This has been my first week of truly living the single mama experience. Sure, I have been alone in raising Teo since about month two, but I've always been surrounded by people and have had tons of free time. This is his first week of full-time day care and my first week of a full-time job. Our first week of not really having support around in the mornings or even all that much in the evenings. It is very, VERY hard. It is so difficult that I don't even have the time to be lonely yet, though I could see how eventually I might get there. Right now, I am just too darn busy.

My job is very intense and incredibly demanding. I am still completely mystified as to how I got hired. I have to put together presentations on a product I know nothing about, and I am using a software I have never before touched. It seems odd to me that nobody has ever done this before at the company. All the sales people are super excited because hey! They'll finally have some docs to use. But why couldn't they have just thrown something together themselves? It makes a lot more sense than having the New Girl be in charge, but whatever. I do not make such decisions. Anyway, I am learning and learning and learning and learning. It's exhausting. I have to call meetings all through next week -- me! Calling meetings! Reserving conference rooms! WTF? I waver between really enjoying the job and being completely terrified.

Today is Friday and we were to have a big of a wine-n-cheese gathering at the end of the day. Excited to finally meet my coworkers in a less work-related setting, I wrapped up my final meeting for the day and went back to my desk. On my cell phone was a message from Mateo's day care. It turns out he had (and still has) a fever and needed to come home. So I told my boss that I was sorry and I ducked out early.

These are the kinds of breaks that single moms just don't get to take. I work 8:15 to 5:15 and I spend much of my morning and evening dropping off and picking up the little guy. There is no relief -- there just isn't. I think the day to day part is not that complicated, it is just intimidating and a little overwhelming when you consider the situation waiting for you all the way down the line.

This weekend we have to drive out to an urgent care clinic outside the city to get Teo's ears checked, per his doctor's request last week. She said they seemed to be clearing but recommended I verify the infection had completely disappeared. Again, I can't take the time off work, so that is how we will spend our Saturday. Although I am not happy Mateo is sick today, at least his timing is good as we have to visit the doctor anyway. My poor baby is just looking so much like a sack of potatoes, I could cry.

Meanwhile, I brought my work home with me. I can't even get into the details of how much I have to learn, and a lot of it I want to do in privacy. We have an open office, which means there are no cubicles and no doors. Everybody can see everybody else -- the CEO's desk is just a few over from mine and my boss sits behind me all day. This is good for the spirit of trust and open-ness within the company. Not so good if you have never been all that good at Excel and don't want to seem like a moron.

Another amusing thing to me is that I have no idea about American corporate culture. I just found out what a brownbag is, for example. I have done a lot of guess work as to what certain words mean, and I am very grateful for context and the power of the nod. I am getting there, but there is a very steep learning curve here.

So this weekend is going to be all about catch up. I am taking Mateo to the doctor and am looking to get the groceries I need for next week. I still need some boring things for the house: a few garbage cans, envelopes, little sticky things to go on the chairs so they won't scratch the floor. During Mateo's naps, I will work. It will be a wild, wild weekend for sure.

I thought last night about dating, and how that is a goal of mine for one of these days. I have absolutely no idea how that will ever even be a possibility. It's actually pretty amusing when I think about it. Sad, in some ways, I suppose, but at least for the moment it is just funny, funny, funny.

I got a job.

Oh goodness, I will be happy when this week is over. The days are starting at five, thanks to Mateo, and I am pretty much go! go! go! until eight or so. I did two interviews yesterday, one this morning, and have another this afternoon. I also toured a day care and am visiting a second this evening. I have spent lots of time on the phone, calling people and places and getting information and organizing. It is also tricky to do all of this in a town where I only sort of have my bearings. On tap for tomorrow includes another am interview (gotta figure out the childcare situation pronto), a second meet-up with a potential employer, and then an afternoon of calm before we get back on the airplane for seven hours of flying on Thursday.

The interviews themselves are going fine, although everyone out here is freakishly nice so I suppose I wouldn't be able to know otherwise. They just smile and make me feel good about my answers, no matter how poorly phrased and off-the-wall they may be. I love nice people. Especially when interviewing.

Mateo is having a good time with his aunt and uncle, too, so that's good. He was a doll on the way over here -- seven hours of flying with a layover after the fourth hour, and he held up like a champ. He even made some friends along the way. I sat next to a wonderful woman (named Lee, also a Libra) who loved on him in a major way. She has seven grandkids and looked like a hippie-ish type, just oozing good vibes from every pore. She took him in her arms, and then eventually so did the stewardesses, and I breathed for a moment and thanked the universe. It's been a bit tough on TayTay with the (we think) teething and the time difference and the lack of sleep while in transit, but he's doing alright. Sleeping a lot yesterday and today, which lets me do my thang, too.

But, I will be very, very happy to be able to put my feet up. On Saturday.

We had a crazy day at work yesterday -- holiday shoppers gone wild and what not. Thus far, I am really enjoying my job as far as a temporary gig goes. The BCS is really nice to its employees, and I have been getting a fair amount of positive feedback from my managers, which is always good for the ego. The combo deal means I don't really mind going to work, outside from the fact that it's tiring and of course I miss Mateo while I'm gone. Still - I know it's good for me and probably him too.

Yesterday, I was helping a customer who had her little boy in tow. He was blond and looked like a bit of a troublemaker, and was missing a few front teeth. In other words, cuteness extreme. He started telling me about a book he had recently read, and I half talked to him and half talked to his mom for a moment. Then he whispered to his mom, " I want to ask her alinadsg lknadsoginag." She leaned down (trying to keep the conversation confidential because you never know what a little kid can say), "What was that honey?"

He loud-whispered back, "I want to ask her if she has a son."

Before the mom could get awkward, I leaned over and said, "Did you want to ask me something?"

"Do you have a son?" he asked, with a big semi-toothed grin.

"I do!" I answered.

"How old is he?" he asked.

"He is six months old," I said.

Triumphantly, he pointed at himself and said, "I'm SIX!!!"

"Well, what do you know? You're six years old and my son is six months old. Of course, you know how to do a lot of things that he doesn't know how to do yet, but you guys have the number six in common."

He paused for a moment, looked at me kinda sweetly and said, "I bet he's wondering where you are right now."

Just about broke my heart.

In other news, I sort of accidently got placed in the kids department at the BCS -- much to my own happiness -- so these kinds of stories might abound.

Last week, I informed my boss that I was quitting by phone. I know this is not the way things should be done, but he is impossible to reach and I preferred telling him sooner rather than later. His response to my call was, "Ok, come by the store and we can talk about it in person." So much for me saving time/energy, but at least I got the hard part -- the part about not coming back to work -- over and done with.

So today was the day to go in and see him. I was nervous about it, I guess because my boss and his wife have been so good to me and I felt like I was letting them down somehow. I know that he is also partially responsible because he changed his mind about my paperwork, but regardless... I suppose I just felt I owed them something.

But you know what? He was really wonderful to me today. We chatted for at least an hour and he talked about everything. We discussed my future, his experiences raising his kids, his own break-up with someone after over ten years together. He assured me that he thought I was making the right choice, and then he went on to tell me his plans for the business over the next few years. It turns out that I am not really inconveniencing him at all, as he is completely restructuring -- but I won't get into detail about it here. Let's just say that it involves some enormous changes for him and, possibly, a good reason for the two of us to stay in contact in the future.

Then I went to see the accountant and my coworkers, as well as the most smiley Parisian woman I know (who works one store over). All of them ooohed over Mateo, and he was perfectly content to ham it up for them. We got a few giggles out of him and everyone got to hold him for awhile. I was so glad he was mellow and happy with everybody; it gave me a chance to tell them about my decision while still distracting us enough to keep smiling.

Overall, I felt so good walking out of there, knowing I had the full support of the mini-family I have come to know at work. I am also thrilled to know I'll get my vacation pay, on top of the last bit of maternity leave payments. Seriously, France is pretty awesome in that regard.

At any rate, having those necessary conversations today unblocked something that has been eating away at me, and now I feel I can mentally make the jump to my life back "home". I am so grateful to have the blessing of all of my friends here -- coworkers included -- and that I am leaving this country with so many positive ties and memories. It's bittersweet, of course, but overall it helps me to think that at least I have been doing some things right over the last eight years.

I love my boss. We get along great, I have a lot of respect for him, he is incredibly generous. Also, he is a whole head shorter than me.

Today I spent a day "in meetings," working on some "documents" and talking a few things over with Men in Suits. This is very much not my element, but I went with it anyway, pretending that I knew exactly what I was doing. Curiously enough, I think I pulled it off.

When the two financial types came into the office, there was a flurry of activity, I shook their hands, we got straight down to business. At a desk, in chairs. We talked for two hours, discussing a variety of technical details that I actually understood. I asked pertinent questions. I may be on my way to adulthood.

At the end of our meeting, they suggested we go run some things by my boss, and I obliged. I told them to go on ahead, and that I would meet them at the store as soon as I had put away the extra stool we had stolen from a neighboring boutique. They went ahead.

And when I walked in to where two Men in Suits and my boss were, suddenly it occured to me: all three of these men - who were technically my "superiors" - were the exact same height. They all came up to my chin. Literally.

It felt very strange to be a part of such an official, business-like procedure while towering over three men twice my age. Plus, as mentioned, they were in suits. I was wearing a hoodie.

I also only got 3 hours of sleep last night (I had a very unexpected and random burst of insomnia) and it took everything I had not to giggle and giggle and giggle at the awkwardness of it all. Eventually, I just sat down... it was simply too much. They remained standing, probably relieved to physically assert their authority once again.

In the end: yay! I got through The Big Meeting and only have quadrupled my workload for the month. I think it's sort of funny that I have been put in charge of steering this ship. I mean, eventually, I'm going to be doing the occasional 50 000 euro transaction here, people.

This from the girl who quivered a bit when she bought a new cell phone today using her freebie points. I had to pay 19 euros, and I seriously hesitated doing so even though my current phone is broken. On the metro immediately following the purchase, I tried to justify getting the 19-euro phone instead of the 1-euro phone by wondering what the last non-necessity (food, metro tickets, blood tests) I bought myself was. It was the pregnancy book (also 19 euros) that I picked up in November. Besides that, nada. That made me smile, because at that rate, I would have a yearly budget of just under 120 euros for frivolous goods. So I felt better about my 19-euro folly.

This all brings me back to my meeting this afternoon.

The Men in Suits talked for a moment today about online payments, and how certain cards cannot work online. They mentioned that these were cards reserved for people who don't have a lot of money, or whose bank is obligated to moniter their spending for some reason or another. Then they chuckled and said, "I don't think the people with those cards are exactly your sort of clientle," implying that we're clearly all united together in the kind of stratosphere where people have premium cards and more flexible payment options. I didn't have the heart to tell them that I have a restricted card, myself, so I went along and pretended we were stratopheric neighbors. I'm not sure if my co-chuckling was convincing, but maybe my amazonian status was enough to distract them.

Oh my God, what a weekend!

Let me preface this by saying that I was the dumbass that got myself into this mess, I should really be the one to get myself out of it. But no... I bit off more than I can chew, as usual.

I volunteered at work to start tinkering away at the store's web site. I figured I might as well give it a go and see what comes of it, because the next person my boss was considering hiring was asking for 10,000 euros AS A STARTING PRICE. If I get to work at home in my pajamas and get some more design under my belt (while getting paid), I thought the idea sounded appealing.

Until I started getting all twisted up inside because I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO half of this stuff. And I swear I don't get panicky when confronted with feeling like I can't do something. Not at all.

On Friday, The Boy sat down with me and we had a PHP pow-wow. Who knew coding could be so sexy? He sat for hours, directing me as I copied, pasted, closed parantheses and uploaded files. We are so wild that we worked on the site into the night, and then again, upon awaking on Saturday, we were at it again. Like rabbits. With computers and server space.

All in all, I think I've put in about 20 hours this weekend alone, maybe 12 of which included The Boy, but the site IS actually coming together. My boss wants something by December 15, and Lord have mercy! we might make the deadline. The operative word here is "We" because I could not possibly do this without The Boy's unwavering attention. I am so, so grateful for his help.

So I promise my friends I will be a part of the functioning public again in 5-7 days. I think I underestimated the enormity of this task, but I am going to feel on top of the world when this thing is more or less finished. I can already taste the victory; just a few days away.

I have exams this week, too, which is the funny thing. I think it's pretty clear where my priorities are.

It's been insane here for the last day or two, and this week is promising to be completely hellish.

Tomorrow, I am leaving for a "business trip" to Marseille. I feel Very Important when I say that kind of thing, because I am still not the type of person who goes on "business trips" -- but helas, that's what I am doing. Even more insane is that I am going on this trip to bid on a few important "works" being featured at an auction. I'm doing the bidding. Alone. Which is hilarious, you know, because I have never been to an auction before. So hopefully I won't make a fool of myself. I asked how it works, exactly, and my boss said, "Just like in the movies." That was pretty much all of the information I got. You're all as prepared as I am, in other words.

But hey, I get to meet up with C and her recently-espoused beau, and we're going to spend the weekend together. It will give me some time away from Paris, and thus the chaos. I'm rolling into Aix tomorrow evening, and will roll my way out on Sunday. It's a little short-notice and thrown-together, but I'm up for the adventure.

Cool moment today. What is in italics was said in French, in bold was in Spanish, and in normal type was in English.

Man: Hello, I am looking for a book. No, wait... a book. A book. Yes, I am looking for a book by Couture.
Me: Do you have the title of the book?
Man: Yes, it's a book, but not about Couture, it is his texts. He wrote... he wrote the book -- it's a very difficult thing to find. I think it is fairly rare. Sorry I keep speaking in Spanish.
Me (laughing): It's ok. I understand what you're saying...

Some time passes and I find a different book, and while he looks at the book we have the following conversation:

Me: Are you from Spain?
Him: No, I'm from Canada. But I live in Mexico. I mix up Spanish and French because I speak Spanish much more than French.
Me: It's ok. I mix them up in the opposite direction. Where are you from in Canada?
Him: Vancouver.
Me: Really? I'm from Michigan.

So there we were. In a Paris bookshop, a Canadian and an American were speaking a French-Spanish blend while one of them was on vacation in Europe from his normal life in Mexico. Of course. He was very nice (those Canadians!) and we had a great conversation about living somewhere long enough that it seems hard to envision going back, but home is still home no matter how long you're away.

Every day at work, my boss or his wife (who both work in the store) come up to me and say, "Lee Ann -- did you see that guy that was just in here? The one who [fill in the blank with a physical description to the tune of "has brown hair" or similar]?"

"Yeah," I usually answer, although sometimes I really don't know who they're talking about.

"He'll really be annoying if you let him. Next time he comes in, don't help him. If he wants to get something off the shelves, tell him to get it himself."

Their attitude towards their customers is hilarious to me. It's also a little perplexing. How they've managed to be so successful while alienating at least five customers per day is something I will never understand. But I don't get these customers, either. They keep coming back for more. It's masochistic.

It's as if there were a constant war being raged by my boss against what translates literally into English as "the shitters." There are tons of shitters in our shop -- or so my bosses claim -- and they need to be seeked out and obliterated. Maybe in another couple months I'll have the guts to tell them that they don't know shitters, real true shitters. Why? Because they've never worked a truck stop restaurant when they were sixteen. But that's a different story, I suppose.

I think it's my mom who says that everyone should have to work in retail at some point in their life. After 25 years in the business, I can understand why my boss just can't handle shitters any more. But really? They don't bug me so much. Half the people he complains about are perfectly reasonable towards me, even nice. Maybe I just have a higher tolerance for shitters -- four years of waitressing will do that to a person.

At any rate, I think it's like sport to them. They relish the rudeness when dictated by their seemingly arbitrary logic. I can't bring myself to be straight out mean to people, and I don't think it's ever going to happen. I get the feeling they're warning me about the shitters to draw out my mean side. They'll probably have to wait a long while for that. I'm American. We SMILE and stuff.

Today, for example, a customer asked me to find the catalogue of Le Douanier Rousseau. I know Rousseau, sure. I just didn't know that he was also referred to as Le Douanier. So I started looking at the books under "D" and couldn't find it. I asked the guy how to spell it, and he said, "Like a douanier." I replied, "And how is that spelled?" He spelled it for me, a little aghast at my atrocious spelling skills, and I sharply pointed out that I am American and the "ou" vowel is hard for me to pick up. And it's a word that, until today, I haven't ever used.

He was so embarassed and apologetic that I felt like crap for trying to explain my poor spelling to him. He apologized profusely and I eventually found his book, and we both had some guffawing and awkwardness to get over before we could conclude the transaction.

I'm sure my boss would think he was a shitter, but I felt like he was a normal guy that just didn't understand why I couldn't spell a common word.

All my other coworkers are like gossiping girls when it comes to discussing customers. They must think I'm a weirdo, because I never really have the correct response to their warnings. Most times, I say, "Ok, I'll try to look out for that guy next time..." and sometimes I even say, "Oh... he didn't really cause any problems." Such a statement is always followed by something like, "No, he's the supreme shitter. Steer clear." They don't even care if the person hears them say so. As a matter of fact, I think they'd take some sick sort of pleasure in it.

The couch saga has ended. We got rid of the old one, the landlord didn't foist her basement couch on me. We have two wooden chairs from Senegal (they're very low) and are otherwise quite content to just leave the living room as is. I'll have to buy a roll-up mattress for guests, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. It's weird, but I am really enjoying the empty space in our teeny little room. I even do my work on the floor now.

Meanwhile, it is BEAUTIFUL in Paris now and I am trying my damndest to keep some balance in my life. I am aching to be outside as much as possible, and I have indulged with an hour or two on a cafe terrace each day, along with a decent amount of walking to and fro.

These are sacrifices I am making in terms of time, but they are well-needed breaks for my overall well-being. Otherwise, I might just sink under the pressure of things I have to get done, and suffer from the agony of being indoors when the sky is so blue.

The work situation is a little overwhelming -- my job is getting faster and faster paced and I feel myself just keeping afloat. I'm managing, but whoa. My boss, however, is quite happy: we exceeded our projected sales numbers, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being a little giddy about that.

Meanwhile, I have exams coming up in four weeks. I know to a lot of people, four weeks seems like a long while. I used to be one of those people, myself. But not working very hard for the entire school year is catching up with me, and I am just now coming to terms with how much I have to study to make up for all this lost time. I've never really been a studier (anybody who has been in school with me can pretty much attest to that), but there's not really any other option. Memorizing vocab requires studying, no way around it. So I'll have to make do. Hell, I've even made flashcards.

With that, I return to the books.

It's been a little tricky to come up with things to write about recently because I am so freakishly concentrated on my job right now. I attribute this to three things:

1. The job is still very new
2. I need to be sure that I can actually do all of the things my boss is asking of me - the tasks are growing exponentially by the day.
3. This is the best job I have ever had in my entire life

Strangely, I almost feel guilty for number three. I've been jumping around from job to job for the last, oh... decade. It feels weird and wonderful to have a job where I feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy things. Meanwhile, a lot of my friends are still floundering, even though they're perfectly capable of greatness. I don't see why I have been given such an awesome opportunity and not them, and I find myself caught between looking at this whole gig objectively (simply amazed by it) and feeling somehow undeserving (the guilt).

That's not say it's not hard work. I am busting some serious ass, and as a consequence, I have a hard time, occasionally, relating to my friends who are still talking about the same old shit. It's similar to when you're studying like mad for finals or something, and suddenly everybody wants to party. It's just a shift of gears that is not always easy. For example, a typical conversation from last week went, "Wha? You got really drunk and were out until six am? Weird... I was at work at 7..." And then I had nothing else to say, because staying out until six isn't very interesting to me, but the fact that I was sitting in front of a computer at seven is not particularly fascinating either.

I guess maybe I understand now why my dad would come home, watch Jeopardy! with us, read, and then go to sleep. A man of few words, I wouldn't be surprised if most nights, the only things he said were "What is Istanbul?" or "Who is Harry Truman?" before caving in for the night. Although, let's give him credit: he got WAY more points on Jeopardy than just that. Still, my point is: it's hard to transition from work world to non-work world when your brain has been on turbo in work-world for 12 consecutive hours.

Partially, I blame the internet. My work is all online, and I can therefore access it at any time. This is dangerous, as I am sure you can understand. I also blame myself, as I always get overzealous with projects, and bow howdy! This is a biggie! I can't help it if I get up on Sunday morning and think, "Oooooh! I bet I could get answer a few emails! That way everything will be ready for Monday!"

I think this will pass. It sort of has to, if I want to maintain some sort of balance in my life. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that I'm really, REALLY happy right now. Happy in a way that isn't because of someone else, happy in a way that isn't fleeting or temporary, but just happy in that I enjoy the things I do every day and I feel lucky as hell to be doing them. And honestly? It's sort of hard not to want to ride that wave for as long as possible.

Here are two funny things about my new(ish) job. The bookshop is located in a typical Parisian covered passage. It is also next to the dumping-off place of tourist buses. This means we often have groups of tours going through the passage. I am always amazed by:

1)The Umbrella Guide stopping in front of the store to tell a group something. If only I could speak Italian or Russian, I would know what he/she was saying. How great it would be if it turned out to be absolute bullshit: "This store was built in 1802 by the famous De La Rose family..." It is always a little unsettling to have 15-20 people standing in a circle around your front door, but I'm getting used to it.

2) the independent tourists who want to look into the store. They could open the door, sure, but why not cup their hands around their eyes and press their noses against the glass? That makes me sense to me. Especially when we make eye contact, and they just keep on breathing heavily on our window pane. Weirdos. I have a special soft spot in my heart for the two grown women today who called over yet a third so that all three of them could stare into our windows. Because that doesn't make me uncomfortable. Not at all.

COMPLETELY UNRELATED:

If anybody saw Reza Aslan on "The Colbert Report" and liked him, buy his book. It's good - I read it three weeks ago and have been meaning to "review" it on Odessa Books (alongside at least 20 others). Aslan's overview of the history and practice of Islam is very readable, something I have had a bit of an issue with in my studies over the past year. I was happy to find a book that was interesting at the same time as informative, and I think a book like this is really needed for non-Muslims who have little to no understanding of the faith. Now I just have to read like, six more books, and I think I'll be ready for my exam (in four weeks). Plus, Aslan has a nice smile and a goofy laugh. I tend to like to spread the love for those kinds of people.

Yesterday at work, I was put in charge of the store for a few hours. It was only supposed to be two, but it eventually proved to be a four-hour stint.

This is funny, because I normally work in the office. My boss said he would need me to replace him for a bit, starting at noon. So when I arrived at 11.30, expecting him to be there, I was surprised that he had already left. I was given no training, and had fortunately had some experience using a similar cash register at another store. Additionally, as this job is relatively new, I am hardly familiar with all of the books, and am still working on getting the layout of the three-floor store. To make matters worse, all of the books are being rearranged, so there are currently piles everywhere. What was previously the section on surrealists is now Japanese prints, and so on. It's almost impossible to know where to find things.

"How am I going to know where all the books are?" I asked two days ago, when he requested I fill in for him. I was going to be working alone, and this seemed to be a rather important problem.

"No worries," said the boss, "If you don't know, you don't know..."

That was reassuring, coming from him, but was an entirely different story when standing in front of the customers.

"Hello," said one charming man, "I was just wondering if you have the 1966 exhibition catalogue of LKNOINQLING -- but I'm looking for the one with his drawings, not his paintings."

Right. "Could you spell LKNOINQLING, please?"

I have to give the customers credit. They were lovely. The clientele at this store is fairly well-to-do, and I was worried about looking like a dumbass in front of them. But nine times out of ten, I would say, "I'm sorry, I normally work in the office, so I'm not very familiar with the store, but let's see what we can do..." They were understanding and patient, and I was incredibly thankful for that.

I have to say, this job is making me confront all kinds of insecurities. I am often uncomfortable there, but not in a bad way. More in a "Wow-I-have-stuff-to-learn!" way. The environment is very professional, and a lot is expected of me. For the first time, I am in a position that I feel challenges me enough so that I am not bored, but doesn't overwhelm me entirely.

Working in the actual store, however, I was confronted with a whole new set of issues from those I normally deal with in the office.

For example, there is something intimidating about the French bourgeoisie. They carry themselves in a way that suggests their money was their birthright, and this just seems so elegant and put-together compared to my Midwestern, cow-milking ways. I have been a little concerned that my inferiority complex would become problematic, but I have to say that I have actually found them to be the easiest people I have ever dealt with in retail.

Most of our customers are men, almost all over 50. They wear the traditional three-piece get-up, with trenchcoat and scarf. I would not be surprised if they all smoked pipes. Several of them are art dealers (hence their interest in our art books) and a majority of them have personal libraries that rival our own store. Yesterday, I met the former curator of a Very Important Museum, and he was darling and took no issue with the fact that I didn't have a clue as to what artist he was talking about. Another one had such a gentle way about him that I was actually a little sad when he left the store. And a third was so gregarious and jolly that I found myself wondering if he might be drunk, but it turned he was just a huge Bonnington fan!!! (exclamation his)

In fact, the only customers who proved to be problematic were a French-American couple, the man being the American part of the duo. I don't think he was intentionally being rude, but the crossover of the American demand for high quality customer service (which I obviously could not provide yesterday) and his rushed, urgent manner got me rather flustered, and he didn't seem to understand when I explained to him (in French, for his wife's benefit) that I was merely filling in for someone and could not answer all of his questions. Eventually, we got it all sorted out. Meanwhile, another customer was speaking in English to me, so the American man was able to detect that I am also American. His tone went from formal and a little tense to easygoing and sweet, and he started asking questions about why I live in France (always a toughie) and what I'm doing here.

As they were walking out the door, he said, "I never would have known you were American, but I guess after over six years, you shouldn't have an accent, anymore."

I responded, "Oh, no... I definetly do."

But his wife, who had been almost silent throughout the interaction, said to me once her husband was outside, "No, I never would have known. You have almost no accent whatsoever... you had one moment where you hesitated before saying something, and I had a second where I wondered if you might be foreign, but otherwise... bravo!"

So they quickly went from being my most difficult clients to being my favorites. Unexpected compliments from French women are rare gems. I basked in it for at least ten minutes after their departure.

At the end of the day, reflecting on how much I had learned from my rather hectic and at times nerve-wracking afternoon (the credit card machine broke mid-transaction, the phone would NOT stop ringing, and someone was very concerned that his order had gotten lost in the mail), I was actually sort of proud of myself for more or less jumping head-first into that enormous river and somehow managing to swim to the other side. Dry land felt good, but I had actually had a moment in the day where I hadn't even felt like I was swimming upstream, where I was able to go with the flow of customers and sales and questions and responses. Just managing to float in a highly specialized environment in which I have very little background would have been enough for me, but I congratulated myself some for managing a bit more than just that.

Of course, that was before I came home and realized I had had a hole in my pants the size of a nickel. Given that I climbed ladders a fair amount, I'm willing to bet a few customers might have noticed. But - eh - you live, you learn. Good thing I had long sweater on yesterday. I hadn't even planned that fortunate coincidence.

I just completed my third day at my new job. Still no complaints.

However, today I worked while nobody else was at the store. My office is upstairs, so I can come in, lock the door behind me, and work in total peace and quiet every Saturday and Sunday. That's a pretty sweet deal, and I decided to try it out for the first time around 11 this morning.

All went well... I turned on the lights as was explained to me, found my stack of books to get to work on, and settled in front of my gorgeous computer.**

I worked for six hours - taking a little lunch break in between - and only noticed the time passing out of an irrational fear of getting locked in to passageway the store is in. As the sun began setting, my fears got a little sharper, and I decided to close up and head home.

I ran into two issues while closing:

1. I think some lights were on when I came in. I just couldn't remember which ones. And while closing, I tried every combination of lights possible (there are tons) and nothing looked right. I just decided on total darkness. Maybe it was totally dark when I came in? Maybe not? I don't know.

2. I was so upset about the lighting situation that I forgot to throw out the bit of trash I had in my hand. I don't have a trash bin upstairs, so I brought down the plastic cup, water bottle, and napkin I had to throw away. And prompty left them out on the table at the entrance. A nice little "Good Morning!" to my new boss, right?

I'm just a little OCD in that I had to check and double-check that I locked the doors correctly. I'm still stressing about it, even though I'm at home and obviously can't do anything about i now. But what if someone breaks in and steals all their precious books? That would be such a nightmare. At any rate, I hope to get to work tomorrow before anybody else. I will run in, throw out my trash, turn on the lights, and pretend I had no issues with closing the place on my own.

Next weekend, I'm sure I'll feel much better about all of this. But right now, that damn lighting problem and trash issue is really irking me.

I'm so waking up at seven am in a panic. I know I am.

** I am turning toward the Mac side of things. So pretty! So fun to look at! So easy to use!

A friend, Kdogg, and I are hoping to travel this August. This might be news to my family and friends, as Kdogg and I just as-close-to-finalized-plans as possible yesterday, but I now have a goal: make cash for the trip.

I'm hoping to start my new job as soon as the paperwork comes through. Despite my flirting adventure, I still haven't gotten anything in my mailbox permitting me to work at my future place of employment. Typical, right? Those MEN. All game, no discipline. So I'm just stuck here waiting.

In the meantime, I have hooked up with an independent bookbuyer/seller around Paris. Let's call him ScarfBoy. When ScarfBoy first moved to Paris, he loved on Odessa Street, too, so obviously he's alright in my book.

He's extremely positive, and refreshingly smart without being pompous about it. On more than one occasion, I've caught myself being impressed by his cultural knowledge (art, history, etc). However, he is extremely technologically challenged. I am not. So it's a bit of a match made in heaven, as he has 70 cartons of books to sell, but it's the internet that has the market for them. Books, meet Ebay. Ebay, meet books.

So I spend my free time (?) uploading books, writing descriptions, researching prices. Most of the time, ScarfBoy's ideal prices are dead on. It's actually quite amazing - he usually only wavers by a euro or two. Twice now, however, I have found books that he originally bought at only 5 or 6 euros to be listed as selling at 90 or 100 euros. He only asks for 20 or 30, but I secretly hope the Ebay markets work in our favor. Still - selling them at 20 is better than not selling them at all, so we put the minimum price. Then we just cross our fingers.

ScarfBoy and I split the profits. That is, from whatever money we make, we first pay for the original price of the book, and then the price it cost to put online. Whatever's left, we split. I can't LOSE money in the adventure, but I can lose some time. However, time is money, so does it come back to me losing money? In the end, I like to think of it as a no-risk deal for me.

The main point of the story is that I have become fully and COMPLETELY obsessed with Ebay. I used to sort of psycho buy (that one experience with the needles really got to me, as did the tortilla press battle), but I gave up after I got the few things I really "needed." Now, however, I sort of psycho sell. I can't stop monitering my products! I can't stop obsessing over what's selling and what's not! Stop me!

I'm wondering if the Ebay people knew how addictive their tool would be. It's overwhelming sometimes. I try to restrain myself, but just can't help logging in. Five times a day.

There has been a lot of commotion here recently. The LongIslander went home after a week-long visit filled with desperate attempts to avoid spending too much money. We did alright though - only going out the first night she came and the night before she left. The other nights, we cooked at home and played cards, and some nights I would stay home and work despite a strong desire to hang with my dawgs. Sometimes I felt bad because I couldn't see her as much as I would have liked - I only did about half of the work I usually do, and I let it hang over my head. However, The LongIslander is understanding, and she is one of my favorite visitors to have in town. Some nights, I just had to stay home and get a good night's sleep. Obviously, the girls and I have learned to be wise about things - at least some things.

Anyway, she is gone now and life will go back to normal tomorrow.

Well, reasonably normal. There is some significant shifting going on in the job department. It's too early to speak concretely of anything, but there are going to be massive changes. These changes take the form of one full-time job, and one rather irregular one. This beats my previous technique of two different jobs, with a third thrown in for luck. So these are good changes. I feel ready for them. More than that, I feel ready to have a job I am proud of, and a salary that can pay my rent and maybe my groceries, too.

Of course, the professional changes have brought out social changes, as my current place of employment is also the regular meeting point for a group of people sort of orbiting around those who work at the store. Without really meaning to, we have developed into a hodge-podge clique of sorts. Despite myself, I feel sad when I think of pulling myself away from it. Additionally, the bookstore is closing in three months and moving to a new location - one that is indeed a much less practical meeting center than the current store. What will happen to all of our impromtu apéritifs? What about the three-hour-long Sunday coffees inside the store?

In all, I am happy to move on to greener pastures, and I suppose it is nice to look fondly upon what is soon to be my former place of employment. Whatever hand-wringing I'm doing about my current social circle's impending metamorphisis is really just peripheral to the excitement/hestitation/giddiness I feel about jumping aboard a brand new, better paying boat.

Meanwhile, I have some terrible news. Remember when I mentioned my older client who asked me to take him out to dinner? I saw him a few days before I left for break, and I once again clarified that I didn't think it would be a good idea for the two of us to see one another outside of the store. Although nice, his overzealousness gave me the creeps (after he called seven times in one day, for example) and I thought it better to be clear with him than to leave him in limbo. So before wishing him happy holidays, I once again refused his dinner request (politely) and told him that I still appreciate his visits, but I didn't want to meet up with him outside the store.

On Christmas Eve, he drowned himself in the Seine.

I know I couldn't have avoided this, and that my refusal of his invitations was not what would have kept the tragedy from happening, but it just makes me so sad. He was obviously a lonely man - it was clear even in his humbled way of speaking and his sort of nervous enthusiasm for books - and I suppose I was a bit of a bright spot in what was otherwise a deep depression. Maybe if I had known the depth of it, I would have reacted differently. Certainly, had I known what was going to happen just a few days after our last goodbye, I would have been a bit more gentle with my words.

I don't feel responsible, but I do feel a bit of shame nonetheless.

We have a few regulars who come to the store and we give them money. I realizethat in the retail industry, the exchange is supposed to work in the opposite direction, but Vegas has a major pitfall: he's just too damn nice. The guy is pretty severely in debt, but he still gives two euros per week to a variety of homeless types who know where to find someone they can count on. This duty was initiated by Vegas years ago, and although I have taken over his place several days per week, I can't exactly tell these guys "Tough shit, buddy!" So I cough up whatever amount Vegas has told me each one of them is habituated to - "The guy who has the sort of funky left arm? He's two euros. The other one, who sorta walks sideways? He comes in on Wednesdays and Sundays. A euro or two, and he's good to go..."

One of these guys - let's call him George - is severaly mentally impaired. I'm not sure if it's years on the streets, repeated alcohol consumption, or some pre-existing condition that has done him in, but he sure has a hard time getting words out of his mouth. To his credit, he puts forward a massive effort each time just to thank me and say "Have a good day" That's about a minute-long sentence, coming from him. But I appreciate it.

George is a two euro, every Friday type.

Vegas told me that one time he woke up in his apartment to the sound of someone screaming. It was George, sleeping in a doorway across the street. He was having a terrible nightmare, and Vegas swears he has never heard suffering so clearly.

I've always liked George, but he makes me nervous because he is often quite drunk. I don't fear him - he's a really gentle type who seems genuinely sweet and docile - but the fear of him vomiting puts me on edge. I know severe drunks don't vomit often, and every Friday, I repeat it in my head like a mantra: "He will not vomit on me, he will not vomit..." Still, in the last few months I've gotten better about my rather irrational fear of his puke, and we've even managed to have some short, but very slow, conversations.

Today, George came into the store - an unexpected surprise for a Thursday. Still, I figured he must have another appointment tomorrow (naturally), so I forked over the two euros and wished him well. The following conversation ensued:

George: (putting index finger to his lips) Shhhhhh....
Me: (whispering) Oh, sorry.
George: Shhhh....

(beat)

George: (whispering) Thank you.
Me: (whispering) You're welcome.

(beat)

George leans in.

George: (still whispering) I love you. Shhh....
Me: Oh! (not exactly whispering)
George: SHHHHH!!!!! (reprimanding me)

(beat)

George: I said shh... (whispering) I LOVE you.
Me: (whispering this time) Ok. Thank you.
George: (whispering) Do you love me???
Me: Um...
George: (clasps his hands to his heart and beams) I love you too.

(beat)

George: (still whispering) Have a good day.

He walks out the door (falls out, sorta) and looks back at me, puts his finger to his lips again and shushes me. Our little secret.

Today was a little insane at work. I was alone all day - a bit uncommon for Saturdays as we generally have more people than during the week (or on Sunday, when it's painfully slow). Fortunately, the wind and rain kept a lot of people out, and I was able to handle the trickle of clients that came in. I do have to say, however, that something must have been in the air today: all of my customers had something unique or different about them, and it made for a more challenging day.

For example, the first people into the store were two girls. Neither spoke French or English. As a matter of fact, neither spoke. They were both deaf, and wanted to know how to get to the Eiffel Tower. The problem? The Eiffel Tower is pretty far from where I work, and I had to explain how to take the metro from my bookstore to the necessary stop. Exclusively using hand motions. Not so simple. You should have seen how the first girl explained to me the Eiffel Tower in the first place. She employed moves reminiscent of voguing.

Then I had a regular come in who wanted to lend Kathypath (who wasn't there) a Bridget Bardot movie. She still doesn't know why. He gave me a Rolling Stones book. For no reason.

Next, a friend of the owner - who is officially a bum now, and sleeps in the metro on the weekends - came by to say goodbye. He's leaving town, for the zillionth time. This time, however, it's for good. Just like last time. His face was covered in bruises; apparently he was beaten up last night by some young people, across the street from the police station. I might sound cold-hearted for not believing him, but the guy is completely bonkers, and has been known to thrown bags of paperwork into the gutter at the bookstore in the middle of the night. There is no real explanation for this behaviour, and he thinks "other people" are doing it in the night Regardless, maybe the beating yesterday really happened, maybe it didn't. In the end, he walked out of the store today with his bruised face while muttering to himself about a good shower.

Finally, I had a nice, decent, normal customer who was excited about our 50% off on contemporary art catalogues party. Upon discovering that her 20 euro purchase only amounted to 10 euros, she attacked the contemporary art section and found another 10 euros worth of stuff. She giggled alongside me when our regular Saturday bum came to pick up his weekly two euros from our cash register. Not because she was giggling at the bum, but because I thanked him as he left, even though I had given him money. I automatically thank anybody when they close the door on the way out. Habit.

When Normal Girl finally came to the register to pay, I thought, "At last, a normal person." During our exchange, a high-strung woman came in and actually said, "Madame, can you help me? I am desperately searching for the Centre Pompidou, and I fear I will never find it!!!." Seemed a bit dramatic, but I gave her the appropriate directions. As she was shutting the door, the Normal Girl looked at me apologetically, as if to say, "Bums, directions, craziness here all day, eh?"

Just then, another woman beelined in the door, thrusting pamphlets in my face. "Take these, and hear the words of Jesus. He's the only thinkg that can save you in life. Without him, you cannot do anything!!!"

A little overwhelmed by her exhuburance, I just waggled my finger (something I never do, for fear it's a little patronizing) and murmered a low, but stern, "Noooo...."

The woman backed off, perhaps a little shocked that I didn't want to hear the Word of our Lord, when Normal Girl sort of barked out, "We can do lots of things! Look! I can smile!"

And with that, she smiled, thanked me, and took her contemporary art home.

Fun times.

In an effort to save money this year, The Boy and I have agreed not to turn on the heat until January. This is ok by me, because I am going to be gone for awhile in December, so I'll at least have a week of warmy goodness to look forward to in the coming months. The Boy, however, is insane for agreeing to this. Then again, he doesn't have the Frozen Feet and Fingers disease that I was born with, so his capacity for cold is a little higher than mine.

Still. We have electric heating and it can get really expensive. And for now, doing my work in my jacket and scarf keeps me warm enough. The problem, however, is typing and using the mouse.

Obviously, when people created computers, they didn't think about those of us who would be working in cold rooms. Holy circulation issues. I can have 98% of my body be warm and happy, but my hands will still be ice cold.

I've got a lot to do and I enjoy most of the work I've got going on. I genuinely find the projects I'm working on to be fun and exciting, even a little addictive. I'm just having issues with the cold.

After coming back from the museum today, I climbed into bed (it was 19.00) because the boy had just woken up. We stayed in bed for two hours, just talking and giggling and going over project stuff. Neither of wanted to face the cold.

On the wall across the room from our bed, I put up a map of the world. We actually stayed in our bed and tried to name the countries of the world by squinting at the map from several feet away. Straining his eyes, The Boy would say, "Is that another country next to Tanzania or I'm I seeing things?" Miraculously, I made it through all of barely visible Africa and I only messed up twice (we later verified our guesses: I mixed up Sierra Leone and Liberia, and Zimbabwe and Botswana).

The great part is that this is how we "relax." We're big, big nerds.

In the end, I had a little daydream about a new type of computer, made for the hardworking person with little money and bad circulation. It would have a floating screen that could be suction-cupped to the wall, or suspended from the ceiling overhead. The keyboard could be propped across the body like a breakfast tray. And the mouse could be anywhere - just like it is today - but the signal would be able to communicate through the comforter and whatever other blankets one might be sleeping under. With this new computer, I could lie in bed and keep my hands under the covers, not exposing them to the terrible cold that has crept into our house in the last week. I would do all of my work either lying down or only slightly propped up, and there would be no need to get out of bed in the morning unless I wanted to fix myself some tea. Actually, I could just have a faucet next to the bed, my little water heater, and I'd be good to go. Why bathe, right?

Today was my last full day of being "in charge." So here's what I've realized about myself in the last three weeks: I like power. I like being considered the chief. I like when people think I'm actually capable of making important decisions.

None of this should be seen as a haughty, dangerous thing. I am saying this as a genuine, positive realization. I need a job where people turn to me; it's what pushes me to work hard. It energizes me, but I don't think I abuse the power. Hopefully my co-workers would agree. I don't feel like my authority high extends to others; I have simply noticed that my own work is far better when I am put in the head honcho position.

I have mixed feelings about Vegas' return. I'm excited to see him, I've missed him a sort of freakish amount over the last weeks considering how recently we've become close. I'm also looking forward to the relief of not working so much. However, I'm a little concerned that I am going to have a hard time going back to my previous position in the store. I know he's the boss, and I've known it all along - even in his absence. But still. Even just "playing boss" for a month sorta makes you feel like you are one, and I don't know how much of my inner boss is going to wince when someone else starts telling me what to do.

I'm sure it will be fine. But honestly? I feel that, along with Kathypath, we've done a pretty impressive job of running the show. In fact, numerous people have commented on improvements since Vegas' departure (particularly when it comes to cleanliness and/or organization matters). So it will be sorta weird when Vegas starts prioritizing and putting certain things fifth when I feel they should be third. Or first when I think they should be twelfth. Or whatever. It's his store, and we differ (a fair amount) in how we run things. So that might be tough. Luckily, I'll only have a week of working to re-adjust, and then I'm off to the States for a bit. A break will probably do me some good, too.

Really, though. This whole experience has been great. I am going to have to thank Vegas for the opportunity. Profusely.

I've written two entries and not posted because they were, in the end, crap.

I counted how many hours I have worked this week: 64 hours in seven days, and I also squeeked in time at the library in the mornings.

Yesterday, I re-organized the basement at the bookstore (again). After ten minutes of lifting boxes and moving books, I realized there was no point in dirtying my shirt: I worked for several hours in my bra, sweating buckets while lifting enormous boxes. That's probably good porn material, but the reality of it all is that I ended up with a broken back. Although I've learned the lift-with-your-legs, not-with-your-back technique, it was physically impossible in the 2 ft X 2 ft space I had to work with. So, bam. Something hurts on my lower right-hand side. No worries.

Later however, after the store was closed, I worked for awhile in the office. Once I finished, I headed downstairs. On my way down, I slipped and fell, breaking the fall on my back. Normally people don't like to break falls using their precious backs, but I'm sadistic that way. I had tried to use my hand to grab something, but my hand landed on the ladder, which promptly just fell on top of me instead of providing any sort of stable force. The back pain? Severe.

THEN, today - after ten hours of work - I carried boxes to a car that we drove to a truck into which I lifted said boxes. The driver pinched a nerve and is not allowed to lift, which meant I did the lifting. Although I began sweating buckets within seconds of my workout, I opted to keep the shirt on this time. I was, after all, on a major boulevard. I lifted lots and lots of boxes, and really? I'm very tired now.

Anyway, point of this post: I love my job, but I recognize that I have overworked myself physically in the last few days. I have also probably overworked myself mentally, but I am less willing to admit fatigue in that department. I haven't seen a good friend in almost two weeks, even though I would really like to... Time is a serious issue. I need to do even just simple things like go to the grocery. I'm not complaining; I like what I'm doing. I just wish I could have four more hours per day and the energy needed to do stuff with them.

It will come. This week, I will see my hours reduced significantly upon Vegas' return. However, I am glad to know what doing this sort of thing with one's life entails: long hours, patience, and one helluva strong back.

One unexpected bonus: I'm getting seriously buff.

Kathypath returned from her (sucessful) trip this week, and it's great to have her back. I told her what's been happening in the store in her absence, and the two of us - as anal as we are - are set on cleaning the place up in Vegas' absence. I had been telling her that Vegas had gone way overboard in the buying department, but she couldn't fully understand it until she saw it. After receiving a delivery of seven more (huge) boxes of books for which we had to make room, she understood why I can't get over the mayhem. It was oddly reassuring to see that it bothered her as much as it bothers me (she kept saying, "Oh, God, we really have to do something about this pile..."). So we're going to get working on that.

Meanwhile, we both broke our backs bringing those enormous boxes upstairs. I looked down at my legs before I took a shower yesterday, and my upper thighs are black and blue all over (from hitting the boxes as I walk). As TheBoy said yesterday in his most deadpan voice upon seeing them "Well, that's sexy."

Yesterday, I went in for a job interview elsewhere. It went fine - I don't think I made any mistakes outside of the French grammar sort. But, still, I won't get the job. It was obvious from the outset, as the first question he asked me referred to my working papers situation:

"Do you have papers?"
"No, is that a problem? I thought that since the company is Franch-American, it would be less of an issue."
"Well, sure, but we would still have to prove to the French government that we couldn't find any FRENCH person qualified enough for the position. Considering we have already interviewed over 30 people, you'd have to be a far better candidate than any of them..."

Keep in mind, that was BEFORE the interview.

No pressure, though, really.

It's ok though. I don't think I wanted the job anyway, deep down. Too much sitting, not enough interacting. I like to be up and at 'em (even if I bruise my legs in the process).

Day three of running the show: so far, so good. Ok, so I have TONS of shit to do tomorrow. And yeah, I think I am going to go in on my day off to set up shop to maximize the efficiency of co-workers (and to get my "co-manager" up to speed after a six-week absence). But woo-hoo, I am having a ball.

A customer ordered a 120 euro book online and we couldn't find it anywhere in the store. I searched for hours. And then? Then? He showed up at the store, desperate to have the book before he left on vacation (even though he technically wouldn't have received the book until the next week if we had sent it by post). I freaked, having NO idea in the MADNESS that is our stockroom, where the hell his book was.

I kept looking, and, I shit you not, I heard the angels singing as I saw the title creeping out at me from amidst a pile of random-ass books stored in a back corner. They sang hallalujah as I lifted the 100 books on top of it, and when I ran upstairs - book in hand - I could barely contain my excitement. Over an hour of searching and then man and I both went home happy campers.

That's what feels so good.

I also managed to pay all the bills, make several important calls, place a few orders, clear the database, and so on.

I am exploding myself, as they say in French.

Yesterday, after working from noon until closing (midnight), Vegas and I stayed up until 5 am, organizing papers and setting up things for his month-long absence. As the sun began to rise, we both began to fall, and we finally caved in to the fatigue. Vegas left this morning to go to Korea, and I found myself in the strange position of more or less being in charge of a bookstore when I opened the doors to the place a few hours later.

On four hours of sleep - had only after fifteen hours of work - I have just finished a ten-hour day. I spent it lifting, calling, filing, packing, ordering, and calculating. Afterwards, I rode home on my bike, and I felt that the last three days of intensive physical labor and not-so-intensive sleep has turned my legs to jelly.

But, I am not complaining. I am instead, in my usual sick and rather obsessive way, trying to get across how much I am loving my job. I'm giddy and motivated and energetic, and I have that fabulous feeling that always makes me think of that scene in Clueless when Cher decides to give Ty a makeover. She claps her hands excitedly and says, "PROJECT!" And that's what's so great about this gig: it's an enormous, difficult, and sort of scary project. I know that I have always been someone who works better when challenged, and suddenly being responsible - more or less - for the store's financial welfare, is oddly thrilling.

I had a bad moment today, but I am trying not to dwell on it. Instead, I'm already trying to think of maybe putting in some "overtime" to reorganize some things. But what's "overtime" when you never even stop to look at the clock?

My friend/boss - let's call him Vegas - is one helluva character. I feel as if he was just lifted right out of a Fear-and-Loathing-esque novel and thrown into my life. God love him, he's the most disorganized business owner I have ever met. He also can't keep himself from giving customers unasked-for discounts, a habit I have yet to comprehend. His hair is wiry and wild and he forgets to zip his fly at least twice a day, but he is also wicked sharp and has a memory that has impressed me on more than one occasion (and I'm MemoryGirl, so that's something). Plus, he just happens to be one of the kindest and most thoughtful men I have ever met.

The one thing he really, really cannot do, however, is deal with the computer. He's been nabbed by that strange phobia that is common in members of any given pre-MTV generation, even though all of his friends are twenty years his junior (and he has more energy than any of us, to boot).

So, for all things computer-related, he turns to Kathypath or myself. We are very cool and understanding about this, mainly because it takes us two seconds - as compared to his two hours - to do whatever task he has asked of us, and office time gives us a breather from the clients and phones. I also like getting to see the inner-workings of the store; what I refer to in my own imaginary world as the real "guts" of the business to give it a sort of intense, cutting edge. And of course, there's that whole computers-are-fun thing that I can't seem to shake. So overall, I don't mind doing the online/computer tasks.

Today, however, I spent some quality time with Vegas, trying to work out how to set up an online account for some things he is selling, well, online. We had to respond to some emails and what have you, enter some numbers, change some passwords...

Um.

It was a little intense. I remember this one time, I watched a special on this random 50-something French couple in the middle of nowhere who had bought their first computer. It was a quasi-documentary, and it was both the most hilarious and the most upsetting thing to watch these people come in contact with a computer for the first time. They, of course, had to call the support line, and the poor person on the other line found himself explaining how to put in a CD-ROM in the most minute detail one could possibly imagine. The entire thirty-minute "documentary" was a battle between these people on the other end searching for the mouse ("I don't see anything that looks like a mouse in this box...") and then learning how to hook up the battery.

Well, my evening was sort of like that, only admittedly much better.

I think I just take it for granted that I type fast, that I know how to close old/open new windows, and that I know various file extensions. I really wanted to give Vegas the barebone knowledge he needs to be able to make his way through the technological jungle, but I can see that he has already decided this is something he just does not want to understand. It's too much, kind of like the answering machine was for my grandparents.

So what do you think it will be for our generation? When am I just going to say, "Do you know how to (fill in the blank)?" and when the youngster in front of me nods with a shrug indicating that my question is far too simple, I'll quickly follow with "Could you do that for me, then?" because I'm just too overwhelmed to learn how to do all of that by that point? What will it be?

Today I got to spend a good hour with a three-month-old puppy. This particularly pup (Maya) is the cutest damn thing I have ever seen. I was technically "at work" but there weren't any customers because God turned up the thermostat in Paris today. It was sweltering, and people tend to stay inside if they're sweating buckets.

Our new job is at the outdoor book market (if you're ever in Paris on a Sunday, check it out! It's fabulous... it is the marché Brassens right near the Parc Brassens. Great ambiance and - even better - TONS of books and people interested in books. I'll buy you a coffee) and one of the booksellers has just integrated Maya into his life.

Maya is the perfect puppy because:

- her fur is soft and fluffy
- she is clean
- she doesn't yip
- she is the littlest ball of incredible fluff that I have ever seen

Kathypath took her for a "jog" down the street, and from the back, Maya looked like a bunny hopping along. We took turns coo-ing and caa-ing, and her owner was really chill about it, not all protective and annoyed by the attention we were smothering her with. He said, "I'm going to be over here (motioning to somewhere far away), so hang out with her as much as you want, and put her in her cardboard box if you leave." The problem was the Maya has outgrown her cardboard box and has figured out how to jump out of it. We didn't mind, though. We just kept on wanting to hang with her. Even her sharp puppy teeth hardly hurt. She's just precious.

Cutest moment of the day, though? When Maya flipped over her water bowl and started rolling her belly in the spilled water to cool down. So she's not only cute, but smart, too. I bet you all the dogs in the hood want her.

Kathypath and I are going to begin working Sundays at the outdoor market, so stop by and meet Maya if you can. We'll be the only two young women in the place, with one of us most likely holding a ball of fluff in her lap.

This summer is gonna rock. It takes so little to make me happy. A summer job working at book market with a puppy nearby. Pure bliss. The one drawback is that it gave me the I-want-a-puppy burning hardcore. My master plan is to get TheBoy to come to stop by the market one day - just so he can see where I "work" - and then I'll introduce him to Maya. I don't envision him being able to resist her charm (NOBODY can), and maybe he'll fall in love enough to want one of his own. Then, Kathypath is going to "surprise" me with a puppy, and well, since it was a gift, I can't exactly just turn the poor dog away... right?

There's a guy who comes to the bookstore where I work whom we call "Tricorne" (Three-Horns). This is because he wears a hat with three horns on it. If this isn't testimony to how fucking crazy he is, let me continue. From what we can gather, he is from somewhere in the former Yugoslavia, and my theory has is that he witnessed some pretty messed up things over there. He is fascinated with Hitler (regularly saluting him and occasionally lifting my hand in salute as well) and the words I have been able to understand as he jabbers on in his language have been: partisan, gestapo, ss, etc. I don't know if he actually supports Hitler or is trying to make a greater point about genocide/ethnic cleansing, but he just sort of mumbles out these words as he walks around the bookstore.

One time, he came into the store and pointed at a female co-workers genitals and said, "Marie Antoinette." Then he pointed to himself and said "Louis XVI." Maybe your French history isn't good enough to know what he is insinuating, but you can probably guess.

Another time he came in and pointed to my boss, claiming he was a member of the French resistance movement. He then said that I was a Nazi (which in his fucked up world means that we get along swimmingly) and that I killed my boss.

For all of his psychoticness and Hitler-talk, I think he's probably my favorite crazy person ever. Having lived and worked in Santa Cruz California for several years (where Reagan shut down a mental institution while he was governor, sending all the people desperately in need of psychiatric aid out onto the streets of the small town), I've had my share of batty regulars. Some of them would hang out back at the end of the night, waiting for us to hand over the remaining rice and peanut sauce. They were all ok, but kept their distance.

I'm sort of a fan of TriCorne because he's very happy to talk with us and get to know us and show us his passport and RL Stine novels. As far as crazies go, he's sort of a pleasure to have around.

Today was my last day at the high school. It was incredibly anticlimatic. I had a few really great students (who have been amongst my favorites since day one) bid me farewell, but otherwise, not much to report. I didn't even say goodbye to anybody while in the teachers' lounge - I just gathered up my stuff quietly and left. I doubt anymore than five of them (other than the English teachers) knew my name anyway. Sad, really.

I thought I was going to feel a huge wave of relief, or maybe even some sappy sort of feelings towards the school, but nope. Not really. With noted exceptions, everyone seemed very indifferent to my departure, which of course made me feel the same way. There are a few students I would gladly teach again, but overall the entire experience this year was neutral. Last year was positive and fun, whereas this year was not good or bad, it just was. A job, with a paycheck, and nothing more.

It could just be that I am exhausted, operating on two hours of sleep. I need to get a little nap in before I head out to work again at the bookstore this evening.

The Frenchies cut me off of my job today. That's it. Finished. Contract over. This would be fine if it weren't denying me another month of work, and thus another month of salary. The reason for the "suspension" was that there were a few administrative kinks that were never worked out, and of course I'm to blame. Heaven forbid it be ANYBODY ELSE'S FAULT. Seriously? The whole thing was a big mess. I made one mistake, they made many, and now it turns out I have been working illegally all year without really knowing it. Oh, I love French bureaucracy.

I'm trying to have a zen-like sense of humor about the whole thing, but in all honesty, it's really fucked up. I mean, they really screwed me over, and, on top of that, they're blaming me for their own stupidity.

But, as I said: zen.

I'll tell the story of how these people have so clearly been sucked of both intelligence and anything resembling a human soul when I have more time, but for now I just need to sleep.

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.

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.

I just have to remind myself: six more days. Six more days and it will be Winter Break. Six more days and I will have two full weeks of vacation. Six more days and it will be ALL LIBRARY, ALL THE TIME. Look out thesis, here I come.

Sleeping in until 8:00 is going to feel great.

You know what's super uncool?

Going out to the bar (it was 80's night, we couldn't resist) until 3 am, getting up early the following morning to go work on a Saturday, riding the train for an hour, walking six (boring) blocks to the high school through some serious rain and wind, and then, oh yes, FINDING OUT I HAVE NO CLASSES.

You know what would have been cool?

If someone had had the decency to tell me.

I woke up today knowing it was gonna be a longie.

When I got on my train at 7.45 (I got to sleep in an extra hour), I was not prepared for the group of 40 Italian High School Students on their way to Disneyland that came rushing into the car as the doors closed.

Know what? Italian High School Students on their way to Disneyland do not care that those minutes on the train are my final, precious minutes of peace before four consecutive hours of teaching French High School Students on the cusp of Winter Break. I am not sure which group is louder, the IHSSotwtD or the FHSSotCofWB, but they both need to just stop the clapping. Why so much clapping? Is it really necessary?

Know what else? That whole stereotype about Italians being loud and gesturing a lot? Kinda has a bit of truth to it. Kinda lots and lots of truth to it. Kinda almost burst my eardrum as you almost hit my face with your wildly gesturing hands truth to it. At least when it comes to 40 Italian High School Students on their way to Disneyland.

Then I taught my classes, after such a relaxing ride. My classes were equally as relaxing. I had to yell at some kids, which I hate, but at least I'm better at it than I was last year. I had to seperate three students. I had to do the whole you're-more-mature-than-this lecture, which makes me feel like I should be wearing an apron and heels with a vacuum in my left hand and a feather duster in my right. I'm too young to be telling these kids that they should be capable of behaving like adults. Honestly, though, I was getting upset more because the troublemakers were making it difficult for the interested kids to hear. And that's uncool to me. Some of the kids were obviously really, really into the lesson, and I didn't want some little shitheads to ruin it for them.

In my next class, the student that I ran into at the nightclub however many weeks ago was an absolute asshole to me. Today was our first day having class since the run-in. "Going dancing this weekend?" he asked, sorta goofily.

"Nah..." I said, and laughed.

"Small world, huh?" he responded with a friendly smile.

And then? For some reason he turned into the devil. I think he was pissed because he was put in the middle-level group (of three). He asked me what level his group was, and I answered honestly that I didn't know.

"I'm in the wrong one," he said cooly. "I'm the best in the class."

Modest, too. But then when he started insulting my knitting and my taste in hobbies, I got a little annoyed. And when he started bitching about the activities, I got really annoyed. Then when he just went to sleep instead, I just gave up. I didn't want to listen to his bullshit anyway. Argh.

And then my last class. Oh Lordy, my last class.

Let me tell you all a little story.

My last class is with a bunch of 20-year-olds. Due to a little scheduling conflict, we didn't meet last week. It was my fault, as I had misunderstood that what I had thought was a temporary schedule change was in fact a permanent one. Their head English teacher (whom I had never met) came to "discuss" the matter with me by telling me I was wrong, so WRONG! So I ended up having to teach an hour later than I thought I would, and therefore be an hour late to a 14.00 appointment.

But really, what does a poor little language assistant's schedule matter to them?

Anyway.

So I went to this class with these 20-year-old-ish boys (and one girl). They're nice kids but they have NO concentration. And although they have been taking English for ten years, they can't understand a word I say. As one student put it, "Can anybody get some subtitles for the teacher, maybe?"

But here's the issue. One of my students is partially deaf. This is ok, but in the confines of the classroom, I don't want to talk to him about it. He mentioned it in passing ("I have problem at my ::pointing to ear:::" was the phrase he used) and I had already noticed that he had some pretty severe phonetic problems.

After the hellish class in which the boys went from angels to wild monkeys in the span of 55 minutes, I went back to the teacher's lounge to ask their oh-so-friendly head teacher a little about this student's special needs.

I walked up to her while she was in a conversation and waited while she ignored me. So I walked away, went to the bathroom, gathered my stuff, put on my coat, and attempted again. Still ignored me. So finally I said, "I'm sorry, could I interrupt you for just a second before I go?"

With no real acknowledgement on her part, I had no real choice but to just sorta continue anyway.

"I ended up seeing the kids anyway, even though I had the appointment. I'm just going to be an hour late, so it was no problem in the end."

No response, just a cold stare. Not even a grunt!

"...and... um, I also wanted to ask you about S."

"S? Who's S?" she asked. Remember, she's been their teacher since September. There are only 19 of them.

"Um... he usually sits in the front. He's [physical description here]" Remember that this is only the second time I have seen them.

"Oh, yeah. S. Ok. I know who you mean..."

"Ok. I was just wondering how severe his hearing problem is, and if you knew any details about it."

"He has a hearing problem?" she asked, as if it were totally inappropriate to ask the question.

"Yes," I answered, sorta sharply, I admit it. I was just so shocked that she wouldn't have noticed.

"Oh. I know nothing about that," she retorted, and looked back down at her work as if to say, "and this conversation is through."

Pleasant woman. Really.

Then I went to the Stock Market Library for a research project I have to do. There are lots of fun stories about how much I hate this library, but they really tipped me towards the bitch-die-in-hell end of the scales when they changed their library hours and made consultations be available BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. This is, mind you, the only library in France that has the kind of information I need. And oh, I forgot: it's now only open from 14-16.30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That means it's only open FIVE HOURS per week. Do you hear the outrage?

So I show up and give the really nice guy the information for what I need. He does his usual nice stuff and brings me over the information and nicely explains to me the situation. But guess what? The situation is not-so-nice.

All of the information I need is on microfiche. Do you remember microfiches from the 1980's? That's what we used to use before people knew about digitally storing things and making life easier on everyone involved.

Yeah, well, we're in France now, people. So it's back to the microfiche and trying to align things up with the borders and adjusting the focus. I have to print up 40-50 pages at a time from these damn microfiches, and you have no idea how time-consuming this process can be. It's incredible.

So I spent several hours with a machine that must date from 1973, and printing up and aligning and feeling like a jackass because this shit should SO be scanned into a computer by now.

Then it was 16.30, which is the most logical hour for a library to close, so I had to go. I forgot my mittens inside the library and my two euros of change from the nice guy. Now I feel like a dumbass.

From there I went to catch an express train to go to the Champs-Elysees in time for my Spanish class. Of course, the train had stopped working and we sat in the station for a good fifteen minutes, but I didn't mind too much. It was reasonably warm in there and I was early anyway.

And then I went to Spanish and all was right with the world. You know that you really love a class when you find yourself saying, "I wish this class weren't only two hours long. I think three or four would be a lot better." I also found myself thinking, "I wish I could just have a class or two over the Christmas break... two weeks is a long time to go without Spanish."

So hey. One good thing today.

Tomorrow I get to go hang out with French administration officials who are going to bitch at me for not getting my work permit earlier. Stay tuned.

I am sick today, Sunday, my only day off. The injustice is incredible.

Worse, because I just started at this new high school, I don't feel I can really call in sick yet. This reminds me of a time when I myself was a student in high school, and I didn't want to call in sick for the day. I don't know what that was about, really, but I had a thing with never wanting to miss school that lasted until my senior year (when I stopped caring altogether). On this particular day, Mom drove me to school in the morning. I was really blah in the car, and when it was time to drop me off, she leaned over and, very seriously, said, "We can still go home if you don't feel good. Don't be a martyr." The tone was dramatic and akin to that used in soap operas.

I think I was a sophmore at the time and the only martyr I knew was Jesus, so I didn't really catch what she meant. But now, every time I feel sick but think, "Oh, I should go into work/school/whatever anyway," I hear Mom calling me a martyr in the background.

Somehow it makes the terrible task of working-when-sick so much more romantic.

Situation: Introductory class in which students ask one another get-to-know-you questions. The first question is "Have you broken a bone?"

Me: "So who else has broken a bone?"
Celine: "Joseph has broken a bone."
Me: "Joseph, what did you break?"
Josephe: (pointing) "I broke my this and my this."
Me: "My this?" (pointing to arm) "What is this?"
Class: "Arm"
Me: "Right, you broke your arm and your..." (pointing to feet)
Class: "Foot!"
Me: "Yes. Foot."
Joseph: "No. I not break my foot. I break... my... fingers of my foot."
Me: "Your fingers of your foot? What do we call 'fingers of the foot'?"

I LOVE my job.

So this is freakin' hilarious. I mean, I started laughing alone in my buildings hallway, it's so damn funny.

Remember the crazy lady who lost my file, accused me of never sending one, gave my job to someone else, "found" my file, and then asked me to handwrite a letter of apology for telling her she lost my file? Remember that? Well, after exchanging some firey emails, I think the two of us pretty much agreed to disagree, and I refused to write her a letter of apology just to get a job... she was the one who was wrong after all.

I fretted quite a bit because it's very hard to find a well-paying job in a foreign country. I got nervous and even considered writing the apology (someone said, "Would it have been too much to just swallow your pride?" and I said, "Hell yeah, it woulda!") but I couldn't even figure out how I would word it: "I apologize that I pointed out you do not do your job. Maybe I should have sent you flowers or chocolates to let you know next time?" I really don't know what she was expecting.

Anyway, so I dwelled on the whole issue for several weeks, wondering if I should just buckle and ask for the job anyway.

But today, I have had:

- one person contact me about a teaching job
- one person contact me about another article
- someone in Switzerland contact me about some site design
and...
- the bitch from the previous job sent me a full contract in the mail.

Obviously, I'm going ot wait to see how the other things pan out first. I'd rather not work for the bitch's establishment if given the choice. My bet is that her boss got the copy of the email I sent and was like, "Um... did I read that right? Did you really ask her to apologize for your mistakes?" And then they realized they needed me to work for them and instead of coming out and saying, "Yo, we're like, so totally sorry about that mishap" they were just like, "Um... I dunno... send her a contract and see if she'll work for us anyway."

Fucking hilarious.

Meanwhile, anybody here from BlogExplosion? Welcome. Handy tool, no?

So here's the funny thing:
(or several funny things)

1. Classes start tomorrow at the Sorbonne. But, of course, in order to enroll in the master's program, you have to have an advisor. This means that I haven't enrolled yet, as in order to have an advisor, you have to have an idea as to what your thesis will be on. Well... me, not so much. The tricky part is that as I am not enrolled, I don't have an ID card yet, and without an ID card, I won't have health insurance and I won't be able to renew my carte de sejour (one year residency permit). So the irony here is that I'm going to have to propose some crappy topic just to be able to sign up for school. Now, is that really logical? Oh, the joys of French bureaucracy.

2. I have been in correspondance with a woman who was supposed to give me a job last June.

She didn't, because "the rules have changed." Fine, so could she give me one in October? Yes, she said, provided I send in all of my information again via snail mail. I did, the day after she informed me of what I needed to send and to whom. After not hearing from her for a few days, I wrote an email just to check in. No response. Then I did it again. No response. Then I did it again. No response.

Finally, she emailed me - on a Sunday - and asked if I had sent in everything because "we're in a big hurry" and so on. Yes, I responded, I had, and if someone lost my paperwork I would be happy to stop by the office myself on Monday to hand it over. No, she wrote back, I'm sure it's in our office's inbox. (Ok, I thought, so why didn't you check before accusing me of not having sent everything in?). On Monday, I sent an email requesting confirmation as to whether or not she found my paperwork. I sent another one on Wednesday, and then again on Thursday. She emailed me on Thursday evening and said the paperwork indeed was there, but that there was a problem with my visa that would have to be regulated. She suggested a solution.

Great, I emailed back, and I asked when I could pick up the piece of paper that was key to the solution. No response. I wrote again. No response. I wrote again, after a few days. No re