Guys! Been missing me, have you? Sorry to be so lazy with this thing but I've been having trouble adapting back to France, with all those enraged French people everywhere, it's a bit scary, you know... Seriously, it's a jungle out there! People would kill to have the last croissant at the boulangerie! When I was abroad I tried to promote a good image of French people, but now I truly can say that we really are rude. So you'll have to excuse me if I wasn't always nice to you, because I'm pretty sure I was totally oblivious of my good manners. That's what Frenchness does to you: cover with a blanket of neglect any acknowledgement that the people you interact with are human beings too.
This is very real. For instance, when I see people I haven't seen in a while, at some point someone will always ask "Go ahead, say a few words in English!" like I'm some circus freak. Of course, I never feel like obliging them. First because well, DUH; and secondly because speaking English in France doesn't quite have the same vibe. It's as if the language were angry at being unleashed in an unfamiliar and unwelcoming place and decided to get revenge by altering itself into a state of half-awesomeness.
That's why I'm really glad to write in English here again: apart from the people I left in the US (yes, that means you!), English is the thing I truly miss the most here. Granted, French is a very cool language and I love it, but it's just not the same. Life in English has more taste. I think I was born with an English-speaking soul.
This year went by in the blink of an eye, it is amazing and frightening at the same time. I met so many people and I did so many things. I wish I could have lived more, done more and been more adventurous. But that's just how I am: by the time we know each other enough for you to like me, we have to part ways. Which makes things easier if you actually do not like me--in which case I generally don't like you either, so I don't care. See? There is some order in this world.
Anyway, I miss America and I miss everyone. A lot. Building a time machine as we speak. And even if I could I wouldn't change a thing. Okay, maybe one: I would have eaten string cheese way sooner.
I know... How can I be so cynical sometimes and yet write posts so corny? It's called spirit of contradiction and it's one of my main features--along with impulsiveness, a gift for lame puns, and an irresistible attraction to bad boys with a dark past and/or tattoos. I promise I'll try to not be fooled by my marshmallow-y side next time. Which might be six months from now, given the frequency of my posting here. Be prepared.
July 02, 2009
May 27, 2009
They say love is only for the foolish
You don't know it yet, but one of my favorite Sunday activities (besides doing laundry, being a couch potato and compulsively checking PostSecret) is to paint my nails and read Cosmo--which confirms that I am, indeed, a girl.
So I was doing exactly that, not on Sunday but on Memorial Day (kind of the same, right?), and while I was listening to a song about how painful and terrible love is (something you can just guess by the very inventive title, "Love Hurts". I think it could be longer, like "Love Hurts Almost As Badly As When You Go Hiking And A Bear Eats Your Feet While You Are Sleeping", but what do I know about song titles), I suddenly realized that love is a trick invented by God-Knows-Who not only to make us feel miserable, but also to prevent us from thinking about anything else. And that's pretty clever, actually. Because when you think about it, whether you have it or not, love makes you crazy. At least the good kinds do.
Of course you can argue that love ensures species preservation. And to that I will say that first it's not necessarily a good thing (you know I'm right, don't lie), and secondly you do not need love to achieve that, even if people tend to think otherwise.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't think that love is, for lack of a better adjective... great (mmm this is bad. I'll have to write my next post with a thesaurus by my side). And if I really wanted to be the devil's advocate, I'd say that love is only induced by chemical reactions and hormones (be nice, I did not major in biology). Believe it or not, deep down I'm more on the side of the sentimental/romantic/foolish meaning of the word.
But you cannot not agree that sometimes, a lot of times, love just plain sucks. I personally think it was invented and developed by the ice cream industry to make them billionaires. The ice cream industry, the wedding industry (or is it "business"? I don't know, but you know what insanity I'm referring to) and Valentine's Day industry/business--whose evil purpose is actually to make single people feel so bad that they drown their singleness in massive amounts of Ben&Jerry's. See? It's a conspiracy.
But most of all, love was created by Cosmo so that every girl on the planet gets so confused with love that she never finds it. Hey, maybe that's my problem!
Honestly, I only bought the last Cosmo because Leighton Meester was on the cover, and I have a girl crush on her. And also because the headline ordered me to "Be A Lucky Bitch!" and that's my ultimate life purpose. But then I started to read it and all my uncertainties about love vanished. Now I know for sure that love was made up from scratch by people more powerful than us mortals to make us keep buying crappy overpriced magazines. Here's $4.95 I can say goodbye to.
First, you learn so many mind-boggling things about anything closely or remotely related to love/seduction/awkward interaction between the sexes. For instance, before my reading, I certainly didn't know that "78% of guys think wearing a ponytail outside of the gym is cute". I'm writing this at a coffee shop and wearing a ponytail, and I can totally feel the male gaze on me! Maybe some guy is going to ask me if he can buy me a pastry? That's probably gonna happen because I'm the only one there wearing a ponytail. Where are you hiding, fellow Cosmo readers?
I also didn't know that "guys who work out and lift weights are more likely to have a higher libido". Too bad for the majority of guys who don't. By the way, that increased libido is in fact probably due to the same ego that prompt those guys to sweat while looking at themselves in giant mirrors. So I don't know if it's such good news--especially since it only says that it is "more likely" to happen. Which means that whoever did this study is more likely to not be a real scientist.
But still, just because of those two "facts", girls are unconsciously induced to wear ponytails all the time ("hey, guys think it's cute! *giggle*") and to either search for the guy with perfect guns or force their significant other to hit the gym . Even more so because--and I'm sure you didn't know that-- "sweat makes a man's skin taste better than a margarita". Seriously? Is that even possible?? How did they find that out, scientific research? Sign me up please!
I won't go through the entire magazine because it would take me forever, but I do want to share with you and the world this month's "Man Manual"--yes, you read right, like a dishwasher manual. In June, you will learn "How To Wow Him From Day One". Yes, PLEASE, tell me how to do that, I'm begging for help! Although if you've already met someone, I assume it won't work also for Day Two. Sorry, too late for you, you're new relationship is doomed.
So, girls, to wow a guy instantly, you must:
1. Ask questions
Oh, really? So that's what you do on a date! Or you could just sit in front of him and say absolutely nothing the whole time. That wouldn't be weird at all.
2. Tell a secret
Bad idea, if you want my opinion. But I guess it all depends on which secret you decide to share. "Guess what, I used to be a girl, just like you!" is probably more damaging that "Don't tell anyone, but my favorite writers of all times are Dan Brown, Danielle Steel and Nicholas Sparks." Although... I'm not quite sure, maybe it's the other way around.
3. Own the awkwardness
What? The very definition of awkwardness implies that you cannot, ever, own it. You can trust me on that one, I don't belong to the Facebook group "Awkward Moments Define My Life" without a reason.
4. Bring up day 2 (is it so important that I should type it "Day 2"? Let's assume not)
Maybe I'm not daring enough, but my advice would be to let him do that. Because if you do, there's a good chance he will run away and let you pay the check. Especially if you didn't ask questions, didn't tell him your darkest secret, and didn't manage to own the awkardness when you spilt your bolognese all over yourself (in which case you deserved it, because it is common knowledge that you do not eat bolognese on a first date--that's what you get when you transgress the rules).
This "article" (note the importance of the quotation marks) only proves that the path to love is more painful than a Two and a Half Men marathon and more exhausting than an actual marathon.
So I will borrow Bukowski's words of wisdom by arguing that "there are worse things than being alone". Really, there are. For instance, you could be dating someone with a very hairy back. Ew (double ew if you're a guy)!
And don't forget that love does not make the world go round. Money and power do--and Oreo ice cream, but that's another story. But you know what? I'd still take foolish anytime. With a scoop of ice cream, if that sounds kinky enough for you.
So I was doing exactly that, not on Sunday but on Memorial Day (kind of the same, right?), and while I was listening to a song about how painful and terrible love is (something you can just guess by the very inventive title, "Love Hurts". I think it could be longer, like "Love Hurts Almost As Badly As When You Go Hiking And A Bear Eats Your Feet While You Are Sleeping", but what do I know about song titles), I suddenly realized that love is a trick invented by God-Knows-Who not only to make us feel miserable, but also to prevent us from thinking about anything else. And that's pretty clever, actually. Because when you think about it, whether you have it or not, love makes you crazy. At least the good kinds do.
Of course you can argue that love ensures species preservation. And to that I will say that first it's not necessarily a good thing (you know I'm right, don't lie), and secondly you do not need love to achieve that, even if people tend to think otherwise.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't think that love is, for lack of a better adjective... great (mmm this is bad. I'll have to write my next post with a thesaurus by my side). And if I really wanted to be the devil's advocate, I'd say that love is only induced by chemical reactions and hormones (be nice, I did not major in biology). Believe it or not, deep down I'm more on the side of the sentimental/romantic/foolish meaning of the word.
But you cannot not agree that sometimes, a lot of times, love just plain sucks. I personally think it was invented and developed by the ice cream industry to make them billionaires. The ice cream industry, the wedding industry (or is it "business"? I don't know, but you know what insanity I'm referring to) and Valentine's Day industry/business--whose evil purpose is actually to make single people feel so bad that they drown their singleness in massive amounts of Ben&Jerry's. See? It's a conspiracy.
But most of all, love was created by Cosmo so that every girl on the planet gets so confused with love that she never finds it. Hey, maybe that's my problem!
Honestly, I only bought the last Cosmo because Leighton Meester was on the cover, and I have a girl crush on her. And also because the headline ordered me to "Be A Lucky Bitch!" and that's my ultimate life purpose. But then I started to read it and all my uncertainties about love vanished. Now I know for sure that love was made up from scratch by people more powerful than us mortals to make us keep buying crappy overpriced magazines. Here's $4.95 I can say goodbye to.
First, you learn so many mind-boggling things about anything closely or remotely related to love/seduction/awkward interaction between the sexes. For instance, before my reading, I certainly didn't know that "78% of guys think wearing a ponytail outside of the gym is cute". I'm writing this at a coffee shop and wearing a ponytail, and I can totally feel the male gaze on me! Maybe some guy is going to ask me if he can buy me a pastry? That's probably gonna happen because I'm the only one there wearing a ponytail. Where are you hiding, fellow Cosmo readers?
I also didn't know that "guys who work out and lift weights are more likely to have a higher libido". Too bad for the majority of guys who don't. By the way, that increased libido is in fact probably due to the same ego that prompt those guys to sweat while looking at themselves in giant mirrors. So I don't know if it's such good news--especially since it only says that it is "more likely" to happen. Which means that whoever did this study is more likely to not be a real scientist.
But still, just because of those two "facts", girls are unconsciously induced to wear ponytails all the time ("hey, guys think it's cute! *giggle*") and to either search for the guy with perfect guns or force their significant other to hit the gym . Even more so because--and I'm sure you didn't know that-- "sweat makes a man's skin taste better than a margarita". Seriously? Is that even possible?? How did they find that out, scientific research? Sign me up please!
I won't go through the entire magazine because it would take me forever, but I do want to share with you and the world this month's "Man Manual"--yes, you read right, like a dishwasher manual. In June, you will learn "How To Wow Him From Day One". Yes, PLEASE, tell me how to do that, I'm begging for help! Although if you've already met someone, I assume it won't work also for Day Two. Sorry, too late for you, you're new relationship is doomed.
So, girls, to wow a guy instantly, you must:
1. Ask questions
Oh, really? So that's what you do on a date! Or you could just sit in front of him and say absolutely nothing the whole time. That wouldn't be weird at all.
2. Tell a secret
Bad idea, if you want my opinion. But I guess it all depends on which secret you decide to share. "Guess what, I used to be a girl, just like you!" is probably more damaging that "Don't tell anyone, but my favorite writers of all times are Dan Brown, Danielle Steel and Nicholas Sparks." Although... I'm not quite sure, maybe it's the other way around.
3. Own the awkwardness
What? The very definition of awkwardness implies that you cannot, ever, own it. You can trust me on that one, I don't belong to the Facebook group "Awkward Moments Define My Life" without a reason.
4. Bring up day 2 (is it so important that I should type it "Day 2"? Let's assume not)
Maybe I'm not daring enough, but my advice would be to let him do that. Because if you do, there's a good chance he will run away and let you pay the check. Especially if you didn't ask questions, didn't tell him your darkest secret, and didn't manage to own the awkardness when you spilt your bolognese all over yourself (in which case you deserved it, because it is common knowledge that you do not eat bolognese on a first date--that's what you get when you transgress the rules).
This "article" (note the importance of the quotation marks) only proves that the path to love is more painful than a Two and a Half Men marathon and more exhausting than an actual marathon.
So I will borrow Bukowski's words of wisdom by arguing that "there are worse things than being alone". Really, there are. For instance, you could be dating someone with a very hairy back. Ew (double ew if you're a guy)!
And don't forget that love does not make the world go round. Money and power do--and Oreo ice cream, but that's another story. But you know what? I'd still take foolish anytime. With a scoop of ice cream, if that sounds kinky enough for you.
May 25, 2009
'Cause I'm a moon-walking cowboy, dusty riding and I don't know what's in store
Wow, it's been a while. I barely begun this blog and then left it unattended for a month. See, you're already learning so much about me: I love to initiate exciting (at least for me) things, but to keep them going, that's another matter. But I think I'll try harder this time --if not, my narcisstic urge to talk about myself will do the work for me.
But I have some good excuse for not having posted for this long. You want to know what I've been up to? No? I'm going to tell you anyway!
I survived finals thanks to huge amounts of caffeine and nicotine forcefully put into my body, I watched a sick amount of season finales (most of which were terrible), I took a road trip and fell in love with Memphis, I ate so much junk food I will never eat a burger again, I started running everyday while listening to angry rock songs, I had my first American picnic, I tried to address some of my issues and then decided that it would be better to leave them where they are, I went
to the top of the Arch, I've been listening non stop to Blitzen Trapper and "Season of Love" by Shiny Toy Guns (the latter has corny lyrics, but what can I say), I watched Freddy vs Jason and wished Freddy had won, I got tanned and bitten by crazy mosquitoes, I discovered this awesome blog way too late (which you can see by the url only, http://presidentgeorgebush.blogspot.com ), and I realized that bad timing was the story of my life. More on that later (see how I manage to efficiently build suspense? I'm so talented sometimes.)
Now, you want to know why I got caught up in such a whirlwind of activities? If the answer is no, well, you haven't learned much since you started reading this, have you?
This high level of agitation is due to the fact that (and this is when the violins start playing) I am leaving America in exactly 18 days--yep, thats eighteen! And so I am losing a little bit of my heart everyday that goes by. America, you had me at hello.
I don't know what will happen next, or what I will do. What am I supposed to do in a country where people understand my name? Where no one asks me where I'm from? How will I survive without students wearing flip-flops in January? Without frisbee? Without Jon Stewart? Without coffee shops? Without Target?
But most of all, what will I do without you guys? Discuss in 5 pages, font 12, double-spaced.
PS: the title of this post is borrowed from Blitzen Trapper's "Not Your Lover", and if you want me to really like you, you should listen to this band immediately.
But I have some good excuse for not having posted for this long. You want to know what I've been up to? No? I'm going to tell you anyway!
I survived finals thanks to huge amounts of caffeine and nicotine forcefully put into my body, I watched a sick amount of season finales (most of which were terrible), I took a road trip and fell in love with Memphis, I ate so much junk food I will never eat a burger again, I started running everyday while listening to angry rock songs, I had my first American picnic, I tried to address some of my issues and then decided that it would be better to leave them where they are, I went
to the top of the Arch, I've been listening non stop to Blitzen Trapper and "Season of Love" by Shiny Toy Guns (the latter has corny lyrics, but what can I say), I watched Freddy vs Jason and wished Freddy had won, I got tanned and bitten by crazy mosquitoes, I discovered this awesome blog way too late (which you can see by the url only, http://presidentgeorgebush.blogspot.com ), and I realized that bad timing was the story of my life. More on that later (see how I manage to efficiently build suspense? I'm so talented sometimes.)
Now, you want to know why I got caught up in such a whirlwind of activities? If the answer is no, well, you haven't learned much since you started reading this, have you?
This high level of agitation is due to the fact that (and this is when the violins start playing) I am leaving America in exactly 18 days--yep, thats eighteen! And so I am losing a little bit of my heart everyday that goes by. America, you had me at hello.
I don't know what will happen next, or what I will do. What am I supposed to do in a country where people understand my name? Where no one asks me where I'm from? How will I survive without students wearing flip-flops in January? Without frisbee? Without Jon Stewart? Without coffee shops? Without Target?
But most of all, what will I do without you guys? Discuss in 5 pages, font 12, double-spaced.
PS: the title of this post is borrowed from Blitzen Trapper's "Not Your Lover", and if you want me to really like you, you should listen to this band immediately.
April 21, 2009
Taxidermy Blues In Reverse
This is one of those music posts which I feel are going to abound in this blog, first because as CSS put it, music is my boyfriend (I am so not original in my metaphors, it's pathetic), and also because talking about obscure bands makes me cooler. Or at least it used to, since I just ruined it by typing it out loud. What can you do.
Today I have to spread the love and tell you about red red meat. Not actual meat, guys. Actually, some red meat sounds really good right now--with a nice pepper sauce and greasy French fries, mmmm. But I'm losing focus here. I was going to tell you about that '90s band, incidentally named Red Red Meat. See? I do have a point.
So, the other night I was going through a profound introspective phase ("What am I going to do with myself? Why do my plans go from likely-to-succeed to irresistibly-failing? Why is the nail polish I just put on already chipped?", this kind of stuff) and I decided to play some random music to soothe my soul (come on, I had spent 45 minutes waiting for that nail polish to dry!). That's how I stumbled upon Red Red Meat .
Long story short, it's really good. You know how you feel when the person you totally want to see naked invites you over? Well, it's exactly the opposite of how you feel when you listen to this band!! Rather, it produces the same feeling as when above-mentioned person steps on your heart as if it were nothing but a piece of... red red meat. I guess that's where the name of the band comes from.
Anyway, you should check it out. And then invite someone over. You know what I mean.
Today I have to spread the love and tell you about red red meat. Not actual meat, guys. Actually, some red meat sounds really good right now--with a nice pepper sauce and greasy French fries, mmmm. But I'm losing focus here. I was going to tell you about that '90s band, incidentally named Red Red Meat. See? I do have a point.
So, the other night I was going through a profound introspective phase ("What am I going to do with myself? Why do my plans go from likely-to-succeed to irresistibly-failing? Why is the nail polish I just put on already chipped?", this kind of stuff) and I decided to play some random music to soothe my soul (come on, I had spent 45 minutes waiting for that nail polish to dry!). That's how I stumbled upon Red Red Meat .
Long story short, it's really good. You know how you feel when the person you totally want to see naked invites you over? Well, it's exactly the opposite of how you feel when you listen to this band!! Rather, it produces the same feeling as when above-mentioned person steps on your heart as if it were nothing but a piece of... red red meat. I guess that's where the name of the band comes from.
Anyway, you should check it out. And then invite someone over. You know what I mean.
April 20, 2009
Brand New Sun
Under the pressure of many of my fans (and by that I mean people I pay to like me), I finally decided to jump on the bandwagon and start a... blog. There, I said it.
But before we start (I like the royal we, it makes me bloat with self-importance), I'd like to clear some things up.
- As a French person currently living in the US, I don't really know how to handle the language thing. Well, actually I do, but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. While I was thinking about it earlier today instead of doing something productive like, say... work, I figured out that it would be better to write in English (this is where readers not paying attention spill their beverage on their laptop and curse me, "What, she was writing in English the whole time and she didn't even TELL me?!! I'm outta here."), since more people would understand. And I want plenty of people to understand, because more readers means more power, and that's the only thing I am pursuing here.
- Of course, this means that even if my mastering of the English language is close to perfection (that's why American people always ask me where I come from, because I speak English better than them! Or at least that's how I deal with the pain), I will probably make some mistakes. Grammar, spelling, tense, punctuation, you name it. Please be merciful. Or else.
- Speaking of punctuation, I don't know if you've already noticed, but I really really like brackets. Brackets were already my friends when I didn't even know you, so I'm not gonna let them down just because it bothers you. I'm sorry (I'm not, actually).
- Of course, I will also write in French. Why? First because I am French so it gives me the right to do so, and also because there are things I can only think about in French (no, not that thing). Anyway, I guess you won't mind not understanding my French jokes with French references that only French people can grasp. So, posts in English and French. Maybe I'll try to fit in some other cool languages I don't know, like Norwegian or Hindu, but don't get your hopes up.
Feel free to comment, in English or French or Spanish or Morse code. Tell me you love/despise/pity me.
That said, I hope you read and enjoy the production of my sickened mind. I will provide in-depth analysis of literary works and accurate commentary on the political actuality, and I will also dispense fashion advice. But mostly, I'm just writing here to bond with you guys! Hey, where are you going, don't leave!
But before we start (I like the royal we, it makes me bloat with self-importance), I'd like to clear some things up.
- As a French person currently living in the US, I don't really know how to handle the language thing. Well, actually I do, but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. While I was thinking about it earlier today instead of doing something productive like, say... work, I figured out that it would be better to write in English (this is where readers not paying attention spill their beverage on their laptop and curse me, "What, she was writing in English the whole time and she didn't even TELL me?!! I'm outta here."), since more people would understand. And I want plenty of people to understand, because more readers means more power, and that's the only thing I am pursuing here.
- Of course, this means that even if my mastering of the English language is close to perfection (that's why American people always ask me where I come from, because I speak English better than them! Or at least that's how I deal with the pain), I will probably make some mistakes. Grammar, spelling, tense, punctuation, you name it. Please be merciful. Or else.
- Speaking of punctuation, I don't know if you've already noticed, but I really really like brackets. Brackets were already my friends when I didn't even know you, so I'm not gonna let them down just because it bothers you. I'm sorry (I'm not, actually).
- Of course, I will also write in French. Why? First because I am French so it gives me the right to do so, and also because there are things I can only think about in French (no, not that thing). Anyway, I guess you won't mind not understanding my French jokes with French references that only French people can grasp. So, posts in English and French. Maybe I'll try to fit in some other cool languages I don't know, like Norwegian or Hindu, but don't get your hopes up.
Feel free to comment, in English or French or Spanish or Morse code. Tell me you love/despise/pity me.
That said, I hope you read and enjoy the production of my sickened mind. I will provide in-depth analysis of literary works and accurate commentary on the political actuality, and I will also dispense fashion advice. But mostly, I'm just writing here to bond with you guys! Hey, where are you going, don't leave!
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