I thought I enjoyed domesticating, but the truth of the matter is, I despise it. Hanging stuff, measuring, getting on a ladder, drilling, screwing (or nailing?) I just don’t have the patience. I like when things are done. I like even more when things get done for me.
Mr.Power came to Paris this week. Hadnt seen him for a while and we had a nice visit, and of course some much needed and routine Mexican food.
I managed somehow to persuade him into helping me hang up the curtains in my living room. Well it turned out to be curtains for me, as he drilled right through the wall and into the electrical wiring. POP goes the weasel! And out go the lights!
This time it goes something like this…
“Uh, D?”
“Yes Mr.Power?”
“Youre gonna have to call the electrician.”
[Apartment is now completely pitch black]
“Wha? Why? (mild panic setting in) Can we just flip some switches or something? I mean come ooooooonnnnnn! I don’t know HOW to call the electrician. I don’t know enough French to talk on the phone yet!”
“Well you don’t HAVE to, but its possible this little bit of area over here is electric so I guess just be careful? No No. Youre gonna have to call at some point.”
We laugh.
I cry.
He buys dinner.
March 31, 2008
March 26, 2008
French Nazi Fraud
French Nazi Fraud!
Enter Celine, who you may remember from past posts, who was once lovingly referred to as my French Nazi, has been outed as an Fraud! You heard it here first ladies and gents. Heres how it went down.
About 3 weeks ago I was asked by my HR department how my French lessons were going. I replied honestly and candidly as I always do, that, well, my teacher isnt teaching me right.
"She wont let me write, and she tried to teach me 2 verb tenses, past and future in just one day! Who does that? Can she do that? I have rights don't I?"
I mean nevermind that every word in French has to be masculine or feminine and addressed as such. 'La Lait.'The Milk. If you say 'Le Lait' the French, the kind people that they are, will simply act as though they have no idea what youre talking about.
And not to mention that 'you' is upheld in both proper and familiar versions religiously,so dont think a Vous wont correct you if by mistake you call them a Tu. You'd think world war 3 or battle of the Bitches would break out!
And dont even get me started on the words that I can only pronounce when holding my nose tight with my head tilted upward!
Anyway, I expressed concern that I just simply wasnt learning at the rate I felt I should be. Maybe her teaching methods and my learning mechanisms just weren't aligned properly. Fine right?
Ok so heres what happens. Today I get a call from Celine's Boss. A lovely british woman, Sue, whom Id met before. Anyway, she calls and asks for a few minutes of my time.
"Of course Sue, Hi! Receiving English speaking phone calls these days is like receiving an unexpected gift in the Post! What can I do for you?"
"Well Deaahne, I wanted to talk to you about the Nazi (Ha!no she didnt really say that but how cool would it have been of she did?!) about Celine.Its come to my attention that you'd like to switch teachers? May I ask why?"
I explained the whole deal to her as I did to my HR Rep, but I was much more constructive with my criticism. Truth be told, I did kind of like Celine in a pitiful sort of way. When she wasnt telling (and laughing at) her own jokes that only she could laugh at, because well yes they were in French and beyond my understanding, I kinda liked the old bird and didnt necessarily want to bust her on my account.
"Well Im so sorry. And Deeahhne I must tell you, you arent the only one of her students to request a new teacher."
GASP! I know!
"Several of her students actually have made change requests as well. We feel that she may be better suited to class room teaching."
Huh? So she can confuse the masses instead of one at a time? This perplexed me, but hey Im not her Boss. I'd can her, but its hardly my place to make suggestions...
"So anyway, we are so sorry and hope these past few months with her weren't too trying on you and hope you dont let this sour your perspective for one on one teaching and learning French."
I hung up on Sue without another word and paraded through the office rejoicing... "The Nazi's a Fraud, the Nazi's a Fraud! WooHoo The Nazi's a Fraud!!"
Do you know what the odds are of having a French person apologize to you? Apologize to an American? People, today is a landmark day. Maybe March really is Diane Micheil Heritage Month?
Enter Celine, who you may remember from past posts, who was once lovingly referred to as my French Nazi, has been outed as an Fraud! You heard it here first ladies and gents. Heres how it went down.
About 3 weeks ago I was asked by my HR department how my French lessons were going. I replied honestly and candidly as I always do, that, well, my teacher isnt teaching me right.
"She wont let me write, and she tried to teach me 2 verb tenses, past and future in just one day! Who does that? Can she do that? I have rights don't I?"
I mean nevermind that every word in French has to be masculine or feminine and addressed as such. 'La Lait.'The Milk. If you say 'Le Lait' the French, the kind people that they are, will simply act as though they have no idea what youre talking about.
And not to mention that 'you' is upheld in both proper and familiar versions religiously,so dont think a Vous wont correct you if by mistake you call them a Tu. You'd think world war 3 or battle of the Bitches would break out!
And dont even get me started on the words that I can only pronounce when holding my nose tight with my head tilted upward!
Anyway, I expressed concern that I just simply wasnt learning at the rate I felt I should be. Maybe her teaching methods and my learning mechanisms just weren't aligned properly. Fine right?
Ok so heres what happens. Today I get a call from Celine's Boss. A lovely british woman, Sue, whom Id met before. Anyway, she calls and asks for a few minutes of my time.
"Of course Sue, Hi! Receiving English speaking phone calls these days is like receiving an unexpected gift in the Post! What can I do for you?"
"Well Deaahne, I wanted to talk to you about the Nazi (Ha!no she didnt really say that but how cool would it have been of she did?!) about Celine.Its come to my attention that you'd like to switch teachers? May I ask why?"
I explained the whole deal to her as I did to my HR Rep, but I was much more constructive with my criticism. Truth be told, I did kind of like Celine in a pitiful sort of way. When she wasnt telling (and laughing at) her own jokes that only she could laugh at, because well yes they were in French and beyond my understanding, I kinda liked the old bird and didnt necessarily want to bust her on my account.
"Well Im so sorry. And Deeahhne I must tell you, you arent the only one of her students to request a new teacher."
GASP! I know!
"Several of her students actually have made change requests as well. We feel that she may be better suited to class room teaching."
Huh? So she can confuse the masses instead of one at a time? This perplexed me, but hey Im not her Boss. I'd can her, but its hardly my place to make suggestions...
"So anyway, we are so sorry and hope these past few months with her weren't too trying on you and hope you dont let this sour your perspective for one on one teaching and learning French."
I hung up on Sue without another word and paraded through the office rejoicing... "The Nazi's a Fraud, the Nazi's a Fraud! WooHoo The Nazi's a Fraud!!"
Do you know what the odds are of having a French person apologize to you? Apologize to an American? People, today is a landmark day. Maybe March really is Diane Micheil Heritage Month?
March 19, 2008
Shooter on the Grassy Knoll
The smell of freshly cut grass. Again in Levallois, the only place in Paris so far that I have been able to conjure up the same memories twice from the exact same spot. It reminds me of my childhood. My brother's little league baseball games, and betting horses with my Grandpa at Santa Anita Race track. My soccer games on Sundays and running in the sprinklers naked at my neighbors house in Arcadia. All very young and very vivid memories. Innocent memories too, sans the Race Track, but hey, horce racing is legal and I always looked a bit older even at the age of 10.
Its nice though. Freshly cut grass. So I started thinking...
What is it about certains smells at any age that can bring us back to such finite moments in our lives? And why is it that the memories we make now seem so few and far between as opposed to the many we made when we were younger? Is it because we made more memories then or just that we are adults now and dont have the time to make and remember new ones?
Obviously living abroad has sparked my memory fuse way more than it had to when I was living in SF. Here in Paris all I have is memories. My life is so hush here even though I feel like im constantly talking. I feel like I go through a day having so many conversations even though I maybe just have a handful. I talk to myself constantly(yes in my head, not in a turrets turrets turrets sort of way) and needlesstosay, yes we are smarter and better looking than you.
Its nice though. Freshly cut grass. So I started thinking...
What is it about certains smells at any age that can bring us back to such finite moments in our lives? And why is it that the memories we make now seem so few and far between as opposed to the many we made when we were younger? Is it because we made more memories then or just that we are adults now and dont have the time to make and remember new ones?
Obviously living abroad has sparked my memory fuse way more than it had to when I was living in SF. Here in Paris all I have is memories. My life is so hush here even though I feel like im constantly talking. I feel like I go through a day having so many conversations even though I maybe just have a handful. I talk to myself constantly(yes in my head, not in a turrets turrets turrets sort of way) and needlesstosay, yes we are smarter and better looking than you.
March 10, 2008
Wait for the Beep
At least I can laugh at myself. I think we've determined that much thus far right?
So yaaa know when you wake up in the morning, completely hungover and as you make your way for your morning pee, you are inclined to stop dead in your tracks and just start laughing? Maybe its when you notice all your clothes balled up on the floor just next to your bed, or scattered here and there throughout your entire apartment. Or that your jewelery and accesories from the night before are inside your sock next to your pillow? Or that your glass of water that you somehow managed to achieve ended up with a ring in it and not a sip had? And why is your lighter on the floor next to your gum and work badge, but your ciggarettes are in the washroom?All mysteries and things that have happened to me twice in the last week. When the laughter breaks its usually because I had to take more than 3 minutes to recover the lost trail of getting home.
Now, most of you know that I am not a drunk. Im a drinker. I tend to fall on the Im in control side of the Lush scale, but lately, Ive got to tell ya... Ive been drinking way too much Absynthe.
I dont know if its that Ive been writing a lot lately, or that Paris has captivated me so much that, combined with the sheer coincidence I live on Voltaire, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voltaire
Im becoming world famous right before your very eyes? Is it possible?Im a little afraid to admit it, but I think Im slowly becoming an absynthe drinking, novel writing philanderer who just leers at people through faded eyes.Nightly. Is that possible?
It doesnt help that my new favorite absynthe bar is just downstairs from my apartment. Yes thats right, across the street from my Renaissance, and just 3 blocks up from the Panda's Headquarters, which I frequent sometimes as well. As a matter of fact, on my last night of absynthe drinking with Sonia,I was at Bistrot DuPintre when I met Gerard.
I dont know what it is with me and wait staff, but I love a blue collar man! I keep telling myself to "go white go white," but I always fall for the blue. Cant help it.Needless to say, I think blue collar make better lovers because they have to try harder. maybe... (thoughts?)
Anyway, apparently I gave Gerard my phone number and he left what I think was a very sweet message the next day.
*Note to self-- change outgoing VM message to include phrase "kindly leave your message in English, svp. "
I have to keep asking my friends to translate my voicemails because Im too stubborn to speak English on my frenchVM. I'm seriously delusional these days. Maybe its the absynthe. Maybe its the French getting on my nerves.
Wait for the Beep.
So yaaa know when you wake up in the morning, completely hungover and as you make your way for your morning pee, you are inclined to stop dead in your tracks and just start laughing? Maybe its when you notice all your clothes balled up on the floor just next to your bed, or scattered here and there throughout your entire apartment. Or that your jewelery and accesories from the night before are inside your sock next to your pillow? Or that your glass of water that you somehow managed to achieve ended up with a ring in it and not a sip had? And why is your lighter on the floor next to your gum and work badge, but your ciggarettes are in the washroom?All mysteries and things that have happened to me twice in the last week. When the laughter breaks its usually because I had to take more than 3 minutes to recover the lost trail of getting home.
Now, most of you know that I am not a drunk. Im a drinker. I tend to fall on the Im in control side of the Lush scale, but lately, Ive got to tell ya... Ive been drinking way too much Absynthe.
I dont know if its that Ive been writing a lot lately, or that Paris has captivated me so much that, combined with the sheer coincidence I live on Voltaire, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voltaire
Im becoming world famous right before your very eyes? Is it possible?Im a little afraid to admit it, but I think Im slowly becoming an absynthe drinking, novel writing philanderer who just leers at people through faded eyes.Nightly. Is that possible?
It doesnt help that my new favorite absynthe bar is just downstairs from my apartment. Yes thats right, across the street from my Renaissance, and just 3 blocks up from the Panda's Headquarters, which I frequent sometimes as well. As a matter of fact, on my last night of absynthe drinking with Sonia,I was at Bistrot DuPintre when I met Gerard.
I dont know what it is with me and wait staff, but I love a blue collar man! I keep telling myself to "go white go white," but I always fall for the blue. Cant help it.Needless to say, I think blue collar make better lovers because they have to try harder. maybe... (thoughts?)
Anyway, apparently I gave Gerard my phone number and he left what I think was a very sweet message the next day.
*Note to self-- change outgoing VM message to include phrase "kindly leave your message in English, svp. "
I have to keep asking my friends to translate my voicemails because Im too stubborn to speak English on my frenchVM. I'm seriously delusional these days. Maybe its the absynthe. Maybe its the French getting on my nerves.
Wait for the Beep.
March 6, 2008
The B52 and The Sonias'
Another round of B52's over here s'il vous plait!
Needless to say, things got a bit out hand even before I started ordering Flaming shots.
Lets try and go back. On my way home from work on Monday I was pleasantly surprised to see that my favorite restaurant had finally opened its doors back up. Renaissance Cafe had been closed for full month to make some renovations. This establishment has been my headquarters since moving to Voltaire in November so I was quite forlorn when its doors were shut to me and my neighbors. The lights were finally on so I of course I had to pop right in and sit for a glass of wine. The place looked the exact same, but who am I to judge? Also who am I to not know how to ask this in French, so Im sorted.
Anyway, I sit down outside within the clear plastic confines and heat lamps overhead. I had a book in my bag and was ready to start the nights research. One glass of vin in and I am immediately consumed by the laughter going on at the table next to me. There are 3 girls having quite a laugh. Hilarity was ensuing if you will, and so I look up only to find one of the girls to "flash dance" turn around to me with these big white sunglasses, a huge scarf wrapped around her neck and blindly karaoking to a song that didnt exist. I busted out with a large woop for her and we all began laughing together. One of the girls spoke english quite well so we started gabbing. It turns out these girls are all my neighbors. Not in my building, but just right next door and one just across the way. They have been coming to Renaissance for years and judging by their interactions with all the staff it wasnt hard to see that they were all like family. I grew quite nostalgic for my places of yesteryear in SF when I was just like these girls. I immediately missed my family at the LeColonials and Rbars. I took a moment for myself and ordered another bottle of wine to share with my new companions.
Before I go on, its important to note what was running through my head this evening. Earlier that day at lunch, Benoit and Olivier had taught me some new words.
"Deeahnne, start a sentence with 'putain' and end a sentence with 'quoi.'"
For example:
putain! je besoin d'leau, quoi?
translating to:
Fuck! I want some water, what?
So all day most of us had been giggling about my new words. Because my accent is not tre magnifique (to say the least), its apparently quite funny to hear me uttering these phrases.To hear a foreigner cursing with a broken accent, especially one that doesnt cuss that much to begin with, I have to hand it to them, they broke me in. I caused a ruckus for most of the day.
Anyway, Im happy to oblige a few laughs on the occasion, and I was eager to start testing out my new vocabulary.
So back to Renaissance. I say to the girls, "Putain, quoi?"
And again, smiles and roaring laughter from everyone including the little old couple that was sitting just within earshot. "Desolee, madam, monsieur," I quickly add.
Then come the Flames. Apparently, the B52 is the house favorite. I had seen them serve these shots before, but as I am a respectable Drinker, yes with a capital D, I would never order this for myself. Much less be seen with anyone that would call this shot, to be perfectly honest.
So then out comes David our server, with a tray full of flames and then hands us straws. Now, Im not sure how I would expect to drink this shot since there is in fact Fire on top of it, but at the same time, putting plastic into a firey beverage doesnt seem like such a great idea either. Anyway, I went along with it, and it was, drumroll-- deeeelicious. Im sorry. I bow my head down in disgust at myself, but it was really good. Merde. I liked it. You know what this means...
Another round David!
Ladies and gentlemen, Id like to introduce The B52 and my new friends, Sonia and Sonia.
Needless to say, things got a bit out hand even before I started ordering Flaming shots.
Lets try and go back. On my way home from work on Monday I was pleasantly surprised to see that my favorite restaurant had finally opened its doors back up. Renaissance Cafe had been closed for full month to make some renovations. This establishment has been my headquarters since moving to Voltaire in November so I was quite forlorn when its doors were shut to me and my neighbors. The lights were finally on so I of course I had to pop right in and sit for a glass of wine. The place looked the exact same, but who am I to judge? Also who am I to not know how to ask this in French, so Im sorted.
Anyway, I sit down outside within the clear plastic confines and heat lamps overhead. I had a book in my bag and was ready to start the nights research. One glass of vin in and I am immediately consumed by the laughter going on at the table next to me. There are 3 girls having quite a laugh. Hilarity was ensuing if you will, and so I look up only to find one of the girls to "flash dance" turn around to me with these big white sunglasses, a huge scarf wrapped around her neck and blindly karaoking to a song that didnt exist. I busted out with a large woop for her and we all began laughing together. One of the girls spoke english quite well so we started gabbing. It turns out these girls are all my neighbors. Not in my building, but just right next door and one just across the way. They have been coming to Renaissance for years and judging by their interactions with all the staff it wasnt hard to see that they were all like family. I grew quite nostalgic for my places of yesteryear in SF when I was just like these girls. I immediately missed my family at the LeColonials and Rbars. I took a moment for myself and ordered another bottle of wine to share with my new companions.
Before I go on, its important to note what was running through my head this evening. Earlier that day at lunch, Benoit and Olivier had taught me some new words.
"Deeahnne, start a sentence with 'putain' and end a sentence with 'quoi.'"
For example:
putain! je besoin d'leau, quoi?
translating to:
Fuck! I want some water, what?
So all day most of us had been giggling about my new words. Because my accent is not tre magnifique (to say the least), its apparently quite funny to hear me uttering these phrases.To hear a foreigner cursing with a broken accent, especially one that doesnt cuss that much to begin with, I have to hand it to them, they broke me in. I caused a ruckus for most of the day.
Anyway, Im happy to oblige a few laughs on the occasion, and I was eager to start testing out my new vocabulary.
So back to Renaissance. I say to the girls, "Putain, quoi?"
And again, smiles and roaring laughter from everyone including the little old couple that was sitting just within earshot. "Desolee, madam, monsieur," I quickly add.
Then come the Flames. Apparently, the B52 is the house favorite. I had seen them serve these shots before, but as I am a respectable Drinker, yes with a capital D, I would never order this for myself. Much less be seen with anyone that would call this shot, to be perfectly honest.
So then out comes David our server, with a tray full of flames and then hands us straws. Now, Im not sure how I would expect to drink this shot since there is in fact Fire on top of it, but at the same time, putting plastic into a firey beverage doesnt seem like such a great idea either. Anyway, I went along with it, and it was, drumroll-- deeeelicious. Im sorry. I bow my head down in disgust at myself, but it was really good. Merde. I liked it. You know what this means...
Another round David!
Ladies and gentlemen, Id like to introduce The B52 and my new friends, Sonia and Sonia.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
