Being Awesome is Not Always Awesome

A few days ago multiple people asked me what was the coolest thing I had done in France so far. The best I could come up with was getting bread and hot chocolate. Which is sad. I mean, I've been in France for almost a month now and my highlight is getting hot chocolate.

For a few days I continued to be sad about not doing cool things. But then I remembered an excellent quote from Barney Stinson:

This is great advice! Why be sad when you can be awesome?

That's what I decided to do. I decided to go be awesome.

Today I got out of class at 10:30, and rather than go home like I usually would, I decided to do something. So I went to Fourvière.

And even though the actual church is still pretty lame, it was a beautiful day. The view of the city was amazing.

Next I went to the Roman Theaters.

Which were way cooler than I was expecting them to be. I also went to the museum for free, and there were a lot of cool things to see and videos to watch. The problem with museums, though, is that no one really cares about the pictures that you take of the things you saw. That's why I took a picture of myself -- there just happen to be some tiny vases in the background.

"These are cool tiny vases! Let me take a picture with them." -Kenna

I was caught by one of the museum workers. It was almost embarrassing, except that I had been taking pictures of myself all day and was mostly over the embarrassing part of it.

My final stop was at the Parc de la Tête d'Or.

Here I had a picnic with a sandwich, macaroons, and Harry Potter.

Overall you could say it was a pretty awesome day.

You could. Except, you don't know the whole story.

While at Fourvière a man from Dubai asked me to dinner after using a very cheesy pick up line. I was extremely flattered, but also a little worried that he was trying to pick-pocket me. He was also at least 10 years older than me, so I said no. But I did get a very nice picture out of it that I didn't have to take of myself, so that was cool.

At the Parc de la Tête d'Or I searched for a good 10 minutes to find the perfect spot for my picnic. I finally found it -- it was right on the water, but still a nice place to sit, when a man came up to me and started speaking very fast French. I was afraid I was being told I wasn't allowed to sit there, but then he came and joined me. I told him a few times that I didn't understand what he was saying, but he kept talking anyway. In fact, I did understand what he was saying, but I didn't want to answer. He asked if I was single and if I liked to dance and said I had nice eyes. He was also at least 50 years old. And he kissed my hand a lot. I was finally so uncomfortable (and also annoyed that he ruined my perfectly good, solitary picnic) that I told him I had to go meet my boyfriend.

I then walked for another 10 minutes before finding a bench on the opposite side of the lake so I could still be near the water. It wasn't as nice a spot, but it was pretty good. I only had time to eat my sandwich before another man came up and asked if anyone had told me I looked like a princess today. I didn't know how to say, "Why yes, actually, two other men already covered that, but thanks!" He then sat down on my park bench and started talking. On the one hand it was really fun to practice my French (it was cool because I understood a lot of what he was saying). On the other hand it was weird because he was also somewhere around 50 years old and wanted to kiss my hand as well.

By the time he left it was getting dark and I was too cold to read Harry Potter.

It's not like I wasn't flattered by the attention, I just wish France would send me some attractive men my own age to interrupt my picnics. I probably would have even offered to share some of my macaroons with them.

In conclusion, sometimes being awesome means that you don't get to read Harry Potter. And that's sad. Which means that being awesome is not always awesome.

True story.

Lessons I Learned As A Child - Part 2

Today my school caught on fire.

This morning started off like any other Tuesday morning in France - I was at school at 8am for four hours of French learning.

About an hour into class I was starting to get a little tired. Suddenly, my teacher just stopped talking and started staring at the back of the room. I thought perhaps she had noticed us falling asleep, but then other people started turning around as well.  I turned around, but didn't see anything -- I mean, it wasn't even snowing or foggy -- so I quietly sat in my chair like a good student.

But then my teacher left to find out what was going on and the other students in the room started to sound nervous. So I looked out the window and saw this:

It was a few windows around the corner from us.

Being the good student that I am, though, I continued to wait for my teacher. She had told me to wait while she figured out what was going on, so I waited.

I thought back to being in elementary school and the countless fire drills I had been put through, seemingly for no reason. I know that in a fire you are supposed to leave all of your stuff behind and get out, but I didn't have a lot of stuff. I had to grab my coat, because it was cold outside, plus, it's cute, so it's not like I'm leaving that behind. And while I'm grabbing stuff, it would be silly not to grab my backpack. At this point all that was left was my French notebook, so I might as well take that, too.

Yep, after years of being told to leave everything behind I took the time to individually rationalize all of my possessions.

I'm pretty sure that it was around this time that my teacher returned and told us we should get out of the building (I think -- I was still trying to decide whether or not to grab the French notebook) and then the fire alarm went off.

I'm ashamed to admit how exciting I found the whole thing. My school is on fire and all I can think is, "Wow, I really want a picture with the smoke."

I wasn't the only one.

Eventually my fire drilling practice kicked it and I remembered that I should not be standing in the middle of a courtyard of a building that is on fire, but I ignored it in order to continue watching what was happening.

I also wondered if I should try and find my teacher so she could mark that I had safely made it out of the building and hold up the green card to signify that all of her students were safe, but I couldn't find her.

My friends and I decided to get some pain au chocolat and briochette before returning to school in order to see how the story ended.

There were a lot of ambulances and pompiers. (It was very convenient that we were learning about occupations today.)

An hour later they reopened the school. My school caught on fire and I still had to go back to French class. For another two hours.

...

And as it turns out, it was all just a simulation. The school wasn't really on fire, they just had fake smoke and people pretending to be hurt.

I feel a little cheated, so I'm going to pretend like the fire was real even if it wasn't.

It Would Have Been Funnier If I Started Crying

In December of 2011 I read the wonderful book know as Miss Manner's Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior. It was 849 pages of wisdom on how to properly behave in society.

Since then I have been quoting Miss Manner whenever possible, which isn't really very often because I rarely am wondering if it is late enough for me to be wearing my diamonds -- you know, the ones I don't own.

Today, though, when I finally had the chance to use my manners knowledge, I forgot all about it.

I went shopping again today. I didn't even want to, but I needed food for dinner. I also wanted to get running clothes for some reason. I can't remember the reason, but I remember thinking last night that I really wanted to buy running clothes.

The running store went very well.  I even talked to the cashier in French and I was feeling pretty good inside.  But then I had to go to Carrefour, which is like the Walmart of France.  And not only is it Walmart, but it's in a mall.  A big mall.  And today is Saturday.

Carrefour did not go as well as the running store.  But I did manage to find everything on my list and I was very excited to finally leave. In fact, I was so excited that I was sort of skipping on my way to check out.

I was then stopped by a French guy who was probably somewhere around-ish my age. (I'm horrible at guessing ages, though, so who really knows.) He started talking to me, and it was fun because I got to practice my French. But then he asked if I had any plans for tonight and if I wanted to go salsa dancing. I told him I couldn't because I had to meet my roommate for dinner. 

At 5:00. 

In a country where people don't eat dinner until 8:00.

He then asked if I had a French phone number. I told him no -- even though it was a lie -- and asked for his number instead.

He didn't have his phone on him. At this point I was thinking, this is a little weird. And then he asked for my email. And I thought, well that's a good idea. It's easy to ignore emails if he turns out to be some crazy stalker person.

But then I remembered that all of my emails have my last name in them. I really didn't want to give him my last name. What if he used it to find out where I was living and sent some friends over to kidnap me and sell me as a human slave? And my dad isn't even a secret spy, so he wouldn't be able to come find the people that kidnapped me and I would be lost forever.

Yes, that is what I was thinking as I sat there trying to figure out how to not give him my last name.

Finally, because I was feeling very uncomfortable at this point, I was like, I'm sorry, but I really don't feel comfortable about this.

And he was very nice and understanding.  He told me not to worry about him.

But in my head, I didn't need to worry about him, because he had already stolen my wallet while we had been talking and memorized all my information and could kidnap me even if I didn't give him my email with my last name in it.

Which brings me to my first piece of Miss Manner's Wisdom:

Fun Manners Lesson #1: On Saying No - "The polite way to refuse is to precede the denial with an apology but no excuse."

I'm sorry, but no, I would not like to give you my email. Or French phone number. Au revoir!

That would have been so much easier!

Anyway, we parted and I went to get in line. I was really flustered though, and still a little worried about being kidnapped. I was finally checking out and the cashier was telling me something was wrong with my carrots.

And try as I might to understand him, the best I could come up with was, "I'm sorry, but these are French carrots and you can't eat them because you are from the United States." Which made no sense to me. I kept thinking, "Don't worry! I'm going to eat them here, so I won't have to take them through customs."

It turns out that what he was really saying was I had to weigh them and write the cost on the bag. So I left the line and all of my other groceries, made my way upstairs, and figured out how to weigh my vegetables.

It turns out it's really easy and the machine just prints out a sticker for you, but I accidentally chose the wrong vegetable, so I had to do it a few times.

I was so embarrassed at this point that I was no longer even concerned about being kidnapped, I just wanted to get home. I made my way back downstairs and saw everyone in the line just glaring at me. Which brings me to my second piece of wisdom.

Fun Manners Lesson #2: When Miss Manner's observes people behaving rudely, she behaves politely to them, and then goes home and snickers about them afterward. That is what the well-bred person does.

But I didn't remember to behave politely, because I was embarrassed. I just put my head down and got out as fast as I could.

And now I'm sitting at home. And I really wish I would have been all polite so that I could come home and laugh at all the people who were mad at me for not weighing my vegetables before getting in line.

Or if not that, I wish I would've started crying so that they would all feel really bad right now about making the American girl cry over some carrots.

But instead I'm sitting at home thinking about setting up an email account with a fake last name in case any other would-be kidnappers ask me for my email.

I should have gone salsa dancing.

Clearly We Need to Synchronize Our Watches

For Kyla,

 who not only understands the weird things I do, but is also willing to join in. 

Oh, and thank you for introducing the Ellen Degeneres Show to me.  

And believing in me.

I don't know if Kyla actually believes in me, but I felt like my dedication needed something a little more pizazz-y.

The past couple of days a few really funny things have happened.  But when I started to write the story in my head I realized that no one else would find them funny.

Except my sister Kyla.

However, since I am unable to call her and sending this all as a text would take way too long, I decided to dedicate this post to her. I also think she's deserves it because it is very likely that she already knows the movie I'm referring to in the title.

If your name is not Kyla feel free to keep reading, just be warned that a lot of it might not make sense.

First off, thanks a lot Kyla for understanding all of my random movie quotes.  (That was sarcasm.)  It turns out that using movie quotes as a normal part of every day conversation is not as acceptable as I thought.  When I try it over here, people just look at me weird.  And I'm like, "Oh, I'm sorry, have you never seen Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken?"

You can see how this could quickly become embarrassing.

Which brings me to the title.  I had my first law class today and my professor is British.  Because the class is three hours long, we get to take a 10 minute break every hour.  After our first break was over -- and most of the class hadn't returned -- my professor said, "Clearly we need to synchronize our watches." 

In his British accent.

Naturally, my first thought was James Bond.

Speaking of which, remember when we were at Target and you bought Quantum of Solace even though you had never seen it?  I still haven't seen it.  When I get home we're watching it.

Second, thank you for introducing me to the Ellen Show.  Netflix doesn't work over here.  Nor are you allowed to watch episodes of a show online outside of the US territories. (Yeah, no Big Bang Theory, New Girl, Psych, Arrested Development when they release the new episodes in May...)  Luckily, the Ellen Show posts a lot of their stuff on YouTube.  Which means I have now watched the highlights of almost all of the episodes of Ellen (not really, but I think I'm getting close).  And she's hilarious, so it's a great start to my morning/way to waste an afternoon/bedtime story.

Next... you know the Metro Game?  I don't play it too often because usually the metro is so crowded that if I messed up I would fall on top of multiple people.  However, today the metro was so crowded that I couldn't grab onto anything and I was forced into the Metro Game.  Now, I've only practiced this with my feet apart, but if you look down at your feet it is so much easier!  Especially if you can't really see anything other than your feet and the ten feet of the people surrounding you.  Also, you want to be facing the back of the car, but turned slightly at an angle.  See the picture below as a reference.

 Could you practice this in Boston and tell me how it works for you?  Thanks.


Speaking of Boston...
I learned two fun facts today in my law class.  First, there exists a council known as the European Council which meets to agree on policies, but doesn't actually have power to implement them.  (It's like the UN of the EU.)  I hope that while you're in Boston, you have fun agreeing on policies that you have no power to actually make happen.
However, if that is not your style, I also learned that the power countries in the UN are powerful because they give the most money.  Consequently, if anyone starts to get annoying by talking too much during the conference you should send them a note saying,

"Dear _______,
We've reviewed last year's budget and decided that you have too much of an opinion for how much you contributed last year.  Consequently, we will need you to send us a US dollar any other time you feel like sharing.
Sincerely,
________"

Or, you know, something like that.

You know how I like to look for AEDs?  Well, today at school I saw this sign:

Now, I know my French is pretty limited, but even I can understand that this site is equipped with a defibrillator.

Also, in an emergency I have to call what number?  "You!  Go call 04 78 78 78 18!  I mean, Vous, appelez zero quatre, sept huit, sept huit, sept huit, un huit!"

Yeah, there is no way anyone is living through that.  Also, you may have noticed that it doesn't tell you where the AED is, just that one exists.  Thank goodness I'm not responsible for responding outside the US.


Speaking of lifeguarding, I got to wrap my foot this week.  Look at how well I did!

Each time I rewrap it I always think, "Hello, my name is Kenna.  I'm a lifeguard trained in First Aid and CPR.  Can I help you?"

I'm usually about halfway through wrapping my foot by the time I make it through the spiel, but whatever.  Consent is probably implied if I'm wrapping my own foot.


Finally, and this is the story I'm most excited to tell you, so I hope you're still reading...

Yesterday I went to my school's cafeteria.

There were chefs.  And real food.  And I had to order in French.

It was just like a scene from a movie.

Well, it would be if Anna and the French Kiss were made into a movie.

So really it was just like a few pages from a book.

Thanks Kyla for letting me tell you all these stories.  And even though I couldn't tell them to you in person, I'm pretty sure you understood them all.  Thanks for coming to the airport with me when I left, even though it was 6:30 in the morning.  Thanks for becoming a lifeguard so that we could work together in the summer.  And thanks for getting into U of A so we can spend a whole year in Tucson together.  (Assuming, of course, that you're coming to U of A.  You are coming to U of A right?!)

In conclusion, you're amazing.

Le Survivant

Last night I had to do laundry.

That may not seem like a big deal, but it is.  Mostly because Europe is concerned about the environment a.k.a. they don't believe in dryers.

For a girl from the States whose wardrobe is built primarily of jeans, this can cause problems.

Anyway, last night I hung up my clothes to dry and prayed that they would be dry for my class on Tuesday.

This morning I woke up and all of my clothes were dry.  Even my three pairs of jeans.

And that was when I knew today was going to be a good day.

At the mall I found two pairs of really cute shoes.  And they were an extra 10% off just for fun.  Also, I was able to correctly tell the salesperson what size shoe I wanted not only in European sizes, but in French.  (As previously mentioned, I'm really good at numbers.  It's a math thing.)

I then went to Place Bellecour to go to the bookstore.  And it is very possible that on the way there I died, because the bookstore is almost exactly how I picture Heaven.

Stacks and stacks of pens in all different colors and styles.  Plus there were highlighters and markers and sharpies... It un-seriously was one of the happiest moments in my life so far.

To end this perfect day I went to a cafe for a baguette avec fromage et jambon and chocolat chaud.

Not only was this delicious, but they gave me a chocolate candy for dessert.

I sat in the cafe for an hour and a half reading Harry Potter...

...in French.

I only made it through the first chapter -- it takes a lot longer to read things in another language, even if you do have the English version memorized -- but it was still magical.

«...en ce moment même, des gens s'étaient rassemblés en secret dans tout le pays et qu'ils levaient leur verre en murmurant: «À la santé de Harry Potter.  Le survivant!»

Dear Kenna...

In 8th grade my English teacher gave me my favorite writing assignment to date.  During the first week of school she gave us a list of questions and had us write a letter to ourselves.

The questions ranged from What are you wearing right now? to Who are you interested in right now?

She then held on to our letters for the entire year and gave them back on the last day of class.  It was quite entertaining sitting there reading our letters and listening to people yell out some of the funny things they had written to themselves.

I've kept this tradition up for the past seven or so years, except now I write the letter in January and open it on December 31st as a way of bringing in the new year.

Well, I would open it on December 31st, except I always forget about it.

Which is why today I had the happy surprise of finding and reading a letter from myself.

Every time I read one of my letters I'm reminded of the day in 8th grade as we sat around laughing at how hilarious we found ourselves after a year of growing up.  And seven years later I'm happy to say that I still find my one-year-ago self hilarious.

Today I also got to write myself my new letter.  And just as every year before I thought, "My goodness, this is boring.  I'm going to read this letter in a year and think, well that was a waste of time."  But I'm pretty sure that when I actually read this letter in a year I will laugh at most of the things I wrote.

I think everyone should write themselves a letter.  Better yet, write yourself a letter, seal it up in an envelope, and then decorate the envelope with pictures of where you think you'll be in a year and the date you can open it.  It adds to the excitement and anticipation.

Just to convince you of what a great idea this is, I'd like to share some quotes from my previous letters.  Also, I think I'm hilarious and I like to share my hilariousness with others.

First of all, I always seem to be making bets with myself in my letters.  I still haven't worked out how to make the loser pay up, so the bets are pointless, but they are usually entertaining.

Quote: "My classes are awesome, my teachers are awesome, my schedule is awesome."

This quote came from two semesters ago, and I can tell you that by the end of that semester, nothing was awesome.  I don't have any idea what drugs I was on when I wrote that, but I was clearly on something.

Quote: "What’s going to happen when you have to take 400 level classes?  And even worse the Honors 5000 word thesis about MATH?  Like what are you going to research?  How people invented Calculus?"

Now this sounds more like me.  Unfortunately, even two years later I don't have an answer to this.  But I did find out how people invented calculus in my Math History class, so I guess that is out as a thesis topic.  Dang it.

Quote: "First off, of course, is Europe.  How was it??....I hope you have the chance to go back someday, because I would really like to visit Rome."

Well that was fast.

Quote: "But anyway, spend a little while reminiscing on Europe. . . . . . . . . . . . . "

Yep, that really happened.  I gave myself some time in my letter to remember my vacation to Europe. That I hadn't even been on yet.  I'm so thoughtful.

Quote: "You should work on that and come back in a year prepared to discuss how you’ve been doing."

Unfortunately, I completely forgot I was supposed to be working on something. Consequently, I was not prepared to discuss.

Quote: "How did that work out for me?  Yeah, it sounded like a lot of work as I was writing it, so I totally understand if you don’t/didn’t put that much effort into it."

I didn't.

Quote: "Yep, that is totally coming back to haunt me."

It did.

But mostly, I like to fill my letter with inspirational quotes.  And looking back a year later, they really do make me feel inspired.

Quote: "The best year of your life is the one you are living now :)"

So I'd like to end this with a thank you to all the past-Kenna's who wrote letters to their future selves and provided me with entertainment and inspiration.  Thank you past-Kenna's, you're an inspiration to all of us.

And by all of us, I mean myself and the future-Kenna's who will be reading these letters for years to come.

And I mean that in the least multiple-personality-disorder way possible.

If anyone else wants to write themselves a letter for the coming year -- and I highly recommend it -- here's the list of questions (as best as I can remember them) from my 8th grade teacher.

1. What are you wearing right now?

2. How have you enjoyed this first week of school? (Or this first month of the year... or something.)

3. Currently, what is your favorite song, band/singer, TV show, movie, actor/actress, food, class, person to hang out with, free time activity.

4. Who are you interested in right now?

5. Who do you want to get to know better?

6. What class are you most excited about?  Least excited about?

7. Name the best thing that has happened to you most recently.

8. Name the worst thing that has happened to you most recently.

9. What do you spend most of your time thinking about?

10. List three goals you wish to accomplish by the end of the year.

I Just Want to Dance

France has the greatest metro music.  Metro music is like elevator music, except it's played in the metro stations instead of in elevators.

Also, metro music is way cooler than elevator music.

For example, this morning while I was waiting for the metro, You Shook Me All Night Long came on.  I looked at the people around me and no one was at all excited that such a great song was playing.  I, on the other hand, was trying very hard to not break out into song and dance at the chorus.

This evening my roommate and I went to a party.  We were waiting for the metro and 1999 by Prince came on.  Once again no one around seemed to care about the music.  And once again I had to try and stop myself from singing and dancing.

While we were waiting for her friends (again, in a metro station) we listened to a lot of very weird 1950s-almost-jazz music.  This time, though, there was barely anyone else in the station with us and I couldn't help myself.  I started to dance.  (I didn't know the words, so singing wasn't really an option.)  And once I started, it was really hard to stop.

Anyway, we finally made it to the club, and you know what?  I was all danced out for the day.

Actually, that's not entirely true.  The real problem is I don't know how to dance at a club.  Dancing at a club is much different than at a metro station because you can't jump around and do spins.  Plus also there are a whole bunch of lights flashing in your face and you can't see your feet to know if you're about to run into someone.

Which is why at a club you either have to do the Hitch or the make-out-with-someone-on-the-dance-floor-and-pretend-like-your-dancing.

I tried really hard to stick to the Hitch, but every once in a while I would look at my feet and realize they were no longer moving.  I also wasn't making out with anyone, so there were large parts of the evening when I was on the dance floor not dancing (or even pretending to dance).

I then realized that clubs are not for math people.  Or maybe they're just not for socially awkward people.  Either way, I am not made for the club.  I don't have that natural sense of what's appropriate dancing when there are other people around that so many people my age have been blessed it.

Consequently, I have decided to stop going to clubs.  I'm just going to hang out at the metro station.  The music is better, anyway.

French is Funny

Last Friday I took a French placement test at my university.  I managed to fake my way through most of the test using my limited knowledge of French and my less-limited knowledge of Spanish.  (Lucky for me the entire test was multiple choice.)

Unfortunately, the professor made a huge deal at the beginning about only answering questions we really knew.  Otherwise we might end up in a French class that is above our skill level and you are not allowed to change classes.

Consequently, I was taking this placement test very seriously.  Which is embarrassing because it's a placement test.  By definition a placement test is "a test usually given to a student upon entering an educational institution to determine a specific knowledge or proficiency in various subjects for the purpose of assignment to appropriate courses or classes."*

You're not supposed to stress about placement tests, you're just supposed to answer questions you know.

But I was really worried about whether or not I really knew the answer.  Every question started with me reading the question, deciding on the answer I was pretty sure was right, a 30 second debate on whether I had learned that from a podcast or whether I was guessing, followed by a lot of silent laughing.

I mean, I was cracking myself up!  Who spends that much time thinking about each question on a PLACEMENT TEST?

Oh right.  Me.

Anyway, I was doing a pretty good job holding in my laughter until question #46.  It was a question about elves.  I don't know why anyone would ever need to know how to say this in French, but they wanted to know the correct way to write 'There are a million elves in the classroom.'  But all I could think was "What the heck are a million elves doing in a classroom?"

I left this question blank.

Today the elves came back.  I was working on a French homework assignment (that turned out to not actually be a homework assignment) when I came across the elves again.

However, it turns out that élève does not actually mean elf.  It means student.

Which clears up a lot of questions.

Except, of course, WHAT THE HECK ARE A MILLION STUDENTS DOING IN A CLASSROOM?

The world may never know.

But only because I can't remember what French word I thought meant a million.  It probably means something stupid-and-not-at-all-Lord-of-the-Rings, too.

*http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/placement%20test

It Happened One Night

I really like movies.

A couple of months ago, I decided to look up the 1001 movies that everyone should see before they die.  Last night when I wanted to watch a movie I pulled out the list and randomly decided on It Happened One Night, from 1934.

It was a delightful black and white movie with a classic 1930s plot.

This morning I woke up and realized that It Happened One Night is the movie that Anna and her friends went to see in Anna and the French Kiss.

It is a delightfully plain and predictable book with a classic Teen-Romance plot.

It's about this girl (Anna) who goes to Paris for school.

And I started thinking, Kenna kind of sounds like Anna.

And I may not be in Paris, but I'm am in France.

Plus, not to stereotype the people I've met, but I've already met Dave - the kid in my French class who would rather be drinking; Amanda - the girl who for some reason keeps sending me dirty looks, even though I don't know her; Meredith - the nice girl who befriended me that first day; and St. Clair - that kid with amazing hair and a very attractive accent who speaks French.

Plus, while my French teacher is very nice, she did reprimand someone for talking in class once; not because they were talking over her, but because it wasn't in French.

You can see why it is now difficult for me to not automatically match people up with the character they fit.

Anyway, it doesn't really matter.  Because the more I thought about it and how well all of these people fit their character, I realized I am not Anna.

Unlike Anna, I'm actually happy to be here in France.  And while I may be just as socially awkward as Anna is, I like to pretend that I'm not as annoying or unintelligent as she is.

In other news, I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm starving.

That's all.

Comfort Zones

A couple of months ago I heard the delightful song "Southern Comfort Zone" by Brad Paisley on the radio and felt like it was calling to me.  This was mostly because I heard the lyrics wrong and thought that every time he said Dixie Land he was saying Disneyland (still a little disappointed that's not actually how the song goes).  He also talks about Europe, though, and I felt like this song had been written especially for me because it was all about traveling the world and seeing new places.

However, what I have come to realize is that when you study abroad you aren't traveling somewhere new, you are living somewhere new.  This probably seems like common sense to most people, but I only realized the significance of that difference today.

For example, when you are traveling abroad it is totally fine to only speak the basics of a language.  Being able to ask, "Where can I find..." or know when to say bonjour versus bonsoir is not only acceptable, it's pretty good.

When you are living abroad the basics that got you through a week are no longer good enough to get you through four months.  It's a bit overwhelming.

Now that I'm living abroad I have to start doing 'everyday living' things that I was allowed to ignore when I was just traveling.  This is hard because I don't know 

how to buy civil liability insurance or how to open a French bank account so that I can buy civil liability insurance;

where to buy nail trimmers;

where that one store was that had the spiral notebooks;

or where to go to buy an umbrella.

And for the record, Google does not understand the question, "Where can I buy an umbrella in Lyon, France," nor does it understand "Umbrella Store near Lyon, France."

So this evening I was walking around looking for a boulangerie -- naturally -- and I started thinking about comfort zones.  I've always been a bit confused why people always make such a big deal about going outside of your comfort zone.  I love going outside of my comfort zone.  I feel like I'm my best self when I'm in a new place surrounded by people I don't know.  For me, it feels like an opportunity to rise to the challenge and show myself what I'm capable of.

But as I kept thinking (and kept trying to find a boulangerie) I realized I don't love going outside of my comfort zone, I just have a weird comfort zone.  I'm not really comfortable surrounded by things that are never changing, nor does it appear that I am as comfortable as I thought being completely surrounded by the unknown, as my experience at the bank will testify to.  My comfort zone is so weird I don't even know what it is.

But then I bought a baguette, and no matter what my comfort zone is, I am positive that it includes all boulangeries.  And as I walked by an old Gothic church I realized that my comfort zone also includes Gothic churches.

And while I may not have originally put the bank in my comfort zone, there is a Gothic church just down the road, so I think I could stretch my comfort zone a little to fit around the bank.

In fact, with all the churches and boulangeries around Lyon, I'm pretty sure I could stretch my comfort zone to fit around the entire city.

So that's what I'm going to do this semester.  I have no intention of leaving my comfort zone; I'm just going to keep stretching it little by little until everything that I'm not comfortable with can fit inside.

Which means that I'm going to have to visit a lot of churches and boulangeries -- obviously.

The Honeymoon Stage of Studying Abroad

In our pre-study abroad orientation, they talked about the honeymoon stage of studying abroad.  This is when you first get to the new region and everything seems adorable (but will later drive you insane).  I was totally prepared for this stage of studying abroad - I was even fairly certain I would be here for the entire duration of my program.

But I got over that real quick.  Because of gelato.

One of my favorite things about France is that there is a boulangerie everywhere you look with window displays of all different kinds of breads and macaroons.  And then today at 2:00 I realized I was hungry.  And I really wanted a baguette avec fromage et jambon.  But that meant not only would I have to get out of bed, I would have to walk to one of those stupid boulangeries.  And I'd probably have to walk to a few just to make sure I had chosen the one with the best baguettes.

So I decided to stay in bed.  And because I didn't have anything better to do (because I didn't want to get out of bed), I read.  A whole book.  And then I beat 10 levels on the Bejeweled game on my French phone.  And then I read half of another book.

At this point I was starving.  But it was 5:30, and if I left now for lunch it would be dark before I could get back home.  Plus, we eat dinner at 8:00, so if I could just hold out until then I would be golden.

So I set an alarm on my phone and decided to take a nap (doing nothing all day is exhausting).

But I woke up 30 minutes later.  Go figure.  I have 3 hours to kill and for the first time in my life I take a short nap.

I read a little more and then decided to head downstairs and spend some time practicing French while waiting for dinner.

Lucky for me, dinner was ready early and I thought, "I'm being silly.  Studying abroad is still awesome even if there isn't always food in the fridge and you have to walk two steps to get bread.  I mean, life in France is still pretty great."

But then I asked my host mom's daughter (my host sister?) where to buy the best gelato.  And you know what she said?

"What's gelato?"

WHAT'S GELATO?! You live two hours from Italy and you don't know what gelato is?! My roommate and I explained it to her and she said, "Oh, you mean like Häagen-Dazs?"

No, I did not mean Häagen-Dazs.  America has even ruined gelato.  She then apologized because you can not buy gelato in Lyon.

I started thinking really fast at this point. "If there is no gelato in Lyon, am I just going to have to start taking the train to Paris every weekend? Or should I just head over to Italy every time I want gelato?  Do I even want to stay here if I can't get gelato? Do I have to buy a plane ticket home now?"

I mean, I was really worried.  But then Google came to the rescue.  And you know what I found?  Rene Nardone, which is only 0,6 km from my apartment.  Reviews even claim it is better than Italian gelato.  But most importantly was this little tidbit of information - "They had a wide variety of flavors that were refreshingly original - madeleine, speculoos..."

Ahh, speculoos.  The world has been made right again with speculoos flavored gelato.

I don't know what it's like to actually be in love, but if I had to guess I would say it's the way I feel about speculoos gelato.  And I may no longer be in the honeymoon stage with Lyon, but speculoos and I are most certainly on a honeymoon.

And probably will be until death do us part.

When Speculoos and I first met - it was love at first taste.

Notre Dame is...

This morning I bought a map. I didn't look at it once the rest of the day (which is why I got lost) but it was still nice to know I had it if I needed it.

And as it turns out Notre Dame is pretty lame, but more on that later.

I walked all over the city today, passing monuments and statues and fountains.  And what I discovered is that the French have weird art, just like we do in America.

For example,

what is a guy with wings doing on roller skates?

I mean, who thought that that was a good idea and decided to memorialize it for future generations with a statue? 

"Yes, today I think I will build some metal wings and try to fly in them while roller skating."

...

Luckily, Lyon has plenty of cool buildings to balance things out.

Which brings me to Notre Dame.  Notre Dame was going to be my thing in Lyon, the place I would have all these memorable experiences.  Where I would go to do homework and people watch or eat some French bread.  But I rode the metro to Notre Dame on Saturday and what I saw wasn't all that great.  When I tried to walk to it today I had to go through sketchy streets and up a giant hill, but I still couldn't make it over to the church. 

However, at the bottom of Notre Dame is St. Jean's Cathedral.  Which is absolutely stunning.

And just down the road is St. George's Cathedral, which is smaller, but almost as wonderful.

Additionally, on my way home from Notre Dame I accidentally went the wrong way and instead of ending up at Parc de la Tête d'Or I ended up at my school.

C'était parfait.

Except then I had to walk back home, which was kind of embarrassing.  I mean, I had really gone the wrong direction - for a long time.

I finally did get home - and still have yet to open my map - when I saw this out of my window.

And I realized that even if Notre Dame is not what I thought it would be, it is still pretty amazing.

Also, I can see it without walking up a giant hill, so that's a win.

Aujourd'hui is Dimanche

Today is Sunday. 

Sunday means church. 

Sunday also means that all of the stores are closed in Lyon.

Originally I was a huge supporter of this.  I don't want to work on Sunday, so I'm glad that no one in Lyon has to work on Sunday. 

But sometimes you just need someone to work on Sunday.

I left my apartment with 10 minutes to get to church.  Not my smartest idea.  I had been talking to my host mom, and I didn't know how to say, "I'm sorry but I have to go to church now," so we just kept talking.

I first stopped at the grocery store where you can buy packs of ten tickets.  Except, it was closed.  And there was a creepy guy out front, so I quickly walked away (in the wrong direction) so that I didn't have to pass him again.

Naturally, I got lost on the way to the metro.  When I finally found it, it wouldn't let me use cash bills to buy my tickets, I had to use coins (weird, right?).  It also didn't accept my debit card, my other debit card, or my credit card.

At this point I accepted I was going to be late for church.  I also secretly hoped I could be a full hour late just so that I didn't have to show up to any specific class late.

Because I only had bills, I figured I would just stop at a boulangerie and buy something little with my bills so that I could get some coins to pay for my metro tickets.  However, I was afraid to venture off of the street where the metro stop was because I knew I would get lost and I didn't have a map.

So I walked down this street for about 30 minutes looking for an open store, except it's Sunday, and nothing is open.

Finally I accepted that it was time to go home and Google search how to walk to church (and possibly give up on this whole adventure).

As I was walking back, I passed a boulangerie.

An open boulangerie.

I know I shouldn't be glad that someone had to work on Sunday, but I was.

I walked inside, ordered my brioche natural in very poor French and handed her 10 euro.

She handed me back a 5 and a few coins.  I thought, "A five?  Lady, I need coins so I can buy my ticket for the metro!"

Except - of course - I can't say that in French.  So I said merci instead and hoped that somehow I could have enough coins for the metro.

I did.  I don't know how much my brioche natural cost, but it was less than 1 euro.  And now it's my new favorite kind of bread.

It symbolizes hope for the future.

And making it to church only an hour late.

And it also makes you want to cry a little bit from deliciousness and happiness and having enough money for the metro.

So tomorrow, (lundi) I will be buying a map and a pack of ten metro tickets.

As well as some brioche natural because I'll be exploring the city and I'll need as much help as I can get.

I've Already Broken Something

The past few months I have made a serious effort to learn as much French as possible.

And by serious effort I mean I've done a few Rosetta Stone things and listened to 30 podcasts in my sleep.  (I thought it would help when I listened to them for real if I had already slept to them, because the French would be in my brain.  But I only ever listened to a few of them in real life. This is why I'm only able to count and say, "Je suis prête pour apprender le français avec Coffee Break French.")

I also put up post it notes all over my house with the French word of different items.  I didn't think I would ever really need to know that hallway was couloir or that a kitchen sink was un évier, but I felt like I was practicing my French when I would walk into my bathroom and think salle de bain.

As it turns out, these are not the most effective methods for learning a language.

For example, this morning I got on a plane from Brussels to Lyon.  Everyone welcomed me with bonjour's and au revoir's and I responded like a pro with some merci's and even a couple pardon's.

And then I got to my window seat, looked at the kid in the middle and said, "Umm, I have to, that's my, uhh, seat."

He looked up, said something in French, and moved for me.  Which is when I realized I don't actually speak very much French.

Later, I arrived at the train station looking around for my host mom.  I saw her sitting on a bench - and checked the picture on my phone to make sure it was really her - and then awkwardly stood there trying to figure out how to say, "Excuse me, are you my mother?" in French.

Luckily, my real host mom showed up before I had the chance to embarrass myself.

We spoke French as she drove me to her apartment, and I was by no means fluent, but I thought a three-year-old and I could probably have a pretty good conversation.

Then came the bathroom.

All I wanted to do was brush my teeth.  I had been on a plane or in an airport for 20 hours and they were in desperate need of some attention.  Unfortunately, my shampoo had exploded all over my toothbrush and toothpaste (don't worry, this is all relevant to the story).  So I went into the bathroom and had to rinse off all of the shampoo in a very small sink, which apparently does not drain.

I brushed my teeth anyway, hoping that the water would drain while I brushed.  But then I had to spit into the already full sink (which is now full of shampoo and toothpaste and a whole lot of water).  I took the plug out and still nothing happened.  I then thought maybe there was some sort of special thing under the sink that would make it drain, so I turned a few things before I had the sense to stop.  I mean, what if I had pulled the pipe out of the wall and flooded the bathroom?

I sat there embarrassed for a few minutes - I had only been in their house for 2 minutes and already I had broken the bathroom sink.  Luckily, though, bathroom sink was one of my flashcards.  I went downstairs torn between embarrassment and excitement at getting to use one of my French flashcard words.

Then, I got to the kitchen and realized I could not remember how to say bathroom sink.  I also don't know how to say water.  So I stuttered - in English - about the sink before saying, "It's like the évier, except in the bathroom."

In the end, they had to call a plumber to fix the sink.  That's right - I broke the bathroom sink so well they had to call someone to fix it.

Now my wardrobe won't close.  I've messed with the key a few times before giving up.  I don't know who you call to fix a wardrobe, but I think I'll wait until tomorrow before I break it.  Also, I checked - it does not lead to Narnia.

By the way - lavabo.  The bathroom sink is un lavabo. 

Start Spreading the News...

I stole this picture from http://wallpaperswide.com/lyon_france_at_night-wallpapers.html

I'm leaving today.  We are a great big part of it, New York, NEW YORK*.

Except I'm not going to New York.  But I do have a lay-over in D.C.

I'm really leaving for France.

Two weeks ago someone asked me why I chose France.  I sat there for a while, because I hadn't ever really thought about it.  I just love France.  But after thinking about it I answered Notre Dame.  Oh, and gelato.

I'm going abroad for a semester because of Notre Dame and Gelato.  Which are both located in Paris.  And I'm going to Lyon.

Haha, oops.

When I brought this up with my parents they reminded me about another thing in France which I love - the castle foundation in the basement of the Louvre.

At this point I started freaking out.  Not all the time, just short bursts of panic that would come every once in a while (usually while I was avoiding important things like packing.) So I started making a list of things non-Paris specific that I love.

J'adore the French language, even if all I can say is je parle un peur de français.

J'adore French bread.

J'adore the way France (and Europe) writes the date backwards.

J'adore public transportation and not driving.  Especially not parking.

J'adore wearing a scarf with every outfit.

And I'm sure I will love (I can't translate verbs to the future yet) Lyon.

Even if it's not Paris.  Even if Notre Dame de Fourvière is not the same as Notre Dame de Paris.  And even if there is no gelato.

Wait, I take that back.  If I can't get gelato in Lyon, I'm coming home.

*In case you're wondering, these are not the correct lyrics. He really sings "I want to be a part of it, New York, New York."  But I like my version better...