself into the ground and being too tired to think about anything. But sometimes it's better to just slow down.

I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me, though. I was so excited for this year, and in one day everything has come crashing down. God, I am being dramatic. I know it's not the end of the world. I just feel terrifically let-down by the assistantship program. At least, for now, the Sorbonne seems to be working out somewhat alright. I don't know what I'm going to do for work, though. It's back to the drawing board, I guess. This fucking sucks.

I went through a few course listings to look up what I could take for my electives this fall. I don't have the dates/times of the classes yet, which will probably become the deciding factors, but I've narrowed the list down to a few (I have to choose two):

- Linguistics, Phonetics, and Sensory Perception (in English! Just know that I'm a phonetics freak, so this class sounds groovy)
- The American English Language and Culture (also in English! How groovy would it be to take that to see what they say about us!)
- The Development of the Arab World (in French...the rest are all in French)
- Latin-American Litterature (ok, I lied, in Spanish...The piece on the program for first semester is Las armas secretas and Como agua para chocolate is for second semester)
- Latin-American History - from Independance to the Mexican Revolution (sem2)
- Beginning Latin
- Beginning Russian
- The Romance Languages - a comparative class

I'm also annoyed because they have a lot of groovy linguistics classes for Hebrew, but none for Arabic, even though they two languages are run out of the same department.

I'm thinking I'm going to sit in on the first semester lit class in Spanish, to see if I can handle it. If I feel my level is good enough, I'll take it for credit second semester. I don't want to get in over my head, but Colleen made a good point in saying that it's important to always have a language class that is just frustrating enough to make you work hard. If it's too easy, you'll slack and won't learn anything. I think I can handle it, but I want to be sure.

These are just the classes they have up on the web site right now. More shall be coming later. But I'm already psyched...they sound awesome! My excitement is visible by my abnormal use of exclamation points in this post. My other required classes are Comparative Linguistics, Linguistic Theory, and General Semantics. I started reading a book for the semantics class already. I am such a dork. God help me.

Anyway, I'm feeling good. I feel the need to state it because there are always ugly days. We all have a tendency to talk about when we're down, but not so much so when we are feeling up. I'm up.

And my living room looks so much better!

Here's a few lyrics from an Alpha Blondy song. They fit my mood:

I love Paris
I love the way the people move yeah
I love Paris
I love the way the children groove
I love Paris
I love the way the people move yeah
I love Paris
I love the way the children groove
You can see black and white
Side by side
Oh what a nice sight...
I feel so right
My spirit’s so high
When you get down Pigalle
Girls will drive you wild
And when you walk up to the Champs-Élysées
Let your eyes play, let them play, let them play eh
I love Paris
I love the way the people move yeah
I love Paris
I love the way the children groove
Moving out century to century
When you go to Les Halles
Teenagers getting high
So you ride back to the Champs-Élysées
Let your eyes play, let them play, let them play eh
I love Paris
I love the way the people move yeah
I love Paris
I love the way the children groove

But still, thus far, I'm actually a little bit nervous because things seem to be going along just fine.

In a week, I choose my classes and get my books; I think at that point, it will feel like things have really started. I'm getting excited. I am such a dork. In my head I'm thinking, "Yay! Two more weeks before I get to sit in a lecture hall again! Intro to Language Semantics, here I come! Look out, Comparative Linguistics 383!!"

Anyhow, after getting home from the three-hour registration ordeal, I walked in the door to my house to find The Boy still asleep. It was 12.00ish. He woke up and shot out the door, determined to make it to a certain office before it closed at 13.30. I told him that when he came home, I'd be napping.

Instead, I assembled my IKEA bookshelf. And once I had the bookshelf assembled, I had to rearrange all my books. But in order to rearrange all my books, I had to clean off the top of my closets, where half of my books were just hanging out. And in order to put my bookshelf against the wall where I wanted to put it, I had to completely rearrange my living room.

Within an hour, I had gotten myself knee-deep in piles and piles of crap, through which I had to wade for the next eight hours as I slowly, slowly got my house in order again.

But oh! It's so LOVELY now. I took the television out of the living room (we don't watch it anyway) and put it on top of my closets in the bedroom. We can watch movies with it up there, and that's the only reason we use the TV, nowadays. In the corner where the TV used to be, I put a chair, which I hope to replace with a cozy, snuggly chair someday soon so as to make that my reading corner. But for now, at least, my living room feels much more like a room to actually live in, instead of its former state as an ugly center for machinery (TV, computer). It's amazing how much a bookshelf can change things in an apartment the size of an average American walk-in closet.

And I put my new plants on top of the bookshelf. What should their names be? Basquiat and Alfred are still under the window, whereas I pushed Jezebel back towards the fireplace that I'm not allowed to use. I'm tempted to take pictures to show you all how lovely the place is now, but you don't know how gross it had been before, so the novelty of the change wouldn't be obvious. You'd probably see it and think, "Wow! That's really freakin' small and cramped!" instead of thinking, like I do, "Wow! It actually looks like people live here in a pleasant home-like environment!" I get a little surge of joy every time I walk through my living room, now. Home improvement is so fun.

Tommorrow, I'm hoping to tackle my paperwork. I've already created four huge bags of garbage from today's "fall cleaning," as well as two bags' worth of books I'm going to sell. But the paperwork is going to be the real killer. I'm expecting at least three more huge bags of dismissed files. I still have to carry today's four bags down those six flights. I think I'll have to make at least three trips...these bags are friggin' huge.

Anyhow, it's been a productive couple of days. I'm feeling good, but man, cleaning house is exhausting, exhausting work.

But, I've got two new plants, a little stand, a rug, and...most importantly...a FRIGGIN bookshelf. My house, for lack of an ability to expand outward, has began expanding upward. Stacks and stacks and stacks of books. I'm trying to keep it in control with some Ikea magic.

Anyhow, coming home on the metro (after dropping off The Beast) from perhaps the most exhausting day I have had since 1993, a little girl sat down next to me in the station. She reminded me of myself when I was her age: energetic, blond, and, above all, extremely talkative.

Down she sat, looked me squarely in the face and said, "Bonjour!" (it was midnight at that point, so whatever... not really daytime anymore but I wasn't about to argue with the little one).

"Bonjour!" I said back, admittedly rather meakly (I was tired, damnit!)

"What do you have in your hands?"
"My keys."
"What do you do with them?"
"With my keys? I use them to get into my house."
"What do you do with that?" she asked, pointing to my mini-flashlight on my keyring.
"It's a little light. A little light. In case I lose something at night, I can find it easily." I said, blinking the light into my purse so she could see just how much it facilitates the act of searching for something in my bag at night.

Right then the metro came and her mom scooped her up to get on board. She took a seat a fair distance from me, but sat backwards on her mom's lap to keep looking at me. When I caught her eye she burst out, "A LITTLE LIGHT!!" with delight.

I smiled, and secretly flashed the little light at her. She laughed and laughed and laughed.

Our little secret.

It was a great ending to another full and fabulous day. I really like hanging out with new people... it's something I'm only just now realizing. I think I used to sort of be afraid of it, but I really like it now. Maybe it just means I believe in myself more, I don't know, but I'm happy with the change. Down with the social phobia! I think it's a step in the right direction.

And I got two new plants!

In other news, this web site was described on www.familylifeabroad in the following way:

"A young, fun look at daily life in Paris by an American graduate student (with size 11 feet)."

I absolutely love it. I hope I can live up to it.

After hanging up with him, I was about the pop out the door to run a few errands before watching a noon-time documentary at the independent cinema when the phone rang. A friend of S's was in town, and S had given her friend my number as somebody semi-groovy to hang with while in Paris. I was touched by S's faith in me (I mean, she actually thought I might not embarass her! How great!) and made rushed, quasi-plans with her friend to meet up later.

I sped down my stairs afterwards, realizing if I didn't bust ass, I would miss the flick. I swung by the bank, took care of some important shit, and ran to the theater. K and I met up outside, and watched 1.5 hours of Idi Amin Dada footage. I was disappointed a bit in the documentary: I thought it would be more about what he did and less about the man himself. He struck me as a very stupid man. I'm not just saying that because of what I know about him. He just talked in circles.

We spilled out of the theater into the hot, hot early afternoon sun with just enough energy to make our way over to the sunny cafe terrace for our first coffee of the day. I called C and it turned out we had to meet later than I had expected, so K and I decided to grab lunch. But sitting there, we both suffered a lull in our energy despite the caffeine. Starting to get a bit down, we realized we suddenly had three more hours in front of us with nothing to do. Going over the options, nothing sounded appealing: laundry, administrative crap at school, housework. So being lazy and desperate-to-cling-to-our-final-days-of-freedom wackos, we instead went to go check out another movie, "Bruce Almighty." It was about as good as you would think, but it was still cute in its own way. I laughed, which was all I really wanted to do. Afterwards, K and I grabbed another quick coffee, but then she had to run (she has a job and stuff) so I worked my way over to where I was to meet C.

Meanwhile, the phone rang again and it was S's friend again, and my phone kept popping in and out because my other line was ringing. I didn't know how long I would be with C (and later, I learned, R) but I was mainly just concentrating on trying to show up on time. My conversation was short and choppy, mainly due to hearing problems, but I told S's friend to call back around 8.

I met up with C and her friend R, who ended up being pretty groovy. The three of us had a lovely chat about our teaching positions and administrative bullshit alongside the setting sun. I also managed to get some info I needed. C had to scattle out after awhile, but R wasn't up to much so we headed back to Odéon to grab yet another beverage. Colleen met up with us and we had the kind of conversation the topples over itself and forgets to come back to the original point. Love that.

Suddenly, it was 21.00...I still hadn't heard from S's friend and we started to get hungry, so when K showed up, we just decided to grab some pizza. I feel terrible because my phone rang two or three times in the pizza joint, but it was so loud in there I could hardly hear my beautiful compadres' conversation, let alone my silently ringing phone. Regardless, I finished my pizza and my third coffee of the day about an hour later, and the excitement of the day began to take it's toll on me. Suddenly my bed sounded like the most lovely place on earth...

I am completely spent, but in a great, wonderful way.

Happy from my absurdly social day, I came back and kissed the Beau before bringing in the laundry (I had set up a drying device with telephone wire... I swear, the creativity required to accomplish basic tasks in small spaces is absolutely phenomenal at times) and doing the dishes. I checked my email and it turns out that the hyper-anal Frenchies might actually be willing to pull some strings for me! I'm shocked! I've got (yet another) meeting with them come the 25th.

So I'm managing to get some of this shit together. I feel good, but I must, must sleep. A busy day at Ikea awaits.

****Before, though, you must read this adorable blurb courtesy of R. She told us this story at dinner:

A little girl and her mom are at the bus stop. The girl tugs on her mom's sleeve and says, "Mommy, is it springtime yet?"

The mother looks down at her 4-year-old and says, "Yes, sweetie. It's springtime" with a smile.

The girl stops and thinks for a moment. She tugs on her mom's sleeve again, and the mother turns her head back towards her daughter who says, "Ok, so it's springtime...Mommy? When are they going to put the leaves up?"

One of the big piles of shit (although minor, in the grand scheme of things) was that I just got my job assignment for next year. And despite the fact that I just might be the most excited person to actually get up in front of a classroom again, and also the most excited person to actually have a job again, they gave me an assignment that is an hour and a half commute from my house. And yes, this would be no big deal were I working full time and had a car. But the real situation is that I will be commuting this much for a part-time job while I am a full-time student. And all commuting will be done in a bus or on a train.

I wouldn't mind were I not to be fully aware that there were 1500 positions to be filled in all of France, and that at least several hundred people were given assignments in or around Paris. These people could have just as easily been given my position, and they would have no serious issues with it. But I specified that I had to be in the Paris region because I will be taking classes at the Sorbonne, 25 hrs/wk. And there's just no way I can get around that. So they apparently gave me a school district right outside Paris, but then gave me the furthest fucking school from the city within the district. Is that logical? I'm going to test it out, but it may not be possible to pull it off.

Anyway.
I just had to bitch.

I'm trying to keep positive in the face of things. I'm sticking to the stuff I have to do, trying to stay social and see my friends. When it rains, it pours, they say. I'm also trying to stick to running because it is a good stress relief, and it usually helps me keep my thoughts straight.

Something else I didn't appreciate today. Here's the conversation:

"Where did you go on your month-long vacation?"
"Oh, Spain and Portugal. Yeah, it was great."
"Spain? For a month? Why are you so white?"

Yeah. She recognized that maybe that came out wrong and said something along the lines of "Oh, I mean, you're sorta tan, but you seem to have the skin tone that would get really tan after a month in the sun..." but the damage had been done.

Anyway, I don't want to get into all the other shit that's getting me down, but I do want to point out something very basic to all the men out there: if your girlfriend has some serious problems and is on the verge of tears, it's not the moment to get mad at her because she's going to be ten minutes late for her own appointment. No, wait, ten minutes late to being 30 minutes early for her appointment (you, of course, know that she has that "30 minutes early" rule for anything important and that today's appointment is very, very important). Because guess what? She has other things on her mind.

And then, when she semi-calmly tells you that you should consider being a little bit more sensitive, given the present state of things, instead of saying "How the hell was I supposed to know?" (to which the response is "Are you a fucking moron?!"), you should nod and say, "You're right, Baby. I wasn't thinking." But if you can't bring yourself to say that, and your girlfriend eventually storms out of the house in tears because, as a defense mechanism, you just kept on yelling at her, well, when she comes back home six hours later, you should get up and give her a big, scrumptious hug. Or you should say something nice like, "Hey there. Are you feeling better?" while making what she calls "soft eyes" at her. What you shouldn't do is give your girlfriend the silent treatment (thereby requiring her to do the same, of course) for...oh...I dunno...seven hours. And counting.

Good night.

Before heading back to the house to do so, I ran into an American couple looking for the Gare Montparnasse. In The Husband's cute attempt to communicate, he asked me in carefully practiced French if I knew where it might be.

"Sure, it's right over there."
"Oh! You speak English!" he exclaimed, and I accompanied them to the station. They were adorable. Very sweet and funny. It felt good to help them, to talk to them about their time in Paris. They thanked me as I left.

This makes a person feel good. I guess I always forget that actually going out and accomplishing things is not really the painful part - it's the stressing over the details.

I called a doctor's office and got an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. That NEVER happens.

Feeling good about myself, but still a bit knackered, I took an efficient 40-minute nap after doing the bureacratic stuff I had to do at home. I woke up refreshed and ready to rumble.

Colleen came over around four and we went for a jog. I'm further back in my running than I was when I was at home, but I suppose that's normal after a month-long vacation. I'm happy with my performance, though. I'm not so happy with the fascination that other joggers have with my cleavage. Still, tomorrow is a day of rest and I am excited to pick up again the next day. Maybe I'll just wear a t-shirt. I just prefer wearing tank tops. Is that so wrong?

After the jog, walking into my house, I heard my answering machine beep. It turns out a friend of mine got the same job as I did, and I'm thrilled. Now we can compare notes, talk strategy, etc. She deserves it, and I'm happy for her.

Colleen and I chatted a bit after the jog, showered, and headed out for Japanese. On the way, I saw my neighbor in his car. We waved. At the restaurant, I ate the perfect amount of food, drank the perfect amount of wine, and we had the perfect amount of conversation. We split the most amazing, scrumptious dessert.

Wandering back, we decided to see a flick tomorrow as we walked past the theater where it is playing. I picked up a couple of newspapers. I hadn't ever seen the guy running the kiosque before, and it seemed to me as if it was much brighter, cleaner, and maybe even a bit bigger.

"Have things changed around here?" I asked him.
"Yeah, we did some work on the place."
"Oh, that's reassuring. I thought I was just imagining things," I smiled back at him.
"That's what allows him to charge you double the price for your papers, lady!" said a short woman in the corner. She was kidding. We all had a good laugh. I felt like I belonged in my neighborhood.

I read for a bit and then called my sister. I love how much I recognize our alikeness. We only talked for fifteen minutes but we managed to cram a fair amount in. I'm happy we get along so well. Every time I talk to her I realize how cool she is. And sometimes I feel like we both might be insane in the same way, and that only a few people in the world could ever fully understand that particular insanity. I'm glad she's one of the few.

I think I'll go to bed happy tonight. I have more stuff to read, a few things to look over. It's early, but I'm cashed. My body's a bit achy from the beating it took today, but in a good, healthy way. Mainly, I just feel good about myself and the things I managed to do with my day. The simple things count so much.

And so the night progressed. The restaurant allowed you to choose several tapas-like dishes as entrees and then a main course. The convivial and small-towny atmosphere was wonderful, and the owner kept smiling and telling us jokes. We chose our entrees and marvelled at their scrumptiousness. Then the waiter/owner came around and asked what we would like as our main course.

"Your choices are steak, mutton, or octopus."

Huh, I thought, and shook it off. See, I don´t eat read meat. And although I´ll snag a forkful of ham from time to time, there is no way I am ordering any mutton as a main course. However, enchanted by the situation and the kindness of the restaurant owner, I decided to take a leap.

"Octopus," I said, with more conviction than I really felt.

Fifteen minutes later I was staring at a healthy plate of octopus, something I have only eaten in small doses in salads. But, embracing the spirit of adventure and remaining open-minded, I spooned a forkful into my mouth.

Good God, it was absolutely disgusting.

"Do you like it?" asked The Boy.

I considered lying for a moment. But I realized that there would be no way of creatively placing the octopus around the plate so that it would look like I had eaten it. No way of eating just the tasty parts (there weren´t any). No way of getting out of it. The octopus was gross.

"Really?" he asked, after my explanation. "Let me try." He grabbed an overly ambitious mouthful and began chewing. He looked at me with horror and grabbed his napkin, stared at me as if I could provide the solution as to how to get rid of the filth in his mouth.

"There´s a bathroom right behind you." I said, hardly able to control my laughter. He jumped up and cleansed his mouth of the octopus taste. Coming back to the table, he laughed and said, "There was no way that was gonna get swallowed. Thank God nobody was in the bathroom."

Unfortunately, I had to hurt the nice waiter´s feelings and tell him I just couldn´t eat the stuff. I made up for it by picking out a few more tapas-like entrees. I still felt bad though.

The funny thing was that once the episode was over, The Boy and I took inventory of what was going on around us. EVERYBODY had ordered octopus and was scarfing it down like it was chocolate pudding. Literally, and entire restaraunt full of octopus fans. I don´t know how they managed to swallow it, honestly, but they were licking their plates clean by the end.

So much for my spirit of adventure, I guess.