nous sommes tous hors de NORMAL

take me to your place
tell me about it
yeah i listen to country music
how else can we escape the concrete jungle
its a feeling more than a song
picture a back porch
some sweet corn
and the mountain sneezes its sweet smell
we all have places we go
when we need to escape
i have many
sometimes im swimming with my dad in Santa Monica
sometimes dolly parton is singing the blues
its sweet home and the slow life
the air is a nectar that reaches your soul
tears over a good hug
a warm touch along my back
gentle eyes to look at
make the day as sweet as the country air

Posted in: on Sunday, March 30, 2008 at at 11:02 AM 0 comments

There are some things you just cannot describe
Like the way you think the sun will never shine again
The way you felt when your boyfriend panicked over accidentally breaking a key in an old door
The way it feels each day
Of each moment
I want to take a bath
And soak my knee in warm water
I hope I can be a desirable candidate for the millennium
I cannot describe the days in Paris
The job in Paris
The life in Paris
Its mashed potatoes
Its cheese fondue spilled over a god dammed baguette traditional
Its 9-7:30
Its confusion wrapped in what might be bacon sharpened by the conversation you don’t understand

Drag me around by my chapped lips
Race me to the sidewalk and the let your inner j-walker come out
Burn the ramen
but spare the vin
You will miss everything if you stay inside

Posted in: on Saturday, March 29, 2008 at at 11:49 AM 0 comments

I’m sure if you have lived in another country then this story will be mildly amusing but the events of tonight could very nicely summarize my life as of March 2008.

I’m in Vienna (Vien) as in Austria, the country, the freezing cold country. I have forgotten my Du dune (ie. Bubble coat, j-lo coat, down jacket) and as usual im freezing. I’m sitting at a table in an Italian pizzeria with two French men (coworkers) starring at a menu in Italian with German translations. I find something called the “scallopine” and immediately think it must be what the Americans call a “scallop” (not sure what the English call it). The French man from near the Italian border points out that Im in the meat section of the menu and I’m dead wrong! Lol. I find the fish section. Still no one knows the German or Italian word for scallop. The other French man says its probably one of three on the list. There is an ENTIRE table next to us of germans from the same company (we are on a business trip) and apparently its rude to ask them to translate so I don’t. The waiter kept pointing out the steak “scallopine” so I decided its time to text my German boyfriend back in Paris and ask him for the word. Its “Jakobsmuschel”, he texts back.

Now the Italian waiter is given the correct German word and I’m immediately reminded that I’m in an Italian restaurant and they don’t have scallops. The two frenchies agree there are no scallops in Italian cooking and I’m completely embarrassed. I’m thinking that even the first generation Italians I knew back in New York didn’t tell me they had no scallops in the Meditteranean Sea. They don’t have oysters either. Am I the only one who didn’t get the memo? I felt like a complete idiot. Lol. But we had a good laugh anyway.

All the while I’m corrected 10 times over for saying “penne” wrong and then I’m given what seemed to be the third lecture on how to properly pronounce Italian words if I choose to continue living in Europe.

Not to beat up this dead horse but please note I am describing only dinner. To bullet some other frustrating translation moments of JUST today we have:

The morning Austrian attack when trying to find the “competitive breakfast” conference room

The Serbian demonstration of some type of thoracic clinical triangle which I made him repeat at least 5 times

The crazy housekeeping lady who knocked on my door tonight while I was in the bath screaming if I wanted what I think was a “beverage”

The glass misunderstand and then ice cube misunderstanding as I attempted to order what the French call a “martini” which, even though it comes in “extra dry” bears absolutely no comparison to the American martini which is likely not even American at all. What the hell is American anyway? I think about the comparisons I make while living here to things from “back in New York” (whatever) but almost immediately realize they were not American at all. NYC really is international. More than we think. And its an extremely good prep city for moving to Paris but NOT without some intensive food/drink class for certain. You must sign up immediately.

Halfway through my Penne Pesto (which had no pesto at all and was served in red sauce) the waiter pointed out the obvious that I was served the wrong penne. But, while he was correct, the hunger situation inside my stomach was so advanced that I didn’t care and refused to give back my plate so he could correct the error.

There is this one characteristic of the coworkers (ie. French men) that I cannot seem to shake. I feel like, for at least one of them, that no matter what you say, he will always and forever have some alternate reaction. Par example:

I am cold (says I)

OH COME ON, ITS WARM IN HERE. (says the argumentative French man)

I am sad (says I)

THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE, THERE IS NO REASON (says the crazy French man)

I told them that I felt nervous about speaking french in front of them and I wasn’t ready to try and he said that was crazy. Even I know its crazy but all I wanted from him is just for him to nod his head and let me “have” (ie. Own) this feeling whether he agreed or not. I knew he would not be able to but I tried and then I told him to just let it go. Stop arguing. I don’t know if its because he’s French or because he’s so set in his ways that he cannot open his mind to the thoughts of people other than him.

The night ended with the three of us headed for the small Vien canal which I think is the Danube canal, not to be confused with the giant Danube river also running through Vien. The one Frenchie lazily checked the map and I forced him to stop caring, put down the map and let us leave! I was, as predicted, miles ahead of them, I could not slow down, even for the respect of their walking pace, I was excited to get my blood flowing as I was without my bubble coat.

We found the canal. Eventually, with little effort honestly. I had two 2 euro coins and asked the boys to make a wish. Of course they could not deal with this and insisted the “tradition” was to only throw pennies. I agreed this was even the American tradition but I had no pennies and they should just shut up and deal. I am not rich but I had at least one wish I needed to wish and in emergencies, any coin will have to do. They could not agree so another exhaustive debate was held until I had convinced one of them and we finally made our wishes. I was so tired, I’m not even sure I put in the wish I wanted.

Posted in: on Monday, March 10, 2008 at at 6:32 AM 0 comments

Remember this...

you live in france
you havent learned french
it shouldn't be so hard
to buy a bike
but even anger is difficult to translate
things must change

im mad at myself because I should try harder
why am i so tired all the time
why is work so important
i dont have a void about my career
what is normal?
what is the way people are?
im taking a poll...how many of you have a intense overwhelming
need to work, to be work, to live and love work?
am i in the wrong job?
the wrong country?
how come my priorities dont match the others?


i was trying to think of a way to explain something that happened today
the wind is normally my best friend
is the call of the ocean
the calm of the country
its me
but today it was this evil force
i was blinded by the sun
tortured by the wind
and it was all exasperated by the misunderstandings
of the english language
i spoke to my american friend tonight
i cant remember how to think in english
i couldnt remember words like "disfunctional"

its all going to be ok because tonight
im going on a boat
on the seine
to dance
and dancing is the best thing in the world
right now
beat beat beat beat beat
thump a dee thump
you gotta make it through

this is the life

Posted in: on Saturday, March 1, 2008 at at 10:47 AM 0 comments

I put on the scarf
my neck started to itch
My neck lays on your arm
when we sleep
and its an unconditional love
I stopped writing
cause of culture shock
but whose culture is indeed shocked?
you remind me of the happiest days
the warmest sun
an embrasse I always wanted
What I know the most
is that I deserve you
what i know the least doesn't matter
stop counting your vacation days
are you afraid of missing something
has the boat sailed away
this worries me but unconditionally
i believe in the next boat
and even if the count is zero my love
you have me

Posted in: on Monday, February 25, 2008 at at 11:46 AM 1 comments

Admittedly I only let the fact that I now live in Europe enter my mind gradually. Most of time I think I pretend I'm still in NYC. It only really hits me at certain times and usually just briefly (from a few minutes to an hour) that its a reality like today when I first thought I had a toothache but wasn't ready to face that fact knowing full well that going to a dentist would be like fixing the carburetor on any machine that had one. It would require books and learning and hours upon hours of research. But then after those thoughts cross through me, I think more simply and wonder who I could ask to help me. That’s a big struggle here. Asking for help versus learning on your own. I only feel slightly guilty when I ask for help because I have paid careful attention in these last few years to my core limitations.

I feel like I know when I have reached a maximum in terms of struggle and hardship and I try to refuse myself to step over that limit. If I feel like I'm getting stressed or upset, I can now (mostly) have a mini conference in my mind (usually in the moment of crisis) and decide whether it’s controllable or not controllable. If not, then I let myself relax and I think even my body language will reveal the decision I've made.

So now I have this ache in my entire lower jaw. It’s really weird and I'm wondering if it’s related to something I ate or the water or whatever? I JUST went to the dentist for a full check up less than a month ago and left with a clean bill. So what is this pain? It’s almost like my gums are swollen and it hurts to talk sometimes. So I begin thinking that in the states, we call our dentist and make an appointment, insurance (if we have it) takes care of the rest. As I reach for the phone (in my mind) I realize I am here. And then reality strikes.

My mom asked me today how work was going. My immediate thought was to think why is she asking me that? Its work, work is work, but then again, I'm reminded that she never really asked about work before, she must be asking about Paris work. New job work, new life work. That has to be it. So then I am again, reminded that I'm not in America.

I also begin to wonder how I can move to Paris, live in a hotel room, read a French train schedule, find a French bus and work in a mostly French office and yet still leave little room in my mind that I'm actually in France. It’s strange how other people remind me of this fact that is plain as day.

I wondered if my friend who recently visited was happy to be home again. Back in NYC. If she felt like her life was there and why she felt that way? And how she didn’t seem that bothered that her most potential mate was in London with no job and a firm hand to never live in the US again.

I wonder if we ever truly know where we will end up or how we will get there. The cute German at work said he wasn't sure if moving to France was the "best" decision for him because all/most of his friends were back home (somewhere in Germany) and I didn't have time to respond to that but I have been thinking about that statement a lot.

I moved to New York BECAUSE all my friends were there. I moved to Paris with little to no friends. I can’t make heads or tails of these reasons but they were different times in my life. I was about 22 when I moved to NYC and needed friends all around me. Needed heaps of inspiration and commotion and chaos that North Carolina could not offer me. I wasn't ready to take charge of my life and needed a certain support group to guide/help me. These friends accomplished this very task I secretly assigned them. And the inner growth sparked and flourished. I still need them but now it’s in different ways.

I guess I have "grown" a level of confidence that allows me to make giant decisions and move to a new country alone. I have no strings, no weights, nothing to stop me and I love this about my life. I know now that no matter where I go, my friends back in NYC are gold. And I could feel this most when I was leaving and every one of them reached out to me with support and genuine concern that my transition here would be with ease.

Posted in: on Saturday, January 5, 2008 at at 2:39 PM 1 comments

Pic: Window at Printemps

The lights/window combination of super holiday spirit made the NYC Macy's look like a cheap ass strip mall in Colonia, New Jersey. haha. And as if that wasn't enough, Printemps is located right next to Galleries Lafayette with lights that practically made you holy on the spot (see pics). But of course the pics don't even justify the real time experience. The thing is, on the Pari-Roller, i skated RIGHT down this road (blocked off to cars of course) and right through the lights. It was like skating through my own personal winter wonderland/lets go "pneumonia" night of happiness!

The report from new years includes complete madness on my part. See I read the email quickly which stated it was a "black and white" party. Reading that combined with the fact that the dinner party I attended at the same place was too the nines with every detail so in my mind black and white immediately translated into "black tie" which mean't my friend and I needed dresses and fast. THe one i had in mind to wear was still back in nyc and my friend didnt have anything that dressy. We put together our best black tie wear:
me- velvet pencil skirt with elaborate black top
her - black knee length dress with v-neck
both of us dressed the outfits with pearls, black gloves and our tall heels.

we show up at the lobby and see some guys in jeans walking in. my friend said they must be with a different party.

so we arrive and about 2.5 seconds later realize that im a complete fool. black and white meant simply black and white. we were the nicest dressed people in the entire party and received many compliments about our style. haha.

Pic: Window at Galleries Lafayette

the food spread outdid the dinner party spread two gorgeous gays could ever prepare/order. I'm not even kidding that they served two HUGE plates of (well lets list)

1. two huge plates of fresh oysters
2. 20 kinds of french cheese and breads
3. homemade goat cheese bread
4. 1/2 foot block (at least) of fois gras (which costs like 100/euros an square centimeter
5. american style turkey and stuffing
6. 4 dessert trays
7. cake
8. a HUGE fully flavored salad
and if you think i didnt eat cause of all the cheese, you are WRONG my friend...
9. 15 differnt kinds of finger foods i cant even begin to describe

Pic: Oyster spread

the wine/champagne was endless. im not sure how the kitchen even held that much food. it was pure madness in the food department.
in the gay department it was pure goodness. The gays love to dine and wine. I met too many people. One straight guy who flew in from Prague (he's american) who told my friend and i we were the most "good looking females" at the party and there were at least 10 females (total) to choose from. I think a few were gay. Who knows but we ran into the "gay" females a day later in my hood. They totally recognized us. Probably cause we are the two tallest females in all of Paris. lol The tall thing is almost out of hand. I'm just too tall for life in general sometimes.

So the party ended at whatever time I cannot remember but we had a great time.

I must mention that my friend and I hit two crepes places while she was here. The first was my favorite and could do no wrong. There are many to choose from so the 2nd time we hit another one and it was the worst experience ever.

Firstly, the waiter fooled me into letting on that he spoke english. He brought out the "still" water. I quickly poured and my friend said "we have a floater" and i noticed a little black dot in her cup. Then upon inspection of the container, I noticed there were NOT ONE but THREE fucking insects FLoating in the damn thing. I tried to give it back to the waiter but another waiter intervened, hardly looked at the insects I pointed to and took it away quickly.

Then we ordered and it was no use epxlaining the bugs at this point. I ordered a crepe with egg and ham. She ordered a crepe with egg and sausage. I even POINTED to the item on the menu. Out came more water with MORE bugs and my crepe fully loaded with Cheese!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pic: Lights at Printemps

dammit. so we pretended to eat, then left. The waiter looked annoyed. We will never go there again. So we get back to the hotel and I immediately consult my buddy Mattheiu at the front desk about the experience. He explains how I should have ordred and how I should have asked his advice first for a restaurant cause his mom is from Brittany and "he" (aka, his mom) knows best. His version of english is beyond cute. HE then expressed complete PAIN that I could not eat cheese and I tried to explain its not all cheeses but only a few. The conversation was priceless:

Matthieu: You are only allergic to cow cheeses?
Me: Mostly yes, it depends. I am allergic to goat cheese as well and thats not cow.
Matthieu: No, goat cheese is cow.
Me: What? its goat no?
Matthieu: No, sometimes its cow.

My friend says she saw me crying with laughter trying not to laugh at that comment. In fact, I hardly remember the rest of the conversation because all I could think was how horribly cute he was to say that. I love that man. LOVE HIM!

These lost in translation moments are numerous. Just the other day, I left two bottles of champagne for my new landlord and his brother at his brothers apartment door in my new building along with a card. A few days later after I left a message hoping he got my "present" he called and emailed that he was so happy to recieve my "file". I was sure I didnt say file and even my boss at work didnt know what that meant.

We also got this email from the cutest most wonderful Hungarian from another work office in Budapest who went on and on about how sick he has been but he doesnt think its like last time when he was really sick and have to have his "almond" removed! He said he's sick again but since he no longer has his "almond" then he is ok! I had to ask what that meant and apparently its his tonsils! And in Hungarian, the word for the nut AND the organ are the same.

:)
I will stop here. too much already im sure.

Posted in: on Friday, January 4, 2008 at at 12:12 PM 1 comments