Evolving Revolver

Pause for Politics

2008-08-27T21:52:00.002-05:00

You know me (or maybe you don't), I 'm not a terribly political person. In fact, my attitude towards politics has generally been "Lalalalala!! I'm not listening!! LALALALA!" With my hands over my ears and my eyes shut tight. I've always felt that in politics (as in religion) no one is ever right and and honest politician is as hard to find as Osama's Mountain hideaway.

Then George W. Bush pissed me off. I realized that if I wanted something to change then I'd better get involved and I'd better damn well get educated about it.

Shortly thereafter I decided to move to Paris and stopped paying attention.

Luckily, the Democratic Convention was bogarting my cable and *VICE PRESIDENT* Joe Biden was speaking.

At first I wasn't terribly impressed. I don't know anything about him, I'll admit, and he looked just like any other rich whitey to me. He opened his speech with a nod to his wife by saying she was "The only woman who can still take my breath away and leave me speechless", and I threw up in my mouth a little. Sure dude. You're a family man. We get it.

But then he started talking about Barak Obama and where he came from and the things that he stands for and I have to admit he actually inspired me.

He said:

"And he made their lives the work of his life. That’s what you do when you’ve been raised by a single mom, who worked, went to school and raised two kids on her own. That’s how you come to believe, to the very core of your being, that work is more than a paycheck. It’s dignity. It’s respect. It’s about whether you can look your children in the eye and say: we’re going to be
ok."

I can't explain what that means to me, or how it stirred for me inside, but I definitely wanted a piece of whatever it is no matter how unattainable it may seem to me.

Over all his speech was pretty strong, even if he did use the "McCain is more of the same" line a few too many times.

Turns out Mr. Biden has seen his share of hard times, which made him seem very credible to me. His first wife and one of his daughters died passed away and did you know he nearly died of two brain aneurysms?

And then they brought out Barak. I swooned a little. Not just because I think he's sexy in a Dumbo sort of way (because certainly all the other girl elephants thought a flying elephant was the cats meow), but because I really actually believe he is capable of being a real leader. He makes me feel the way I imagine people felt about John F. Kennedy in the '60's. There is someone who gets me, someone who I realize might not be able to change the world, but can definitely change the depressing reality that we have known for the last eight years.

He didn't say more than a Kudos to those who had spoken at the Convention so far but it was enough to get people all verklempt. Myself included.

They ended the whole night with "We Are Family" piped into the stadium, and then the newscasters cut the thing off to remind me that scary things happen in Houston.

Did you know they're saying Gustav is headed for New Orleans. YEAH.

But we'll always have the Democratic Convention...

Numbers

2008-08-26T08:29:00.003-05:00

3 - Days left of Dillards. That makes only sixty more rotations of 'Waterloo' (the version with a ten minute skip).

10 - Things on my to do List. This is including, but not limited to getting the cats their shots, copying down addresses, transferring my bank account to one my mom can access while I am gone, and buying lactaid. I will not be forgoing French cheese on account of my lactose intolerance.

7 - Days till I see my best girl Katie. We didn't get to say a proper goodbye when I left Austin, and so she's coming down to Houston for a few days next week. Let the tears begin!

2 - The number of bags I get to take on the plane. Somehow I will have to fit what is currently in four suitcases inside two. How, how, how!?

9 - Fingernails I have left to chew off on account of nerves. Thinking about clipping them off in a pre-emptive strike.

12 - Days left in the US! Oh My God! It's really happening!

Who the F*@% is she!?

2008-08-24T20:17:00.004-05:00

This is clearly not me. My name is definitely on the visa, but what I must assume had something to do with their printers not working ended up in a shuffle of passport sized photos. I don't know who this girl is, but I'm betting she had the same "What the F#@%" moment when she received her visa in the mail.

Needless to say I am beginning to get a little anxious. I have a list of things to do that seems to be growing. Also freaking me out? I remembered last week that I have an unpaid parking ticket from more than six months ago (way back when I still owned Betty), and can't they hold you at security for that? I mean, can't they not let you leave the country? For a parking ticket?

Yeah, anxious.

So I went out drinking.

Having a friend in Houston is certainly a benefit to my sanity, but I'll admit it hurts my pocket book. Luckily, Emilie and I have the advantage of being two very cute single girls and men like to buy us drinks.

Some nights I'm not terribly interested in having to chat up an over eager drunk guy just to score a beer. Some nights I'm more than happy to enjoy the company of a good friend and call it an early night. But some nights I find that I am simply tired propping up my wounded heart, and I make like a good single girl and flirt my ass off.

Last night we were lucky meet two guys who were actually intelligent and attractive. Both Expats working for Ikea, they were a Canadian and a six foot seven German. The bar filled in as we smoked and drank, and I decided I actually liked the German. He was a once upon a time writer and he made me laugh. He was appropriately flirty, but not overbearing.

Not that I had any expectations regarding what might happen - I am, after all, leaving in two weeks - but I thought that I might enjoy a few dates with a handsome young man. That might not be so bad, I thought.

When the bar closed we all decided we weren't quite ready for bed. In Houston there's not much for the taking after two on a Sunday morning, and German guy thought he might have a bottle of wine at his place so we went a couple of minutes away to his apartment. He beat us there and met us as we pulled in the driveway shaking his head.

"No, sorry," and I could see that something had shifted. As Emilie and the Canadian discussed us all going back to her place I knew he would not be joining us. I asked to use his bathroom before we hit the road.

Sitting down to pee I saw his hesitation staring me in the face. There, in his toiletry bag, were three pictures of him and a very lovely girl kissing for the camera.

Ohhhhhhhh, I thought. I get it.

Back at Emilie's the Canadian filled me in that he had a fiancee. A fiancee. I was so frustrated at myself. Not that he had given me any indication of it, but here I was after the unavailable guy again. Don't I have any radar? If they're not commitment-phobes, they are married or fianceed. Say nothing to the fact that these guys are scummy for flirting with me while ensconced, I simply have no skill in picking up on their scumminess.

I am fairly certain I should quit dating, while I'm ahead. If you can count me ahead.

Though, today, over here in Hangover Land, everything is pretty bleak. You could tell me I won a million bucks and I couldn't crack a smile. It turns out I'm just not the same kind of springy cake I used to be.

I Went to the Consulate and All I Got Was This Stamp

2008-08-21T11:52:00.004-05:00

At four-thirty this morning the song in my dream was interrupted by my mother's radio alarm clock. I heard her click it off and I wondered if I would be able to go back to sleep. Outside I heard it begin to thunder and rain, and I decided I wouldn't.

Even though I knew I had everything in order, I was still crazy nervous. What if I pissed off the ladies at the Consulate somehow? What if I wore the wrong shoes or accidentally made a bad joke? What if I was late?

To make sure the last scenario was not an option I got out of bed at 5 a.m. and got moving. I wanted to blow dry my hair and iron my clothes. I had no idea what would be waiting for me. I knew the traffic would be bad because, in Houston, when it rains it may as well be a blizzard.

It took me a full hour and a half to get to the Consulate. I arrived a half an hour early and made my way up to the 6th floor where I found the place to be the very last thing I was suspecting. I don't know why, but I imagined the French Consulate to be a massive, ornate office with big mahogany desks and low lighting - which (I think) is actually what the American Embassy in France looks like. I cannot help that I get all my information from French Kiss.

There it was, my fate awaiting me. It was a bright yellow waiting room no bigger than twelve by twelve, with posters of France and three French people behind a pane of glass. The waiting room was full, and silent, but I could see that any interview would be done right there in that room in front of everyone. I prayed to not have to quizzed on my French skills.

Apparently there had been some hang up with the printer and so all the nine o'clock appointments were still waiting to be called. Because my appointment was scheduled at 9:30, I imagined myself in for a good long wait but was surprised to be the first person called. I could feel all the nine o'clockers leering at me. I dropped my purse twice.

I had heard rumors that the women here were so tough. I was immediately nervous. But I handed over my papers, she asked me a few questions (all in English) and stamped my contract.

"Tu parle francais?" she asked.

"Un petit peu," I replied blushing.

"Okay," she smiled. And then we sat there in silence for five minutes while someone fussed with the printer.

"Euhhh, well have a seat and we will call you back," she said.

And that was it. I waited another thirty minutes to find out that the printer would not be working today, most likely, and that they would be sending everyone their visas in the mail. She took my address and sent me on my way.

When I left the office I felt naked - I had no proof, save a small stamp on my document - but I was shaking with excitement. They are giving me a visa! I am free to go!

I got back to my car and I texted half of my phonebook, then cried for ten minutes. All of these months of anticipation were finally over. Only thing to do now is pack and enjoy the people I have here (and then re-pack twice). This thing that I have been dreaming about since I was an eight year old with badly feathered bangs - this unexplainable desire to experience a life I know very little about but am somehow in love with - it is really happening. And for all the tears I've cried in the past months, I was not at all ashamed to shed a few more in joy.

Compare

2008-08-19T09:08:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I checked off half of my "To do before France" list, and then promptly added as many things as I checked off. Did you know I'm not registered to vote??? Oh yes, I am a rather irresponsible American citizen. Don't worry, I registered!

I also got more passport sized photos for my visa.

When did I get so shiny? Also? Compare to the passport photo taken in April.

I think I've lost about ten pounds. Ah, the break-up and depression diet. It does WONDERS for the figure...

So does jumping up and down with excitement, by the way.

What's your best advice for preparing to go abroad? Cause all I've got goin' on is my brain is a little voice going "PARISSSSSS!!!!!"

Sometime I Meme

2008-08-17T20:36:00.003-05:00

It's not that I don't have a million thoughts in my head, but sometimes I find a good meme sort of...relaxing? Fun? Random, I guess. Just as lengthy as any of my occasional brain dumps, but with a larger variety of useless information. Here it is.

1. My uncle once: Showed me a movie about dinosaurs. I was very young (three or four I think), and at the very end the narrator of the children's documentary opens the curtains of his window to find a Tyrannosaurus Rex peering in, ready to eat him. That night I became convinced that the foothills near my Aunt and Uncle's home were really buried dinosaurs waiting to come alive and devour me in my bed. This began a life long fear of extinct reptiles.

2. Never in my life: Have I ever been out of the country. The furthest I've been from home is San Francisco on the West and New York on the East. I've never been to Mexico, even though I've lived in Texas for four years.

3. When I was five: My best friend and I saw a ghost. It was a tall apparition with glowing red eyes, and it looked right at us. Nobody believed us, of course, but I saw it again when I was eleven walking down the hallway past my bedroom. Just thinking about it gives me the chills, to this day.

4. High school was: Four years of my life I should have enjoyed more. I was a fairly depressed kid - not unlike most fourteen years olds - but I didn't realize how lovely it is to be free of real responsibility. I was involved in theater and had a group of really fun friends but took every second of it for granted because I was convinced that being an adult was where it's at. I was also a terrible student, when I could very well be the opposite. Oh, precious hindsight...

5. I will never forget: The day my mother called me to tell me my stepfather was leaving her. Everything I ever thought I understood unravelled at that very moment.

6. Once I met: A woman who was a travel writer. I picked her up at a bus stop because I knew that the bus wasn't running that day, and in the five minutes she was in my car I realized that I very much coveted her life. I had never before thought about combining the two things I enjoy most: travel and writing. Now if only I can figure out how to do it...

7. There’s this girl I know: who I am terribly jealous of. She is well educated and beautiful and is living the life I wish I was living right now (but probably will have to wait another ten years to attain). I know I shouldn't, but next to her I feel sort like a frumpy dummy. I hope that our friendship eventually dissolves this feeling.

8. Once, at a bar: I didn't have a drink. It was a phase where I thought I was an alcoholic, but it turns out I just needed a bit of self control.

9. By noon, I’m usually: Getting pretty hungry. Even if I've had breakfast a few hours ago. I just love eating.

10. Last night: I thought the engine of my car exploded while I was on I-45. It turns out that I had just blown out a tire. I had somehow driven at least ten miles on it before it gave out completely. I had God in the passenger seat for that one!

11. If only I had: A college degree. Oh the places we could go!!

12. Next time I go to church: I will forget the words to The Nicene Creed and run Eddie Izzard skits though my head. After communion I will say a few prayers of thanks and some for my family and friends, because it's the only part I really care about.

13. What worries me most: are all the hypotheticals. "What if I never make anything of myself?" "What if I never get out of debt?" "What if I die alone?"

14. When I turn my head left I see: My mom's favorite chair. It's the only place in the living room she sits.

15. When I turn my head right I see: A collection of prints that she owns from the Lord of the Rings books. She has had them for as long as I can remember.

16. You know I’m lying when: ...I am lying to myself. It's pretty obvious, I've been told I am emotionally transparent.

17. What I miss most about the Eighties is: Being a kid. Long summers and yard saling with my mom, listening to Gloria Estefan.

18. If I were a character in Shakespeare I’d be: Juliet. I am dramatic and though I wouldn't kill myself over a guy, I would probably do something equally ridiculous just to prove a point. I would like to be someone a bit more clever and self assured though - maybe Rosalind from As You Like It.

19. By this time next year: I will be fluent in French. I will be fluent in French. I will be fluent in French. I will be fluent in French. ...I believe it so it must be true.

20. A better name for me would be: nothing less fitting than Juliet. I think I my name suits me pretty well.

21. I have a hard time understanding: Greek. What's with that?

22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: I'll only major in something that I am truly, one hundred percent passionate about.

23. You know I like you if: I am still talking to you. I'm a big pushover, though, so you don't have to try too hard.

24. If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank would be: My mother. She's a pretty swell woman.

25. Take my advice, never: ever give up on your dreams. I think we all know exactly who we are to become right from the very beginning and doubting that only makes life harder.

26. My ideal breakfast is: Eggs Benedict with a mimosa on Sunday mornings with someone special.

27. A song I love but do not have is: probably some old forties standard, but I can't put my finger on it right now.

28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest you: Steal peaches from an orchard, kayak on the Colorado River, hike on the Monument and swim in a lake at one in the morning.

29. Why won’t people: Publish my writing?? What's that? I have to finish writing it first?? Ohhhhhhhh....

30. If you spend a night at my house: You will get an amazing cuddle buddy and breakfast in the morning. And we won't even have sex!

31. I’d stop my wedding for: What? I don't know what this question is about.

32. The world could do without: George Bush. PERIOD.

33. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: Lay in a bed of maggots. Though both things beg to wonder why I would ever be compelled to do them. I blame this question on stupid shows like Fear Factor.

34. My favourite blonde(s) is/are: Grace Kelly. Rosemary Clooney (before she let herself go). Brigit Bardot.

35. Paper clips are more useful than: Staples. I never saw MacGuyver staple anything.

36. If I do anything well it’s: Dream really, really big. And acquire debt.

37. I can’t help but: think you've probably not gotten all the way down to this question. This is a really long meme.

38. I usually cry: At everything. I have very sensitive Lacrimal glands. They are especially susceptible to one eyed puppies and goodbyes.

39. My advice to my child/nephew/niece: The only person who can ever make you truly happy is you. Don't waste time trying to get it right for everyone else.

40. And by the way: I have a plane ticket to FRANCE! I leave September sixth!!!

Many Things

2008-08-15T08:45:00.004-05:00

I am the (one of the) newest employee(s) at the Dillards department store in Houston. Turns out despite the recession people quit this job on the regular and so they are constantly looking for new hires. The group of people in my first training class was something like 25 people. So if you are looking for a job in Houston, Dillards probably wants you.

Yesterday was my first day on the floor. For those of you who don't know retail lingo "on the floor" is referring to the sales floor and when I type it out like that it doesn't actually sound like it needs much explanation, does it?

For my first day of work I decided to go on and get five hours of sleep, which for me (as we've discussed) is simply not enough. (It couldn't have been avoided, though. My not-a-date with my new Tandem Language partner turned decidedly date like!)

It's amazing how long a day can seem when you are standing around waiting for people to show up and buy things (and haven't had any coffee). I realized very quickly that I had better be taking my B Vitamins because there is a real possibility of me being pushed to do unreasonable things like fold every shirt in the whole department and it has everything to do with Dillards music selection.

I've been informed that the Dillards themselves choose the music for their stores. And wow, that's really hands on, kudos, except apparently they only chose FIVE CD's and put them in one of those changers to be piped in over the speakers. Their music selection includes ABBA Gold, the "City of Angels" soundtrack, a Motown compilation, some kind of top forty remixes and a bizarre jazz compilation that includes a rendition of "Oh Christmas Tree". It favors the first two CD's for some reason and when it gets to the remake of "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" (no doubt recorded by a band called KWEEN) it skips. Every. Single. Time. And these five CD's NEVER change.

Actually, I asked about it and I was told that they do sometimes change, but apparently the Dillards LOVE Celine Dion. Meaning we have "The Good Mix" in.

Too bad I can't wear an iPod on the floor.

Other than that the job is basically easy. I'm not at all used to being on my feet all day but I will be soon, I'm sure. It's a matter of choosing the comfy shoes over the cute ones.

In other news my second pasta salad turned out quite good AND I discovered that I can, indeed, poach an egg. (Eggs benedict for EVERYONE!) My french has not progressed much with the addition of a job and social life to my daily routine and that is a bad thing because I have an appointment at the consulate to get my visa!!! It's finally happening and right down to the wire. By the end of next week, if nothing goes wrong, I will be an honorary Frenchie!!

Off to another day of musical retail hell. It's a ~~small~~ HUGE consolation that I am getting paid fairly well to do it. I only hope I don't have to spend another three hours putting away gold Hanna Montana vests in Children's. THAT would do me in for sure.

I'm secretly plotting to kidnap that creepy little girl and squeeze her into giving me the royalties on all her ugly clothes. Anyone who wants to join is welcome.

Generally A Domestic Failure

2008-08-13T09:37:00.003-05:00

Introducing my New Favorite Place on the Internets.

I should probably not admit this in an international and completely public forum, but I am not the most domestic person ever. It's not for lack of trying, that's for sure. I think it has more to do with lack of paying attention.

Now, I can throw an amazing (and I mean fabulous) dinner party and, on occasion, I have wowed people with my ability to cook fish and mashed potatoes, but this hardly amounts to domesticity.

Take recent attempt to make pasta salad, for instance. When I got the recipe from my lovely, and uber domestic friend it called for tuna and mayonnaise. It should be noted that I typically despise mayonnaise, although I have come to understand that what the French call mayonnaise and that creepy fatty white stuff we have are two TOTALLY different entities. I don't have a recipe for French Mayonnaise, however, and so I opted out of that for my salad. I thought "I'll get italian dressing, it will be delicious." And then I came home with Sesame flavored dressing. Which is great on spinach, but pasta?

At the grocery store I stood in front of the cans of tuna and thought to myself "Wow, wouldn't some smoked salmon be amazing in this? But I can't afford that right now so I will just grab some tuna and be done with it."

As I took my groceries from the bag and placed them on the counter I found - BEHOLD! - Alaskan Pink Salmon. WHAT? My subconscious was working overtime on that, I guess.

So, I put it altogether thinking...it COULD be good. But it was not. Not one bit.

After a week I threw away the remainder of the salad. I tried to eat it but it just wasn't pasta salad. And what I was craving, really, was my sister's recipe which is all about pepperoni and italian dressing and lots of cheese. Not much "light" about it, if you make it right, and I'm craving the carbs and fat lately (Say nothing for my loathe of "light" food). So I decided to try it again. I even made a list so I could acquire exactly what I needed.

Then I forgot it at home. All I came back with was pepperoni and cheese.

So. Generally a failure, right? I am beginning to have small amounts of doubt at the idea of cooking everyday for five people. I think I will need to keep Sarah on speed dial. Or maybe start channeling all the great domestics in my life. Does anyone know witchcraft??

Evolving Totally Looks Like Sarah Mclachlan??

2008-08-12T21:41:00.002-05:00

.......NAH. But thanks for trying Phil.

I Woke Up With this Song in My Head

2008-08-11T07:19:00.002-05:00

I hate the way Youtube videos embed on this page. If someone knows the correct margins for my html code, that would be FANTASTIC...

Anyway, I love this song because she uses the word "Organazize" and then sings like a fish. I'll be surprised if this doesn't get stuck in your head too.

I woke up in NYC
With a bunch of anxiety
Rent's due in a couple of weeks
Yo, I had this really fucked up dream and
I just let it slip away
Thinking about all the bills I got to pay
I think I'll hock my trinity
And buy it back on a better day

Spent ten days in Woodstock taking it easy
So would you please excuse me
'Cause I'm feeling quite sad and I'm happy again
Because I spent ten days in Woodstock taking it easy
Feeling mellow like a cello
Go ahead part the seas and say hello to the fishes for me

Wow, man, what a sunny day
I can't wait to get out and play
Walk down those city streets
Laughing at all those city creeps and
I got a lot to organ-iz-ize
Got a lot of thinking to do
Another day the sun'll be out
Another day the sky will be blue

Spent ten days in Woodstock taking it easy
So would you please excuse me
'Cause I'm feeling quite sad and I'm happy again
Because I spent ten days in Woodstock taking it easy
Feeling mellow like a cello
Go ahead part the seas and say hello to the fishes for me

All the crazy fish say'

Spent ten days in Woodstock taking it easy
So would you please excuse me
'Cause I'm feeling quite sad and I'm happy again
Because I spent ten days in Woodstock taking it easy
Feeling mellow like a cello
Go ahead part the seas and say hello to the fishes
Spent ten days in Woodstock taking it easy
Would you please excuse me
'Cause I'm feeling quite sad and I'm happy again
Because I spent ten days in Woodstock taking it easy
I'm feeling mellow like a cello
Go ahead part the seas and say hello to the fishes for me

Despite the Hangover

2008-08-09T19:56:00.004-05:00

I'm feeling pretty good. Driving home I got caught singing and dancing to this song.

I had the windows rolled down (because la Corsicita don't have no air conditioning) and when I looked left, mid-verse, I saw the couple in the SUV next to me laugh out loud. I smiled and cranked the volume up louder.

My night on the town was just what the doctor ordered. Like any good evening out it cost me a small fortune, but it was definitely worth it to enjoy some young feminine company. We are similar in a lot of ways, and so had plenty to talk about.

For instance fashion:

What you can almost make out in this photo (just to the left of the man on the far right) is the round crescents of that girls ass, coming right out from her ~~underwear~~ shorts . The Frenchie and I were both quite...impressed...to say the least.

And Men:

The guy on the right cornered Em at the bathroom, of all places, and was so proud to tell her that he was the REAL "Ricky Bobby". His friend JY had no explanation for his name but somehow convinced me to give him my number. And I am so out of touch with this game that I did. Trust me, they are much better looking in this blurry photo, when you can't hear them speaking.

Despite it being Friday night, downtown was decidedly dead

so we drove across Houston to Rice Village where all the people were. Next time we will go there first, and avoid the ridiculous panties of downtown altogether.

After the bar closed I helped Em to get back to her apartment where we talked for another two hours. It goes without saying that this morning I needed a good salty breakfast.

Next week I am taking on the challenge of a Tandem Language Partner. Parlez vous francaise? Non, non. Tres Desole. Bonus: He's cute.

Reflections

2008-08-08T07:09:00.001-05:00

I find that, lately, I get the best ideas when I am on the bus going home from work. And then I fall asleep and wake up fifteen minutes later in a panic wondering where the hell I am.

I suppose I could jot them down. I always carry a notebook or two with me. At very least I am equipped with pen any scratch paper. But sometimes I find myself unable to document. I want to be an observer, without the pause of pen.

It draws you away, to look down to write. If I look away to scratch something about my favorite pigeons, when I look back they've gone. They're mottled, by the way. After so many years of breeding with it's neighbors, and probably the doves and grackles too, they've become spotted. Lovely brown and black birds with asymmetrical white spotting, fat and sleek, coocoo-coocoo around morning courtyards while their darker, manged and grey counterparts skulk near car parks.

Sometimes even the act of taking my camera out feels burdensome. People react to it's presence, or at least to me with it, and often a frame loses it's genuine quality. My favorite photographs are definitely those of photojournalists. They seem to have no qualms about taking a very personal and up close photographs of daily life. There, in glossy, on the pages of National Geographic, are the super saturated, perfectly lit images of gritty life. Hookers and homeless people. Bus riders. Business women power walking in their white tennis shoes and skirt suits. Six distinctly lonely men smoking beside each other, but not talking.

I'm going out tonight for the first time in two three weeks. Living with mom is safe and comfortable. It's strange, too, to be home again as if I were still in school. I borrow her car and I tell her before I leave the house. I've been solely accountable for myself for eight years now, but going back to this pattern was strangely natural. And yet, I am undeniably ready to go be social with people my age, doing things people my age do. Whatever it is we do.

The last time I was "out" in Houston was with the Frenchies. That night happened to be the night I found out that the Frenchman wasn't intending on keeping me. I remember the bar spinning and trying not to laugh it off when he choked on his beer. The comment was a casual "Well, you always could get your visa by getting married." None of us knew that this statement would be so taboo - not even him I think. That was the night our relationship changed irrevocably.

It is interesting when you can pinpoint the exact moment your life shifts for a different direction.

I have a job to go today, which means more money, which means paying bills (finally). Somehow my head hurts already, but I'll attribute it to the lack of food I've ingested. I think I forgot to eat dinner last night. I looked at Sarah's photos of a lovely peach cobbler and must have thought I had some.

On the bus today I will surely fall asleep, clutching my purse and satchel, and dream the weird bus dreams. Perhaps I will have a stroke of brilliance that sails me through the day, and give me another reason to celebrate this lovely Friday.

With a Closeness

2008-08-06T21:25:00.003-05:00

It took me a full two hours to thaw when I returned home from work today. The office I am temping in has something like "poor climate control", which means that on Monday the air conditioning is at a reasonable level, but by mid-week it's too damn cold. The girl who was in the cube next to me wrapped herself in a blanket. Me, I opted to refill my paper cup with hot water every two hours, just to have something to warm to touch.

On the bus home I fell asleep and dreamt weird, "head lolling on the bus" kind of restless dreams. I woke as we neared the exit to my stop and found myself in the corresponding weird and restless mood. What had I dreamt in those few minutes that I was sleeping?

It has been one month and five days since the Frenchman left for France. This week he's back in the states of business, and perhaps that's what stirs it all up. Really, one month is no time it all, though it's felt like forever. Like a lifetime has passed. How do you go from happy, and holding each other, completely entangled in one another's lives, to...whatever this is? We're platonic. It's as though no emotion ever moved between us. No passion. No comfort or domesticity. Just two friendly somebodies who chat on the internet. Maybe because he feels obligated, I'm not really sure. Obligated to be "nice", since after all, I do claim to be in love with him. It's the least he can do, I suppose.

And me, I have spent this month racing through my emotions. Furiously pushing them through the eye of the needle so that when I have to see him again - sooner than I will be ready for - I can say that I don't care. I'm making plans to fill up all my free time in Paris so that I will be too busy to even think about missing him and his returned proximity. I am signing up to volunteer and getting on lists for walking tours. I've even put the word out that I'm looking for an attractive young french partner in the hopes that it will be distraction enough.

But I still lay in bed every night and think about what he used to look like while he slept. I think about his smell, and if I try hard enough I can still capture it. I admonish myself for the fantasies I have where turns up at my doorstep just to tell me that he loves me, because that is not reality. I have lived my whole life in expectation of a fantasy. This is not one I will let myself believe in.

If I really think about it, I see how sad I was with him. It's so hard to watch a relationship be slowly smothered by your own love. At first, when I said it, it made him smile. But as the months passed he shrunk away, ever explaining that he wouldn't be able to share that sentiment. And so I got depressed, I think. Knowing that everything that had made me so infinitely happy would be snubbed out in due time. I could deny it all I wanted, but it was there in the dark corners of the night, threatening to wake me with sadness.

And then there was the feeling that I wasn't good enough. That I simply didn't make him proud. I wasn't the kind of woman he could love. I wasn't stable or athletic or rational, or any number of things I have grown to accept as things that are intrinsically me, that I have come to allow myself to love. It made him nervous, my emotion. The week he left we had fight about paper of all things. He wanted white paper and so I tore some out of my sketch pad. But this torn paper was not white enough, not clean enough, I guess. I remember crying, thinking "Even my paper isn't good enough for him."

So I can look at it and know that it's the right thing, but it doesn't change the fact that it's only been a month, and he is in Texas and I am in Texas but we are not in Texas together.

Soon enough, though. Soon I will get my break away, and my heart will heal in ways that I cannot yet begin to imagine. My host family emailed me today to let me know that they are back from vacation and that my contract had been rubber stamped by the French Administration. They asked me when I would like to come and I opted for early September. Soon there will be plane tickets and packing and money exchanges, and what I thought would never come will be here.

Somehow, now, despite the fact that the last month felt like it would never end, I feel like this month will end before I know it.

Tropical Storm Edouard = LAME

2008-08-04T22:57:00.008-05:00

Enter storm, stage left.

Hmmmm, that doesn't look so bad. Just humid and oppressive. Because that's the best part about an incoming storm - that lovely feeling of being covered by a steaming hot dishrag.

By eleven o'clock they had interrupted David Letterman to show us coverage of nothing happening in Galveston. Wind? Waves? Nope. Maybe this storm isn't going to come ashore after all.

At seven I woke up to the sound of my cat hacking, so I turned on the t.v. and looked out the window. Edouard had started to come inland, but it looked like he stopped to have a drink because he definitely weren't no hurricane.

It didn't get much more exciting than that. Around eleven I decided it was plenty safe enough to go for a stroll. I'd really hoped to catch a downed telephone poll, or maybe a kitten stranded in the tree but I didn't find anything but this:

Which would have been interesting but I actually discovered it yesterday. Apparently more tenants than myself are upset that the pool has been locked up for two weeks.

By one I had officially determined that the storm BLEW - but not in a blustery day, sheets of rain and terrifying thunderclaps kind of way - and took a nap.

I think maybe it all was some kind of elaborate plan to prove to residents that Houston will never let Hurricane Rita again...And to give everyone a day off of work. I mean, this ain't no Franceland. We got to have some excuse to be absent from work!

Thar He Blows!!!

2008-08-04T18:56:00.003-05:00

As I pushed la Corsicitia to the Park & Ride today, the crappy talk radio hosts announced the arrival of Tropical Storm Edouard to Houston. Apparently he'd magically appeared overnight in order to shut down all of the city for Wednesday.

When I got to my temp job this morning their swank 42 inch flat panel in the reception area confirmed it for me.

"Yeah, we're not coming in tomorrow," said my contact, a ruddy brunette in flip-flops. "We don't want people getting stranded here."

I grinned inwardly. HA! I get to sleep in again.

I won't bother being anxious because it's reported that the storm may reach a Category One Hurricane, if that. Flooding is always possible, and wind can be dangerous, but neither mom nor I have anywhere to go, so we'll just hunker down with the cats and enjoy the storm.

Photo documentation will commence with the storm. Full report on Wednesday.

Like a Good Little Dwarf

2008-08-04T06:51:00.003-05:00

I am back to work today. It has been well over a month since I had a steady job. So long that I have, in fact, lost count of the days. And it only took several months to really enjoy my vacation. It's a pity the stress that money (to say nothing for the heartbreak) causes.

I've showered and put together a nice little office outfit. Black with bright accents, so that I don't feel like I am going to my own funeral (which is how I actually do feel after waking up at six for the first time in something like four months). I would have ironed my sweater but it will inevitable get wrinkled while I sleep on the bus, so why bother.

I made my lunch last night. I was craving a traditional pasta salad but somehow ended up with completely the opposite. I went to by tuna buy my subconscious decided I wanted salmon (I wanted smoked salmon, but settled for canned what required me to de-bone it), and I intended on a nice tangy vinaigrette but - totally forgetting that it tastes very sesame - I bought Goddess Dressing instead. So now I have a sesame salmon pasta salad. And it better be good.

My body is rejecting the fact that I am awake (you mom's out there, don't laugh so hard) so I'm going to go inject myself with another round of coffee and go drive myself to the park and ride. I'm supremely glad that I don't have to sit in traffic.

Hooray for work!!

Summer Reading

2008-08-03T09:49:00.003-05:00

Ever on the conquest to make learning French easier and fun, I decided to look for some reading that was more my level. Certainly some of you remember when I attempted to read a John Irving book in French.

HAHAHA! Wasn't that funny?

Problem with reading John Irving in French is that, though he's one of my favorite authors, he's also a very flowery writer. He likes allusions and metaphors. And, unfortunately, most allusions and metaphors don't translate well (if at all!) into French.

So imagine my pleasure when I found these while babysitting for the French folks I met in Austin.

(Book 228 is 'Li Chang and the Three Candies'. From what I can gather the Three Candies help him to escape from Pirates. Somehow.)

Simple and entertaining, they're kind of like Highlights for French kids. Each month they are issued with a new chapter story and a series of games and comics at the back.

The comics are called Tom-Tom et Nana, and in each one our characters arrive at some mischief, typically to the dismay of the surrounding adults.

(This ones called the Mess with Rabbits.)

I like the comics best because it's a little more conversational, but I think the stories will be good for my grammar.

("Don't take Batman by the ears!! Monster!!)

For now I will be reading them concurrent with THIS

because I still need to look up every other word.

I have six J'aime Lire, so I think I have plenty of reading for the rest of the summer!

Gots me TWO jobs!

2008-08-02T14:53:00.004-05:00

Way back in June, before I was hired with my family in Paris, I realized that certain ideas had to be let go of. It was funny, then, because as soon as I did I found a position. So what was different about Houston? Why had I thought I could just muscle my way into my idea of what a job would look like?

The problem is, I had hoped to pay down my debt this year. I had hoped to work enough to have money set aside to leave in an account here, but I've had the unfortunate realization that this just isn't going to happen. I was very upset about this until I realized that were I staying in the country I would be no more likely to pay my debt. And so I let it go.

Within a few days I had a job doing some "hardcore transcription" work (which sounds a little naughty, if you askwith the temp agency and two successful interviews with a department store five minutes from my mom's apartment. And ya'll, not that I thought that I wouldn't, I got the job.

They are even starting me at ten instead of the 8.50 most people get.

To celebrate, I bought this hot pink swimsuit what was on sale. Perfect for sunbathing!

(This is what I look like...you know, if I weighed 100lbs.)

I immediately had buyers remorse, but I told myself I would be very happy about this next year when I didn't have to try to squeeze into a teeny French bikini.

Yesterday I got to waste a quarter of a tank of gas driving into downtown for a fifteen minute meeting with the the temp agency. I took the opportunity to take a few photos of two of my favorite buildings, the Enron building and the one beside it. Who knows what that one is called.

(Enron on the left.)

(There is a rumor that the top of this building has a giant dollar sign on it, but I've never seen any aerial shots of Houston so I can't confirm that.)

(This is heat looks like in Houston. Palm trees melt. Overpasses multiply.)

Moms and I went to the dollar theatre afterwards to cool off. We watched Prince Caspian which made me add New Zealand to my list of places to visit while I'm in Europe.

(Subtle Advertising.)

(We watched these trivia things for a good forty minutes.)

(David Niven and George Lazenby were the only two actors to play James Bond just once!)

And a cat picture, for good measure. This is the fourth grumpy cat, Buster.

(I got it at Ross!)

Tonight we're going to take fried chicken to a park to tie up the last weekend before both of us go back to work. For now, I have a new bikini to break in.

White Legs Need Suntan (And Other Nonsense)

2008-07-31T22:59:00.006-05:00

When it's 103 degrees with 95 percent humidity, one of the only things that brings respite (besides *ahem* central air conditioning) is a dip in one of the millions of pools scattered around Texas. Even the poorer apartment complexes have pools 'round these parts because if they didn't people might combust, leaving piles of ashes scattered about.

Sunning is one of the things I've found that really raises my spirit - something about that healthy dose of Vitamin D laced with skin cancer to really give a pick me up. I try to spend at least an hour (and do a few laps while I'm there) working on my tan and today was no different, except that I was privileged to a very special conversation authored by four girls no older than 17.

"Yeah, I'm late. Like, I had my period last month, but this month I didn't, which always means your pregnant."

"So that makes the baby like six weeks right? Which is one month. Cause you like skip your first period and then the baby starts growing which makes it one month. Yeah, six weeks for a baby is one month!"

"Yeah...OMG, you know that some people don't get put to sleep when they have the baby? Like most times they do cause it's so painful but sometimes they don't."

"OMG. You have to really like pain for that."

OMG, get these girls a human sexuality class....I need a drink.

So I went home, shared that gem with my mother and we settled in for a little Mystery Movie Marathon. This used to be one of our favorite past times and now my mother has discovered that she can get Miss Marple and Detective Frost on DVD. We spent a good four or five hours enjoying this.

(Detective Frost is miserable all the time. But he's also snarky and sarcastic in that undeniably British way, so I forgive his lack of love for his dead wife.)

(Simon says "Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, bitch!")

After my mother retired to bed I was left to enjoy my new favorite TV show, The House of Representatives.

I find that it's really just a room full of men (and a few women with facial hair and glasses they purchased in 1970) overusing a thesaurus but never really saying anything of note. It always seems to degrade into a heated debate between grey haired men who are only there to promote their books about impeaching the president.

I was about to doze off on the couch

(er...bed/office/reading lounge...)

from the all the side talk I realized it was time for me to start switching back and forth between Jay Leno

and David Letterman.

They have apparently begun sharing material, because both opening monologues contained jokes about Princess Chunk, the 44lb cat from New Jersey.

But only David has Paul Shaffer and his horrible sunglasses.

(Horrible, horrible sunglasses)

Thankfully, I still have my health. (And this ice cream.)

I wonder if I can learn more about birthing tomorrow at the pool. It's good to have something to look forward to, you know?

A Little More Composed

2008-07-30T09:52:00.003-05:00

Let's not kid ourselves shall we? When am I ever completely composed? Probably never. Just accept it and we can all be friends.

Last night I dreamt that was hanging out with Bruce Springsteen (and the East Street Band as well). He was buying my friends and I drinks and kept putting his hand on my arm. On a piece of paper he had written "Good morning...Sorry I just wanted to see how that sounded." above a note asking us to mark how many more beer we wanted on the house. I was drinking Stella Artois, and Bruce's face kept looking older and older.

That must mean this is going to be a GOOD day. Somehow. I mean, I was hanging out with rock legends all night.

Yesterday's "thing" went well. I answered all of the scripted question about my integrity and problem solving skills with gusto and enthusiasm. I established a report with the manager. I asked relevant and seemingly intelligent questions about the corporation and it's matters ("I heard Starbucks is closing 600 stores, how will this effect Houston?" "Is this a franchise?").

At the end of the "thing" I asked about a second interview.

"Well, I have to coordinate with my other managers, so the earliest a second interview would happen would be next Monday."

SIGH.

"Okay, great! It was a pleasure meeting you."

I went home took a swim and then a hard, deep-sleep kind of nap.

In other news, for those of my readers who are keeping tabs, my cats are doing very well. The four of them are beginning to adjust to each other with only a minor growl here and there. Simon and Fitch are being spoiled by grandma with a bit of warm wet food every single day. At the three of us curl up and watch David Letterman, then Conan, then if Craig Ferguson (if we're still awake).

It's a very exciting life, you see.

Simon's favorite place in any home is always a box with paper in it. My mom put this out to take to recycling, but Simon claimed it as his own very quickly.

You can't hear it but Fitch is purring louder than the T.V.. He is very happy to by following my mom and I around the house.

I haven't had any confirmation but I'm beginning to think my mom might not let them go to another home. They couldn't find a better foster parent, that's for sure.

Don't Make Me Get on My Soapbox!

2008-07-29T10:14:00.005-05:00

I won't say what I am doing today at one o'clock lest I completely jinx the thing. Don't laugh it happens every time. If I widely publicize what I am about to go do I never get the thing that I am trying to get with the thing I am doing. I can summarize it in one word: Borebucks.

That is not what I really call it. What I really call it requires more expletives. I don't much care for the establishment, can you tell?

Whatever at this point I cannot be picky. My search for an income keeps stalemating at the application process. That is to say, I put in an application only to find out that it has to be sent to corporate or is only reviewed on the second week after the full moon. The temp agency has been little help because apparently (who knew!?) thousands of other people also need jobs. What's that you say? The country isn't in a recession? Oh right, this is just a bad time we're having. For FOUR YEARS. Whatever.

This is the thing: It should, in some way, make me feel better to know that I am not the only one suffering through this but it doesn't.

I was at the Kroger the other day buying tomatoes and lettuce for fajitas. The reason we could have fajitas is because my mother got this meat from an organization called the Angel Food Ministries, who offer very low prices on groceries for people who are of low income. For a box of pantry and freezer items plus something like twenty pounds of frozen red meat, my mother paid fifty dollars.

Back in the express lane I realize that I am stuck behind a woman who is clearly having problems with her transaction. For some reason this doesn't piss me off, I just feel bad for her. She is wearing a Kroger uniform, still in her name tag. "Maria" doesn't have a full cart - just stuff to make salsa, some juice and an economy sized box of Huggies. For some reason, today of all days, her discount card isn't working. She waits patiently as the manager enters and re-enters the code until finally she just overrides it.

"She's worked here a long time," she says to the cashier. "Just save the slip."

As she finishes her transaction, Maria's boyfriend (who is greasy and toothless and almost certainly does not have a job) saunters up with her Lonestar card. Foodstamps. Maria can't even afford food at the place where she works.

This bothers me all the way home. It bothers me into the kitchen and through dinner, where I wonder to my mother why more people don't know about things like the Angel Food Ministries, why our government turns a blind eye to the poverty in our country, and what I can do to help. Because I feel helpless. Writing a congressman seems like a waste of time. I don't have the means to start a non-profit of my own (and even if I did, would I run it from FRANCE?).

"The same thing happened when I was young," my mother said, "And everyone thought that the government should help but they won't. They never will."

"Well then it's up to us to take care of each other!" I said. But the question lingers...how?

Later that night I decided the best thing for me to do is to take care of myself first. You know, "please secure your own emergency mask before helping children or elderly passengers beside you." What good am I if I can't feed myself? I don't feel powerful enough to help the masses. There are people suited to do that, and I'm not sure I'm one of them. Certainly, though, if I can reach some level of financial security, I can give back to all the people that have helped me when I was down. I can offer aid to my friends who can't pay their bills this month, just to give them some hope.

I could really go on for days about this. It infuriates me to think of how much wealth is out there (in that "Can you even fathom how deep the universe is??" kind of way) and how little it is dispersed. And how, once you get out of this low-income tax bracket you seem to just "forget" how hard it is (It's a survival mechanism, I think.) and say things like "Well, they could help themselves if they really wanted" and "They bring this on themselves" and "If they tried harder they could get themselves out of this." (Yes, because poor people LOVE to live in falling down Section 8 tenemants with bars on the windows, and obviously all of them could just polish up their resume if the only just tried hard enough.) And how Donald Trump just sold his house in Palm beach for a profit of 58 million dollars and that would feed several third world countries for at least a year. Probably more. I don't know because I can't even grasp how much money 58 million dollars is. That's more than three carts of groceries right?

SO. I will go to this thing today and hope I get it because then at least, maybe, I can go to the grocery store without feeling beaten down and help my mom put gas in the car she is driving. Say nothing for the pile of bills with my name on them!

Let's hope the calvary comes sooner rather than later, shall we?