How To Crash A Protest

Pardon the absence. A panoply of activities, adventures and the lack of internet kept me away from the blog, though I assure you it was difficult.

So what have I been up to?

I've been doodling like mad, and have gone through four pens in the last week. Can I have nice pens for Christmas?

Today I crashed a manifestation/demonstration. It's been my goal to join in on one, and finally an opportunity presented itself. On my way to buy a newspaper, I stumbled across a Communist/Ecologist manifestation. It was large enough that I could hop in unnoticed, and so I marched with them for a couple blocks.

Protesting is a really jovial experience, with people bringing their children along (you can tell it's a culturally engrained thing) and everyone singing and shouting songs. I made the mistake (silly me) of not wearing red, and I was enjoying myself so much that I had a really tough time looking angry and indignant.

My favorite part of the experience would have to be when an old lady walked up to the people leading the march and started screaming things at them. What I caught seemed to be along the lines of...

"MY GRANDFATHER WORKED FOR THIS COUNTRY, AND YOU'RE BREAKING THE STREETS OUR FOREFATHERS BLED TO BUILD, YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES, YOU'RE AS BAD AS THOSE AMERICANS."

I'm assuming that was a reference to Occupy Wall Street.

When I was later buying my newspaper I got budged by a granny and her snotty nosed grandson. As I don't know how to say "back of the line budger" I just fumed and made faces at the grandson. Who obligingly returned my maturity.

As the time to leave draws closer, I get more and more panicky. How am I going to deal with the absence of daily lectures about the evils of savory food for breakfast? Where else will I find the same degree of Harry Potter and Lion King jokes? Who else will tell me my American accent is adorable?

Made brownies with my host brother, as part of the process of me preparing him for his visit next year to the U.S. He passed the test, licking the bowl and announcing it was "Cool dude."

I'm so proud of my protegé.

Some photos from my Thanksgiving dinner.

Feeling pretty pleased and surprised at how well cooking an entire thanksgiving dinner all by myself went. Miracle happen, and for that I am thankful.

Scramble

So one of my favorite weekly sights is a sign in the university resto (not the one I typically go to, the one I go to on Wednesdays when everything is packed) is a handicap sign that says

"Scramble."

Wheelchair picture, then this bizarre word. I'll take a picture when I think of it. I dunno about in France, but in the Estados Unidos "scramble" means to go crazy and run around everywhere.

Why France, why?

Speaking of english, you gotta be careful how loudly you speak on the tram. Overheard two indiscreet British people talking about their weird fetishes with their significant others on the tram.

I didn't need to know that about your girlfriend's feet. Please speak indiscreetly in a less universal language, like Mermish.

Line of the day:

British friend: I can't decide which class to drop.
Friend: Defense against the dark arts.

The word for a blonde person in Colombie is "Mona." In Venezuala it is "Catira." Was chatting with two south american dudes who were very taken with my hair. I've been encouraged to grow my hair out to my waist. They said that I would get all the guys then.

I just may.

Props to a certain student of French for using slang in front of my host siblings. Four days later, they still talk about you. And how not to use semi-naughty words like that.

Je déconne= I'm kidding. Borderline offensive due to the fact that "conn" is naughty.

This is a PG-13 blog. Look it up on the internets if you need bad words.

Slang phrase of the day: Mate la zesgon. "Check out that chick." Slightly derogatory. Mater is slang for "to look" and zesgon is gonzesse but with the syllables versedin.

This weekend, Me and German aupair vs the clubs.

Vachement Perdu

Today I got vachement perdu (really really lost). As in, the 2 km I had to walk turned into upwards of 12, as I made wrong turn after wrong turn.

Short Adverb lesson:

Vachement: Comes from the word "vache" which means cow. French people love using vache in everyday convo... "Oh la vache" (sort of like our "holy cow"). Vachement means literally "cowly" but actually means "REALLY." Like, damn.

Carrement: Also means very. You'll hear "carrement d'ac" in certain age group conversation. Short for Carrement D'Accord, which means "really in agreement."

Vraiment: Translated literally and truly means "very."

I'm feeling rather tired, and while my host brother likes to tease me about going out all the time, I don't think it is completely that. Partially, bah ouais, but not entirely. Learning a language is vachement difficult, and even with proper sleep I find I'm "dans la lune" (on the moon, aka daydreaming) accidentally in class these days. This happened back home too, at about the one month mark. School is tiring. This doesn't change. Still wish I could go back to hippie school and bake me some cookies all day e'ryday.

Fun experience of the day: trying to explain what a baby daddy/momma was to my writing professor. Ah, the things that arrive in the international student's life.

Some vocabulary for you to enjoy! I got most of this from an article about how the second in command police officer in Paris was arrested/charged for drug trafficking and being generally naughty. I shake my finger at you. Anyways, this is regular CSI jargon.

Puant- stinky. Slangy-wise, it means pretentious, or vain. It was puant of him to think he wouldn't get caught.

Indicateur/Indic- Informant. Sort of like our version of "narcs" typically unsavory people who inform the police in exchange for favors or lessening of sentences. "indic" is the shortening of that.

Voyou- GANGSTER. Salut voyou (what's up, badass?)

tonton- What little kids/everybody call their uncles. Also means men of a certain (older) age, typically men you don't mess with. "les tontons flingueurs" is a cult film from 1963 about gangsters. If you speak fluent-enough french, let's watch it together.

Des Papas Poules- "Father hen." Papas who are very occupied with their children, extremely invested etc etc.

So I filched a magazine from the library today (50.5% sure it was free for the taking...). On the back was the advert for dinosaures... Including the Bambisaur.

The bambisaur is the new velociraptor, it's official.

Sad story of today.

Friend (grabs a chunk of my hair and inspects it): My goodness, your hair is a pretty color. How do you get it to be so blonde?
Ex-Friend: The trick is thinking like a blonde.

Shuddap.

Text Like A Frog

So I've had a couple forays into the scary world of texting in french. It's difficult, yes, but with this handy dandy guide you too can make friendsies.

MDR- mort de rire. Dying of laughing. Sort of like our LOL, but way better, because they take it to the extreme aka dying.

Ne tkt- Ne t'enquete. Don't worry.

bjr- Bonjour

bsr- Bonsoir

D100- Descends. Get down/come down.

FDS- Fin de semaine. End of the week.

KDO- Cadeau. Present, gift.

kestufou vs Ksk t'fu- Qu'est-ce que tu fous? What the hell are you going?

RDV- rendez-vous. Please tell me you know what a rendezvous is.

ti2- T'es hideux. You are hideous.

Fun story of the day (for the easily amused): So my tram sometimes is Ligne 1, Jamet. A lovely voice tells us every stop "Terminasion, Jamet." Which is approx. "Last stop, Jamet." Except Jamet sounds exactly like "Jamais" which means "Never." So what the tram lady is telling us is that this train never ends.

I laugh.

Also, flunked an orale comprehension test. This is for two reasons, the first being that the subject was cell phones. I genuinely know almost no vocabulary surrounding cell phone companies (thank you granny for lending me your phone!). So that was rough. The other bit was that I spaced out for half of the test. The answer to my problems is that I'm going to sleep more/better (I started sleepwalking again >:( ) and download french podcasts to listen to. So interesting! The great part about being here for solely my own learning pleasure is that me failing tests is not the end of the world. My grades here don't matter in terms of a later degree. I'm just here to learn french, make friends and grow up.

Welcome to the school of life!

Slingy Slang

Today I spoke French, English and Spanish at lunch. I learned how to say, "I have no money, my friend will pay," "why yes I love Shakira," and "rico suave." I'm all set.

The 1 tram line also wasn't working today so I had a 20 minute walk. I made it to class on time, because unlike the majority of dawdlers who walk around Nantes, I go with a purpose. Thank you Granny Peppa for the long legs. Less thank you for not giving me your natural grace. City of cobblestones, meet constant klutz.

I also stopped by the bibliotheque (library) to get some books. Picked up some poems by Maya Angelou, "The Sound and The Fury" by William Faulkner, Dom Juam/Juan By Moliere, The collected notebooks of Victor Hugo and a biographie of Victor Hugo. My weekend reading.

Learned a very important lesson in french yesterday. So I thought the phrase "tu me manques" meant "you miss me." Which is kind of a cocky thing to say. But actually it means "I miss you." "Je te manque" means you miss me. Kinda counterintuitive. ChuckandCindy, this is why all your "tu me manques" have elicted sassy responses. Tu me maques aussi, et desole.

Fun thing we learned today in writing class. So in France there was (some annees back) a big enthusiasm for les Chansons realistes. They were focused on how everyone does drugs, all women are whores, all men are bad guys, life is really hard, we turn to sex to live with it, and so forth. My prof pointed out that it's kind of similar to today's gangster rap. Edith Piaf is probably rolling in her grave. But everyone agreed that gangster rap has more "frimer" which means "to be cocky."

They have a verb for this. Tu frimes, je frime, Lil' Wayne frime, tout le monde frime.

La frime. Noun version. Cockiness.

Word.

Some more slang I've learned today.

German Slang-

Schnorrer- To be a mooch. Eat everyone else's food.

Asian Slang-

Tai-mei - Beau gosse/hottie in taiwanese/chinese

zheng-mei- "hey sexy lady" in taiwanese/chinese

British Slang-

Waagwan- What's going on?

Phrase of the day:

"Vachement pu mais carrement delicieux"

Vachement literally translates as "cowly" as in cow... But it means super duper, or really really really. Same with carrement, save the bit about the cow. Translated, this phrase means

"really really stinky, but super duper delicious."

I think we were talking about some type of sushi.

All Weddings Should Be French Weddings

It's really true. I mean this in the sense that one should dance the night away, have a helicopter show up randomly during cocktail hour, nobody gets too drunk and the music is awesome. We (everyone who doesn't have a french wedding) are sooooo stupid not to have a dance like le rock. Gah. I can't get over it. I keep telling people I don't have the words in french to describe my feelings for french weddings. I don't think I do in english either.

Le rock is super fun, though very dizzying. It's good to have a french guy or two nearby to catch you when you're feeling faint. I'm not exactly a pro, but for my first time, I'm not too bad. Some of the dance moves are positively acrobatic. Look up RocknRoll Danse on youtube to get an idea for it. High schools and weddings everywhere should teach it, because it works for all ages (seriously, some 80-year-olds were getting down at 4 am) and it's super fun. To use the french term, "hypersexy."

Where do I begin with the french wedding? Is it the fact that everyone wears hats and there's a hat tree for when the dancing starts? Or that I was told by a Frenchman "If I don't end up with my tie around my head it's not a good wedding?"

I could go into depth about my drunk not-swiss-but-kind-of-french friend who followed me around speaking english. I tried to speak french to him but he had none of it. He told me he had an American accent so I told him I had an Australian accent. There is the same amount of truth in both those statements.

There was continuous humor in the fact that the majority of the songs were in english... And so I was one of maybe five people who understood just how inappropriate Kid Cudi is. Of course they all sing along though. "All the crazy s%^$ I did tonight...."

The biggest compliment of the evening came when I was chatting with an American also in attendance. He told me he had met another guy who said he'd thought I was french. I'd introduced myself in a very french way and continued to hold my own... Score one for the good guys! My host family laughed at me though, and said "We hope you realize you have an accent."

Of course I do. No need to remind me, I'm not getting too cocky. I get made fun of all day every day. ("I think French people like Americans a lot, but Americans like French people more..." -French friend. I'm having a hard time judging the truth of that. They are pretty into a lot of things State-ish here)

What else can I regale you with? The time when the bride and groom got tossed up and down by their friends, or that everyone got on the dance floor to "Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight)". WOOOOOT ABBA!

Or one of the great aunts telling me that I was "La Belle Americaine" and then following that up with saying that "La Belle Americaine" means a really nice Cadillac or American-ish car. Likened to a car... And loving it.

Dinner with les ados was interesting, mostly because we only had wine, ham and potato chips. So we rolled the chips into ham and had some sophisticated exchange of swear words and opinions about religion. Everyone here smokes like a chimney at French weddings. I guess that's the only thing I'd change, because it makes one nearly asthmatic to be around it all the time. Wheeze, wheeze.

I made probably thirty friends during the evening, all of whom remembered my name. Unfortunately, I was very sleepy and forgot 25/30 such that the next morning when everyone was going "SALUT M----" I gave a very sheepish "Bonjour." Gotta work on that.

Truly, I will guard this experience in my memories for the rest of my life. French Weddings have set the new high for me, but luckily I've got a British one this weekend. Comparison in order?

As one of my Colombian friend's mom's told her "Profitez! Profitez! Profitez bien!"

I like to do the following with my adventures.

"Think of it as research for your memoirs."
-ChuckandCindy

Move It Move It

I dedicate this post to Sutton and Aditi.

Today was marked by me falling asleep in class for a few minutes, and more importantly talking for five minutes straight to 32 people about how much I like breakfast using slang words. I frickin' kiffe le pet't dej y'all connait?

Exactly like that. But cooler.

Awkward incident today where I became friends with an awesome Colombian girl... Following happened.

Friend: So she's a colombian, and my brother was like, you know they probably have tons of coffee.
Colombian: Yes, it's true.
Friend: And he was said they'd probably offer you cocaine.
Colombian: Hey, you want some? (long pause) It's a joke...

Two of my other Colombian friends (I have a lot of colombian friends here) were giving me a tutorial on how to roll my r's. I roll them like Shakirrrra. Needless to say, after French, Spanish won't be too hard. Apparently in Espangolophone (yes I made that up) countries, if you can't roll your r's, it's like having a lisp in English. They have professionals to correct this. It's a major problem if you can't roll your r's in spanish. How are people supposed to know if it is two r's or one???

I also learned how to say "Move it dickhead" in Italian and "I have a cold" in German. Equally useful, one presumes.

Random sighting of the day: Girl throwing up on a building in the centre-ville and then calmly taking the tram. Gutsy? Or just a regular 5 pm habit? Do I want to know?

It's nearly 1 am now... Time to stop listening to MIKA's only French song (it's a big deal guys) and hit the hay.

Hell Is A Salsa Class Where You Don't Speak The Language

It's true. Hell is a pretty sweaty, scary place with people yelling at you (what do you mean, there are three types of salsa??) and instructions you don't understand. APPARENTLY the type of salsa I know is club salsa, or puerto rican salsa. This here was cuban salsa. I made it (trembling) through the whole 1.5 hours class. The instructor was impressed that I had no frickin clue what I was doing (maybe one or two clues, but it was brutal). He said I should go to basic beginners to learn the names and if I'm good enough I can move up.

Youtube, here I come.

I don't know if I mentioned it, but here at the Université we do a lot of swearing in class. Condoned swearing. We learn lots of "phrases familiars" because honestly, nobody here speaks "proper french." Not even French people.

Two quick stories for your enjoyment.

1) Gave myself a haircut yesterday. It looks fine (seriously). However, when I told my host family they were shocked. "WHAT? You did that all by yourself?"

Psssh, give anyone a pair of scissors. I only did my fringe though (bangs, as we Americans like to say). Found a (reliable) place where you can get a trim for a paltry 11 euros. Doin' it.

2) Lady on my bus started shouted "Jesus! Jesus is alive! Jesus christ is in my life!" She then induced complete silence in the tram (a feat, may I say) by shouting whether anyone else had found the risen lord. There were some takers and a "tu as raison madame" ("you're correct, lady). Exited the tram with her and she then preceded to regale the viking dude with tales of her religious experiences.

I love Nantes. So many weird happenings. And everything is funnier in another language.

Aerobics and Coupons

I was told I can't publish this BUT I FEEL THE NEED TO PROVE HOW AWESOME MY GRANDPARENTS ARE. This may come down soon if they ask me, but hopefully my loving charm will prevail.

Yes, they make me Cuddle Coupons. *Cue angel music*

Today was fun, but then again, I'm so excited that it's hard to have a bad day. I did show my evil hungry side to my trusty canadian ladyfriend. She survived, but had to restrain me from a hunger-induced rage. Feed me on time, I'm no better than a four year old in this respect.

Who's been kicked out of their house for an afternoon for being a grumpy hungry person?

This person.

Not in France mind you. I behave myself pretty well here. I'm starting to lose my social skills this week a little. My ca vas and bonjours are just a little too late. Gotta work on that, I don't want to be the tactless weirdo blonde girl who puts her bread ON HER PLATE.

Sacrilege, I tell you.

Attended a French aerobics class and witnessed what at first appeared to be very graceful dodgeball. Turned out to be the funkiest lookin' circus class ever!

French aerobics is both great and terrible. Not much of a work out but the music was in english. And aerobics is always great for the awkward, "we should've stopped doing this in the 80s"-ness of it. Tomorrow, cookie baking and LE ROCK! Wheeeeeeeeeeeee.

The Bourse fell today, inciting a "massacre" amongst the banking community. The Bourse is the french stock market (ten points to those of you who knew what it was). One only hopes people get their ducks in a row soon. To cite an awesome friend, perhaps their ducks are in a row, but asleep.

Nighty night from a sleepy duck.

COOKIE MONSTRE!

Note the socks!

This morning I took a tour of the FACs de L'Université. We visited all the classrooms, said hello to everyone (I heard the phrase "come anytime" approx. 20x) and also saw the library. With the handy dandy university card I can rent SIX books at a time. That is twice the number I'm allowed at home. Whether this has anything to do with my late fees is a different matter.

Also in my ever eventful day I was approached by a clown in training, who wanted to practice on me. If I hadn't been late for a rendez-vous I totally would have stayed.

I visited the supermarché with a host brother, and bought some chocolat noir for my baking uses. Learned some interesting French swear words along the way and enjoyed the blaring French radio. To all Minnesotans, be assured, your plight of constant roadwork is shared by Nantes. I think I'm backsliding a little in my french speaking... I seem to become more and more incomprehesible. The benefit of this is everyone's laughing, but my face may soon mould into a constant expression of confusion.

There was one thing I did correctly today! I made chocolate chip cookies. And they are not half bad! They are closer to madeleines in consistency than the usual AMURican ones, but the dark chocolate makes it all worth it. Never again will I cook with milk chocolate. I've created a household of cookie monstres and restored some American pride :)

After dinner we had a cultural exchange of amusing internet videos. My favorites were Sarkozy explaining he had gotten drunk with the Russian head of state due to being a lightweight and the Michael Jackson "Bite It" video. If you parle francais, look it up. Hilarious.

French humor still largely escapes me, probably due to my lack of fluency. All this will change, one hopes.

Busting a rib or two

Brace yourself, you may cry with laughter. Or maybe this is just my own brand of humor, but I busted a least one rib laughing over two of the stories I'm about to tell you.

But first, regular updates. After all, one takes the main meal before the dessert (and it is a whopper).

My swiss friend came from Tours for the weekend to visit before he goes to Bordeaux. He brought with him 99% chocolate which blew the roof of my mouth off. Apparently one needs to start with 75% and then 85% before progressing to what feels like pure cocoa... Oh wait... It is.

We also made jam and picked blackberries, hopped over farmer fences and generally got blonder and tanner. It was good to be blonde company, what with all these brunettes running around France. And fake blondes. All this dye cramps my natural style.

Swiss friend and I dabbled in a tango lesson on Sunday evening, but most of what I learned in that in the tango one must "fait la resistance." And the dude gets to choose which direction and what happens the whole time. It feels a little like a really romantic game of rugby. When we switched partners everytime it was difficult to adjust. This is partially because I am shorter than all the women who were there and not used to resisting quite that forcefully. I think I may prefer my salsa dancing for now. More room to move.

We also learned in our Island Paradises educational program that all the cows in Cuba are owned by the government and thusly you can only get a burger at a public restaurant. At least that's what I think they said.

And now for Les Grandes Histories

Story #1

So when my family was still staying chez Grandparents, my Granny bought a bunch of food and drinks for us, to suit our "American tastes." A particular drink, by the name of Passion Pattana, was Shporty's favorite, especially mixed with a bit of water, as it was very fruity. Flash forward a week when my swiss friend was staying with us. We are eating and generally enjoying the meal when he was offered some of said Passion drink. He then pointed out that it is 15% alcohol.

Which is more than beer and about the same as sherry.

<:-O

Granny's shocked reaction to her covert attempt at turning her 11 nearly 12 grandson into an alcoholic...

"I didn't have my glasses on."

She'd also tried to get the poor child to finish the bottle, encouraging him to "drink it all up."

Story #2

The next meal we heard that Grunkle had received a letter from his rather extravagant cousin. This cousin has been married more times than my very-good-at-counting-grandparents can remember. He frequently plans expensive parties on the bankroll of his current wife. So it is natural for him to think that he might need some help... And thus he sent a letter hereby appointing Sir Grunkle as his chief of staff.

We spent the rest of the day coming up with the appropriate way to refuse such an honor. And finding ways to poke fun at said Chief of Staff.

Me: You have some crumbs in your beard Grunkle.
Grunkle: Do I?
Granny: The chief of staff cannot be looking scruffy!

And so forth. I wish someone would appoint me their chief of staff, if only so I could write a pompous letter in return kindly refusing such a grand offer.

Please vote on the left whether he should take this job or not.




Life is more exciting when you live with your grandparents (or at least those like mine).

Nantes has been taken by storm.

I met my host family today, but under the Foster Secrecy Treaty enacted this morning I will refrain from taking the mickey out of them. Besides, they are WONDERFUL and FUN and WELCOMING. Honestly, there is not another family I would be more happy to live with in Nantes right now. I am very lucky and grateful to those who set it up!

I hope you found these stories as funny as I did.

Butterflies in My Tummy

Geee I'm nervous.

I'm starting university in a country where I can barely speak the language (not barely, but on a scale of one to brilliant, I'm a five).

On Wednesday I enroll. I'm moving in with another family for 3.5 months on Monday, signing myself up for tango classes, getting a train pass, working my way around one of the best public transportation systems in the world and trying not to explode from all the good food I've been eating. I've got to manage to pronounce things correctly (they've got this terrible habit of making normal words sound EXACTLY like swear words. I get laughed at all the time.) and learn as fast as I can so I can do fun things. Like do the tango and go to the French cinema and take advantage of all these seriously awesome discounts they give us studious ones. Nantes takes culture SERIOUSLY and so every thursday-sunday we have these big parties campus wide where you can entertain yourself with theatre, dance, clubbing, making friends and hundreds of other things.

It's days like these I want to hold someone's hand and have a responsibilibuddy to tell me what to do. Is this what it is like, being an adult?

At least there is a Jules Verne museum, so I can go enjoy science fiction and look adorable in the nautical pattern that was originated here. And there is pretty much the only Indian restaurant in all of France in Nantes (the French aren't generally so keen on spicy food). You can even get a crepe with your curry.

And my grandparents live a hour away by train or car, I've got wonderful friends nearby, headache medecine is subsidized for students (when you are learning another language, it is rather necessary, or even just a good nights sleep).

Plus I've got all these fantastique people from this place called Minnesota who send me funny emails and encourage me. So it's not all scary. It's just a little scary right before you go be independent.

Grunkle was telling me about how when he was seven he was put on a train with a ticket around his neck that read where he was supposed to get off. He then was shipped off to boarding school and was largely independent until he left (at which point he was completely independent). At least I'm a decade older and the only ticket around my neck is one I signed up for.

France Tellycom and The Marseillaise

PLEEEEEASE COMMENT! It's easy now!

When Grunkle gave us the news that France Tellycom and their electriciens couldn't come until a week from Friday to fix our internets, we were a little surprised. Apparently, this was a VERRY big storm that knocked out all power.

So how did Grunkle demonstrate the Frenchie-ness of the bureaucratic mess? By singing the marseillaise. It was great.

This is going to be lightning fast as I only have 10 minutes and 35 seconds to type the last two days of notes. You complain about my typing, I send you a French dungbomb. And the taxes for buying the dungbomb and it's social security and the taxes on its taxes.

First of all, to my French Teachers a HUGE thank you for making me do verb tenses until I wanted to cry. The crying was less fun, but actually being able to speak in a tense other than the present is GREAT. Two things you should know.
-Comme ci comme ca is NOT OLD FASHIONED. People still say it (young, hip, cool people too)
-Same with Choette. Choette is an awesome word, since it means "cool" and "awesome." And when it is choette, it is CHOETTE.

We had a massive storm two nights ago which ate our internets whole sadly. I sleep in the top-most bedroom and as things were getting struck by lightning right next to us, I thought I'd better go downstairs to avoid getting killed. Was greeted by a trembling granny and Grunkle. They soon fell asleep, and started snoring. So I tried to leave, but locked myself in their walk in closet for 5 minutes. And then I went to sleep in my bedroom. Where lightning struck the internet.

We made jam yesterday! Blackberry sauvage (wild) and apricots!

Me: Granny?

GP: Yes My sweet?

Me: Are apricots fibrous?

GP: Yes rather... Why?

Me: I've eaten nine so far today.

GP: NINE?

Me: Or ten. They are so tasty.

They are so so so tasty. I've only eaten four today, all during breakfast.

We speak an odd language in this household. Ganomies (gnomes) and hellycopters abound, ahhhhpricots are eaten left and right (or eaten right and left in the wastebasket.) Granny also has a habit of asking every three minutes, "are you sure?" So now when she gives directions, Grunkenstein and I chorus, "Are you sure?" Poor lady.

yesterday at the taste of happiness I also had an elderly gentleman talk to me about the US. At the end of our rather odd convo in which he recalled all the women he dated in "Le Californie" he said (translated), "I'm glad they still make them cute over there." Thanks :)

Grandparent quote of the day:

Granny: Why don't we have a non-arguing day today?

Grunkle: It's not me that argues all the time, it's you!

In a nutshell, their marriage.

Grandparent/Grandchild quote of the Day:

Grunkle: I'm very misunderstood don't you think?

Me: And you're very loved, so that's two good things going for you!

Enjoy your internet, cause I don't have any!

Goodbye Parents, Hello Gap Year!

The best quote so far came from breakfast today. My Granny Peppa, the usual font of wisdom and sass, came out with this one.

"People who fight over the little things tend to agree on the big ones."

This is essentially my relationship with my entire family. We squabble, whine, bicker and argue, but when it really gets down to it, we are of one mind. The same is with Granny and her beloved Grunkle. I've never heard an argument over when to change the water in the flower pots for a half an hour before. Or a seriously heated discussion over how one ought to attend to the toaster whilst it does its business. But I learn things everyday, mainly..
a) do not mess with Grunkle's vegetable garden
b) chlorine turning one's hair green isn't a good excuse for not swimming in the pool.
c) Lifting anything will give me back problems.
d) do not hit croquet balls off the croquet lawn and into the veg garden.

Today we visited the fairy rock, which was surrounded by ominous messages in French about how if you vandalize the place, the fairies will get you. We saw no vandalism. Or vandalisers for that matter.

My family left me today, gone back to the United States. Our first motion passed (my Grandparents and I) was to convene over a lunch of cake, ice cream and orange juice. When Grunkle complained about the lack of veggies, he was told sternly to "take what you've got and be grateful." Quite right.

As Granny says, Grunkle is completely bone from the neck up (not) and is "just arm candy and great for carrying things" (and gardening).

Speaking of not so stupid people, I've found it very amusing when people disagree or tell me to do things I don't want to, to pull out the old trick of "I don't speak any french... I'm just an American visitor." Grunkle tried this in the US when getting out of a parking ticket. Unfortunately the cop started speaking fluent french back to him. NICE TRY!

Grunkle is now complaining about how his weekly "soft porn" magazine of Madame Figaro (it's no more pornographic than most things in French advertising, which is to say VERY) is "going downhill. It's just a bunch of bloody children." He forgot to read the cover and see that it is the annual kid's issue.

Earlier today as I was about to leave for work at the Taste of Happiness, I left my elders admiring my collection of 70s male fashion post cards, a packet of "mail order hunks" with the most ridiculous and innuendo'd gentleman ever to deface a scrap of paper.

Work today was GREAT! I got to stick together macaroons, eat all the broken ones and was introduced to everyone as the "young American visiting us." Which led to questions of "do you know so-and-so?" Um, well the US does have quite of few people... Unfortunately I don't think we've met.

Fashion Statement of the day: Couple walked in wearing matching leather fedoras.

Beauty of the Sleeping Woods

Typing away to you from the hotel in Rigny-Ussay (spelling?), home of the castle which apparently inspired the story "The Sleeping Beauty." We are in the Loire Valley, biking around for the next two days! In French it translates technically as the Beauty of the Sleeping Woods, but we aren't picky, especially when tired from a day of full biking on busy roads, a tough diet of croissants, french delicacies (calvados, anyone? DA=18) and squabbles over whose teddy bears are bigger and who is taking up all the scarce coat hooks.

These are real arguments people. My Frenchie grandparents make teenagers in love look unadorable. Their (amusing and light) bickering and endless nicknames are a source of romantic inspiration. I'm going to write an epic love story about the older generation, who in my opinion are underrepresented in the theaters and in need of chronicling. Which leads me to my current conundrum.

As my loyal followers on this blog, they've (Granny Peppa and Grunkledooddledoo) decided to censor themselves so I don't put anything embarrassing.

*Word to the wise: don't tell people when you write about them. Thattaway you get sued when you're rich and famous, not stifled when you're a threadbare student with too quick of a tongue.*

Also, please know, I LOVE COMMENTS. If it doesn't work for you, please email me! I'll email you back!

Spotted today:
-Man who sang us the star spangled banner as we got our bikes (aside from the high notes, you were wonderful)
-playing poohsticks at this random castle on our route. For the record, I won all the important contests. Poohsticks is very competitive in this family. If you don't know what it is, visit

-Swans, who turned out to be ducks, much to Granny Peppa's dismay.
-A store in Tours (yesterday) with the name "Mangez Moi." Literally, "Eat Me."

Various photos for your enjoyment, as I'm sure you've been waiting anxiously for. If we are friends on facebook, I'll be uploading a big album soon!

By the way, a convo I forgot to post earlier.
Queen Pickles: Ou est la salle de bain? (very good french for her :))
Waiter: C'est juste la!
Pickles: Gracias.

-Ma

The British Are Coming!

Today I walked by the graves of 9,000 people. Soldiers, mostly, and a few nurses (including the one from Saving Private Ryan, who died not in combat but after, in a plane crash. She was a BABE.)

We visited the American and French Memorials for the D-Day landings, with a Romanian tour guide called Corina (WONDERFUL job, you should reward her for being so awesome if you're reading this, French Memorial Foundation).

Very humbling and sad, to think that people my age and younger (the youngest who died fighting was 14) lost their lives so tragically. Also, I was shocked to hear that 2,000 civilians died... just in one city, Caen. We only talk about the joy of being liberated from the Nazis, but many people lost their lives before they could be "liberated." And so much battle and carnage... Instead of going on a gap year or going to college, my friends and I could've been going off to war.

In the War Museum there was a record playing of the Andrews Sisters. New favorite band. "Rum and coooo-CAH! Cola."

Most exciting news of the day was seeing a tattoo parlor that offered "bijoux dents." Yes, even in a randy city in Normandy you can get Grillz.

Also, Caen has some very talented graffiti artists. Most of the french graffiti I've seen has been BORING, just tags or initials. No, you vandalizers, it doesn't make you cool. But this stuff is CLASSY and awesome. Keep at it!

It never rains but it hurricanes...

We had some delightful experiences yesterday.

Namely the first was getting soaked up to our knees by rushing water, and drenched to our inner-est innards by what one Parisian called "I've never seen this before."

Motorcycles sunk in the square and one man was up to his armpits trying to unplug a drain... He was most likely just trying to save his car though. Shrug almost cried when a Ferrari (one ah them real nice ones.) didn't make it through the foot and a half (should I say approx 150 cm?) of h20 and pulled over squeaking and grumbling. Ferrari may need to improve the submarine abilities of their sports cars.

We also went out for I-talian food, and were the ONLY ones eating at 7 pm. Silly yanquees. Father (Doubleoseven to you) told us delightful stories of his own gap year, and trials. His work in a French resort was perhaps the most hilarious but also the most unsharable on this PG rated blog.

In our efforts to blend in, we tried to rent some bicycles from their bike share program. Three failed plastic card efforts later, we gave up and walked to the Louvre. (N.L. shoutout: Louvring Life, Louvring You). We didn't want to blend in ANYWAYS.

Some photographs for your viewing pleasure, taken from Pickle's wee flat gadget.

The Paris Experience

I'm not much of a tourist. Big flashy sights and monuments are not usually my cup of tea, although I must say from the top of the Eiffel Tower Paris is quite the sight to behold.

Beforehand we had stopped by a café for some well deserved breakfast. I charmed the waitress with my "good accent" and less good vocabulary while Shrug, my other brother, disappeared to the bathroom. After about ten minutes he came back grinning (a warning sign right there).

Apparently there was a drunk man in the bathroom (it's 11:20 am people) who wanted to have an "American experience." They talked about George Bush and The Hangover.

Other interesting sights include a man wearing very well fitting yoga pants strutting up the Eiffel Tower. He had every right to wear them.

There was also an elderly British lady who was eager to budge in the queue to go down in the elevator. She kept sighing and grumbling under her breath. She just missed getting into our elevator, and as the doors closed there was an imitation sigh. No idea who would be so cheeky....

Shporty also felt the need to imitate a turtle the whole way up, frightening some Japanese tourists. Luckily he has two older siblings to straighten him out.

One final thing to mention is the PDA vs. PDH. I understand all the kissing and holding hands and lovey dovey fondling (even the 80+ crowd indulges). But there is a limit to all this and my wee eleven year old brother seeing soft core porn all over the newsstands is perhaps a little far. Still, in my opinion it's better than all the violence we in the USofA put up with.