paris, the city of...culture shock?

Paris and I have had a rough relationship.

It started almost 4 weeks ago. Of course, it was love at first sight. "Everyone speaks French!" I thought, "How charming!" The food was amazing! The strange way the toilets flushed was so quaint! The Metro was the coolest thing I had ever seen in my entire life! EVERYTHING was unimaginably BEAUTIFUL!! The Eiffel Tower was the EPITOME OF BEAUTY AND JOY!!!!!

Then about two weeks into it, things started to wind down. WHY did EVERYONE have to SPEAK FRENCH ALL THE TIME? WHY was there NO NORMAL CHEESE? WHY did the Metro smell like eggs and flatulence? WHAT HAPPENED TO CHEMICALLY ALTERED FOODS AND TRANS FATS?

Em and I lived our lives out of a dull sense of obligation. "look. something else really old," I would say. "yeah. cool," Em would respond. "want to see the Eiffel Tower tonight?"

"Not really. I'm tired. I don't get what the big deal is anyways. It is like a building, whatever."

"Yeah," she'd agree.

I wanted to break up with Paris for a little while. I wondered why I'd come, why I had left the land of warmth, the ability to drive cars or walk for five minutes without getting totally lost and accosted by Tunisian strangers, and Wendy's.

Luckily, I stuck it through, mostly because I'd paid Paris several thousand dollars already. And sunshine, unicorns and rainbows, hurray!! Today we were AMAZED! We were actually INTERESTED! Old things actually WERE cool! We were in Paris, hurray! We went shopping, we laughed, we even bought and ate our own French cheese. It was an epic moment for us.

Moral of the story: whatever you are dating, when, after a few weeks, the beauty and joy wears off and you desperately want to run back to a land where people speak the same language as you, stick it out. It is worth it.

Well, maybe not if you're dating, like, Cheyenne Wyoming. Then you should probably just break it off right away.

Love,

Lizzy ;)

baby you'll be famous chase you down until you love me

If this boy weren't 12 years old, Clad might have reason to worry.... As it is, I am just in awe. Someone please get this kid a contract so that I can become his groupie.

Love,

Lizzy ;)

procrastination: at least i'm not in denial

A while back I posted Allie Brosh's procrastination chart. Since I'm currently procrastinating, I decided to get more specific with the 5 Stages of Procrastination.

Stage One: Denial

You feel safe and secure. You don't have stuff to do. Well, you have stuff, but it's not due for like two weeks. You have plenty of time. In fact, it would be a bad idea to start doing the stuff now. You are sure there are negative repercussions. "I work better under pressure!" you say loudly, usually to people who don't care and are confused by your psychotic outbursts.

Stage Two: Pain and Guilt

You haven't done any of your stuff, and now all of it is due tomorrow. What happened to all your time? You hide your deep-seated feelings of worthlessness by pretending you meant to not do the stuff all along. "I work better under pressure!!" you scream hysterically. Fellow patrons of the library look at you, pretending to be shocked, but you are sure they secretly all know how lazy and useless you are.

Stage Three: Anger and Bargaining

You still haven't done of the stuff, but that's because your boss/teacher is a horrible person for giving you this stuff to do. They are TRYING to make you miserable by giving you stuff to do. Your life is a facsimile of a sham. You shouldn't have to do the stuff at all. Maybe because you're a good person, you'll make your teacher/boss a steak instead. That is much more useful than doing the stuff.

Stage Four: Crippling Depression

You still haven't done any of the stuff, and now it is late and you know you will be penalized for not doing the stuff. You are convinced your life is pointless and you will always fail. You still don't do any of the stuff.

Stage Five: Ulcers and Panic Attacks

You suddenly feel a violent compulsion to do the stuff. You stay home from work/school for days to do the stuff. You do 80% of the stuff. Suddenly, you feel much better. You are such a winner!! You feel you should now reward yourself by not doing any stuff indefinitely.

REPEAT UNTIL DEAD.

Love,

Lizzy ;)

attention a la marche en descendre du train

Today Em and I were on our way home from Versailles. We'd taken RER C and needed to switch to Line 13 Asnieres Genevilles/Saint-Denis.

We were right in the middle of the end-of-workday rush. The trains were so packed, people were smashed up again the glass on both sides. The gendarmes of the Metro were standing by to shove people into the train. Or pull them out before they got crushed by the automatic sliding doors.

We rushed onto the platform. Just then, the ominous EEEEEERRRR sounded. The terrifying noise the trains make when the doors are about to close.

We knew the next train would be no less crowded. Did we dare risk being crushed in the doors as we tried to fight our way onto the train?

I've been terrified of "the sound" since we first arrived here. Could I overcome fear of the EEERRR?

I did it. The merciless doors slammed closed where, just milliseconds before, my body had been.

I have won the EEERR.

Love,

Lizzy ;)

someone should probably kill this post with fire

Why Grades are Stupid, Irrelevant, and Not Accurate Indicators of Knowledge or Intelligence

by Victoria Elizabeth Windsor, i.e. Lizzy

1. You will see in the following list of the classes I took and their respective grades that I did not do particularly well. As I am brilliant and practically a genius, I think this is a government plot to destroy me.
2. You will see that I got a B in History of Philosophy. It is a good idea to note that I attended roughly 70% of those class periods. I actually read about 60% of the reading. I didn't study for a single test and I failed all of them. I got a 46% on my final. Somehow, I magically ended up with a B in that class. I should have failed that class. In a just world, I'd have failed that class. I thing I learned approximately 3 theories and remember nothing. Yet I got a B.
3. You will see that I got a B- in History of Psychology. It is a good idea to note that psychology is my major. I love psychology. I studied more for this class than any of my other classes. I only missed 3 class periods (all right, that's quite a bit, but far less than all the rest of my classes. Hey, I had mono, it's not my fault). I enjoyed taking the tests and felt I did quite well on them. I went to the reviews and took copious notes. I got an A- on the midterm and I felt I did well on the final. And somehow I ended up with a barely-passing grade.

Winter Semester 2010
DANCE  290   002         Ballet Accelerated Technique 1  1.50  W  
ENGL   218R  006         Creative Writing                3.00  B  
FREN   211R  001         2nd-Year Conversation           2.00  A- 
IAS    201R  017         Cul Survey-Europe               1.00  A  
PHIL   201   002         History of Philosophy 1         3.00  B  
PSYCH  210   003         History of Psychology           3.00  B- 
REL A  121   012         The Book of Mormon              2.00  B+ 
SEM HR ERN  14.00  HR GRD   14.00  GPA  3.16

The rest of my grades are pretty much justified. I don't think that the universe was standing on it's head that day or that I was/was not in possession of The Force, depending on my grade.

Still. I may not have done great Winter semester, but I'm fine with it. I don't know when the overachiever in me died, but I think it was sometime after Junior year and before Winter Semester 2010. My grades are fine. I will get a degree. I am already practically engaged and if I do better the rest of my years, I'll get into graduate school if it is the right thing for me. It will be fine.

It may be a sign that something is very, very wrong with me that I'm fine with this. But I will always take not caring over crippling loneliness and depression, so overall, it's a win.

Love,

Lizzy ;)

you can skip this one

This post is for my personal benefit only. Feel free to skip it.

GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE RIGHT NOW: Pro/Con list

PROS

1. I will no longer be starving.
2. I can buy chapstick and then my lips won't hurt.
3. I can buy Advil and then my head won't hurt.
4. If I eat, I will both feel better and probably not instantaneously gain 20 pounds.
5. The store is only a 5 minute walk away, which won't kill me. Unlike starving to death.

CONS

1. I am terrified my card won't work and I only have 5 euros.
2. I will probably be glared at because I have an accent.
3. Maybe the cashier will be mean and I won't know if it's because she thinks I'm a tourist or just because she's French and this will cause an intense internal dilemma.
4. If I keep eating so much I will probably come home 2o pounds heavier, and my jeans fit perfectly as it is, so I will also come home a pants-free zone.
5. It is really cold.
6. I am afraid of spending money. What if I need it for something that's REALLY important, like shoes? And then I can't buy them because I wasted all my money on something as dumb as food?
7. Maybe the store isn't even open because it's Fete de la Victoire. Then I will have wandered around in the cold for nothing.

It may appear that I have more cons than pros. That's because I have more cons than pros. But thank you, Maslow's hierarchy of needs, for the fact that regardless of how many cons there are, just writing this post is making me hungrier and hungrier. So I'm going to end up going to the store anyways.

Yay.

Love,

Lizzy :)

franchement, tu parles bien francais

So, your favorite friend of all time (moi) is, guess what...IN PARIS!! Oh the insanity! Yes. I live here. I don't have a lot of time on my hands, actually I have no time on my hands, but I am handily wasting it by posting this blog and justifying it by telling myself you care. So I will just give you a few highlights/hilarious stories.

Please note that the full story in photos is on Facebook. Just go here: http://www.facebook.com/p.php?i=610564950&k=45EY6Z55UT6G6BDAQE2ZQVVUW6BAX55B43IY&oid=1357565432720.

This is my roommate and I. She is awesome.

That first pic is the Cathedrale at Chartres. Chartres is an adorable little town.

Here's my funny story of the day.

So I was walking over to the post office. Let me rephrase that, I was trying to walk to the post office. I wanted to mail my favorite boyfriend of all time and my favorite mother of all time packages. I also wanted to send my favorite grandparents a postcard. In order to do that, though, I had to figure out how, and where, to send things from France.

I had the address of the post office and figured I could get there just fine. I was wrong. Paris' streets are not normal. It is like a joke to try to figure out anything ever when it comes to streets. So I got rather lost. A man came up to me and asked if I needed help (in French). I said, "Maybe, do you know where rue Douain is?" He said, "Hmm...not exactly, but I'll help you find it." I said okay, but I also pulled my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket. We were at a VERY busy carrefour (like intersection but more confusing) so I wasn't too worried, but I did see Taken.

While we were walking, the man introduced himself as Omar. He told me he was tunisien. He's from Tunisie, I don't know what that is in English, Tunisia? I don't know. But his accent was hard to understand because it wasn't exactly French, it was a little different, and I'm learning.

Still, I seemed to speak French quite well. "Frankly," he said, "I wouldn't have known you were American until you told me." I was flattered.

We continued to chitchat until we found the post office, fairly quickly and easily. I said, "Thanks, bye!" I tried to go into the post office.

"Attends!" said Omar. I stopped. He asked me for my phone number. "I don't have a cell phone," I said. He pointed at the suspiciously cell-phoney shape in my pocket. "Oh, that's mine and my roommates. We're not supposed to give the number out." Omar said that was all right, he would just put his number in my phone and then I could call him if I needed help finding anything else. Smooth, Omar. Very smooth. It wasn't worth arguing, so I let him put his number in my phone. He insisted I call him very soon. "I have family here," he said. "We can go out with my cousin. It'll be great." "Uh huh, uh huh," I said, with no intention of calling him.

"Well, thanks," I said. I tried to leave again. Omar stopped me again. He tried to do the double-cheek kissing thing that French people do. They don't usually do that when you just barely meet someone, so I knew he was being a little forward. But I was so flustered I sort of did it back, but felt lame and kind of epicly failed. Omar didn't mind. "Call me!" he yelled.

Then I walked home, completely forgetting about the post office. I had to go back today. Luckily I found it right off.

Also, Omar still hasn't hunted me down, kidnapped me and sold me into the sex trade. That's always handy, because I don't think my dad is very good at punching, kicking, or shooting people. Or blowing up stuff and driving through it. So I'd probably end up dead.

Overall, Paris is pretty awesome.

Love,

Lizzy ;)