Archives: May 2004
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Warning! Etam (French) has slimming mirrors in its dressing rooms.
As does Express (American).
Slimming mirrors should be made illegal universally. I'm always so amazed at how hot I look in certain articles of clothing when I try them on in the store. And then I find myself wondering why the hell I bought something that makes me look like a fat cow once I come home. Then, of course, I am angry I spent money on something I don't even like.
Maybe I should only wear the clothes in the dressing room.
Which I guess is another way of saying I shouldn't buy them.
Life is just constantly turning over itself. I believe women are more in touch with the constant ebb and flow of it all than men.
I found out yesterday that the Bostonians gave birth (well, one of them did, while the other anxiously paced around, I imagine) to a beautiful baby boy. A few hours later, I learned that Blondie is pregnant. I'm so happy for my lovely friends... they will both make excellent mothers.
At some point it will be my turn, but today is certainly not the day. I am just so glad to be able to smile at the thought of those close to me bringing kids into the world. It makes me think the future might not be as dismal as it seems whenever I read the newspaper.
Then again, I read today that Phish is breaking up this summer. So that gives me hope, too. Looks like all those Phisheads will soon be swimming belly up. Praise Jesus.
Making the world a better place, one day at a time.
Sometimes you have to have things taken away from you in order for you to realize how meaningful they are.
For example, when my brother tried to protect me from teasing by hiding my blanket, I flipped my shit. I recognize now that he was just trying to toughen me up before I turned seven, but at the time it was a true tragedy. Nothing felt better than to finally have the blankie back in my arms again.
The adult version if this story concerns next year. I'll be doing a maîtrise, which is sorta kinda moreorless like an American master's. The difference is that in France, it's pretty much split into two years: the first year is all learning and testing and more learning and more testing, whereas the second year is all researching and writing and more researching and more writing. Essentially, what I am trying to say is that I will only have four hours of classes come next fall.
And yeah, that's because the rest of the time is supposed to be spent in the library. And sure, I'll still be working at the high school several days per week. But I thought to myself, wow! Only four hours of class time? Wait! That means I can intensively study Modern Standard Arabic and do a few hours of syrian/lebanese/palestinian dialectecal Arabic on the side!
(Of course that's what I thought.)
All of this was because I found the perfect program. I got very excited about it (10 hours of language instruction per week, all for only 200 euros a year! God bless France and their love of education!). Happy imaginings of me reading Arabic newspapers in cafe began floating through my head...
And then Beccarah told me that the deadline for foreign students was January 15.
Read more »I'm back from my Saturday dinner with Kathypath and am slightly drunken. I have this little black book that I want to begin using as a journal, but I have promised myself that it won't be done until I take off for southeast Asia. The trip is only four weeks away... I can't fucking believe it. In the meantime, Odessa Street is going to have to be the place for my completely pointless ramblings when I've split a bottle of wine with a great friend.
What a nice evening. I am so happy to have good friends, to be able to have people I fully trust and can share lives with. Kathypath is such a wonderful person: full of life, wisdom, and reflection. I don't know what I would do without her.
Lately, I've been weighing big decisions and trying to make the most of everything. I'm happy where I am, and I am wondering where I will go. It's not the worst of positions to be in. Everything feels frighteningly wide open, but I am getting more and more comfortable with the uncertainty every day.
For now, I am just going to go to bed and finish my great book about inbred Greeks in Detroit. Dude, it won the Pulitzer, so I'm not the only one who thinks it's fab. Tomorrow brings a morning breakfast with friends and catch-up time with Brooklyn Babe, whom I haven't seen in ages. Oh right, and I gotta study at some point. There's that, too.
So Wednesday was the chance encounter with a former "enemy" of sorts. We resolved things, or at least I feel we did. One peg down.
Thursday was ten hours spent with The Boy's former girlfriend and her family. That meant over ten babies, several little kids, and lots and lots of Belgians. Mind you, ex-girlfriends are always rather sensitive subjects. But when the ex is also the mother of your man's child, it obviously complicates the issue quite a bit.
Going into it, my main feeling was that I wanted resolution on my relationship with his ex. Let me explain:
Last time we had met - almost three years ago - I wasn't doing so well emotionally (this was long before the days of this web site). The Boy and I were going through a rocky period, I didn't know what I was doing with my life, and I was wondering why the hell I was staying in France for a school career I wasn't sure of and a man I was constantly fighting with.
So, feeling that way, when The Boy suggested we take the train up to see Angie and Daniel - her boyfriend of six years - and hang with the kids (one being A and The Boy's and one being A and D's), I had said yes more out of duty than out of any sort of desire to go see them.
To this day, I still don't know what went wrong. Everyone was snappy. I got tears in my eyes at the way Angie spoke to me on several occasions. The Boy was being cold and distant. The only person who made the weekend worthwhile was Daniel, who was nothing but nice to me. I couldn't understand why the two people who should want everything to go as smoothly as possible were also the only ones who seemed to want to make an already difficult situation more difficult, while Daniel and I were the ones trying to make everyone get along and play nice.
Looking back, I realize that maybe I was also somewhat too sensitive, and that maybe I had misread things because I was rather insecure about the whole thing. Or maybe I didn't appreciate that Angie might have just not liked having a new girl in the picture and was having a hard time with it herself.
Whatever the problem, I had resolved to make this time count. I'm doing so much better, in so many ways, than I was the last time we hung out. My main purpose in going to see them yesterday was just to clear whatever foul air was hanging between us since our last encounter several years ago.
Oddly, I think she must have felt the same. I can't explain what happened. There was a definite, almost palpable, change in dynamic between the two of us. We got along, we laughed, we made jokes. She never once made any of the underhanded, sneaky comments she had made last time. She seemed open and kindhearted, unlike our last visit when she had come off as a cold, manipulative bitch.
But the really important moment was when the family decided to take a walk to the local park. We walked away from the rest of the crowd, and she began talking to me about her relationship with The Boy: why it wouldn't have ever worked, why she's happy to see that he's with someone who is better for him, how she can look back and realize how immature they both were. And while I might not have appreciated hearing some of the details about their sex life, I was glad to hear the rest. I told her a little bit about how things are between us, she gave me some advice. I felt that for the first time, we spoke to each other as friends, and that really, really, meant a lot to me. And honestly, I could see how we could be friends, now that I know her better. That's a great feeling.
It's funny: when confronted with uncomfortable situaitons, we still have the same fight or flight mechanism as we do when in the face of life-threatening danger. The last two days have given me the chance to face some of my fears, to talk to people I had some serious problems with. In both cases, I had honestly felt that I was being mistreated for no reason. While I still stick to that today, I also recognize that clamming up and shutting the offenders out of my life was not necessarily the best way to handle the situation, either. Amazingly, by opening myself up a bit, both situations are considerably better now than they were 48 hours ago.
I'm just so happy to not have those dark clouds hanging over my head.
The crazy thing is that things are never the way you imagined them. You're never prepared for the good, you're never prepared for the bad. Life is funny like that.
Something's in the air right now. I remember when I was in high school, I thought so much about existence and what are we all doing here? I thought about chance and randomness and decisions and how it only takes a single drop to start a waterfall. These thoughts almost consumed me. I often had a hard time getting out of my head, and only The Doors or Cypress Hill seemed to be able to get me out.
But I loved living with that intensity. Often, I've wondered where it went. When did I get so fascinated with the practical, instead of the mystical? When did things stop touching me spiritually? When did I stop questioning in the way I used to? In a weird way, I miss that part of myself that was so fascinated with the underbelly of life, the things just below the surface.
While we were in Senegal, we sat under a tree with some maraboutage. Someone had wrapped up a shoe in very intricate system of string and leaves, and the supersticious Senegalese I was with made low, disapproving humming noises and warned me about the power of this kind of magic. I remember at the time glimpsing at it, and wondering if really there was something evil in it.
But I think it was good stuff. Something has definetly happened to me ever since I went there. I still can't put my finger on it... it's this strange sort of peace. I just can't explain it. I have so much going on. So many strange things happening to me. So much I can't control. But. I don't know. I'm ok. And I feel good. And I'm even ok with the times I don't feel good. It's coming from inside, and that's so different than it all coming from within my head.
It made me realize: that questioning is back. It's a sort of soul-thinking. Instead of the cold, mechanical thinking of the brain, it's warm and sort of ether-like, but just as powerful. Thoughts of chance and destiny and what-does-it-all-mean have been invading me, and I feel so calm in their presence.
I just ran into an old friend. We had had a terrible falling out about three years ago, and it was never resolved. It was sort of a constant stain on my otherwise rather cheery Parisian canvas, one that I almost always hated revisiting.
Often, I would think I saw her and my heart would skip a beat. Oh God, I'd think. What the hell are we going to say to one another? Without fail, the person I saw would turn her head another 15°, and I'd realize it had been a false alarm. But it would be enough of a reminder of her to make me re-hash the whole story over again in my mind. Almost immediately afterwards, I'd get really angry, and then I'd just slump back in my chair/bus seat/whatever and just feel the ugliness of the situation all around me. I hated feeling like that.
But I saw her today and we talked. We caught up, we had coffee, we went over what happened. I think we've both grown. I think it'll be ok. I've said my piece, and she was receptive. That's all I really can ask for.
I'm surprised. I had always thought that running into her would be so painful, but I'm so glad it happened. I feel the air has been cleared. I feel lighter. There are still things to work out, but I don't have to go on being angry at someone for the past.
That's a good feeling. And a healthy one. Like I said, you never know when good things will happen. Surprisingly, you never know what forms good things will come in, either. The best thing today came in the form of a past "enemy." I'm glad that today I can call again call her, however hesitatingly, my friend.
The title of this post is also the title of one of my favorite songs ever written by Funkadelic. Download it now. It is beautiful.
The good thoughts: My parents are coming to visit me next weekend, an unexpected but pleasant surprise. I just finished one job. I have two weeks left of another. Andre The Crush lurves me. The weather is beautiful. Tomorrow I will take at least two hours to enjoy myself because I have worked 14-hr days for the last two days and I effing deserve some effing peace and quiet. I like the new book I am reading right now (Middlesex). I promised myself to read at least 40 pages in the sunlight tomorrow, without feeling guilty about the work I should be doing. The Little Guy was told to do a school report on a topic of his choosing. He chose Paris. The Boy and I will bring him small Eiffel Towers and postcards and such on Thursday, when we go to Belgium for his first communion. I have beans soaking overnight in preparation for more red beans and coconut desert. Tomorrow I get to sleep past 7.30 am. Inch'allah.
The bad thoughts: My flight to Vietnam lasts 23 hours. It is a smoking flight.
Who doesn't love the first real day of summer?
The day was filled with little silly things that made me smile. That's the sunshine's effect, you know. Such things were:
- When Y showed me a poster written in Arabic and I could read it. It just said "Drink Coca Cola" but that was written in Arabic, you see.
- When C figured out her mistake during her English test today and she self-corrected.
- Track 8 on "Phrenology." Over and over and over again.
- The three boys at the foot of the stairs in the Sorbonne today, just bluntly checking out each girl's ass as she walked by. They caught me laughing at them and laughed back.
- Working for three hours straight - in the teachers' lounge long after my classes at the high school had ended and before my classes at the Sorbonne would start - without really minding at all.
- The moment on the bus today where I thought, "Huh. I'm way better off today than I was at this point last year."
- Beccarah taught me how to make the red beans and cocunut milk dessert. So, after two days of soaking the beans, I ate it today. Mmmm...
- When our class collectively decided that the longer we sit out in the hallway before going into the lecture hall, the later class would start. We dragged it out for 15 minutes before our professor came out and said, "Um..." We feigned surprise: "Oh! You're here!" He responded, "Last time I checked, I was here, yeah."
- Working at the computer with the window open and the sound of people eating out on the terraces of the restaurants downstairs wafting in.
I love the summer.
Kdogg called me today so we could talk SEA (Southeast Asia) and stuff. We've realized that we are leaving in five weeks, and have essentially prepared nothing.
As a matter of fact, until just a few hours ago, we feared that Kdogg was not arriving an hour after me, but in fact an hour and a DAY after me, which would have left me sleeping in the Bangkok airport all night. I would have just slung a sign around my neck that said, "Skank Ass Ho" and hope she would have found me. I fear people would have thought I was just labelling myself, though, when really it would have been a joke on her, done in the style of the taxi people hoping to give a ride to the business executive named Mr. Johnson or Mr. Rodriguez.
In the end, however, things worked out. No need for the ridiculous taxi sign. We'll get the misquito nets over there. I'll be the insect reppellent here. She'll buy film in California. Etc. This is a very international operation, here.
I spent the entire day talking. For people who know me, you also know that this means I've had a wonderful day. After yesterday's insanity, I was so happy to live a day where I smiled more than I cried.
Beccarah came over and she distracted me from the "homework" I was doing. I had told her on the phone that it was an intense study day, but that she should come over and that I would take a short "break." When she knocked on my door, it turned out that I was in the middle of rearranging my closet (homework my ass). It was easy for her to sway me into getting a quick coffee that lasted two hours.
Then I headed home and Kdogg called. We talked for over an hour. Pricey, by our standards. Then my sister IMed me, and I told her I'd call. So I did. And we talked briefly (for us... which means about 20 minutes).
Then the Boy and I went out to a healthy dinner where I taught him about realistic rubber torsos for male pleasure and dildos. He was fascinated. The conversation lasted at least an hour.
Overall, a good day. Coffee, travel, and masturbation toys. Nothing gets more exciting than that.
I went to another doctor today. This is the seventh out of seven different doctors I have seen in the last 18 months for the same condition. Since August 2002, I've been repeatedly accused of "making a big deal out of nothing" and of everything "just being in my head." I can't tell you how much I've wavered between wanting to throw furniture and wanting to crumple into the corner and cry about it.
The Boy's been super great, though. That's helped. He does what all women want in the end - he just sits and strokes my hair and tells me that we'll get through it. I know we will, but God it helps to hear it. The other escape is that I just can't believe that I'm going to be stuck like this: doggy paddling in a pond so dirty I don't dare touch my feet to the floor. You never know what kind of critters are lurking in that mud. I believe there's going to be an answer one of these days, that I won't always be treading water anxiously. And after that day, there might even be a cure.
Words can't describe how much I hate the French doctors Ive seen. They sweep you into their offices - twenty or thirty minutes after your appointment time - give you ten or fifteen minutes and rush you off with a prescription. I'm convinced that nine times out of ten, it hasn't been the right one. I've lost hundreds of euros, as only 70% is reimbursed by the national health care.
If I could sue, I would.
Read more »The Boy thinks I have a bit of an obsessional problem. He says it to me semi-accusingly and totally straight-faced, not realizing the hypocrisy of his statement, as if he weren't the one who can literally sit in front of the computer for 40 hours straight, coding the night away (and the following morning).
But I agreed with him despite the fact that he is guilty of the same offense. I believe my sister and I are both really obsessional people. And I think we "get" that about one another, which may be one of the reasons we get along so well.
Maybe this comes from our dad, who has the sort of brain that is easily stimulated. He also has an intense ability to concentrate, which has been put to use in an entire range of interests. For example, I think he enjoyed making the dollhouse more than I did, in all honesty. I mean, I liked going to the store and picking out the furniture sets, but painting the wood? Gluing? Not so much. Or at least some days more than others.
Read more »I told Kathypath about a realization I had the other day: Andre the Crush is slightly duckfoot.
We, of course, had to get into the grammatical issues surrounding the word "duckfoot." Is he duckfoot? Or duckfooted? Or do we just say he has duckfeet?
Regardless, the issue here is that his right foot is slightly ducky.
Kathypath told me I am not allowed to use the term "slight" when talking about duckfeet. Either you are are you aren't duckfoot. Or you do or you don't have duckfeet. Or, in Andre's case, you have duckfoot. Just one.
Anyway, it's a disheartening realization. Such a cutie, too. I just can't stand the duckfeet. Or one duckfoot. So all those Andre fantasies have gone out the window. Good thing for The Boy. He's gotta be pretty happy about that, even though he doesn't even know it.
Kathypath and I had the following conversation:
K: Do duckfoot people just not realize they have duckfeet? Or do they realize it and not care? Or do they think it's ok? Or can they just not fix it?
Me: Well, what about unibrows? Do people with unibrows not realize they have them? Or do they realize it and not care? Or do they think it's ok?
K: God, no. Nobody thinks unibrows are ok.
Me: So do you think they just don't care?
K: No. That's impossible. Unibrows are so wrong, on so many levels.
Me: So are you telling me they don't know they have a unibrow?
K: No, that's even more absurd. How could they look at themselves in the mirror every day and not realize they have a unibrow? They must know.
Me: Look, K, we're stuck here. Do they know and not care or do they not know?
K: I don't know!
Me: Me neither. But I still see unibrows everywhere so it's one or the other.
So which do you think it is?
Some people claim I used to have an eating disorder. I claim that I just ate very oddly and obsessively healthily for a normal 14-year-old, and that, true, at times I certainly didn't eat enough. Regardless, all eating disorders and their offshoots come down to the same thing: control.
So here's the thing: I don't have an eating disorder - or anything like it - anymore. But, I do still have that strange control thing with food. When things don't go well, when I feel like I don't know what's going on, I usually don't eat very much. Most people I know eat more when they're stressed, when life is spinning out of control. They cuddle up with a bag of Dorito's or a tub of ice cream and watch "Real World" marathons. But I do the opposite, because that's always one thing I can control. I overbook myself, work psychotically on small projects, and regulate or restrict my food intake. It's just the way I am.
So right now, when something totally shitty is going on and I have absolutely no control over the situation, I've decided to turn my otherwise unhealthy behavior into something good for me: I'm doing a detox.
It's a test of control at a time when all I want is something I can control. Seems the perfect solution.
Read more »Every week I go through these highs and lows, thinking, Shit. There is no way I am going to stay on top of this. It's too much.
The crazy thing is that week after week, I've gotten it done - whatever "it" may be.
This week, sometime around Wednesday, the stress started creeping in. How was I going to get shots, go to the bank, read the book, prepare my lessons, teach for several hours, and learn all of Chapter 12 in Arabic - all by Friday at five?
And somehow, now it's Friday - or more acurately Saturday, one AM. I slept for three hours last night. Woke up at 6 am, taught all day (giggling with the teenagers despite myself), made it through a painful Arabic lesson where, although I was obviously the least prepared, I held my own. Afterwards, I still had the energy to go out to a calm dinner with my bestie. I made it through. Again.
I'm constantly surprised by the fact taht I am meeting the challenges I keep setting for myself. I think I'm actually getting high off it. I guess this is why overachievers are how they are. It's kind of an addictive and masochistic cycle, that, God help me, I'm really enjoying.
I even manage to floss regularly.
I started outlining my plan for next year for myself on my walk home from the pizza joint this evening at midnight. I'm gonna ride out this I'm-young-and-can-do-lots-of-shit thing for awhile. Just see where it takes me. Sometimes I really think I'm off my rocker.
