Sunday, November 13, 2011


What did I wish for at 11:11 on 11/11/11, the luckiest time on the luckiest day of the luckiest year, a trifecta of wishing power coming together to create the ultimate stroke of good fortune?
Nothing. I forgot.

If I had remembered, I probably would have wished to be relocated back onto the weather.

But, since I forgot, I remain under it.

Still pretty sick. Still very coughy.
. . . sounds like coffee. I wish I were coffee. Then I would be warm and smelling good and ready for the day. I still wouldn't be able to sleep though, but it would be from a caffeine-induced high and not from fits of coughing. So that would be more pleasant.

I've reached the point in my hacking sickness where my voice has become more alto than usual. I like to think it makes me sound like Nnenna Freelon or Billie Holiday, but, if imma be real, it's probably more like Al Pacino.

So, as eventful as a sick week can possibly be, here are some of the highlights:

1. Last weekend I went with a few of my friends to Saint Paul de Vence for a lazy rainy day trip. It was really fun. We just kind of wandered around in a little village town area. I forgot to charge my camera, so I have no pictures of my very own, but here are 2 pictures from Maria's camera.

Left to right: Zara (England), Cristina (Spain),
me (YU ESS AY!!), Ricky (Germany)

Aaaaand Maria (Norway)
We break cultural boundaries.

(While we were in St. Paul de Vence, Maria and Zara kept talking about how excited they were to be in my blog. One day we'll all be famous, and we can look back at these pictures and remember how fun it was to stroke Maria's vest.)

2. Fetch me my soap box!

Sometimes I forget that I'm 20. I forget that I’ve graduated from adolescent angst and melodrama, overcome teenage pregnancy, and lost my baby fat. I forget that there’s a laundry list of things that, as a member of this new age group, I’m supposed to like now. I sometimes look around at all the other 20-somethings and figure they must have been given a 20-something handbook and that I was inexplicably overlooked. There are new rules. There are new responsibilities. Sometimes when someone asks me what I plan on doing with my French major, it takes all of my willpower not to say "I'm not a grown up! That's really more of a grown up thing."

I say all of this as a preface to this past Thursday.

There was a big party for university students at the Acropolis. (Perhaps a convention center? We're not really sure . . . ) There was music and alcohol and dancing and an equally as popular smoking terrace. All things I've been told 20-somethings enjoy. So we tried to join in.

I would like to go on record saying that when I try to dance I look like a malfunctioning robot that doesn't know what to do with its hands. I know this. I'm not disillusioned. Usually my way of dealing with this shortcoming is just to not dance, but tonight I'd hoped my friends' heightened blood-alcohol levels would temporarily blind them to my socially neanderthalic tendencies.

Now, if you're in a public setting, you may be tempted to let someone in on how awkward you feel. But this is absolutely the wrong answer. Letting someone else know you feel uncomfortable moving and/or shaking it will not alleviate the awkwardness. What it will do is make your friend strangely aware of how your body doesn't move normally. And for a brief period, both of you will be focused solely on where your hands should be. And no one will be happy about it.

3. The other day I was riding the bus home from getting groceries, and I saw an older woman ambling through the park with her 2 dogs. Now, this sentence is misleading. What I'm sure you pictured in your minds eye was a gentle old woman walking her dogs on leashes through the park. This is a false assumption. But I can't really put it into words. So I drew a picture.

Just a big mayonnaise jar full of crazy

4. I was supposed to go with my friends yesterday to Tourettes sur Loup (a city famous for violets . . . not tourettes). But as I was not feeling medically adequate, I had to stay in the dorm. It was a huge disappointment. I felt like the mother of a business school graduate who just wants to take some time off to focus on his art.

5. Our hostel in Dublin had a lot of . . . character. There was a huge painting on the wall of famous people from Elvis to Snoop Dogg to Madonna and Britney doing that infamous thing they did. There were also really funny signs everywhere.

PS. I'm not sure how applicable this post title is. I've only seen previews for this movie in French, but everyone is coughing a lot. Also when I first saw the movie poster I thought Gwyneth Paltrow was James Spader.

I know you really want to look it up now.

Do it.

It's uncanny.

Amitiés :)

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