Archives: March 2005
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Dude, I SUCK! Yesterday, I went to bed a semi-reasonable hour and got a full eight hours of sleep.
Unfortunately, these eight hours had me waking up at 8:55 am, and I had to be in the suburbs for a class to teach at 9:00! Then, I had another class at 10:00. And there was just no way I would be able to make it in time.
So I called in and just said, "I can't come today."
I have no idea what happened. My alarm - although to my knowledge I totally set it - never went off. The Boy, who stayed up all night and all morning (and is now sleeping in the bed) can vouch for that fact. It was utterly confusing, and I feel like shit for missing a day of work (only two classes, one of which never comes, so really only one class, but it was my FAVORITE!).
The only redeeming thing is that nothing like this has happened all year, and besides the one time the trains were on strike, I have never even been late.
Still, the GUILT. It's HEAVY.
In other news, I spoke to a British man this morning on the telephone, and I am considering marrying him. Not only was his little accent just so cute I could pinch him, he was just the biggest effing sweetheart I have ever spoken to. Much love to my British Juicer Telephone Man, yo!
And lastly, my books came from Amazon today. It was like Christmas, I swear.
OH MY GOD!!! I got a Very Important Phone Call today from the French government people, and the dude who called me had a stutter. To make up for it, he spoke really quickly and if he tripped over a word, he just got the first thing he could out and moved on.
This was fine for the entire message he left on my machine, except that part about the phone number. I am missing two very important numbers. I have listened to the message over and over, and I just keep hearing the two numbers come out as 40-13. Which is IMPOSSIBLE. It needs to be something like 36 or 77 or whatever.
This is nightmarish because these people do not call back twice. I've learned that much over the years in France. Argh! I tried calling information (I said, "Hi, I'm looking for a judge in Paris. I have eight of the ten required numbers for his phone number. Is there anything you can do?") but they could only connect me to the general center of info concerning my problem (nobody answered). Then I called the service where I sent my Imporant Letter. No answer.
Then I sat and tried every possible combo that would maybe work with what I heard. I got lots of "This number doesn't exist"s and two French people hung up on me. One man said, "Who are you?" and I said, "Oh, I must have gotten a wrong number" and he said, "Yeah, obviously, but who are you?" That was a little spooky.
It occured to me that Hip Hop has really made its way into mainstream when people start using it for Easter celebrations.
Also: I got hit on by three different people working in the same restaurant while picking up a pizza for The Boy. That does good things for my self-esteem in the hot-or-not department, but even better was how I shot them each down. I'm not evil, really, but I like to play the icy bitch from time to time. Anyway, the fellas love it. You know, it adds mystery.
Third: Million Dollar Baby? Well, it was ok, but The Daily Show had given away the ending to me, so I was really grimacing during that last fight. Hope I didn't give anything away, there. Hahahahahahahah!!!!
Just rediscovered this picture after uploading the rainbows for the previous post. This picture is of me in Cambodia at Angkor Wat. God, I really loved that trip. The pictures make me so happy it's sort of ridiculous. Stumbling across the pix on my camera, I realize I have never published them on the site. I'll get there some day. I want them recorded somewhere, not just stocked on my machine.
Read more »Today has been a very difficult day.
The French administration confrontation did not go as well as I had hoped. I had visions of really letting them know who's boss, but of course I am always too polite and abiding than these situations call for. Why is it that I can be so bold in English but I tremble in French? I hate that.
Regardless, I might have to "suspend" my work contract for awhile until all of this gets sorted out. I am trying to remain zen, as we all know that stress only creates knots in your back and nothing much else.
With all of these complications, I have decided to apply for other jobs. I was going to do so in a week or two anyway, but I have upped the deadlines just in case things don't go my way.
After spending the morning working with the administration people, I went to the 16th for my first physical therapy meeting. Not knowing what to expect, I was certainly surprised when it turned out I had noted the address incorrectly and the building was in fact on the other side of the city! In my defense, the physical therapist only works with a cell phone, and I told her when I made the appointment that the service kept breaking up. I even repeated the address to her and she confirmed, so it's not entirely my fault. Still, I spent 40 minutes on the metro, ran for ten minutes in the rain (I was late, by my always-must-be-fifteen-minutes-early standards), and then got back on the metro for another 40 minutes.
Afterwards, I went to the post office to send official documents in their official folders. It officially cost me eleven freakin euros! Argh.
I also wanted to make some photocopies of said official documents, but the photocopy only took 10-cent coins, and I only had four on me. So I made four and agreed to save the rest for later.
TheKnitter and I met up for coffee, which was a pleasant and necessary break from the otherwise gloomy and slighly depressing day.
And then I went to the grocery and stocked up on veggies, ready to make a big fat salad this evening with my tastalicious feta cheese. You people have never tasted feta cheese like this, I promise you.
As soon as I walked in the door, The Boy asked how the morning appointment went with the administrators. I relayed the information I had gotten, and he began yelling at me about how I need to learn to yell at those people. "This is the way people do it! This is the way things get done!" he kept yelling, and I finally yelled back, "No, Boy! That's the way YOU do it! You need to just accept that we don't go about things the same way, and I will never learn to yell at people in public the same way you can. So stop getting on my case about it. I have spent the whole day in the rain, unsuccessfully hopping from place to place, and I don't need to come home to someone yelling at me about how I need to yell more!"
Man, I was really, really unnerved. I unloaded the groceries grumpily and just felt sorry for myself for awhile.
Some day off, huh?
But then, I started going over plans. I wrote an email to the head of the program I work for, asking for advice. I'll have to hound him, because these people never respond quickly enough. Still, I felt better having sent it. Then, I began looking for newer, better jobs. I would be thrilled if I could get a position teaching adults over the summer... I need something semi-flexible so that I can still go ahead with some business plans, and so that I can still help out The Boy with his, but I would really like having that additional income finding its way into my account. I figured the only way to climb out of this administrative hole is to get proactive, and so I have been re-hashing my CV and working on Cover Letters. I even sent one to my top choice... for some reason the advertisement gave me a positive vibe. I'm highly doubting they'll call me, even though I am clearly qualified for the position. French people tend to think the paperwork is more complicated than it needs to be (which, granted, they're probably right).
Still, things began to turn around. It has been pouring out all day, and early evening the storm really picked up. Then, out of nowhere, the sun started shining. The buildings across the street lit up with a sort of creepy glow, and the air got that sort of stuffy cool breeze that comes with intense rain. Then, like magic, I saw an enormous, enormous rainbow fill the sky.
Below are two pictures that go together. Side-by-side, they show the semi-circle of rainbow that was outside my window. A few minutes later, two rainbows were next to one another, forming double arches.
See? I try to stay optimistic.
Read more »Ok, this may seem like a bunch of bologna (what a weird expression) to some of you, but just hear me out. I've been more-or-less gluten-free for two weeks now. I say more-or-less because I'm sure I've gotten sneaky bits in when not expecting it. For example, I recently learned that there may be gluten in my coffee machine dispenser at school. Well, I drink those things daily, so... yeah.
Regardless, I've cut out the flour/oats/malt/barley/etc to the best of my ability. I have invested in non-wheat flours, and have even made some reasonably successful bread-alternatives. As a side note, I had an easier time living GF in London than I do in Paris, but that's thanks to Fresh and Wild more than anything else. Still, I manage to get by here as well, I just spend a lot of time in Asian supermarkets.
Anyway. My point. I'm bad at getting to it quickly, I know.
The end of the story is that - and this may sound crazy - but I actually think it's working. I'm not going to get too personal here, but I would like to state that I haven't been nauseous or sick to my stomach in two whole weeks. I think that might be a record. And? And? Even The Boy, who thinks that this is all healthy-freaky-new age hubjub, had to agree with me that I have clearly been feeling better than usual. He knows, you know, because you can't hide much when living in thirty square meters with another person.
The thought occured to me today while on the train: oh my God. I haven't thought about my stomach in a long time. Weird. It's been, well, behaving.
At first, I'll be honest, I felt pretty shitty. I think it was just a question of reorganizing my diet. Lots of people say that gluten-sensitive people are actually gluten-addicted, and judging by my love affair with bread, I would say I met the criteria. So maybe those first days were just withdrawal from my drug of choice.
But now, really, I'm feeling good. The fact that the change is actually noticeable is sort of wild to me. But the difference is so remarkable that I'm actually rather shocked. Most incredible is that I no longer get cramping after I eat food. Until very recently, I referred to this cramping as "digestion." I thought that's just how one felt after eating a meal. I suppose I didn't know that you weren't supposed to really feel (in)digestion... and it's really nice to be able to eat without feeling some sort of discomfort afterwards.
When they gave me the gluten-intolerant thumbs up, I mentally said to myself, "Ok, whatever... I'll try the diet but I doubt it will really change anything." Kinda super cool to be proven wrong, and I am shocked at my own body's reaction.
I also learned that raccoon eyes tend to improve after six months GF. How cool would that be?
I've written and erased three entries this week. My life is missing its usual flair. And I can't use that word without thinking of "Office Space."
Things that are happening include:
1. I just got a letter from the French government telling me they can't authorize my work visa because my employer should have set it up for me. I find that ironic because I WORK FOR THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT. But, details. They were also upset because last year's authorisation expired, and yet I continued to work. That's funny ha-ha to me because they were the morons who sent me a 9-day work authorisation form for a SEVEN-MONTH contract, and I received the authorisation two weeks before the end of my contract. I am going to have to stir up the Inner Bitch a bit over the next 48 hours, just in time to get her fiesty and vicious for my government encounter early Thursday morning.
What was that? You were all thinking that would be your favorite way to spend the your only day off, too? What a coincidence because I'm so digging this not-having-any-freedom on Thursdays thing. I like to spend my hours of non-teaching or non-listening-to-droning-professorsing at the government office for foreign employees. Watching the numbers switch on the automatic number caller thing is invigorating.
2. I read in a book about what kind of appliances one should buy if one wants a non-toxic kitchen. I'm thinking of chucking the whole Peru trip and just spending all of my money on new appliances, because now I am officially scared. Teflon=bad. Hot plastic=bad. Aluminum pots= very bad. If anybody has any spare, stainless steel pots/pans from the 1920's, I could really be your friend. Also, apparently one needs some sort of special vegetable wash soap. Because nowadays, water isn't enough.
3. This woman brought in her baby to work today. I don't know her, nor do I know her baby, but the urge to hold the little man was pretty severe. I think that babies that don't cry or shit for more than 15 minutes should not be allowed near me.
4. TheKnitter and I went to see "Hitch" yesterday. There was a point in the movie ("Yeah, my sister once fell through the ice...") that I thought I might hurt someone because the writing/directing/acting was so bad, but luckily that moment was saved by some French person sitting in the front who started laughing REALLY hard and REALLY loud at the "deep" moment of "truth" shared between Will Smith and whoever that ho-bag playing opposite him is (Eva something?). Of course, his laughter resulted in ripples of giggles spreading throughout the theater, and at that point I think we all felt more comfortable knowing that everyone in the theater thought the film was lame as hell and we could laugh at inappropriate moments. Seriously, it made the film a lot more funny and enjoyable. It was a little like Mystery Sciences Theater 3000 but with one hundred perfect strangers. And minus the robots.
5. Only in my house could we get in a fight over whether or not it's ok to select "URGENT" when submitting a ticket for technical help on a web site. This led to a comment about karma, and how this is going to get him in the ass in the future. He responded by screaming to me about the fact that he paid for a service and can put "URGENT" whenever he damn well pleases.
We didn't speak for three hours after this.
Then, seriously, I had to let it go. Like, what the hell? Did we actually fight about that? Did we really let it get to the non-speaking point? Are we that pathetic? That we argue over which priority level to choose when asking for technical help online?
I think that must have been a new low.
No worries, folks. We've had a good laugh over it since.
6. I want to buy a juicer. Oh, and an entirely new set of kitchen appliances (see above). Oh, and a trip to Peru.
7. What's up with people stealing other people's posts/photos online? I feel pretty sad for even having an online journal in the first place. But I would feel really, really lame for having one that ISN'T EVEN REALLY ABOUT ME. That's about SOME OTHER PERSON that I am just PRETENDING to be, but ONLINE. Just, like, wha? I don't... just... no... I don't get it. Maybe it's because I'm blond.
When I was little, I remember having a love/hate relationship with the last few streets leading up to my house. Ordinarily, I would wish and hope that we would move to a new house soon, because frankly I was sick of the same old route back to our boring, fake-tudor house. It was the only house I had ever known, and I wanted to move just because I was restless and wanted change. I felt like I had seen every house and inspected every detail of our neighborhood, and I wanted something new and different to contemplate. It bored me to see the same signs leading up to our subdivision, I grew tired of knowing exactly where the bumps were in the road.
But then, there were the times - usually after a long vacation - when we would head home on one of our usual routes and I would feel a strange sort of love for it. Always after a long absence, I would fill up with a quiet happiness once I began recognizing street names and stores. Once we would get to the point where I could have dictated the rest of the way to the house, I would know our home and all the things I knew were just around the corner.
It was a physical feeling, somewhere in the pit of my stomach. Recognizing something as "home" becomes something beyond cerebral at a certain point. It's not exactly explainable, but I'm sure everybody has felt this so I'm not going to bother trying.
Read more »It's generally a good idea to get a good night's sleep before travel. If you can't manage to do that, try not to walk for (literally - aside from sitting down on the Tube a few times) for seven straight hours.
If you can't seem to do even that simple act, then try NOT to get a bed in a hostel that plays techno at all hours. Just try that. For additional happiness, you can nix the singing Italian girls, too.
Or, you can travel my way, eat puffed rice for dinner, and wait with every breath of your body for it to be past 9.00 so that you can drag your tired, aching body to bed.
I'm not blaming London, or even the hostel. My fault entirely (but the Italians don't help)
I love waking up refreshed and feeling like a million bucks, ready to start the day!!!
That so didn't happen today.
I have been a very, very naughty girl.
My upcoming trip to London has me a bit financially depressed, mainly because I couldn't know for sure if I would get next Monday off until last Monday - ie six days before my departure. Naturally, train tickets doubled in the two weeks between when I decided I would go and I finally knew it was feasible. A 90-euro difference for two weeks of deicision-making time is pretty unnerving.
Nonetheless, I did have that whole thought-I-bounced-a-check fiasco a few days ago, when it really turned out that my bank sucks even more than I had previously thought. That's saying a lot, because I have always had a sort of seething hatred for my bank, but I believe it's intensified to the level of full-blown contempt.
When I finally realized that I actually did have money in my account (and more than just ten or twenty euros), I was sort of pissed. It meant my bank had been at fault for the whole annoying grocery incident - not me and my bad financial planning skills. It also meant my bank had caused me a weekend of stress and worry, wondering how the hell I had slipped 400 euros without knowing it. Of course, on Monday, when I checked my account balance and everything was hew-howdy dandy, I sort of wanted some sort of acknowledgement on their behalf that they had done a bad, bad thing. So I went in to the bank to ask if there had been some a network problem or something, you know, just to rationalize how something so absurd could happen (I realize this is a slight overreaction, but what if I had been travelling and that happened? I'd have been FUCKED).
Interaction:
Me: Hi, I just checked my account and I have some money in there. Nonethless, I wasn't able to charge anything or to pull out any money on either Saturday or Sunday. Was there some sort of problem?
Bank Bitch Who Obviously Hates Me: No. (French ppfpfthhh noise) No. (ppfpfthh noise again). No problems that I know of.
Me: Oh, well, it is pretty inconvenient to not be able to have access to one's own money, so I thought the bank might send out a warning or something.
Bank Bitch: (Ppfthff noise) Nobody said anything to me.
Me: Yeah, me neither. I suppose that means I'll have to change banks. You know, if every time I want to pull out my money my bank doesn't warn me, and beyond that, doesn't apologize when they've inconvenienced me, I figure it's time to go elsewhere.
Bank Bitch: (Suddenly turning very nice) Oh, well, I don't know, maybe there was something, but I wasn't told about it...
then she went on and on (sans pffthpffth noises), and Iinterrupted by saying, "Yeah, I'm still going to change banks."
That felt sort of good, like really getting her in the gut.
Anyway, I digress.
So why am I a naughty girl?
Read more »Here's the thing: I bet you that if I'm grumpy enough, your comment that goes to the tune of "Oh my God... are you ok? Why do you have such big circles under your eyes?" is not going to please me.
Sure, I could answer that the problem is that I only slept three hours the night before and I spent six hours with screaming teenagers all day, but the truth of the matter is that I was born with these racoon eyes and people ask me the same damn question even when I've had a full night's sleep. A good idea would be to not aggravate the situation by saying, "And not only do you have big, black circles, but you seem really pale... are you sick or something?"
Because you know what's crazy? I actually feel better right now than I have in a loooong time. So, I'm not totally sure what to respond to you. The easy answer would be, "Yeah, I'm tired and sick." The true answer would be, "Well, I'm sorta tired, but I feel like I have a new sense of energy, and it has come leaping out of me in the last four days. Despite this, however, my genetics are such that I have racoon eyes, and apparently pale skin to boot, and so people naturally think I'm sick or just miserable. Regardless, I'm neither one nor the other, and I feel just dandy! So, um... I don't know how to explain the circles under my eyes or the paleness of my skin other than by expressing that THAT'S JUST WHAT I LOOK LIKE."
This happens to me about once per week.
Can you really answer by saying, "Well, actually, I feel great! Thanks though!"?
TheKnitter and I went to a women-wanting-to-start-businesses meeting today. It was free, and supposedly offered in honor of "International Women's Day" (or something to that effect).
I will now provide you with a list of why you should never get together 40 French women (and two American ones) who want to start their own businesses:
1. You might be able to start the meeting with some degree of order, but whatever thread of organization it was you were working with will slowly but surely unravel, until the women are just interrupting and yelling and talking back and forth across the room to one another.
2. There will always be that one wacko who decides to a) interrupt constantly b) mutter things "to herself" loudly enough so that everyone can hear and c) make strange jokes that aren't very funny. TheKnitter blames drugs, I blame the bottle, but it doesn't matter, the result is the same: that lady needs to shut up and let me listen to the speakers in peace (she could also do without the fanny pack hanging off the SIDE of her hip and the very bad haircut).
3. Once the woman who is opening a "re-looking" business (ie Makeover/Photo shoot orgy) begins to describe how all women want to just feel like models for a day, I'm going to start shaking my head and laughing, because I, for one, don't. Of course, I didn't find the THIRTY MINUTE CONVERSATION about make-up that ensued quite as amusing.
We left before it ended.
Random thoughts:
1. I saw "Ray" last week and thought it was pretty good. Mainly, I just enjoyed seeing a musician I've always admired portrayed so accurately. Apparently, Jamie Foxx really played the piano in all of the scenes. I find that incredible. More interesting trivia here.
2. I saw "Finding Neverland" a few days back and cried so much I heard the tears dripping down onto my synthetic coat like raindrops on my roof. Great, great movie.
3. I think I bounced at least one, if not two, and possibly three checks. NOT COOL (in my defense, one of the checks was written at the beginning of January, and I wrote in my planner the date they told me they would cash it, which was over three weeks ago. Unfortunately, I don't think they did, and thus my bank account was 500 euros off. Oops.). It's really too bad because I want to join the gym, but um... looks like that's going to be put off for awhile, at least the time it takes for me to get my banking straightened out.
4. Work starts again tomorrow and I'm very unexcited about that. However, I have lesson plans coming out my ears, so at least I have some new things to try out in the classroom.
5. Speaking of bounced checks, Kdogg and my's new plan is Peru and Bolivia. Anybody been?
6. I have a great boyfriend. It's been nice to be able to wake up with him and do the morning routine thing with him (breakfast, tea). It is going to hurt very seriously at 5.30 in the morning when he is still sleeping soundly, and I am trying to find matching socks in the dark.
7. Somebody just drove past my house with their music so loud that my windows literally shook. I'm SIX FLIGHTS UP people.
I rang up over 60 euros worth of groceries today. Everything was thrown overboard by the unusual purchases of a big bottle of olive oil, a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, and lots of refillable dishsoap.
So after I rang everything up, I went to go pay with my card in the funky French machines. I entered my code, and my card was refused. The guy told me to try again. I did, and my card was refused. The six people in line behind me started getting annoyed, and the guy suggested I try to pull money out of the machine around the corner. Three people were in line at the machine, so I ran back to the register and told him it was going to be awhile.
"Take your time," he said, as the six people in line shot darts in my direction.
Of course, I couldn't pull money out of the machine, either. Why? This is the (translation of) the message the machine said, "Your bank is not accessible at this moment. Please try again later."
I would normally worry that all of the money I thought I had for this month has disappeared (it happens to me all the time), but I didn't get the normal message ("Your authorized withdrawal amount has been surpassed. Please contact your bank.") - but really? What kind of bank is not "accessible" at 15.00 on a Saturday afternoon? Grr... I've always hated my bank.
So of course I had to put all of my products off to the side, while the six people smirked and thought happily to themselves "Well, that girl might have made us wait, but at least she is being humiliated by having to do the walk of shame back from the bank... WITHOUT ANY MONEY IN HER HANDS!!! Mwa ha ha ha!" and I wanted to yell to all of them, "MY BANK IS NOT ACCESSIBLE, MY BANK IS NOT ACCESSIBLE!!!"
I needed the groceries, whether I liked it or not, and so this meant I had to run back to my house, up my flights of stairs, run back to the grocery, wait in line again, pass my articles through the beeper machine again, and try to pay again.
NOT my favorite way to do grocery shopping.
I know I've written about Rhapsody before, but I really don't think people understand its beauty.
I have and have always had a FULL-ON music problem. Some people battle various addictions, and music has always been mine (falling maybe second to books).
I used to live two blocks away from a used-and-new CD's-and-Records shop that, unfortunately, a friend of mine worked at. I spent lots of my time walking the little path to and from his job and my apartment, reasoning with myself that I really needed another Funkadelic LP. It was timely that I discovered funk and the answers it held to the mysteries of the universe while living so close by. I think I bought at least three albums per week, which is a rhythm I could not possibly keep up in France because:
a) records are way more expensive here (I got some serious steals while in California)
b) I make less money now
c) the cost of living is far more elevated here
d) I have so much other shit to buy like new glasses and trips to Peru
So anyway, Rhapsody is the ultimate answer. I don't know why everybody I know doesn't talk about it constantly. As a matter of fact, I keep introducing people to its glory. Maybe I just need new friends. Hipper ones. The kind that wouldn't correct me for using the word hipper.
So in the last months, I have resolved to buy five CDs when the time is good and ripe. Meanwhile, I am happy to listen to them on my computer (which is hooked up to my stereo, so that's convenient). Please, $75 per year pales in comparison to the $25 per week I used to spend on music.
In the last 24 hours, I have spanned from listening to Ray Charles ("Ray" - the film - no doubt had an effect), to James Brown, to Jack Johnson, to Bonga, to Omara Portuondo, to Black-Eyed Peas, to Tori Amos, to Angie Stone, to Spearhead, to Youssou N'dour. ALL are albums I would potentially buy.
It's like having an enormous jukebox at my disposal. Do you people know what HEAVEN feels like? Because I'm pretty sure it involves a jukebox (and maybe a margharita, barefeet, and puppies that don't bite so much).
My theory is that Rhapsody appeals to two types of people:
1. Those who aren't that interested in music and just want to have access to a commercial-free radio-like system to have music on in the background and
2. Those who are COMPLETELY obsessed and need to get it under control.
Obviously, you know which category I'm in. I need to thank my sister profusely the next time I see her for introducing me to it.
Libraries and me? NOT FRIENDS.
Here was my conversation today with The Bitchiest Woman Ever To Work in a Library (Even Bitchier than the Woman at that Other Library Where the Woman I Talked to Was a Total Bitch). Thougths in italics, as usual.
TBWEWL(EBWOLWWTWTB): Hello.
Me: Hi. I have this list of documents I would like to see, but I don't know how I go about that.
TBWEWL: Do you live in France?
Me: Uh (why is she asking me that, how bad is my accent?)... um... yes.
TBWEWL: For how long?
Me: I've lived here five years.
TBWEWL: Oh. You know, sometimes students are just here for a few months.
Me: No. I live here.
TBWEWL: Can I see some ID?
Me: Oh. (man, she is a bit harsh, but I'll keep smiling and being polite anyway) I'm sorry, I didn't know I had to bring any ID other than my library card.
TBWEWL: These are special documents. I have to make a new, different card for you. So I need some ID.
Me: Will a student ID card work? I don't carry my passport with me.
TBWEWL: No.
Me: Well, I don't have anything else.
TBWEWL: I can't give you your card then.
Me: (Sigh) Ok.
TBWEWL: But we might as well get your file ready (she said this with so much hatred I thought she might spit in my face afterwards)
Me: Ok.
TBWEWL: What level of studies are you in?
Me: Maitrise.
TBWEWL: What is the subject of your thesis?
Me: ::pause to consider how to word it::
TBWEWL: IF YOU DON'T WANT TO COOPERATE, WE CAN JUST STOP RIGHT NOW.
Me: what the fuck? Did that bitch just yell at me? What? I was THINKING...
TBWEWL: :::looking at me as if I were six and had just decided to finger-paint throughout her living room:::
Me: I have the right to pause a moment to think about things, don't I?
TBWEWL: Well?
Me: Humor. It's about humor.
TBWEWL: Humor? THAT'S your thesis subject? (said as if I had told her my thesis topic was on why the next reality tv show should be watching pigs thrown in a pen and seeing how they live - hidden cameras! Pigs!)
Me: (said very, very firmly and pissed-offedly) Yes. That's my subject.(Jesus, is it THAT bad of a subject)
TBWEWL: That's IT? That's the whole subject? That's your title?
Me: You want a title?
TBWEWL: Yes.
Me: I don't have a title yet.
TBWEWL: I think you need to take this paper (hands me the paper) and get your research director to sign it...
She then proceeded to school me on how unprepared I am for my thesis (duh) and how complicated it is going to be for me to get the documents I need. Get this:
1. I have to reserve a seat in the library to consult documents
2. I have to arrive at the hour I signed up for ("It's like a train," said the TBWEWL, "If you're late for your train, the train leaves anyway. Same deal here.")
3. I have to give over a list of documents I would like to consult beforehand, and allow at least an hour for them to get the documents down from the shelves.
4. I am not allowed to make photocopies.
HELL.
I'm about to just go to London for a week and gather all my research there, where people treat you like a human being.
I hate French librarians.
I have always had issues with repetitive noises. People who tack tack tack credit cards on counter tops, for example. If it goes on for more than a minute, I'm going to start to get a little edgy. Or this one time, this guy on the plane next to me kept snapping his pen open and closed, open and closed, open and closed. I had horrible visions of trying to live through that for the entire flight. The worst was when this guy next to me in the library did this weird tapping thing with the heel of his shoes - first his left, then his right. Then he would pick up the speed. Then do a little drumbeat. Then take it down a notch. The sound was resonating throughout the library and I was thinking, "My God, how can you not be aware of how annoying that is to everyone around you?"
The problem for me right now is that The Boy clears his throat literally every 30 seconds. We're both working (in silence) and I keep hearing the "ahahahaeemmmm" of the clearing. I cannot freakin stand it. But how do you ask somebody "OH MY GOD COULD YOU PLEASE STOP CLEARING YOUR DAMN THROAT ALREADY???" without coming across as aggravated and psychotic as you really feel?
The worst part is that I have totally made clear to him that he needs to stop doing that or I am going to explode/implode (we're not sure which, yet). My theory is that people who make repetitive sounds cannot possibly be aware of what they're doing, or they would know to STOP THE MADNESS.
Usually, I try to egg him into drinking some tea, because it makes him do it less. The technique is not working today.
Speaking of The Boy, I just walked in on him doing these really pathetic stretches in the living room.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Computer doctors suggest that you do exercises, so I will..." he said, as he bent to touch his toes.
"Yeah, well, it's no good to sit for TWELVE STRAIGHT HOURS," I offered.
He then proceeded to lift his new keyboard (wireless) and read, from a small sticker on the underside: "Doctors believe that sitting for extended periods of time can lead to back, shoulder, elbow, and wrist pain. To keep from suffering from these problems, be sure to stretch regularly. Take pauses twice every hour. Walk around for a few minutes."
Does that seem weird? I mean, people should do that anyway, but isn't it strange to have a WARNING LABEL on keyboards?
