It's that time of year again!  If you're entertained by my personal life, and you SHOULD be, you can go read the entries from 2009, 2011, and 2012.

It was an alright year I guess )


I just signed onto the lease for the apartment I subletted over the summer!  I have a small room in a fifth-floor walkup, but my new roommate is a spunky little blond ball of energy who wears workout clothes all day long and LOVES THE CLEAN THE SHIT OUT OF THINGS so though we are different souls I think it's all gonna be okay.  Idk if you're aware but hot pink has become an all-consuming obsession for me, and my room is a hot pink PARADISE.

I've decided to switch from beds to hammocks for economical and back-pain reasons, and also because it's cool and takes up less space and blah blah, and my hammock isn't coming in until tomorrow, so once I've installed it and put up my posters and stuff I'm gonna post pictures of the room.  And you will freak out because my room is AWESOME.

I'm gonna be in this room for at least a year!  More if the landlord doesn't jack up the rent again.  I'm SO happy.  I haven't had a room that was actually MINE since high school!  In the dorms and with my host families I was acutely aware of living on borrowed furniture and having to move out over the summer, but this room is MY actual room!

Unfortunately, rent is more than twice what I was paying sharing a room with the Connecticut Princess and the MRA, but they've been cleanly and beautifully out of my life for so long that my sanity is recovering from their influence and honestly... ugh I'm so happy.

I do think NYC is stupid, though.  If it wasn't for my awesome job I would have left for less expensive shores this past month.  I'll stick around until MORUSA happens (or I've hit the 2-3 year mark on this job for resume purposes) and then I gotta peace out to someplace a lot less ridiculous.  I want to live in a place with more than one room, air conditioning, a little balcony, and maybe even carpeting that's alllll mine.

But for now I'm good.

Pictures by the end of the week!  You will be ~*dazzled*~ by my badass room.

(Also I buried the hatchet with one Mr Dick Ponte, for those of you who remember that.  It took me almost a year and a half to stop being actively mad at him for dumbass behavior.  He was really excited about it, and not in a gross way.  I don't respect him anymore, but we're cool.  He helped me realize the full extent of my demisexuality, in any case!)
Hello there.  So about a week ago I cut off all my hair.

Went from:


And the really weird thing about it is, I just don't care.  Like, I'm not all WAHHH MY LOOKS (because frankly I'm not 100% impressed with what the girl at the place did)... even while she was cutting it, I just felt totally removed from the situation.

I made the decision like four days before I did it.  Basically stress, using cheap dye for two years, and aggressive cheap shampoo had resulted in my hair just giving up and jumping ship.  The bathroom floor was covered in long red hairs and I woke up every morning with what felt like handfuls of it stuck down the back of my pyjama shirt and coming out in my brush.  It was terrifying.  Plus, the hair itself was all frazzled and split and pitiful from me forgoing regular trims for so long.

Everyone says things like "wow, were you nervous?" or "is it weird to make such a big change?"  The only weird thing was sitting in the barber chair and watching her unceremoniously hack off all that hair and remembering the time in high school when I cut my long hair down to shoulder-length.  I remember how panicked and weirded out I was.  This time... I'm just like meh, there it went.

Also, PSA, having short hair is amazing.  Showers are pretty much just ten-minute head massages.  Rubbing my hand across the shaved part feels really cool.  The back of my neck almost never gets sweaty.  My hair never gets caught in my purse strap.  Yeah.

Even better, I have yet to get ONE catcall since I got the haircut.  Might be from moving to a slightly better neighborhood, but either way I'm content.

I mean I know I had a shoulder-length bob for like five years, but the new haircut is way shorter, obviously.

I don't really want to go back to long hair (might buy a wig or two someday).  This cut isn't really my favorite, but I'm gonna grow it into more of a pixie cut that's randomly long on top.

Okay carry on.
lesmisloony: (MariusR manlove)
Okay I just want to talk about my parents for a second.

My mom and dad met because my mom was working at a gas station to help pay her way through college.  She was the daughter of the new pastor at a church in a little plaid mill town home from college for the summer, unimpressed with her parents' new digs.  She tells the story of this skinny little guy with big glasses and a mustache who came into the store every day to buy M&Ms and Mountain Dew, and, as she phrases it, "I thought that guy sure did like M&Ms and Mountain Dew.  It took a long time for me to realize that it wasn't the snacks he liked, but me!"

When they started dating she found out that, though he couldn't read music, he and his brothers had formed a popular bluegrass band that toured the country on an old bus.  My mom didn't care for bluegrass, but every weekend she went with them to their shows and felt kinda cool that the cutest guy in the band was her boyfriend.  They dated for something like five years before one day they were in a gas station just a few yards away from the one where they had met and he said, "So, my brother Johnny says we're not playing anywhere August 8th. What do you say we get married?" to which she replied, "Well, if you're sure Johnny thinks it's okay."

They're not perfect human beings, but I was born four years later and, even though I grew up repressed and with a lot of body image issues I inherited from my mom, I'm still really grateful for having had a very happy, healthy childhood.  And I turned out to be a stagedoor groupie, so I think it's hilarious that my mom was so grumpy about being the girlfriend of "the cutest guy in the band" and having to travel along with their tours.  Also, I don't care for bluegrass either but I'm really proud of my dad.

I don't know.  I see a lot of people talking about having been bullied as kids or in high school and I feel really blessed to have been so caught up in my own world that if anyone was trying to bring me down, I didn't notice.  I'm not saying it's easy when all your negativity is coming from within you, but at least you can be made aware of it and change yourself.

Yeah.  I'm lucky.

And tomorrow I move out of the Harlem nightmare and into a great little summer sublet.

Also, most of my financial worries seem to be behind me.

And I had an avocado for breakfast.

I'm very happy.
This is gonna have to be my new tradition. I also did 2009 and 2011.

Seems to me now that the dreams we had before are all dead, nothing more than confetti on the floor )

Ew I ended it on a sour note. Well this has been kind of a sour year. I mean for other people I guess it would be a fine year (minus nearly dying and finding out your friends don't care about you) but to fill out this quiz I was deleting my answers from LAST year when I had become the world's best groupie and recently been deflowered by my then-celebrity crush and followed that up with three first dates in one weekend, so like... deleting that and throwing in how stupid this year as been made me crankier and crankier.

Let's hope next year I'll be able to delete these answers and fill in something a lot perkier.
lesmisloony: (Barack!)
I knew something was wrong...

So... does anyone have any suggestions for what I should do with the rest of my life? I literally don't have anywhere at all to start.

The whole point of leaving France was that I wanted to be closer to my friends again, but I get back here and nothing has changed at all. I still have to do everything alone. That would be fine if I knew what I wanted.

I don't know where to start now.

(PS yay obama i guess, too bad all my plans for the future fell through ten minutes before that was announced)


Okay... so basically without housing I'm not going to be able to go to New York in January. I won't be comfortable moving unless I have a job wherever I end up going, and I want to make sure I have enough savings in case whatever job it is falls through. Meaning I sure hope Target asks me to stay after January.

Anyone know someone who will need a roommate in a big city like NYC soon?

All I really wanted was a situation where I was comfortable wandering around in my pyjamas on free days and to live with someone I liked with a sense of humor like mine. I know it could still happen someday but I was a lot less unhappy when I thought it was a sure thing. I feel like I'm exactly where I was in France... if I don't live with people I like I'll never speak to anybody and I'll just get miserable and homesick again. Based on all my experiences with the friends I have leftover from college and high school, if *I* don't organize shit it doesn't happen, meaning I can just assume I'll never see any of those people unless they live in my building. So yeah, it's basically starting over again with no friends.

The only person who has called me since I got my phone is my grandmother, by the way. She made plans with me too. I *have* tried to get together with people around here and they all backed out. I'm not just sitting here whining that nobody likes me. But it doesn't take much for me to be convinced that people are sick of me, so if someone has a reason they can't see me once I wait for them to try to make it up the next time, and if they don't I assume they just don't care.

Okay I'm all over the place. Literally ALL of my plans hinged on this one thing and now I'm not sure where to start. I'll just go to bed.

I wish I could talk to my mom but she's on this stupid cruise and I won't be able to get her advice/have her reassure me/calm me down until SUNDAY. God.

This was supposed to be such a happy moment with the election and everything... I wasn't supposed to spend it crying and bleakly reflecting on how unstructured my future is.
lesmisloony: (squee ChanTho)
Hello there!

Gosh, I feel like I've been so busy since I got home. First off the plane portion of my journey took all day Monday and the train portion all day Tuesday, then Wednesday my mom let me spend $100 on some new clothes (I had NO pants after donating most of my clothes in order to get my luggage down to three suitcases), Thursday I did grocery and pharmacy errands and dismantled my broken laptop, Friday I had two interviews for season jobs (I got a job at Target, starting next Sunday!!), and today I'm going to finally finish going through my stuff and arranging everything in my room. I get to put my belongings in DRAWERS for the first time since early August! Still on my to-do list are VOTING FOR BARACK OBAMA and calling my doctor to find out what we're gonna do about m blood thinners and stuff.

I am so happy to be back in the US, and back in a rural town. The trees are so beautiful here (just google "Blue Ridge mountains fall" and you can imagine what NC looks like this time of year--I'm not in the mountains, but those are the trees I'm seeing) and it's been so sunny I haven't had to put on a jacket since I got off the train. People are friendly and easy to chat with, Subway has mushrooms and banana peppers, and I can watch new episodes of Top Model with my mom on our big enormous four foot screen. My mom's dog is adorable, the cat is a thousand times less shed-y and obnoxious than Vincent's, and I've been reunited with things like my extensive nail polish collection and $2 yarn at Walmart!

I filled out two job applications online while I was in France, and when I got to the house I saw two job interviews on the calendar for me. I interviewed at Target in the morning and Ulta in the afternoon, and Target hired me on the spot. The Ulta people were a little bit snottier (I was gossiping with my Target supervisor about people she knew in college for fifteen minutes before she got around to the actual interview) so I don't give a crap if they don't hire me. Plus the Target people want to put me on the clothes floor! I need a red shirt and khaki pants now.

My biggest triumph is that my darling laptop Listolier, who had been getting startlingly hot lately, finally gave up and told me there was a fan error, refusing to boot up at all. I refused to let him die on me after all we've shared, so I used the family desktop to find instructions on dismantling a thinkpad and, with the help of my sonic screwdriver screwdriver I gutted my poor friend, clearing out all the dust bunnies and cat hair (thanks, Vincent's stinky apartment) and finally had the computer fan in my hand, which I sprayed with compressed air. I reassembled everything (losing one tiny screw in the process unfortunately), and, fully expecting the computer to refuse to boot up or to give me another fan error (or be broken from me touching the wrong thing) I tried to restart it and... success! Not only does it no longer have a fan error, it no longer gets super hot! Right now it's on my lap, which before would have turned it into a scorching oven, but when I put my hand on the edge where the fan is it's cold as ice! I'm so excited!

Emboldened by that success, I went ahead and ordered a new keyboard for $20 off ebay, because my number three key sticks and my backspace and shift have been broken and see-sawing for months. Plus I know the compressed air didn't get all the gunk out from under these keys, so it'll be nice to just replace it myself like the badass I secretly am.

Can you tell how happy I am from the tone of this? If not, I AM A HAPPY PERSON. I know what phone plan and phone I'm going to get from Verizon (everyone's recommended network) once I move to New York, but I unfortunately am without a phone for the time being. My parents give me an old flip phone of theirs so I'm trying to find some cheap pay-as-you-go type plan for that. It would be nice.

Question: if I plan to use my future smartphone's wifi VERY sparingly, like only to check maps or directions or whatever when I get lost, is 250MB of internet enough or should I spring for 1G? I've never had a smartphone before--I've been using a flip phone for two years that didn't even have a camera in it--and my parents have become Apple zombies and keep trying to convince me to get an iPhone with unlimited wifi like their plan, but I don't want to always have access to tumblr or I'll retreat from the physical world and never use my mouth to communicate again. But I *do* want access to the internet if I get lost or confused in New York, where I'll be living come January. Anyway I'm figuring all this out from recommendations from friends and stuff.
I'm back!

Protip everyone: if you're having trouble breathing AT ALL, go ahead and head on over to your nearest hospital. Turns out what I had was a pulmonary embolism, meaning sitting for hours with my legs crossed (and taking birth control) had caused a blood clot in my legs which had then travelled up and lodged itself in the aorta thing that leads from my heart to my lungs, all but blocking the blood to my lungs. And, trying to be a champ or whatever the hell I was doing, I thought I'd just wait it out. If that clot had gone any higher in my body I might have actually suffered brain damage. And apparently my body is a damn trooper, because the fact is I first noticed a little bit of chest pain SUNDAY, but I thought it was just being out of shape. Tuesday night I fainted and from that point forward breathing hurt. Wednesday I was convinced I would be fine (I think I have a disorder or something, but I remember when my dad broke his foot a couple years ago he also insisted he was fine and limped around the house for a day and a half before he finally let us take him to the ER). When I woke up Thursday and the problem hadn't changed AT ALL my boyfriend convinced me to call the hospital.

They sent a doctor over and he didn't know what the deal was, so he called us up an ambulance. It took them AN HOUR to get to the place. I grabbed my purse and jacket and headed out, assuming they'd give me a pill or something and I'd be back online before dinner.

When they first started saying I'd have to be in the hospital for "quelques jours" [several days] I actually burst into tears. I was really freaked out for the first day or so. They kept me in ICU for a day or two, then moved me out early because they needed the room. I had a room that was bigger than Vincent's entire apartment, but unfortunately the TV wasn't free and there was no wifi, so Vincent brought me my laptop and (new) external hard drive, and I spent the rest of my Parisian hospital adventure watching Torchwood, RTD Who, Horrible Histories, Conan, and videos of me and my friends goofing off in the dorms.

I wasn't allowed out of the bed until Monday, meaning I had to use a bedpan. When they did let me up I couldn't believe how utterly delighted I was to go to a toilet on my own. My whole bed confinement had consisted of me avoiding drinking water and holding it in in order to spare myself the embarassment of ringing for the nurse to put that damn thing under my ass and having to essentially SOIL MYSELF and ughhhh gross. Luckily I never did numbah two in the bedpan... I held that in till Monday evening when they let me stand up.

I could see the top half of the Eiffel Tower from the window of my hospital room, which was pretty cool. Honestly it was kinda nice to stay in a clean, quiet environment for a few days with three average meals brought to me and no one being surprised when I just stayed in bed watching movies all the time. The downside was all the needles that were coming at me. I had to get a shot morning and night with this horrible stuff that burned like HELL. They had to thin my blood so no more clots will form, and I'm on a pill that I'll be taking for at least six months. Every morning they woke me up around 6 or 7 to draw blood, but since I have deep veins there was this one hot dumb nurse guy who could never find them and would just dig around in there and OW SIR.

Basically, my thighs and stomach are covered in bruises and puncture marks from the shots, my inner elbow crease thingies and the backs of my hands are also bruised and punctured from blood being drawn, and WHY ARE IV'S A GOOD IDEA?!? My IV hand is still all bruised and cripped and OW AGAIN.

Anyway, I'm doing my best to never cross my legs though it turns out that is my absolute default sitting position. They say as long as I'm on this medication it should be impossible for new clots to form, but they're also edgy about me taking a plane in less than twenty days. I didnt mention my eleven hour train ride to them at all... nothing the doctors say will make me change my flight. I will DIE if I have to stay here much longer. I am such a homesick motherfucker, like you can't even understand. I dreamed I was home multiple times over the past week and my heart broke every time I woke up and realized it wasn't true. I'll wear the fancy tights they're going to give me and I'll get up and walk a bit once an hour or so and I assume I'll be fine.

Oh, I'm never allowed to take birth control again, by the way. So... buckle up for my period to come back in full force. I did not miss the days of crippling cramps and my sudden urges to punch everyone who looked at me.

The hardest part is that I had to miss stagedooring the avant-premier of 1789, and of course Flo was there. So there's a really good chance I've missed my last ever chance to see him. I sent him a message on his myspace saying that if he one day realized I had disappeared it wasn't because I stopped following his career but because I got hospitalized and then went back to the US, but after sending it I saw he hasn't logged onto that page since Valentine's Day. So I think I've lost him. I'm going to try hanging out at the train station next Friday and Saturday in hopes of catching him or Mikele on the way to Lyon for the foot concert, but it's either that or they happen to show up for 1789 a day I'm there...
Weird day yesterday. I slept a LOT, like at least ten hours, maybe more. Then I ate leftover pasta and brownies that Vincent and I had made the night before while still lying in bed watching shows online. Because I'm not sure what else to do with my life right now. There was cream cheese in the fridge so I ate a bunch of that too. (By the way, my ability to stuff my face is still down from the two or three weeks I spent eating scraps of leftovers, so when I say "a bunch" consider that it wasn't really a lot, but felt like a lot to me.)

Anyway then I went back to lying down watching shows and without realizing it fell asleep. The window was open and it was really cold out, but I was enjoying that after the hot summer we'd suffered here in France. I woke up just before Vincent and I were scheduled to go back over to my most recent wonderful host family and have dinner. I felt kinda weird having just woken up, but I was excited for the dinner and all that stuff so yay. I felt kinda lightheaded/groggy, but I figured it was because of all the unnecessary sleep I'd gotten.

Well we were about two streets away when suddenly I got really dizzy. I told Vincent to wait and went to lean on a nearby storefront for support. I felt the dizziness totally take over and the next thing I knew, I realized I was dreaming or something and felt pavement against my hip and hand and heard a lady's voice asking from a long way away if I needed a doctor. I mumbled I was fine and then I was on my feet again somehow, wondering what the hell was going on, and staggered a few feet away to sit on the curb while my hearing slowly came back. I remember mumbling "Whoa I think I might have fainted!" to Vincent, who said "Yeah, you were unconscious for about two minutes."

I felt really nauseated and my stomach was burning so I wondered if I was going to be sick, but I still tried to get to the dinner date. We crossed the street, Vincent hovering awkwardly nearby, and I realized I needed to sit again and I wasn't going to make it. We went back to the apartment, only about two blocks away, but I needed to stop and rest at least six times and really doubted my ability to make it. I just wanted to lie down.

The worst is that I'd noticed that taking deep breaths kind of made my lungs burn a little bit for about a day, but ever since I fainted I've had something that's not quite heartburn, more like a dull throbbing pain in my chest. I was secretly terrified it was a heart attack for a while, but it's nowhere near that severe. I talked about it on facebook and a friend who's a nurse told me it sounded like my blood pressure was really low and my heart was having trouble getting enough oxygen. I've been taking deep breaths and the pain has decreased but even now, the next morning, it's there. It wasn't there when I first woke up, but by staying awake I've made it come back.

So yeah, color me freaked out. I've never fainted before in my life so I honestly thought it was cool and was rather disappointed that I only had Vincent to tell me what had happened, because he thinks of himself as a writer but he sure as hell isn't a storyteller and I had to ask him fifty times for various details before I got a vague idea of what he saw. Apparently I was about to lean on the building when suddenly I just dropped--the other way, so it wasn't even a graceful slide down the side of the store window or whatever--and Vincent's reaction was to try to drag me back to my feet. He said I said something about being fine (crazy because I was absolutely unconscious then with no memory of this but I wouldn't be surprised since "I'M FINE" is my immediate reaction to everything that goes wrong) but as soon as he got me up I collapsed again, so he said he was holding me on my knees for a while and that was when a passerby asked if she needed to call a doctor. At that point I was coming to and quickly responded in English about how fine I was.

Super weird! I'm planning to be on my feet a little more today, but unsure if I want to risk leaving the building in case something happens again. I'm thinking I'll start doing a TLC-level cleaning job on Vincent's place, one pile of mysterious items at a time, which will at least keep me walking around this little room. I might try taking some of his empty wine bottles down to the recycle bin in the courtyard if I feel up to it.
I feel good again.

Well, physically I'm absolutely suffering because it's been about 100 degrees Fahrenheit for the past several days and air conditioning barely exists here. Thank the sweet Lord I have a fan in my room, but right now I'm in a chair with the fan blowing straight at me on high and there's still so much sweat rolling down my legs it makes me wonder if I peed myself. It seems so dumb to me that people here don't have air conditioning in their homes. I spend the whole day feeling light-handed and chugging water.

The problem with my life is, I'm more socially lazy than anyone I know, because to be more socially lazy than me you're probably a hermit and NOBODY knows you. Given the smallest opportunity, I will spend any day in pyjamas. It's Sunday and I haven't left this house since Wednesday and that was only because I'd completely run out of food. I'm kind of proud of that, actually.

HOWEVER, that's not a good way to be when you want to start a new life for yourself and make new friends and stuff. I could have made new friends here if I'd been more outgoing and pushy or whatever, but I'm not wired that way. For me, there's "best friends for LIIIFE" and "acquaintances", and I feel weirdly abandoned by anyone in an in-between category.

When I was a little kid, my parents pressured me into joining a local soccer team. I thought the sport was okay, but obviously I wasn't athletic so I seem to recall I spent most of my time wandering around on the field, more interested in the CapriSuns we were going to get at half time than who was winning the game. The other kids were cruel to me, constantly telling me how much they wanted me to quit and how I was the most useless person on the team. I left practices and games alike in tears, and at the end of every season my concerned mother would pull me aside and ask if I was sure I still wanted to play. I would always say yes, just because I didn't want those girls to have their way and get to play without me. One year I finally realized that I was making myself miserable and changed my mind. I never regretted leaving that team, but it was hard for me to admit that, deep down, I did want to. I wasn't as strong as I wanted to be.

That's what's happening here in Paris, in a way. The world acted like I wouldn't be able to do it and I should give up, and in my determination to prove them wrong I stopped thinking about what I wanted.

The last time I left Paris, I didn't want to. I came back to muggy, humid North Carolina and found myself in a living situation I couldn't afford with no idea what my next move should be and no desire to move forward when, as far as I knew, my glamorous groupie life was on the other side of the ocean. So I fought and I dragged myself back over here, only to find that my groupie life wasn't in Paris, it was in the past. Not only did I find that out, but I learned that as a foreigner my rights to employment were limited, and as a product of the American education system I was considered borderline talentless. According to my host family, kids start figuring out what career they want in high school and they study the same subject straight through to their masters or higher, then funnel directly into the job and stay there for life. According to them, my being a college graduate with a broad area of study and no clue what I wanted my life to be was abnormal. It wasn't until recently that I remembered that that mindset was pretty much specific to what I've seen since coming here, and in the US people in their 20's are still considered young and are told they have time to make mistakes and figure things out. I'm 23, and my host family was nagging me about how I needed to find a career and start planning to have a family! (We won't get into how I've never wanted a family and always been skeptical of the idea of marriage right now.)

So yeah. Maybe I'll perk up working for a new family this year, but it won't change the fact that I'm lonely, unwilling to invest in making new friends, and blocked from the locals by both differences communication and background. Here I'm already expected to have marketable skills at my age, so unless I want to get into many years of schooling surrounded by younger people, I'm only slightly qualified for a couple of jobs, and even in those situations I will immediately be passed over in the event that a French person or EU citizen could do it instead.

Worse, I've never been a great student, and here I would have to work twice as hard as everyone else to get a masters because the classes and coursework would be in French. My knowledge of French is an amazing advantage in the US and a crippling disability here.


I've been crying over missing my friends since... late May, I think?

I don't know when I decided New York City was my dream... it must have been about the time I first saw Les Mis on Broadway, when I was... 14? Then when I was 18 I spent a week there with just my friend--my first big trip without my parents, planned and financed entirely by me!--and after that I was obsessed. Everyone told me it was hard to "make it" in New York but, stubborn me, I was going to prove them all wrong as soon as I graduated.

Except then I accidently a France. France and MOR and Flo and a D-list celebrity who wanted to bang me! Obviously I wanted to keep all that attention and positive feedback and admiration and stuff. But then I found out the hard way that that stuff wasn't coming from France, it was coming from the Troupe and MOR fans. And that's done. Now I'm just another immigrant, literally a second-class citizen.

Ever since I decided to consider going back to the US and taking on NYC with my girls, my whole mood has changed. I keep thinking of things I would be able to do there: Halloween, for instance, and AIR CONDITIONING UGHH THIS IS INHUMANE and buying groceries I recognize and shopping at stores that carry my size and just everything, oh gosh. Spending Christmas with my family.

Do I hate Paris now? Absolutely not! How could I? Will I miss it? Almost definitely.

Is going back the right choice for me right now? I feel pretty sure that it is.

Then I found out that NYU is the number one ranked school for getting a masters in translation... so I made up my mind. I can't stop thinking about how great it will be to be in my own country again, surrounded by people I love and capable of hugging my mom and petting her stupid dog Flossie till she pees all over the driveway.

My mom is trying to pretend to be very level-headed about this decision, but I can tell she's absolutely freaking out with excitement and relief at the idea of having one of her kids back (my brother has gone to Chile to teach English, and he's currently got one week to find new housing or he'll end up on the street, plus he already spent all his money on concert tickets or something and can't afford food, also did I mention he doesn't speak Spanish?).

I'll miss this city. I'll miss the métro. I'll miss muesli crostillant cereal and cheap fancy cheeses and weird animals being served up as acceptable dinner meat. I'll miss Flo constantly. But it's not worth it. I've frankly been unhappy for months now, and this decision is what's turning my mood around at last. So I guess I was right when I figured everything happens for a reason, and there was a HUGE reason for me not to get into a masters program this year: not only was I unprepared for housing and financial aid and part-time job things, but I also didn't have it in me to set up a future so far away from my people. I never would have imagined that it was the idea of making a life for myself in Paris that was making me cry myself to sleep all the time, but that's what happens to us stubborn kids. We don't want people to think we're giving in.

Did I tell you, I'm in the process of dumping the first host family I agreed to after having been contacted by one with two kids instead of four that will give me my own apartment that's so far away from their home that they're going to give me a meal plan as well? So I'll get that apartment in Paris after all. Just... maybe not the venus flytrap and cactus, unless someone wants to adopt them from me when I move out. Or I could go illegally plant them in a park somewhere... haha.

Anyway, now I'm getting together a Europe bucket list, and London and Vienna are definitely on there. I hope I can get that stuff done without blowing all my savings on travel!
lesmisloony: (sad doctor)
I can't take any more of this disgusting news out of the US, particularly North Carolina.

I cried on and off for a whole day when Amendment One passed, mostly torn to pieces because I know my father, whom I have always trusted and respected, was one of the people to vote for it to pass. The vote to illegalise civil unions because, as my mom tried to explain it on his behalf, "He doesn't think sinners should have the same rights as us."

Yesterday Vincent linked me to an article in French outlining all the fucked-up laws concerning birth control and abortion that are being proposed all across the United States. How is this HAPPENING? How is anybody with any sense at all not looking at these things and screaming about how disgusting and unjust and just plain FOUL they are???

And now there's this idiot pastor from North Carolina who wants to put all homosexuals behind an electrified fence until they die out. Who said it in a sermon. Who called Obama a baby-killer.

It makes me miserable because it makes me so ashamed. When people ask me where I'm from I used to proudly chirp the name of that state, of that country, but now I wish I could say something else. Anything else.

Jesus Christ was a really cool guy. If he can see what's going on right now in his name, he must be even more miserable than I am. And I've been crying for just under an hour.

My own personal approach to faith has always served me well. I feel secure and protected and I believe in God. I love everything Jesus had to say about compassion and treating others well. I love the idea that "God is love." But whatever that belief system is, it doesn't qualify as Christian based on what Christianity has become today.

So fuck it. I'm not a Christian. I never want anyone to confuse me with the ignorance and hatred that I've been seeing lately. Putting this down in words is like a knife to the gut. My parents are deeply religious and I was raised to focus most of my social life on the church. I was happy and I have so many great memories of my youth group and Sunday School. But there were always things that bothered me, every since I was tiny and they told me that anyone who didn't believe in Jesus was going to hell, including my awesome Hindu friend Kajal who was one of the sweetest people I knew. I always secretly refused to believe that no matter how many people told me. Now I guess I don't have to feel obligated to.

I'm so scared to say this though. I guess it's been true for a while, but what if it's wrong and I'm disappointing God by making this declaration? What if I do somehow end up in a hell? I know my parents would be torn to pieces to hear this, but I want them to be. I want to punish both of them for my dad's ignorant decision on May 8th. For adhering so obstinately to something that has been so twisted. For refusing to acknowledge that claiming that sex is about childbirth is... nonsense. For being part of a society where the religion of one group is allowed to pass laws that remove the rights of others just because they don't agree with them. It's so foul. If you're going to be a corrupt, filthy country, at least do it openly rather than somehow making everyone think that it's okay, that it's normal, that people everywhere face these same battles.

Excuse me while I go cry some more. I can't even proofread this because my vision is so blurry with tears.
The last few days have been really tough.

I kind of wounded my back somehow about a week ago--my lower back, just at the base of my spine.  And ever since I've had varying degrees of shoulder and neck pain/stiffness.  This weekend I couldn't turn my head at all.  It's torture.  My host family is sympathetic and has put me on Doliprane, a French painkiller, but it only works like 70% and it also makes me really nauseous or... something I can't describe.

The worst thing is, every time I'm left alone with my thoughts they get really dark.  I think I am finally starting to look around me and see that my groupie days are over, my obsession with Patrice is over, and I don't know what to do anymore.  I don't know what I want.  I am looking forward to three things: Christmas at German Lara's house (next weekend), seeing Adam & Eve (in a little over a month), and 1789 (in less than a year).  After that... nothing.  It's like my life is a ten minute youtube video and it's only managed to buffer the first minute.  I don't know what to look forward to after that.  I don't have any career aspirations or anything.  Whenever I see how happy my host family is surrounded by family and life-long friends I ask what the hell I think I'm doing out here alone in a foreign country prowling around dating sites for company and texting people who don't feel the need to answer.  I love Europe and I love France and I love Paris, but I'm just getting so scared and so overwhelmed.  I don't miss the United States at all, but wouldn't it be easier?

I can't give up and go back, though, because here I at least have a plan for another year.  I submitted my TAPIF application and will find out what they say at the beginning of April.  Everyone who knows about the program assures me that I'll get Paris (or a suburb) since I have so much experience living here and speaking French and blah blah.  Plus I've found a program that hooks students up with a lonely old person with a huge house in Paris: you live in a spare room and pay something like €21 a month and all the old person asks is that you eat dinner with them and tell them about your day.  I LOVE old people.  That would be ideal for me as long as they found me a suitable geezer and as long as my person didn't DIE before our year was up.  I would even make an awesome PROFIT from TAPIF if I could do that!

If I went home... I have no idea.  I wouldn't be growing or moving forward.  I wouldn't know where to start looking for a job or future.  Literally, I wouldn't know WHERE to look.  My hometown?  My college town?  New York City?  Some random city I find by throwing a dart at a map?  No, at least here I have a path for next year.  At least here I CAN do stuff if I want.  At least here I have a place in society, even if that place has become slightly obsolete without MOR.

Anyway.  Scared, depressed, sore, unsure.  And sore.  REALLY sore.  I'm at a point in my life where for the first time mortality is really starting to scare me.

Also, I have found that I can no longer make ANY life decisions without running it by other people first.  Even my Sims game I screencap new developments so I can tell everyone (no one cares) about it.  I haven't started applying for the living-with-an-old-person thing because I haven't had enough friends encourage me to do so yet.  In any case I should probably wait till April, because if I don't get TAPIF then I'm going to have to stay with this host family for another year.

My sore back kept me indoors last Monday, and I skipped stagedooring La Chanson de l'Année.  I went for a few hours during the afternoon and saw Christophe Maé, Shy'm, Seal, and Bénabar going in to rehearsals.  If I had come back and waited to catch people as they left I could have seen the troupes of Adam & Eve and 1789.  I could have gotten flotos.  But I stayed here and laid across my bed and thought about how scared I was until I cried.


Aug. 10th, 2011 01:26 am
 1. I think my tattoo is finally starting to be itchy and have dead skin on it!  It never scabbed, but I don't bleed easily and it's just linework.  Next it has to peel and then I'll know if it's okay or needs a touchup AND I can stop having panic attacks every time it touches something!

2. Had a long conversation with my mother about sex and I finally understand why she holds her old-timey views and, more importantly, I firmly disagree with them and I know why I disagree with them!  I feel like I'm right and that's a huge relief.  For the first time, I honestly believe that I'm not making a mistake in my plans to loosen up a bit when I'm back in Paris.

3. Today I realized a life-long dream to dye my hair a dark shade of red that I think stems from being obsessed with Ariel as a child.  I like it.  And Kelley realized her dream of getting a pink streak in her hair after more than a year of wanting one.

Before hair:


After hair:


I'm a big fan of it.

4. I was wearing my tanktop again today, still trying to be confident and unapologetic.  Usually I expect people to give my belly weird looks but all that happens is guys stare at my boobs.  Awesome.  Today however, as we walked into a restaurant, a slutty sorority type finally lived up to my expectations and raised her eyebrows at my weight.  But I didn't feel ashamed like I thought I would when that moment came.  In fact, I wanted to take my bigass calzone stuffed with cheese and go sit next to her at her table and eat it there while she picked at her salad.  Bitch, you can judge my looks all you want, but in 31 days a hotass Frenchman is going to start texting me again and you are still going to be living in fucking Carrboro.  Enjoy your salad and your frat boys.

5. My epilator came in the mail.  It is definitely very sting-y, which is unpleasant but not impossible to deal with.  I'm not super happy with it because I did one leg and when I run my hand over it it feels quite scratchy.  Also there are red bumps but I'm sure they'll go away.  HOWEVER.  I used it on my underarms and it hurt like a mofo BUT. My underarms have never looked so hairless in my LIFE.  Hurray!  I don't know what the deal is with my leg though.  I got kind of emotionally exhausted after the leg and the armpits and I just called it quit for the night, so my other leg is still a jungle.  Does anyone on my flist find epilators to be a successful thing?  Do you have tips?

6. That man moved in.  He's very good at not being awkward, which makes me jealous.  I now live in the corner of the living room, but I'm extremely content with it.  I hate having too much space, and that whole room was unnecessary.  This corner makes more sense.  I like it here.

So here's me in my corner trying to model my tattoo...

Also, my hair.  I decided last night I wanted to dye it and today it's done.  I think now that I have a tattoo I've decided that nothing else is scary.
 Ennuis diagnosed: I am bored.

Today my parents called asking me to bring the car home since the one they'd kept had finally died.  To thank me for being so flexible, my mom took me clothes shopping.

NEW CLOTHES!  I have three new casual dresses (including one that is neither black nor grey!), a sweater, and two shrug type things for layering.  As we were checking out I found a pair of underwear in my size on sale in a bin with "I <3 French Kissing" on the ass.  I thought it was hilarious and asked my mom for it and... for some reason she agreed.  AWESOME.  Gonna save those for special French occasions that will probably never arise.  Hahaha oh I am so delighted.  They said "Your place or mine" over and over along the waistband.

Anyway our massive armful of groceries was supposed to come out to about $130, but we pointed out that a belt was missing off one dress (I would have probably chucked the belt anyway) and the girl made some kind of register mistake and ended up giving us the whole lot for $70.  WHAT.  And then my mom took me to this new frozen yoghurt place where you can load up this massive cup with all the flavours and toppings ever and they charge by weight.  I went kinda crazy and ended up with snickerdoodle, white chocolate, vanilla, peanut butter, and oreo flavoured yoghurts topped with brownie chunks, oreos, cheesecake chunks, butterscotch chips, peanut butter chips, granola, graham cracker, caramel goo, reeses peanut butter goo, tiny nilla wafers... maybe other stuff, that's all I remember.  It was a glorious smorgasbord.

Thanks for your comments guys.  I know I'm doing a lot of bitching about my mom, but in reality I'm very lucky to have such parents.  The problem is that I've always been really really close to my mom and this is the first time I've started thinking differently than her, so for the first time I'm seeing her as a flawed human being and not... magic.  Most people go through this in high school, but hey, I guess I'm a late bloomer.  So I'm learning to keep things from her.  She has no idea I am still interested in Patrice and she has no idea I am getting a tattoo next week.  The problem is I like to tell everybody everything... so I'm working on it.

The best thing about my parents is how free they let me feel despite my... idk, uptightness.  Right after I graduated high school I planned a weeklong trip to NYC with a friend.  I paid for everything, worked out the subways and trains myself, got all the show tickets, booked all the hotels... I spent six months planning the trip and I was TERRIFIED.  My parents pretended to be totally chill about it though they were terrified too.  Everything turned out fine and I fell in love with city life.  The next winter I planned another slapdash trip to NYC to see LM again before it closed.  Then a summer later I planned that trip to meet up with those awesome LM girls and go see the show in Québec.  That was a scary one too, since I was alone for twelve hours on a train and I was going to meet people I only internet-knew for the first time, but it turned out amazing.  Such a good trip.  Then, a yearish later, that was the summer I went to Paris for the little LM convention.  That one was even scarier, that was the time I missed the flight out of JFK and had to spend 24 hours in the baggage claim.  But once again, it was amazing in the end.  So study abroad was a natural step forward in my progression of travel-y independence, and second semester just made me completely fearless when it comes to travel.  And now that I'm also not afraid to live life to the fullest, I can no longer understand people who aren't filled with... idk, wanderlust.

Anyway, things are fine, I'm getting my act together, I just needed to quit moping.  In about a week that man is moving into my room, so organizing my massive piles of crap is another thing I can focus on.  Also my groupie memoir needs attention.

My whiny American summer, or, "Learning How to Socialize About Things Other Than MOR the Hard Way."

All that shopping today made me think about how much I miss pimkie though.  My brand loyalty thing is kind of ridiculous sometimes.  But the jewelry at Rue 21 is RUBBISH compared to the jewelry at pimkie.

Also I'm trying to teach myself to spell things American again.  Set all my spell checks from British English to American English for the first time since high school.  Since American-ness is one of the traits by which people identified me in France, there's no need for me not to embrace that.  Ehreen.  Ehreeeeeeen.  Yay.

But I still prefer "yoghurt" and "pyjamas" to "yogurt" and "pajamas".  And I can't bear to leave the "u" out of "favourite" or "colour".M
 Thanks for the feedback on the tattoo entry, guys.  I drew what I think I want on my foot last night with a pen, then redrew it in the morning.  I'm gonna keep that up and think a lot about it until... payday.  The problem is, I don't have much time to make the decision.

(How come I always have to make big life-altering decisions in a small amount of time?)

Here's what I'm thinking of (except not crooked or smudged):

The Good:
1. It's small and can be seen but can easily be covered up, it isn't anything shocking or offensive, and apparently it's on a part of my foot that will hurt slightly less than the top.
2. Even if someday I somehow don't love MOR anymore (why would I not?  It might someday recede and become a secondary obsession but I don't think I could stop loving it, especially since it changed my life and all that) I can't imagine being like "Ew, my foot says 'live life to the fullest' in French, ugh so tacky, man I was a dumb kid." 
3.  I like the idea of it being on my foot because (this is gonna sound cheesy) it's a reminder to go.  Live life to the fullest and do it now, just keep walking and don't give up.  These feet tromped all over France somehow, these feet froze outside the PDS stagedoor night after night, I went all over the place alone because I didn't want to miss any chances.  When I'm old and gray and looking down at my swollen, wrinkly, misshapen old-lady foot I think I'll see that blob of indiscernible ink-smudge and smile when I remember that I can do anything.  S'il faut mouuuuuriiiiir... 
4. I feel so changed after this past year, and I wish I had a way to express that.  Here's one, and not only is it something my judgmental past self would never have ever even considered, but it's something that will always force me to remember how good life can be if I take chances.

The Bad:
1. I guess that's a part of my foot that will rub shoes sometimes (not the flats I have now, I checked) so I have to keep that in mind.

If you look at this picture and think "Aw LAWD that girl is making a MISTAKE" please please please tell me why.  I can't think of any real reason not to have this done.

Right now the plan is to keep redrawing it and see if my emotions change, but like I said, I don't have much time before I go back.  I'm thinking I'll give myself at least until next payday, maybe longer, to mull it over.


Jul. 13th, 2011 09:38 pm
 I don't like how one little thing can set me off and give me a bad feeling for the rest of the day.  Maybe once I get back to France I can pick up where I left off and maybe I'll be able to feel good about myself most of the time and not just every once in a while.

Apparently the host family liked my dossier and the next step is for them to contact me directly.  I've gotten kind of attached to the concept of these three kids, but not as attached as I am to the concept of having my own apartment in the 13th arrondissement.  Yeah, I'll be getting up early and bundling three kids off to school, then picking them up later and spending most of the afternoon entertaining them, not to mention a bunch of housework on Wednesdays and stuff, but I'm suffering here with nothing to do with my life.  I think I've used the word "directionless" in every entry.  If I wasn't working toward getting back to Paris I think I'd have gone kind of crazy weeks ago.

Maybe I play the Sims too often and now I just always expect to have an achievable goal in sight.  It was easy as a groupie: every weekend I went to another city and accomplished so many things on my own--hotels, trains, teeny moments endearing myself to the famous people I love and admire--but here I go days at a time without leaving the apartment.  I don't want to leave.  Every time I open the door the humidity grosses me out and I just want to go back inside and lie down some more.  I only go out to go to work, and then I come straight home and get right back online.  Yesterday I turned the computer off long enough to watch Amadeus (sobbed my way through all the scenes that made me think of Da Ponte) and halfway through the movie I got an urge to get back online.

I know I can be awesome and I know I enjoy it.  I like challenges that I have to overcome, like speaking French on a daily basis or getting the name of the Troupe's hotel.  I don't like sitting around trying to think of something to do.

I'm sorry to every single person who's had to talk to me this summer, online or in person.  I can't talk or think about anything but Patrice Maktav.  I wish I could for everyone's sake.  I know how easy it is for me to cling to something like this and lose touch with rationality, but when you've done the things I've done, at what point are you being unrealistic?

I need something to do, but at the same time I don't want to do anything.  It's 9:30 and I've already put on my pyjamas and gotten in bed.


Jun. 1st, 2011 10:27 am
I don't know what to say.  I don't know how to deal with everything.

On part sans savoir o meurent les souvenirs... )





Today I finished my Paris Bucket List!  I ran around in the catacombs with my sonic screwdriver and touched two peoples' skulls.  And then I fulfilled my yearlong dream of sitting on line 14 at the end even though the multilingual voices tell you to get off and riding it into the darkness where it turns around.  IT WAS AWESOME.


(Also please say a quick prayer to your favourite deity that tomorrow goes well for me thanks.)
I know we're all tired of these posts but I just keep finding pictures.

Read more... )

Hellz yeah.
I'm kind of falling apart.  Maybe all this tour stalking has finally caught up to me.  Obviously my personal life has me on an emotional rollercoaster again and I'm constantly at war with myself over my decisions and that's just concerning me and myself and my choices.

I am a terrible student. )

Yet when I show up at the hoteldoor I feel like the best person ever.  I recognise almost all of the hardcore fans and I like them all (even though they don't seem to like each other).  I love using bus maps to find my way around a new town and I love that moment when I use the strange key to open the door to my hotel room and see where I'll be crashing for the next two nights.  I love dozing off with my mouth open on the train.  I love that funny noise the machine makes when I stick my train ticket in and I love handing the contrôleur my carte 12-25.  I always come home with new French phrases and new facebook friends and, most importantly, flotos.  The Troupe knows me, a bunch of them call me by name, at least two of them have read my lj and at least one regularly stalks my facebook.  Three have tried to get me free tickets to the show.  As for the fans, in Rouen some of them wanted pictures with ME, one told me she could find me a job if I ever wanted to come back to France, several have told me I'm welcome to stay with them if I ever need a roof over my head in various cities, all of them are willing to give me rides in their car when my hotel is an hour and a half away on foot...  People want to buy dolls from me, people try to commission other knitted stuff, it's ridiculous.

Maybe that's why I've completely stopped caring about classes.  My friends back home just graduated and I'm stuck in class limbo for a few more weeks.  And then I have to start real life and I have to just go to work every day and pay bills and reread my own lj entries and remember that for one year in France I was a legend.  For one year in France my life was indescribable.  For one year I lived in fangirl heaven.

For anybody who was with me when I left for Christmas break, when I thought that without the Palais des Sports every night my world was over... get ready for all that angst to crank up again.  Times a hundred.

January 2017

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