Thursday, October 20, 2005

Of Mice and Men

So, the best laid plans often fall apart, as was made very evident to me during this week. I am still living with the family. Sleeping in the basement on a futon that makes noises, squeaky ones when ever I roll over in the night, and wakes me often. I was hoping to be in my little apartment by now as I want desperately to put up all my posters and pictures on a wall, and just to actually unpack would be nice as well. However, My ceiling still isn't finished as they didn't buy me the supplies to fix it with till yesterday, and the stuff they bought is questionable at best. (I ask it a lot of questions, but although it sort of looks like the type of thing I need, it really doesn't know what type of life it is supposed to have on the ceiling, and it's directions only speak french.) I was also hoping to have received my drivers license in the mail by now, but I haven't. God bless the Wisconsin D.M.V.!
Yesterday I followed some vague directions, given me by my boss, Bruno, to the American Embassy in Paris. On the way I was asked for Id on the street by a paris cop and told that I had to walk on the other side of the street. Whatever! I went the other half of the block on the other side and then realized that at the end of the block I had been walking on was my elusive Embassy. It was completely surrounded by fences and I watched as a car that drove up was asked to open its hood. I presume to be checked for bombs, or other terroristic thing-a-ma-bobers. Lord help us now! I asked one of the 30 cops standing outside how I was meant to get into my embassy, and he asked me why in a rather suspicious way, and I said. "I got this thing from the French government saying that I had to get my birth certificate translated by my embassy." He informed me that I was at the wrong place entirely and that I needed to go to my Consulate instead. "Oh, ok, where is the American consulate?" "Two blocks straight and then go left." I was now following even more directions to a place that I wasn't sure I needed to be going to. It was actually just as he said, though if it wasn't for the small line outside of foreigners waiting to go in I would have just walked past it. Unlike the embassy it didn't have my flag out front. I got to skip the line, because I am so cute, not! They let all the American go through first just in case they are being chased by monsters, gangsters, or police and need political refuge. I went through the customary half strip search and proceeded to the room I was directed to. Still not knowing if it was the right place. I went inside and saw all the sad people! So many sad people waiting to be "helped" by an official. I stood behind a line as the sign said to do and then was called to the window, where I went and stated my plea for a translated Birth Certificate. The first lady I spoke with was nice, but said that all she could do was give me a list of approved translators. "I said, but the French Prefacture gave me this paper." Handed it to her and was promptly proven to be correct in my coming there, and in being correct, as she could not be incorrect in her statements, concerning her inability to really help me, she said that the French Prefacture was wrong to have sent me there. Yeah, I was thrilled. Then it got better. Her coworker stepped over and said that even if I had a translation of my birth certificate done by one of the approved people on the huge list of names given me, I would still need to have a birth certificate issued with in the last 3 months. She said that the French government demanded this for all of the documents they received. No one in the French Government had told me that! She gave me a stack of more papers. A form to request a new copy of my birth cert., and 10 pages of other, so far as I can tell, useless crap. I promptly left, slightly nauseous with the glooming idea of how many hoops I still had to jump through in order to be a legal au pair for the year.
in other news, complainings, I want to go dancing, but the discos are rumered to be so expensive that I have lost the gumption to even try. I some how managed to leave all my nice clothes at home, or in a van, and every time I am in class I am reminded of how bad I look by the other thinner, smarter, well dressed, foreign girls who have that foreign girl walk down perfectly. I have one prospect of a real friend. She is Hungarian, though her passport says she is Romanian. You'll have to look up the reason for that one all on your own. Some stupid treaty that mangled her real country and divided it between it's neighbors. I have tenativcely joined a group of Catholic evangelists, who ask silly questions about how to show this or that about the Faith to each other and maybe even somebody of a different faith. I was asked a total of 3 questions and I aced the first two; One was something about how do I reconcile the fact that Jesus was man and God. Oh, so hard, not really, but they seemed to be having difficulty thinking and were amazed by the simplicity of my answer that: "He had to be both or the whole thing wouldn't work". I tried to explain my thoughts on the old testiment sacraficial killings, and the fullfilment of the covenant, the institution of the eucharist, but I think they lost something in the translations. The second was my age. I knew that one. But the third was how can I believe in God, prove to others the existanc of God when so many terrible things happen in this world. One of the ladies was having a crisees of faith as her neighbors son just died and he was so young. I really couldn't say much, I told her that I had lost my neice, and that I was sorry for her I knew aht it felt like, and I refered her to "The Problem of Pain" by C.S. Lewis. They think I am a genious or something and I feel like a prick for feeling superior to them. They, like so many others, have not had a Catholic education. Sorry this is so long. I think it's fairly interesting though...

Monday, October 17, 2005

How fun is that.

Your Kissing Purity Score: 31% Pure
You're not one to kiss and tell...
But word is, you kiss pretty well.
Kissing Purity Test

I wish I was friends with an ex so that I could ask... I spurned 'em all so that probably wouldn't be a good idea...

Sunday, October 16, 2005

J'abite à Paris, well close enough anyway to claim it.

I suppose the wide world of bloggers and blog readers might want to know alittle about me. Curiosity and all that. Well, I am the fourth child in a family of eight. I have five brothers and two sisters. My family used to live in LaGrange, Illinois, but when I was eleven we all moved up to/near Ettrick Wisconsin. It was really quite a difference in habitates.
LaGrange, is a suburb of Chicago and has a monsterous population, all the conveniance stores you could want, a 24hr. Walgreens(for when you daughter gets an earache and wants the bubble gum flavored madicine), a movie theatre, a constantly expanding library, at least three different catholic churches with large and slightly less than pius congregations, and schools that most people just make their children walk to.
Ettrick, on the other hand, has a total population of aprox. 520 people, a gas station that serves as a conveniance store(it rents videos, and sells diapers, ice cream and jerky), a tiny little library that is part of the elementary schools building, no pharmacy, no theatre, & a very small Catholic church with an even smaller congregation (made of some very earnest catholics but most ignorant of what it means to be a Catholic), and at least 5 bars where you can find most of the town residents at all hours of the day. Everday.
Ettrick is a farming communities town. A place where after morning chores, while still clad in manure spotted clothes, the old farmers will congregate at The gas station, filling the 5 little tables/booths, to drink coffee and talk about the lack of rain this summer and whether the price of corn will sky rocket becouse of it.
My family, well technically my two little sisters and I, own a farm located 4.2 miles outside of town. ... I will have to finish more of this later, my boss lady is home now and I want to show her the new curtain I made for my little apartment to her stamp of approval.

Saturday, October 15, 2005


Are you, or have you ever been, a Literature Abuser?
Literature Abuse: How many of these apply to you?
1. I have read fiction when I was depressed or to cheer myself up.
2. I have gone on reading binges of an entire book or more in a day.
3. I read rapidly, often "gulping" chapters.
4. I have sometimes read early in the morning or before work.
5. I have hidden books in different places to sneak a chapter without being seen.
6. Sometimes I avoid friends or family obligations in order to read novels.
7. Sometimes I rewrite film or television dialog as the characters speak.
8. I am unable to enjoy myself with others unless there is a book nearby.
9. At a party, I will often slip off unnoticed to read.
10. Reading has made me seek haunts and companions that I would otherwise avoid.
11. I have neglected personal hygiene or household chores until I have finished a novel.
12. I have spent money meant for necessities on books instead.
13. I have attempted to check out more library books than permitted.
14. Most of my friends are heavy fiction readers.
15. I have sometimes passed out from a night of heavy reading.
16. I have suffered blackouts or memory loss from a bout of reading.
17. I have wept or become angry or irrational because of something I read.
18. I have sometimes wished I did not read so much.
19. Sometimes I think my reading is out of control.
If you answered yes to three or more of these questions, you may be a literature addict. An affirmative response to five or more indicates a serious problem. Once a relatively rare disorder, Literature Abuse, or LA, has risen to new levels due to the accessibility of higher education and increased college enrollment since the end of the Second World War. The number of literature abusers is currently at record levels.
SOCIAL COSTS OF LITERARY ABUSE Abusers become withdrawn, uninterested in society or normal relationships. They fantasize, creating alternative worlds to occupy, to the neglect of friends and family. In severe cases they develop bad posture from reading in awkward positions or carrying heavy book bags. In the worst instances, they become cranky reference librarians in small towns. Excessive reading during pregnancy is perhaps the number one cause of moral deformity among the children of English professors and teachers of English and creative writing. Known as Fetal Fiction Syndrome, this disease also leaves its victims prone to lifetime of nearsightedness, daydreaming, and emotional instability.
HEREDITY Recent Harvard studies have established that heredity plays a considerable role in determining whether a person will become an abuser of literature. Most abusers have at least one parent who abused literature, often beginning at an early age and progressing into adulthood. Many spouses of an abuser become abusers themselves. OTHER PREDISPOSING
FACTORS Fathers or mothers who are English teachers, professors, or heavy fiction readers; parents who do not encourage children to play Nintendo, participate in healthy sports, or watch television in the evening.
PREVENTION Premarital screening and counseling, referral to adoption agencies in order to break the chain of abuse. English teachers in particular should seek partners active in other fields. Children should be encouraged to seek physical activity and to avoid isolation and morbid introspection.
DECLINE AND FALL: THE ENGLISH MAJOR Within the sordid world of literature abuse, the lowest circle belongs to those sufferers who have thrown their lives and hopes away to study literature in our colleges. Parents should look for signs that their children are taking the wrong path. Don't expect your teenager to approach you and say, "I can't stop reading Spenser." By the time you visit her dorm room and find the secret stash of the Paris Review, it may already be too late.
What to do if you suspect your child is becoming an English major:
1. Talk to your child in a loving way. Show your concern. Let them know you won't abandon them but that you aren't spending a hundred grand to put them through Stanford so they can clerk at Waldenbooks either. But remember that they may not be able to make a decision without help; perhaps they have just finished Madame Bovary and are dying of arsenic poisoning.
2. Face the issue. Tell them what you know, and how: "I found this book in your purse. How long has this been going on?" Ask the hard question: What was Dante really portraying in this cirle?
3. Show them another way. Move the television set into their room. Introduce them to frat boys.
4. Do what you have to do! Tear up their library card. Make them stop signing their letters as "Emma." Force them to take a math class or minor in Spanish. Transfer them to a Florida college.
You may be dealing with a life-threatening problem if one or more of the following applies: * They name one or more of their cats after a Romantic poet. * Next to their bed is a picture of Lord Byron, Virginia Woolf, William Faulkner, or any scene from the Lake District.
Most importantly, remember, you are not alone. To seek help for yourself or someone you love, contact the nearest chapter of the American Literature Abuse Society, or look under ALAS in your local phone directory.

Friday, October 14, 2005

My first post.

I did it. I went and made myself a blog. Here it is! Now all I have to do is write in it. That could prove to be harder than one might think as I have an aversion to writing and a tendency towards babbling. i am the type of person that would much rather have a conversation with someone than exchange emails with them. (I love to hear things. I think that's how I learn. Don't get me wrong and think that I don't love to read, I do, it's just that I do that to activate a different part of my brain. The part that likes to be fed personal and solitary fun. I read to be in another world, for pure enjoyment and never to learn anything. Unless, that is I am particularaly searching for something that can no longer be found in words said, but only in words written. Then I suppose I do read for the sake of learning.)