The highlight of the speech was the moment at which I argued with myself - out loud - over the past participle of the verbe permettre, which, for real now, I totally know. But put me in front of a bunch of Frenchies listening intently, taking NOTES for God's sake, and I just can't remember a damn thing. I was having trouble just remembering basic conjunctions and vocabulary, people! I also may have mentioned the word sodomy and the equivalent of "crazy-ass rich old Londoners" to my class at some point, although hopefully nobody took notes on that part.

The main thing I realized, though, is that, Christ Almighty, I can really be over the top sometimes. This must run in my family, although I really don't see it in my mother and only moderately in my father. Instead, all three of us kids have this interesting tendency to get (perhaps overly) theatrical at times. This can maybe be part of our charm - as is the case in my brother and sister's cases - and it also means that all of us kids are pretty good at imitating foreign accents and famous actors. But it can also mean that our theatrics slip out at inopportune moments, and that perhaps we misgauge the required theatric level of a given statement. For example, today, when I realized, just a split second after I had begun my little reenactement (aka the point of no return) that, hm... maybe I shouldn't be pretending to be Londoners reacting to Art Nouveau via interpretive gestures and exclamatory phrases. In fact, those kinds of theatrics make my classmates nervous. And when they start shifting uneasily in their seats, I start shifting uneasily in mine.

In the end, my professor came by afterwards to tell me that it was a job well done. I honestly don't know if she meant it, or if she just felt sorry for the foreign girl who doesn't know how to do a presentation according to French standards. Just why exactly was I searching for comedic effect, I'm not sure. But hey, at least I gave them all a presentation to remember. I'm just glad we're not meeting again for another three weeks so that they can let that whole 'wacko' stigma subside for a little while.

But most importantly, I will never have to do a presentation in front of a French-speaking audience for at least another year. I went out an drank some sangria in celebration of the making my way over such a fabulous hurdle. If only they knew that I was so nervous about the presentation that I almost lost my lunch minutes after consuming it, they would have understood why I kept finding myself saying the darndest things.

Really, I'd like to plop them in front of a bunch of Anglophones for half an hour and see how well they fare. Sadly, I think they'd do fine. I, however, just made a big show of it. What the hell is my problem? I don't know why I always try to overcompensate. Embarassment is so much better if dealt with in a mellow way. I've never managed to do that. I just go right over the top.

Agh... Walk it off (à la Chris Rock).

I'm excited for the break. And to be around kids again. I always find their presence refreshing in a way that makes you realize that paperwork, paperwork, paperwork does not make life complete.

AND... I also found out that I get an extra week of vacation from work because the high school kids are taking exams. That means no teaching for me for three weeks starting next Monday. Conclusion: this is my last super-intense week before spring break. Things are looking up.

Meanwhile, a student asked me yesterday how to hit on American women. I told them that I wouldn't give them any specific sentences, but then I asked them what they think would work. One boy said, "I don't know, what if I said something like 'You are very beautiful.'" I couldn't help myself. I snapped back, "No. No, that's very bad. American women get that daily from anyone who finds out they're American. Of all things, don't say that sentence!!!" The kid looked insulted - probably because everyone else laughed at his suggestion once they heard my reaction - but I had to put a stop to that sort of nonsense today so as to save him some pain tomorrow

And finally, an apology: my comments are still on crack. I keep posting in the support forum and my questions keep going unanswered. Hopefully this will get figured out soon enough.

In general, the problem is just that I'm just pretty laid-back in the classroom. Discipline techniques are light: calling names out to those who won't shut the hell up. Making people change seats if things are really out of hand. And once or twice I've resorted to ridiculing students as a means to show them not to fuck with me. But today...

Shorty had already been talking since the beginning of class. As a matter of fact, he's just a gabber in general. Him and Ace sit in the back, and ShyMan came in late to join them. I had explained the day's activity by the time ShyMan had joined us, so I asked Ace and Shorty to explain it to him so that he would be caught up with the rest of us.

While the other students worked diligently, I noticed that the Trio was still chatting. So I sauntered over and asked them why they didn't have any paper out, why they didn't seem to have pens writing on said paper.

"Madame, Ace is about to give me some paper," Shorty said back.

"Ok, good, because you better be writing on it by the time I swing by your table again."

I went around and corrected the other students' work, knowing full well that Shorty wasn't going to have anything on his paper and that Ace hadn't made a move to get him any. Meanwhile, ShyMan still had no idea what we were doing.

My strategy was one of force. I walked back to Shorty's table and said, "Nice work you've done there."

"Madame, Ace won't give me any paper."

"That's not true," I said. "But if I were you, I'd be sure to get some quick because you're going to be the first to go to the board. Not only that, everyone else is almost finished so you better hurry up to make up for all the time you've wasted talking with your friends."

He protested at the "first to go to the board" part, and then feigned acceptance. I don't think he actually thought I was serious.

"Ok everybody! If you're all ready, I think we have our first volunteer." I said, tugging lightly at Shorty's shirt to indicate that he was the lucky man.

"No Madame! I can't! I haven't written any sentences on my paper!"

"Oh, did you hear that, everyone? Shorty didn't do any work! You know what though? I bet his English is so good, that he'll be able to come up with three sentences without making any mistakes. So let's all wait for Shorty to go up to the board."

"No Madame! No!"

"Yes, Shorty! Yes!"

The other students had caught on to what had happened, so of course they started egging him on to go up there. That was good, because he couldn't really say no.

So Shorty went up to the board and wrote two sentences, one of which was "I kiss Snoop Dog." He didn't follow instructions, but it's ok because there was ample room for correction/ridicule in his first sentence. First, I asked the other students what the mistake was. He had intended to say, "I kissed Snoop Dog." Then I asked them what the difference in meaning was between the two, making sure to point out that the first sentence means that Shorty kisses Snoop Dog regularly, that it's something he does often and is just a general state of his life. In fact, maybe Shorty and Snoop Dog have a little something going on? It's possible, it's possible.

Anyhow, it provided a humorous segue into the serious students' work, which they did semi-diligently on the blackboard. Despite this, I had had to ask Shorty and Ace to shut up every five minutes. ShyMan was being reasonably respectful, but would occasionally get in on their discussion, even though I'm sure he'd be a better man amongst better man.

After telling the Trio to be quiet several times, there was a point at which Ace and Shorty were talking so much that I couldn't continue the class. I walked over to the desk between them and asked them reasonably politely to stop. Then I asked again. Then again. They just kept talking around me as if I weren't even there. They also pretended not to hear me and my growing requests for silence. I was appalled at how rude and disrespectful they were. It was truly beyond anything I have yet experienced. So I flipped (all of the following was said in French in a loud, firm, pissed-as-hell voice):

"If you boys want to continue your discussion then I suggest you leave the room. I'm tired of talking over you and I have had enough. So be considerate and leave your classmates and me in peace so that we can continue with the class. Please, I ask you, leave the room"

I open the door quickly and forcefully. The boys look down at their desks.

"What? No big deal. Leave. It's very simple. I won't tell your teacher, and you won't be marked as absent. But I cannot continue this class if the two of you keep talking. So I don't care where you go or what you do, I just don't want you in my classroom any more. This is how we do it in the United States: if you're causing too much trouble, you just leave. So you are both too much trouble. Leave. Get out. Go."

Shorty says, "But Madame, we're in France."

"Yes, I know, but I'm American and I'm sick of your gabbing. This is how I solve these kinds of problems. Get out of the classroom. It's all I ask."

Another students yells out from the back, "Go on guys, let's see you defend yourselves." He was obviously mocking them and I really, really wanted to go hug him at that moment.

They refused to look at me and refused to look up.

"Why haven't you left yet?"

Pause.

"You want to stay?"

Pause.

(in a low voice)"One more word and I will do more than just ask you to leave. I will make you leave."

(back to my normal teaching voice) "Please, CutiePieWho'sBeenAwkwardlyStandingBytheBlackboard. Continue."

At the time, I had been amazingly calm. Angry, yes. But 100% coherent and, I believe, effective. But as soon as I walked away from them I began shaking from realizing what I had just done. Luckily, I was in the back of the room and CPWBASBB was in charge at the point. But Jaysis. Shit, man. I laid the smack-down. Whoa.

The rest of my day was a bit of a blur, as I almost felt that I had marred my image as the cool, laid-back chick who never yells. My next class was boring and the kids didn't participate as much as I had hoped, even though their English is pretty good. They were almost bizarelly subued, perhaps a ricochet of my own clouded mindset. My last class was pretty good, if a bit rambunctious.

Luckily, however, as I was saying my goodbyes at the end of the last class, one of the students came up to me.

"Madame? It seems that you have told our regular English teacher that I participate a lot in your class."

"Yes, that's right."

He flashes a big, hesitant smile.

"That's a good thing, T," I said, mainly because I felt that he was waiting for more of a reaction or further information from me.

"Yes, Madame. I just really don't like English class at all. I make a bit of an effort, but I really don't think I'm any good."

"T. You're one of the strongest in the class. When I see you participating, I don't see that you don't like English. I see someone who is pretty good at it and is only going to get better. Plus, you're a nice kid who has a lot of respect. It's a pleasure having you in class."

The grin broadens. "Ok! I'm just doing what I can!!" he says, as he walks backwards out of the classroom.

The good times make the bad ones worthwhile.

They declined his request because he's currently unemployed. If we were married, they would have granted him the visa, but I guess being with someone for five years doesn't mean shit to people at the embassy. Now, after the visit, I really, really wish I had gone along with him. I don't know that it would have made a difference, but I at least could have said a little something to that bitch that told him no.

Not that I'm knockin'. She was just doing her job, sticking to the rules. I can still have a bit of animosity towards her just to make myself feel better. But my enthusiasm for my trip home has just dropped several notches. I was so excited. It just sucks to get excited about something and then realize it's not going to happen. I can feel the disappointment in my body as if it were a physical sensation. It's sitting right in those little pockets below my clavicle, and just above my armpits, where my arms meet my body.

What's worse: a) his visit to the embassy cost him over 100 euros because they charge you for your visit (and the phone call to set up the visit) and b) he can't apply for a visa for another year. Had we known all of this, we may have done things differently. The thing is, they don't provide information online or on paper or anywhere for you either, like, say, the Canadian embassy does. Who, by the way, granted him a visa within a day. But whatever.

Ugh, I'm just fed up, let-down, and frustrated. If I thought it was hard to spend four days as a seventh wheel without him during Christmas, I think eight days on a boat is going to be one helluva challenge. I'll be sure to bring a lot of books and learn a few more solitary games before I leave.

Yesterday was the first truly beautiful day in Paris: warm, sunny, great. The weather is affecting my students in a terrible, terrible way. I held what was probably the worst class yet on Tuesday. The boys have gotten all hormonal and act like panting dogs. The girls talk even more than they usually do about fashion and hair. And combined, it means that both sexes don't give two shits about learning in the classroom. I honestly don't know how these kids are going to make it in the world. Sometimes I feel like I only have two or three students who know how to concentrate for anything more than five minute spurts.

Most days I'm cool with it, but yesterday, running on two hours of sleep and with absolutely zero patience, I cracked. Two of my students were being obnoxious and I finally just refused to talk to them. After class, they kept apologizing and saying, "Can't we make it up to you?" and I said, "No. You pissed me off and that's that. I don't appreciate when 23-year-olds act like five-year-olds in my classroom. I warned you once, then twice. You boys need to grow up. It's painful to watch you act like that." They both felt like dumbasses, and I suppose it was a bit harsh, but seriously. These boys are both in their TWENTIES and are in high school.

Anyway. I skipped my classes this morning in favor of sleep. I don't even really feel guilty about it, mainly because I feel I have been kicking my own ass all over town. I'm just so tired. A typical day involves four hours of teaching and then four hours of lecture, with three hours in a train somewhere in there. It's too much. I have an entire notebook full of notes that I have yet to type out/rewrite, and I'm way behind in the research project I'm helping out with for money. Most days, I feel like I'm able to stay afloat. But sometimes, I need to just stop and not feel guilty about taking a moment for myself. I decided that moment would be this morning. It feels good.

In other news, I'm considering moving to New York in 2006. Or maybe Boston. I have a few projects lined up. I would be 100% about it if it didn't mean leaving The Boy. Choosing between love and career is nowhere near as fun as it looks in the movies.

So yeah. Dad suggested a room breakdown for the cruise ship that would go as follows: sister and brother-in-law in one room, brother and sister-in-law in another, and me and my parents sharing a suite. I don't want to sound like a stuck-up little whiner because, hell, a cruise boat is a cruise boat. But it always makes me a little sad to do these kinds of "family" vacation things/events without my honey. And, being the kid who sleeps in the parents' room always makes me feel like I'm back to being six years old. It really does get me down - I hate to sound dramatic but I've fought back tears about it on several occasions. It's not that I mind sleeping in the same room with my parents. It's that I mind that I'm alone. The obviously wiser and cheaper decision is for me to sleep on the sofa bed.

So anyway, Dad and I agreed on dates and a reasonable itinerary. Now that The Boy has his passport, I asked Dad how possible it would be for him to join us. Dad said we should give it a whirl, and I said, "But I think he's afraid of boats."

Still, I hung up the phone and asked The Boy if he would be want to come. I had asked him this a few months ago, when Dad first brought up the idea of a possible cruise with me, and The Boy had answered, "I hate flying. Go by yourself." I was a little hurt, but I also figured that he was only saying that because he wasn't sure if he would have his passport by then. Self-preservation, wha.

So, today when I asked him for the second time, I didn't really know what his answer would be. But, he got really excited and said he would love to go. He even clapped his hands and did a little drumbeat on the table. So we're going to try and see if we can get the papers in order for him to go with us. I would be so, so happy if he could! I don't know what I would be happier about: The Boy getting to see where I'm from and spend some time in the States with me, or him joining us on the cruise. Please keep your fingers crossed that the American government doesn't deny him a visa. Unfortunately, it's highly possible. But maybe we'll get lucky.

Why? Country music makes it impossible to be in a bad mood. Most of it is upbeat. If it's of the sad variety, it's of the crooning, how-I-miss-my-roots variety, not the I'm-a-tortured-soul-with-such-depressive-problems type. Country music, when slightly more tame, can be very environmental: the mountains, the river, the skies. But usually, it's all about kicking ass, loving life, and getting drunk.

I'm thinking of forcing my poor, innocent high school students to learn to appreciate country. They usually coil away in horror at the very mention of the word. Maybe we should do a whole unit: Country Music - the history, the evolution, and the future of an American art form?

I'm off to go do some more toe-tapping and knee-slapping. Any of you have any must-have country suggestions? I'm especially looking for any songs with the following themes:

1. I-just-broke-up-with-my-man-and-I-can-attest-that-he's-a-low-down-good-for-nothing-bastard. I'm-gonna-go-out-and-get-drunk-with-the-girls-to-chase-my-blues-away

2. I-grew-up-in-the-mountains-and-am-deeply-in-touch-with-my-southern-roots. I-often-talk-about-banjos-and-harmonicas-wistfully.

3. Nothing-quite-like-being-a-cowboy, huh?

By then it was already noonish, so I decided to move quickly. I gathered up the laundry, sorted it by color. Headed to the laundromat around the corner, thinking about how I'd like to be able to write a novel one day, even if I don't have the discipline or the talent. So much crap is published, why couldn't some of my crap be as well? I don't care about the money, just the thrill of seeing something I wrote wrapped up in a respectable-ish cover. I suppose I should write something longer than 15 pages, in that case...

Rounded the corner into the laundromat and stepped in the door. Four people already in line for the next available washer; that'll teach you not to go to the laundromat on Saturday afternoons. The bum in the corner can't figure out how to open his machine, and he smells so bad nobody dares go near him to lend a hand. As he bends down to grab his laundry bag, he reveals his ass crack, which is disturbingly filled with his own shit. I guess that explains the smell.

Vetoing the idea of waiting around in the laundromat, I head for the grocery. In, out, I buy what I need with my massive laundry bag slung over my shoulder the whole while. I pick up some ridiculous cookie things that I need to stop eating soon. I decided I will stop as soon as my period comes, which seems like a reasonable and responsible limit. Then the cookies will officially join The Banned List, alongside such delicacies as Nutella and Mikado cookies.

Back home, I do four hours of data entry before I decide I'm going insane. Phone calls from friends interrupt me, and I'm happy to have them there. Invitations to several events make me feel loved; just a few months ago I remember feeling that I didn't have enough friends in Paris. I smile at the thought of how much things have changed since then. I cook dinner (tacos, nothing spectacular) while listening to Nat King Cole's Spanish albums. Once we sit down to eat, The Boy eats five tacos. He loves them, and even clears the dinner plates after the meal as a sign of his appreciation. We split some wine with dinner, and finish off the bottle as we sit and catch up on things on the couch before he says his typical, "Ok, I gotta work." Tonight, however, I'm fine with it. I want quiet time with my projects and my music.

I update my flicks page while listening to hip hop from my high school days. Walking back from the grocery today, some guy had been blasting rap from his car. The rhythm changed my steps within milliseconds. I love hip hop, and I still can't put my finger on why. Being overseas, I don't get to develop me hip hop knowledge as much as I would like, so please share if you all have some must-have albums on your hip hop lists that I should know about.

Tomorrow morning I'm getting up early to listen to some Gregorian chants at Notre Dame. It will be the first time I actually go inside the cathedral. Then I'm off to coffee with a friend I haven't seen in awhile before heading to an afternoon movie on the Cambodian genocide with Kathypath. As a special treat to myself, I think I might even go to an early evening flick alone - something sentimental and sappy, to fit my rather pleasant, nostalgic mood right now.

At least when I come down from these clouds, I'll have a record of it online. I'm glad I spent the night at home: I got some work done, hung out with The Boy in a way we haven't been able to for awhile, and had some alone time with my thoughts. I wish every day felt this good. There's a lot of pleasure to be had in many small things.

Unfortunately, we didn't take any photos while staying with friends in Dakar the first time around. I suppose the camera wasn't on hand, or the madness of seeing one another after so long apart - and in Africa of all places - was too much for either Laura or I to get our act together and think of taking pictures. To be honest, I didn't take a single one of these pics - I'm horribly lazy when it comes to taking pictures while travelling. I always appreciate having the memories later, though, so all thanks goes to Laura in that regard.

So, that said, although we spent three days in Dakar staying with the lovely and hospitable Mireille, our photographic journey must begin elsewhere:

M'bour, Senegal. Diou Diou's relative owns some sort of resort home that they rent out to people, so we shacked up in what were some pretty cush lodgings for free as they happened to have an open night without customers. It pays to know people who know people, people. Stacey and Diou Diou did some dancing for us, while Laura realized how white trash it truly is to drink wine out of a carton. While there, I was hit with a wave of lovesickness for The Boy, and I called him. We both gushed at one another for awhile and I felt better about the fact that I was the seventh person on a three couples + 1 excursion. I didn't have too much time to feel sorry for myself, however, because we ate some food, took showers, and I passed out cold some time around midnight.

The next day we headed out to David's family's house, where we took most of these photos. We regularly headed out to the boutique to buy crap food, because Americans love cookies and pop no matter what part of the world they're in. On one such trip, on the way, we ran into Martin, who is rather dashing (you'll see what I mean in a minute - this picture doesn't do him justice). Look in the upper-left-hand corner: there's the guy we called I'mATeacher. For the life of me, I can't remember his real name. Anyway, I'mATeacher really wanted to get his own picture taken, so we couldn't help but oblige. At the time, I didn't realize that I'mATeacher was a regular at the family's house, I just thought he was some guy in the street who wanted his picture taken. Turns out Laura actually knew him, which made the whole situation less funny than I had thought it was. Still, he was very motivated for the photo. I actually just think that both of these photos are interesting because they show what the neighborhood we stayed in was like, the same neighborhood Laura currently lives in, although she is now a few blocks down.

Now, a few pictures of my favorite place to sit and drink tea, aka the family's terrace: Here is Daniel and I'mATeacher on the terrace, sitting in front of the laundry hanging to dry. These are two of the most endearing children I have seen in a long time, Christen (sp? - Laura just began referring to him as Our Cherub and I stuck to it) and Delphine, on their favorite toy. They were both incredible sweethearts. Oh, and remember Martin from the street? Am I right about the dashing-ness? And finally, this is the woman who runs this entire empire. Does she not just exude greatness?

I spent a lot of time in M'bour just sitting around, talking with friends and neighbors. Sometimes I did the sitting around on the patio, other times I did it on the street. Here's Blaze in the street, wisely sitting in the shade of the tree just outside the villa's gate. And here's another picture of The Cherub, with darling David. Natalie is in the background, working hard as ever. The girl never seemed to stop.

I was horribly sad to leave the little porch-land. This picture was taken on my last day, when I had to say good-bye to David. Of all the people in Senegal, David showed the most kindness and warmth of anybody, and that's really saying a lot. I will forever be in debt to him. My hope is that one day he can come to Paris (or wherever I'll be) and I can at least begin to tip the scales back towards something semi-balanced. I owe him, big time. He is truly an amazing soul - patient and caring and giving. I am so happy to see Laura has snagged herself a winner. He seemed sad to see me go, too, as you can tell in this picture of the two of us. He's almost always smiling, so I was surprised by the sullen look he has.

Instead, I prefer to remember him by this photo, when both of us are a bit more of our usual (in my case, freakish) selves.

And lastly, here is the divine place where we got to spend our final days, thanks in great part to Max, a friend of Stacey's. As you may or may not be able to see, by this point we had truly mastered the art of relaxation. Imagine some reggae music in your head as you feel the sun on your face, drinking La Gazelle in a mural-painted courtyard filled with flowery plants and sand. There was even a hammock. One couldn't ask for a better way to spend the last moments of an already perfect vacation.

Let me just take a moment to reiterate that these pictures were pretty much all taken in the same two days at M'bour. They only provide a miniscule little snapshot of the amazing things I saw and did while on my trip. They also, unfortunately, don't show how important Laura and Stacey were to me and my time out there, as they were the ones who taught to walk the walk and talk the talk. I love and thank you both, a million times over! (PS: I've managed to hold off on that final package of Biskrems. I want to see if they'll be doubly delicious with a little anticipation thrown into the mix.)

But also, thanks to all my new Senegalese friends: Hilaire, Mireille, Diou Diou, Tahir (aka The Intriguing Guy), Mama, Natalie, Daniel, Martin, Olivier, Blaze, I'mATeacher, the Pig Owner Dude, Max, Malick, and, most of all, David. You will all be hearing from me soon, but until then I send you my love! Thank you thank you thank you!