A Brief History of Time . . .

PHRASE OF THE DAY
mon coeur: my heart

Wussup, internet people?

I have fanTAStic news! I applied back in February for the Resident Counselor position at Governor's School for International Studies (which I attended back in high school), and I just found out yesterday that I GOT THE JOB!!! It's 5 weeks at the University of Memphis!

I am so freaking excited! I figured this summer would be the best time for me to do it, because, after spending 9 months overseas, I will literally never be more prepared for the job than I am right now. It's international studies, guys. International.

So yeah! Super excited. I might even go so far as to say super duper excited.

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So this was the last week of classes, which is also super awesome. And even though it's only Wednesday, I can say "was the last week of classes" because I don't have class on Thursday OR Friday! So it's the start of our Reading Week before the 3 week exam period to follow. For me, though, even though I took 7 classes, I only have 3 exams! (Since my other classes already did all the testing and essay writing and brain exploding this week.)

SO! Right now I'm a happier camper, a chipperer camper.

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The past few days/week-ish, when I haven't been studying or writing essays or sleeping, I've spent some time hanging with my Canadians; lounging about, drinking balcony wine, and discussing theories of quantum physics and chaos theory mixed with a Sartre-influenced look at existentialism.

Most of the evenings end with joyous laughter and wonderful company, but one particular evening yielded something a little more substantial, a little more concrete, a lot more catchy.

Instead of telling you, why don't I just show you:

This song was totally improvised. The first time they sang it. Then about 17 tries later we got this little beauty.

So here's to Josh and Adrien. One day you'll be youtube famous, and I can say with an old-timey radio businessman voice "This is where you got your start, see. Gonna be big big stars one day! Gonna get your own picture show!"

That is my vision for the future.

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Since I've been fairly busy with school, not much else has happened. But I recently came across several pictures from my phone and camera that didn't ever make it to the blogosphere. Fortunately for you, I feel they're worth sharing.

Fetch me my time turner!

We're about to get real nostalgic, y'all.

So when I first arrived in Nice, Helen and I explored a bit of the city, markets included. (Eat, Pray, Love)

I don't need to explain myself.

He doesn't call it posing. He calls it standing with STYLE.

Gringotts is in the building!
Or. . . Gringotts is the buiding.

Soon after arriving, classes started. Funny thing about the Fac. de Lettres, they don't have toilet seats. (Lost in Translation)

I feel like it's looking at me . . . angrily.

Remember that time I went crazy and killed an entire megalopolis of flies that had invaded my room uninvited? Though I risk you thinking this is gross, I just have to post this picture. (The Fly)

After the massacre . . .

Then there was the time I hiked all the way down a mountain in sandals cos I was looking for the bus stop. (Little Miss Sunshine)

This was the English group that passed me. So much gear.
I was well underprepared.

Later Helen and I made our way to Cannes, a thoroughly underwhelming city with fancy wall art and big dreams, but that about covers it. Here is a more savory taste of the movie-themed art we encountered. (Creature From the Black Lagoon)

I got a wonderful care package from my friends back home. This is Prince Charmander. He kept me company during the quieter times.

Then there was that time in the amphitheater when the gods of theatrical excellence poured their golden water of thespianism upon my tender head. Turns out there are so many pictures I didn't publish. (The Princess Diaries)

Pretty soonish after that Helen and I made our way to Grasse, the perfume capital of the world (I think). But I never got around to posting anything about it since I scooted off to the UK and lost all interest in smelling good things. So here are some pictures. It was pleasant. Rainy but pleasant.

At our hostel in Dublin, the stairs were really obnoxious. (The Holiday)

Saint Paul de Vence had creepy future toilets that clean themselves. (Contagion)

I also started cooking really awesomely, trying my hand at some typical French cuisine or literally anything over pasta.

La Salade Niçoise

Un Croque Monsieur (essentially)

Fancy pasta

Remember when my mom and Amy came to visit over Christmas? While sitting in a train station, we spotted a man who had recently gotten hair plugs taken from the back of his head and moved to the top. So naturally I took a picture. (Passport to Paris)

It's called crop rotation, guys. Don't judge. This is science.

The Geneva trashcans make a return appearance. (Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome)

"We're dirty and we don't wanna beee . . ."

Here's a secret: when I was having trouble finding people to travel with for spring break, in addition to asking around to see who else was traveling (which was probably the more reasonable of my actions) I also began crafting a PSA for myself. It was to be hosted by Sarah McLachlan, and it would feature Molly, the sad sad little exchange student suffering from bouts of cabin fever and loneliness. Though the PSA never reached completion, I did get about halfway finished before spring break plans were ultimately hatched with my Canadians. Let's just be happy it didn't come to this.

Now, you may be tempted to switch to another blog post,
and I know the majority of you will. Because who cares?
She's not your child, why should you care?

At the flower battle, we felt like veritable queens with our giant floral arrangements. Niks must have a distant royal bloodline, cos she took to it real fast. (Happiness is a warm run)

Mooore grapes, fair Nikita?

Our hostel in Lisbon was the cutest one yet. And their sense of humor was excellent. Very high brow. (Não falo português)

On the door of every locker

Some more from Cabo da Roca

Emily and I attempted to recreate a meal we had in Madrid. We were über successful. Round 2 is tomorrow night, y'all. (No hablo ethpañol)

One day, a wrong turn down an unfamiliar street yielded more than I was prepared to handle.

There's a snake on my boot!

These roller blading guys recently came out of hybernation, and they compete and do tricks on the promenade every single day. It's fun to watch while I'm running.

This morning when I came out of class, I noticed a door to my right. This door is not meant for thru-traffic, so there are signs all over it saying "Do not enter" "Don't open me" yadda yadda yadda. But there was one sign that caught my eye. It was super French.

The emergency stairs are reserved strictly for one purpose.
For smoking.

(And there are ALWAYS people out there smoking during breaks. So you know the sign is working.)

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Well that was a fun little journey, wasn't it? I have a little over a month left here. And I'm starting to feel it.

Here's to making it count.

Amitiés :)

Zip Zap Zop

PHRASE OF THE DAY

I need a bike to avoid insanity: J'ai besoin d'un vélo pour eviter la folie.

This past Saturday was a momentous occasion. It was, wands at the ready, officially the most fun I've had in Nice since I arrived. That's high praise, I know.

Okay so technically we weren't in Nice, but a 30 minute bus ride doesn't really count as traveling, so, for our purposes here, yes, the fun was had in Nice.

Let's take a look back, shall we?

For le mood

The day was April 7th. A Saturday morning. Early. I awoke, in a daze, unsure of my surroundings, as I had spent the night on Adrien's couch after a Canadian get-together the night before had stretched into the wee hours of the morning, inciting concern in my lovely Canadians' hearts and preventing them from thrusting a poor, defenseless, incredibly vulnerable American out into the merciless night where danger literally lurks in every shadowy alleyway lit only by a blinking "No Vacancy" sign and the heartbeat of a hooker's cigarette.

After we said our good mornings and good byes, I returned to my domicile. If only for a moment.

I received a text message that afternoon, "Zipline at 315. Come over asap." 8 minutes later, another message, "And when I mean asap, I mean in less than 20 minutes (last bus leaves then)."

What this message fails to mention is that I was, at that moment, sprawled haphazardly on my bed in my comfiest home clothes, no closer to the promenade than the train creeping out of the station, destination Ventimiglia.

I threw on my sportiest clothes. Then turned to leave. But my key. She was gone. I knew I hadn't much time. I began thrashing about my room. Panic stricken. Heaving the clutter left and right, flailing my arms, bed sheets, and foodstuffs.
7 minutes later, I was in the hall, door locked firmly behind me.

And I ran.

I ran all the way down to the promenade.

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Okay, I'm film-noired out. You? Let us continue.

So we took the bus about 30-40 minutes outside the "city," but, after some confusion, we got off 2 stops too late. Some were annoyed. I just found it hilarious. So we formed a single-file line, and backtracked our path, hugging the barrier to avoid oncoming traffic. This song was rightfully stuck in my head.

As was this one.

But we finally got to our destination.

After a 2 kilometer bike ride down a dirt path, over the river and through the woods that reminded me nostalgically of Radnor Lake, through some giant mud puddles that reminded me of the Kilimanjaro Safari, we arrived.

The ropes course.

We dismounted our bikes and beheld the wondrous sight of rope ladders, cables, and carabiners, stretched across the canopy of trees looming overhead. It was glorious.

After a brief instructional demonstration, we were left to our own devices and began ascending one by one up the rope ladder, for a level-2 difficulty day of fun.

It was SO MUCH FUN. I can't even express it enough. I felt like a spider monkey, zipping through the trees, dangling from vines, swinging from platform to platform without a sense that we were a lot of meters above the ground.

And it was great because it actually required that I use every ounce of strength I could muster and then a little bit more. I was challenged, but in a good way. A fun way.

Chas, this is a great picture of you, and Imma let you finish,
but I don't know if you noticed us in the background.
We're literally hanging out on the side of the wall.

On one of the zip lines, the longest one that went over the river, Niks missed the landing platform and flew back down the line like a sad little pendulum. Nikita: the only one who had to get rescued by a professional.

Speaking of rescuing people, I totally saved someone's life.

There was one level where you had to go across a chasm using only vertical logs suspended by cables.

Danger, Will Robinson

Steph was in front of me. And her harness got tangled on the logs, and she couldn't move forward. So she tried returning to the platform, but her strength gave out. So you know what I did? I sprang into action, relocating my carabiner, and, crouching down, I literally lifted her to safety. Out of the air. I lifted her out of the air.

BABAM

But I'm no hero. All in a day's work, my friends. All in a day's work.

When we were done, the exhaustion was palpable.

My muscles were Jello, my arms like spaghetti, and my extremities covered with bruises like a 2 week old banana. I looked like I had been physically assaulted. But I didn't care. I was in my happy place. And the bike ride back to the camp was so wonderful, I would have ridden all the way back to Nice if stealing other people's things wasn't a felony.

I think Adrien summed it up best, on the ride back: "You know in French movies when they bike through the countryside? That's what this feels like."

Yes, Adrien. It feels exactly like that.

Amitiés :)

UPDATE: Photos courtesy of Nikita.

Slammin'

WORD OF THE DAY
slam poetry: le slam

My goodness what a busy bee I've been.

Busy busy busy.

But all for good things.

Since I usually reserve blogging for the evenings, I was forced to put it on the back burner this week, as almost every night was wrought with other fun things to do. Movies, poetry slams, rock climbing, Easter dinner, and "karaoke" kiiind of took precedence.

But I'm back to recount some of the wondrous wondrous things I've done.

This past Wednesday, the first of the month, there was another poetry slam at that little hole-in-the-wall place that I'd visited last month. I decided to go back, this time with Heather (from Arizona). We got there, we sat down, the only Anglophones in the room.

And then the intermission.

I decided, for the second round of poets, that I would sign up to recite something.

I said to myself, "Molly, you better slam that poetry." And I did.

I recited a poem (in English) by Sarah Kay called "B." It's pretty much my favorite poem of all time ever. And even though most of the audience was French, and maybe some of them don't speak English even a little bit, I think they understood. (And I think maybe they didn't care when I skipped a sizable chunk in the middle cos I was focusing too hard on keeping the microphone steady in my trembling hands.)

This video was another one of the slam poets who performed. His was a little more slammy than mine. And still very powerful. (Sorry for the terrible cameramanship. It took me a few seconds to make it not sideways.)

(Toward the end I got scared that the guy at the door was giving me the stink-eye, so I hid the camera behind the man in front of me. Video quality is less than adequate.)

As the final poets were performing, the emcee-like guy asked me if I had another poem to recite, and I said no, and he said "Well, that's a shame." So then I thought real hard, and I came up with one to perform, but it was too long for the time we had left. But it's probably for the best. "The Monster's Three Wishes" would have definitely ruined my cool mojo I had established with the first poem.

But it really was exhilarating. And I really want to go back next month.

But probably not with "The Monster's Three Wishes."

Amitiés :)

Tuppence a Bag

"I feel the wind blow through my hair
I'm gonna be ready this time
I'll buy a ticket to anywhere
I'm gonna be ready this time.
...
Ready, ready, ready, ready,
Ready to run."

The Dixie Chicks help me express my feelings. And I have a lot of feelings.

I've started up running again! 4 times this week! Babam!

Yesterday while I was out scooting down the promenade, I happened upon this little old man standing off to the side under a tree. He was surrounded by birds. I looked up and saw that he had crumbs in his hands, and was feeding the birds! Out of his hands! So I went up to him and expressed my amusement, and you know what happened? I held a bird, y'all. A real bird. He gave me some of the feed and I held a bird.

It's the little things.

(But I definitely didn't touch my face until I got home. Bird flu is serious.)

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So I'm sorry it's been so long since my last post, you guys. You should know, I get really really hermity when academic stressors pop up. Last week, in addition to not feeling 100%, I had quite a bit on my plate. Remember in my last entry when I talked about those essays I have to write by the end of the semester? Well, turns out I wrote 11 pages of one before realizing I was writing on the wrong topic. And it was the biggest bummer of my life.

Also yesterday we had a 4 hour essay test for that same class. Yes, you read that correctly. It was on a Saturday. And it was gross.

But last night I went over to a friend's place a watched Persepolis, and tonight we're all meeting up again.

So things are looking up.

"Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, when one only remembers to turn on the light."

Dumbledore helps me express my more pensive emotions.

Amitiés :)

UPDATE: I want a companion, so I've sold all my possessions for turtle money.

UPDATE: APRIL FOOLS!

I'm still fighting it...by writing it

Sometimes essays and homework give me the skeevies. This is one of those times.

Someday I'll look back on this moment in my life and think, "Huh. 35,000 characters x 2 = 70,000. 70,000 characters. I mean, what is that really, in the big scheme of things?"

And then I'll pause for a moment.

And then I'll heave a big sigh and realize these 2 essays were meaningless ventures. They didn't matter. I'm no better or worse because of them.

And then I remember that it's not the future yet, and I still have to write them.

And I cry.

So there's only one thing left to do: a battle to the death. Two essays enter, two essays and a severely sleep-deprived college student leave.

Amitiés :(

. . . or whatever you say when you want to spear someone with a trident.

UPDATE: This just in: It's 25,000-30,000 characters, y'all. Go Speed Racer, Go!

Party on, Garth.

PHRASE OF THE DAY
Je ne veux que danser: I only want to dance.

Birthday week strikes again!

Two days ago my mom celebrated a birthday back home, Adrien celebrated a birthday in Nice, and the spring season is now one year older and all the wiser. (Spring chose to forgo presents this year and instead funneled all efforts into making the riviera weather intoxicatingly beautiful. And my god has it worked.)

Since I couldn't be home to spend the day with my mom, I joined up with some friends to congratulate Adrien on having thwarted death for exactly 21 years. We ordered pizza and lounged about for about 6 hours, and it was really just a fantastic evening.

HIGHLIGHT REEL:

1. So I've decided to shoulder the daunting task of trying to make America sound really awesome in the international sphere by introducing my peers to a magical plethora of freedom fry topics. This, friends, is called "cultural integration." As an ambassador for America, I feel it's my civic duty to enlighten the international community to our most important achievements. So far we've thoroughly discussed the Grand Ole Opry, Oprah, and the One-Eyed-One-Horned-Flying-Purple-People-Eater. I'm well on my way to repairing our image, y'all.

2. Unfortunately the topic of the Westboro Baptist Church kept coming up. Like 4 times. This was unintentional and frankly way too homophobic for my taste. But we all agreed to recognize that this church is in the minority. The super-minority. The most minoritiest interest group in existence. I think more people have been attacked by lawn flamingos.

3. "YOU get to be a saint! YOU get to be a saint! YOU get to be a saint! EVERYBODY GETS TO BE A SAAAAINT!!" --Poprah

4. For me, nights in with friends beat nights out with friends a million to one without question. No, a googolplex to one. As Andy Samberg as Nicolas Cage would say, "That's high praise."

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Then last night we all went out in celebration of our friend Jhordan's birthday. The evening was kind of short for me, as I wanted to catch the last bus home. But it was a good time.

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I'll have to come back later and tell you about my theatre class yesterday. It was entertaining.

But for now, I need to grocery. And then I need to essay. And then I need to beach.

So it may be a while . . .

Amitiés :)

UPDATE: Yesterday I read on blogger that someone had searched for my blog using the keyword "pull the blanket over my head and make it go away." I'm confused that this happened. But I'm even more confused that it worked.

♬Oh aye-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di♬

"In Dublin's fair city

Where girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
As she wheel'd her wheel barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive-o!"

Happy belated Saint Patrick's Day, y'all!

Though I didn't make it to Dublin, as so many others did, Nice had no shortage of leprechaunical festivities. And you know what? There were Irish people there! Loads of them! So, yeah, I didn't go to Ireland. IRELAND CAME TO ME!

Now I didn't actually end up getting to town until 9ish, and unbeknownst to me, and a little to my chagrin, others had been "celebrating" since well before 2 o'clock. But the first bit was really fun. Just hanging out and chatting with friends. That's more my thing.

As the night wore on, one universal truth became very apparent. Namely, looking at photos and recounting stories always make nights out look so glamourous. But the reality of the situation is always quite the opposite.

No matter how the evening starts, happy or sad, grouchy or glad, it always devolves into a mind-numbing wander-fest, in which no one can make a single solitary decision on where to go or what to do because no one has a clue what they're doing anyway.

And everywhere you wander is either too full,

"That is a terrible line."

Too expensive,

"I've just remembered how cheap I am."

Or too sketchy.

"This place looks sketched."

And you soon realize all you really want is club soda and your bed.

So you resolve to continue wandering. Partially in hopes of finding the holy grail of hangouts, partially out of sheer boredom, and partially in search of the friends you keep misplacing because your life is a horror movie and someone is definitely out to get you.

And that's fine. Sure. If you like walking. Lucky for me, I do. So the hour-long trek back to my room was not wholly unsatisfying.

So that was the evening out. And all the evenings out.

Does this sound familiar to you?

My guess is "good lord, yes."

Amitiés :)

UPDATED: