Chronic-ism

Today I missed my train to Nantes where I was planning to shop and hang out with another assistant. Now I have to sit here and blog because there is nothing else to do.

I have serious temporal problems. Problems with time. Problems with being on time. And this problem has cost me big time in regards to money and missed oppourtunity. I think it should be my birthday resolution to fix this chronic problem, lest I be fired at my first real job.

This problem however seems to be unfixable. No matter how early I leave for something, something happens on the way and I am still late.

However, being late all the time has some major advantages. Namely that it has managed to make me pretty tough. After you miss your first trans-atlantic flight, it's hard to rattle you.

Here is a list of times where being late has cost me big time:

1. Summer of 2009. Missed flight from Israel to New York (and then New York to Toronto).


I left 4 hours early. I decided to take public transportation. I got on the wrong train. I got on the right train. I decided to get off train and take cab, throwing whatever American money I had at Shmuli, the driver. I got to the airport with 30 minuites to spare, but check in had closed and they wouldn't let me on. I cried. They didn't feel sorry for me. The flight was insured so they just moved me to the next flight. My connecting flight from New York to Toronto, however, was not insured so I had to buy a new flight. I spent the day in an internet cafe trying to book another flight listening to some Spanish guy declare his undying love for a girl over Skype.

Then I had to put my luggage back in the hostel where I had been staying, only to run into the Danish guy I had made out with the night before, thinking I would never see him again. Can you say "awkward?"

But I was so tired from staying up the whole night before drinking Israeli Ouzo and smoking hash, and so frustrated from missing my flight, and so sweaty from being in the freakin desert, that I didn't really care.

2. Winter 2008. Missing Eurostar train from London to Brussels after flying in from Toronto.

I wrote about this in my other blog, Flemish Beer, but I will rehash. Basically I spent the afternoon shopping. I didn't realize how long the buses could take in London so I missed my train and there was no later train. I was a wreck, from being jetlagged and from having to carry ALL my luggage around all day, but lucklily the very nice British ticket man said I could take the earliest train the next morning without charging me extra. This was after breaking down in gut wrenching sobs though. I had no money, so I decided to put my 24 Tube pass to use and just rode around on the buses for hours, it was like my own mini tour of London. Eventually I ended up at Liverpool station where I met some Australians and went bar hopping with them. I ended up sleeping over at one of there houses, waking up early and catcing the 6:30 train to Brussels.

3. All the time. Missing the Eurostar-
I think I have missed about 3 or 4 Eurostar trains by now. Nooooo Joke. I just missed one a month ago when I went from Paris to London. Again, I didn't miss it , but I was not a "half an hour early" so they wouldn't let me on. Bastards!!! Seriously the Paris train station is so giantic and confusing and it took me 45 minuties to even find the Eurostar check in!

4. Last month. Taking the wrong train from Paris, to Nantes instead of Sable
I already blogged about this. Worse. Evening. Ever.

5. Missing Greyhound buses from Toronto to Ottawa.
I always miss these. My dad always yells at me. Luckily, they don't charge you.

6. December 2007. Missing my flight from Marrakesh to Lisbon
This one was on purpose. I was too lazy to go all the way back up to Marrakesh since I was surfing in Agadir (I use the term "surfing" loosely. More like frantically paddling in the water). I had pre-booked a flight to Lisbon since I really wanted to see Portugal, which is Danielle's Murphys Law : If ye pre-book a flight, ye will miss it. So I just decided to skip the flight, in a fit of travelingrelaxation
(whereby the traveller becomes so overly chilled he or she ends up doing shit all and starts using phrases like "whatever man, no biggy, just chill", or in other words, acting like an Australian acts, all the time. If you want a visual aid for this term, please watch the The Beach, to see all the dangers of acting like this)
So I ended up just staying in Morroco because of my laziness, which turned out well since I love Morroco, but then I realized, too late, that I also had a flight from Lison to Brussels (where I was studying) which meant I had no way to actually leave Morrocco, and I had to start school in a few days. Another session spent at an internet cafe at an airport lead me to a ticket to Brussels. And this was before EasyJet and RyanAir had flights to Morrocco, so it wasn't easy, lemme tell you.



I am sure I am missing a million missed trains and flights, but these are the mains ones. It has probably cost me like over 500$ for my carelessness, but it has led to some pretty interesting situations. I'm also ALWAYS late for school and jobs. always always always. But I'm 22 now, I have to act like a grown-up, so I think I am going to buy a watch. Or make someone buy it for me for my birthday.

Ps: The reason I don't have a watch is because...wait for this..I'm allergic to them. Seriously. I actually break out into hives when I wear a watch. No joke. Now do you believe that Chronic-ism is a genetic things?

French Breast Racisim

I have big breasts. Fact.

It is impossible to find good bras in Canada that cost less than 80$. Sometimes in the states I can find a bra at Victoria Secret that is my size, but the quality is pretty crap there. Undergarments are no doubt the most important part of any outfit as soon as you are a C, which, I think I surpassed sometime in 6th grade. So I will spend whatever it costs, because if I don't I will end up looking like an obese midget. ( and for those girls who are reading this with big breasts and who have never spent more then 30$ on a bra, 80% chance that you are wearing the wrong size, go get fitted now. RUN. Life-changing event, I swear. )

Usually, I buy my bras from small boutiques in Toronto and always French labels because the French are one of the only countries in the world that manufacture quality, cute bras for the well-endowed.

Such as this Chantelle bra. It comes in my size. Do you know how rare that is? Read the ode to it here

So imagine how excited I was to be in France and be able to buy non-imported bras, which I figured had to be cheaper. They were. But the price depended on size.

The bigger size you are, the higher the price.


WTFFFFFFFF.

I asked my teachers about this and they acted like this size discrimination was completely normal. "eeeef you want French-made garments zen you muzt pay for ze extra material".

How much extra material could possibly be in a bra? 3 more inches? Is 3 more inches worth a 5 euro price differential?

So I could either buy cheap Chinese-made bras which will be me look the aforesaid obese midget, or I can suck it up and pay an extra five euros for my breasts to be properly supported and adorned in beautiful French lace.

My breasts have made me suffer quite enough thank you very much and I don't appreciate being asked to fork over 5 euros more than my lucky friends who have been blessed with appropriate sized chests.

Isn't enough that I can't wear button up shirts, double-breasted coats, am hit on regularly by middle-aged men, am never taken seriously in the philosophy department and NOW they want me to pay an extra 5 euros?

Birthday!

Blogging is getting VERY ADDICTING. I have to remind myself not to do it everyday so you guys don't get sick of me or thing I have no life. Just so you know, I do have a life (although its true I do have a lot of spare time here) but also I want to be a journalist (I think... we'll see) so I consider blogging to be a productive hobby!

Anyways so I turned 22 yesterday! Wahoo! I had some major pre-b-day blues :(. I think your birthday, like Thanksgiving or Christmas is one of those events that you are used to spending with people that you care about and that care about you.

It's a time where you just get homesick and want your friends and family and a Baskin Robbin mint chocolate chip ice cream cake.

But, it turned out way better then I had imagined thanks to the amazing teachers at my school!

I recieved an e-mail last week saying that I needed to come to the teachers lounge to fill out some paper work on Dec.3. I'm pretty gulliable and it took me several days to figure that there was a possibility that they would plan something. When I walked in there was 2 cakes with candles, coffees and presents!

The English Teacher, who gave me linens and took me for lunch at her house in the countryside, had a major migrane and so made her husband drive her to school and it is is so sweet that she went to all that trouble. She made this chocolate cake that is so rich and amazing; literally the best chocolate cake I have ever eaten in my life. I ate 2 slices and then a few slices more later.

All the teachers also signed a card and got me a lotion, shampoo and bubble bath from L'Occitane En Provence, which I have ALWAYS wanted to buy something from.

And then one of my students made me a cute card and they all sang happy birthday. In English!

And later that night our friends (who arere students in the technical school) came over and brought an apple cake thing, that is not a flan, nor a cake, but basically apple, bread, butter and sugar. It was good!

So it turned out fun and not lonely or depressing!

Sure, unlike last years birthday party I didn't drink 22 jello shots

and unlike the year before that I didn't grind with Sinter Klaus, but hey, I'm more mature now!

For the real celebration, this weekend I head off to Paris (pronounces Pare-eeeeeee) for some serious Starbucks'n' Lourve-ing.

Le Mans Foyer part2

I forgot to include several interesting pieces of information about the Le Mans foyer that I may be moving into. As we learned from my last post, that also means that I may not move in.

This is because they aren't sure that they have rooms. Apparently it will take them until next Monday to figure out if they have a room available.

Perhaps if they started work before 5 pm they would already know this?

In addition, the vending machine does not have diet coke. They have coke, classic coke, zero coke, nestea and cherry coke but NO diet coke.

Do I really want to be living somewhere that can't provide me with my daily aspartame fix?

Although, I have been weaned off this addiction since coming to France so perhaps it is for the best. I can just see myself spending 10 euros a week .

As well, the heating, like everywhere else in France, sucks ass. If I didn't have this space heater in my room I would be on a plane headed back to a developed country, i.e, Canada, who has managed to keep its citizens from freezing despite having temperature of -40 degrees celcius.

To add to my list of complaints, there is one washing machine for the entire foyer.

There are way over 100 rooms in the foyer. And there is one washing machine. It costs 4 euro to use. There is one. FOR THE WHOLE FOYER.

Could this be where the stereotype of the dirty Frenchman originated?

Furthermore, the restaurant is closed on Sundays, but they open a shared kitchen. This makes perfect sense though. Since you can't shit on Sunday, it makes sense to also not be allowed to eat on Sunday.

Despite all this, I really don't care where I live as long as the city is good. I once spent half of a happy summer sleeping on a mattress on a roof, so I think I can handle French foyer conditions.

Swiss vote to ban minarets

Swiss vote to ban minarets a warning to Europes Muslims

Europeans are crayyyyyyyyyzeeeeeeeeeeeee.


I know it is a stereotype that American's are racists, but if you look at government policy I think that Europe is way more racist. Europe, par example, has never come close to voting in a black president.

Okay I am going to make this easy. Everything I say about the Swiss can be said about the French.

1. Swiss are Swiss. Therefore everyone who is not several generations Swiss is not Swiss and is considered other.

2. The Swiss are for some reason terrified of Muslims.
--> okay not for some reason. Muslims DO cause a lot of problems in France, causing riots, for example. Is it because they are Muslim? Or perhaps because they are unemployed, mistreated, discriminated against, and ALSO appen to maintain values that prioritize agression and honour?

3. They react to this by banning things. Minarets, Burkas, symbols of Islam.

4. This is stupid. Canada has a lot of Muslims. Muslims in Canada do not riot. They still very much practice their religion, but are peaceful and employed. Why?

4a. We embrace Muslims, genuinely encourgate them to maintain their religious traditions as long as it is combatible with fundemental Canadian values.

4b. We don't consider them "the other" since there are so many cultures, we have no reason to single out Muslims. We have next to zero nationalism, unlike European countries which highly value their "Frenchness" and "Swissness" and automatically makes succesful multiculturism harder.

4c. We put in a lot of time, money and effort to integrate all immigrants by teaching them the language, helping them with jobs and 'affirmative action' for visible minorities. This is not done in France or Swizterland. So visible minorities are not employed, get bored, get lonely and get dangerous.

4d. We welcome immigrants to our neighbourhoods, because, hey, we're all immigrants anyways! Unlike France whos shove their immigrants in the suburbs. For integration to work, people must physically integrate!

5. Difference in attitude. We act as though we genuinely value immigrants. Swiss and France act as if immigrants are just there to do the jobs no one else wants to do.

6. 54% Swizterland are idiots.

7. A French PM condemned this vote and I laughed, because if this was a vote in France it would probably turn out the same.

8. ughhhhh the world sucks.

Words Matter

So this post, which I just found about 20 min ago is a blog written by a guy who pretty much believes the opposite of everything I do. Well, not the opposite, for sake of accuracy, but he certainly has different beliefs.

I had to agree with him mostly on this post though, except I do think he goes heavy on feminists and academia (especially in some of his other posts, holy shit)

This is not related, per say, to my year in France, but I still think that it is interesting, especially for blogging. Anytime I edit someone's essays I always tell them to strive for accuracy in words, but I don't always follow this advice.

This is a blog, so I don't take as much care in making sure words mean something, but I should, since words are important. They matter. Using words correctly matters. Understanding when a word is used incorrectly matters because you can't critically think about something if you don't understand what it means.

As in “the Swine Flu may be pandemic” or “this stock should rise 40 percent next year.” Based on what premise? Any argumentative conclusion containing a qualifier is suspect information. Remember, coffee may be bad for you, or it may be good for you. The media is in the business of selling hysteria so they can gain advertising revenue. They need media junkies who are addicted to their daily fix.

Turn off the TV, take the train, fly on a plane, read Hemingway and take everything the media reports with that proverbial grain of salt. And take off the face mask; you look ridiculous. The next time you face a real problem in life, try a little grace under pressure and skip the Chicken Little routine.

Foyer Hunting: Anger

The foyer that I viewed in Anger was way nicer than the one in Le Mans. Wayyyy nicer and cleaner with bigger rooms and *gasp* wifi in the rooms. But, as discussed in a previous post, I had a horrible day in Anger and that is a bad omen.

In addition, however, that foyer was for females only. The only fun single-sex dorms exist in porn movies.

Okay..TRUTH...the REAL reason is that it was freakin creepy.

It was in an old building, as buildings in Europe frequently are. Perfect for lingering spirits and creaky stairs and locks easy to break.

I got let in by an old lady who said "We've been expecting you". The subtext being" We aren't expecting you to ever leave"

As she lead me into her office my eyes were drawn to Jesus. And his mother. In small frames, on crucifix's, on paintings, and on postcards. As she lead me up the stairs Jesus was there again, on a crucifix. When we checked out the restaurant I noticed that Mother Mary would be watching over me as I ate.



I've seen that movie, and it ends with the young promiscuous foreigner, naked in the bathtub, covered in blood.