The Skin I'm In

The Discovery

2006-03-30T13:48:00.000+02:00

do not imagine that the exploration ends,
that she has yielded all her mystery
or that the map you hold
cancels further discovery

I tell you her uncovering takes years
takes centuries, and when you find her naked
look again, admit there is something else you cannot name,
a veil, a coating just above the flesh
which you cannot move by your mere wish

when you see the land naked, look again
(burn your maps, that is not what I mean),
I mean the moment when it seems most plain
is the moment you must begin again

- Gwendolyn MacEwan

Rebirthing

2006-03-30T13:05:00.000+02:00

Spring is slowly trickling back. Around me and within me. I saw the years first custard colored snails and have cracked my first (and second) crème-brûlée crust. I feel like Amélie, except I'm not good at skipping stones and I'm growing my bangs out.

I deserve a raise.

2006-03-22T16:28:00.000+01:00

I really do. Despite only having worked there (Haagen-Dazs) for, oh, barely a week. I believe a raise, in my still unknown salary (I need to ask more questions...) is still due, with all the business I'm bringing in. I know that's arrogant sounding, and for those with sensitive... eyes, I should say, I warn you now to avert them as the rest of the paragraph shall be equally, if not exceedingly pretentious. It seems I already have a throng of admirers coming to see me, my colleagues have even said that they get inquisitions as to the whereabouts of "la Canadienne". I find this fascinating; not only due to the obvious ego-stroking it entails, but like most members of the female population, I am completely ignorant and/or unaware of my physical appearance to others. Not to say that I'm one of those girls who gets a kick out of saying how fat/ugly/swine-like she is, only to hear people disagree with her, or who'll publish a picture of herself and then entitle it something like: "Eww, me!" Please, we all know what egomaniac game you're trying to play, after all, I was once the master of that very game. I mean, I have my self-depreciating moments, but for the most part, I am growing more comfortable in my own Skin. On the other hand, I am perfectly aware that there are plenty of girls out there who are far better looking than me. Ho hum, lucky them. In brief, I may not be the prettiest thing out there, but there are far more worse looking girls out there, than good-looking ones, and I think I deserve a raise... maybe. Okay, I think I've thrown myself enough flowers for one day.
On a less egocentric note, chaos seems to be quite abundant over yonder here in France. Students; university and high school I believe, have been on strike for a few weeks now, and they now have their first fatality. For those who are unaware, which I'm going to guess is most of you are, of the situation here, I will attempt to explain it to the best of my knowledge. I'm not particularly political, as I went through that phase between the ages of 12 and 15, and have now grown weary of it, at least for the time being. After all, you gotta save yourself before you can save the world... Anyways, so the government recently (and sneakily) implemented this new plan called CPE --- "Contrat Premier Emploi", which basically changes the former 3 month probationary period at a job, to a 2 year probationary period. Of course, for anyone trying to settle themselves in the workforce that's a wee bit nerve wracking, as you are now walking on egg shells for the next 2 years as opposed to 3 months. Of course, who, would this change effect the most? Most people under the age of 26 who are in, or just finishing university and are about to throw themselves to the wolves in order to "make a living" (What irony...) that's who. So of course, in typical French fashion, much action is taken, with a flair that only the French can pull off. Along with the mandatory protests and demonstrations, some folks have decided that occupying the university would be a good idea as well. I don't know what or how that really does anything, but that's what they've decided to do. Of course, that means it's not unusual to see people sleeping , or smoking tobacco and non-tobacco things alike, outside your French Literature class. Well, apparently one dude decided to take things a step further, by going and dying on us at around 10 this morning, and then remaining inconspicuously dead until around after 2 this afternoon. So yes, next to an abundance of dog poop, elephant-like secretaries and fine cheese, we now have students dying at school. And remaining unnoticed that way for a few hours. Remind me why I'm here again? Oh yes, of course... the cheese.

2006-03-16T21:52:00.000+01:00

I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, its a way of looking at lifethrough the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, and that enables you to laugh at life's realities.

-Dr. Seuss

Choc Choc Chips

2006-03-16T12:13:00.000+01:00

I just got a job working at Haagen-Daz. It's delicious.
Life has taken an interesting turn. Can't say if it's for the better or for the worse, as God (or whomever) works in mysterious ways. I must trust and have faith in Myself and in the Universe. I know I have the strength to carry onwards.

Libra

You may feel like a giant wrecking ball, dear Libra, that is anxious to break down existing structures. Perhaps you are upset by a new development in your town, the political system that runs the country, or the power structure within your own home. Regardless of the exact reasons for wanting to do so, you are certain that change needs to happen in order for progress to be made. Often one must tear down an existing structure before a better one can be built.

It's all in the mind...

2006-03-13T13:52:00.000+01:00

Theology and Geometry

2006-03-10T17:48:00.000+01:00

Symmetry has been restored to my body and I ate strawberries for the first time yesterday.
"A Confederacy of Dunces" is ridiculous. I highly reccomend it.

When I was young...

2006-03-08T15:29:00.000+01:00

Recently, I've been thinking, or remembering various moments in my childhood that really had an impact on the development (or destruction) of the person we have before us today. So bear with me here, as I explore these crucial moments of my so-called development. After all, no one is forcing you to read this.
The one that dawned upon me today, occurred when I was either 6 or 7, after a disagreement of sorts had transpired between me and my teacher at school, and I sought my revenge by sticking my tongue out at her. Of course, my father is immediately notified of this (I won't deny that I was a little bit of a rambunctious child. I'd like to think that I had character...) and a couple days later (My father has a tendency to wait a couple days, or weeks, or even months between sin and punishment. Which doesn't really work with a child as young as 6, or even 8. Much like a puppy that has soiled the carpet earlier, their simple minds are too preoccupied a mere 2 hours, later with the latest scent stumbled upon or what glorious ensemble could be put together for their beloved Barbie to wear to the Pony Ball.) So yes, a couple days later, I am accosted on my horrible sin, by my father armed with a dictionary. I remember him pointing out the word "respect" and read the definition out loud to me and then basically told me what I did was disrespectful and that I shouldn't have done it and to respect my teacher in the future. I must admit, that I left that encounter rather confused, unenlightened and ashamed. I've always yearned and sought love, admiration, approval, and just plain attention from my father. Even to this day, I find myself crippled with a bout of inferiority complex, despite all I know. I was the ultimate daddy pleaser, and I'm glad he wasn't sick enough to take advantage of that. My daddy was my world, he could have been God himself for all I knew. Everything I did was to make him proud and make him love me more. There was nothing that made me happier than to receive the "daddy thumbs-up" in something I'd pursue or accomplish. He was the single most important person in my life. Needless to say, I am in the process of getting over that, but for most of my life, my father was a shining figure of perfection in my gullible, naive eyes.
Anyways, I feel that that encounter taught my impressionable 6 year old mind that my own judgment was crap (It was as good as any 6 year old's.) and that elders should remain unquestioned, unobjected (Not sure if that's a word.) and always right. All things I've come to realize now, are completely false. My gut instinct hasn't let me down thus far, on the rare occasions I listen to it, and yes, most "elders" do have more life experience than say, a 6 year old, but we're all learning here and we should always question and inquire and discover.
Looking back now, and by no means am I trying to declare myself an expert on parenting. I'm only 18 and still have much to learn before I even fathom the idea of being a parent, and even then, I'll still have so much more to learn! Like I said, we're all learning and living and growing here, and sometimes we need to be questioned on our intentions and actions. This is just my 2 cents as to how that specific incident could have been handled. I think, instead of condemning my actions from the beginning, it would have been wiser to question why I felt the need to show my teacher such a lack of respect (It was disrespectful, but I forgot what she did that made my 6 year old mind decide that sticking my tongue out at her was a suitable conclusion to our altercation.), of course not wording it in that way, because that still implies that what I did was wrong. Of course, after establishing with the child her need to stick her tongue out at the teacher, you can then declare the status on tongue sticking outing, and then discuss better ways of expressing your displeasure with others.
Oh well, live and learn.

It's not all bad...

2006-03-06T16:36:00.000+01:00

I seem to focus, or at least write, too often on the negative aspects of living in France. So today, I am going to focus on the country's and its peoples more positive attributes. Because, believe it or not, they do exist!
While the French people may be an abrasive people, I can gurantee you, that you won't ever have to try to guess what exactly it is they think about you or a situation. They'll let you know, pretty much right off the bat how they feel at the time being. Whether it be you crossing the street (French people LOVE to beep horns, it's one of their endearing, childish habits.) or you making their day by giving up your seat on public transit. Emotions are plentiful and always ready to be shared, and I really respect and admire that. Living with my father for 6 years conditioned me to be blissfully ignorant of mine and others emotions, always in denial of the mere existence of emotions themselves, so coming to France is a rather refreshing experience at times, and at the same time quite traumatizing.
Another thing I've noticed is their way of embracing individuality. It's not like in North America where individual well-being is placed above collective well-being, quite the opposite actually. The French encourage a more wholistic approach to indiviuality, as in they encourage you to find out what it is you're good at and to do it. For example, by the time kids reach highschool, they have to have an idea of the general field they want to be working in for the future. They have literary schools, art schools, technical schools, science schools, etc. and in those schools your studies are focused on the very thing you're working towards. As opposed to North America, where they try to pound a round peg into a square hole with "discipline" and "ambition". Here, they help the round peg find the round hole and put it in there. I feel that it's a good system.

"A dick of a day."

2006-02-28T21:09:00.000+01:00

Well today has been one dick of a day. That's my new expression by the way.
Today, has simply been one of those days when nothing really goes in your favor and the crappy things that happen are amplified to twice their true volume in your mind.
I was ready to go to one of the few classes I still attend, on time and all, when some cable guy says he needs to get into the building. I tell I need to get to class but: "Nooo, it'll just take a minute." So, being the spineless creature I am, oblige and open the door, but then he needs to get downstairs, of course he doesn't know what he's looking for and when he finally found it, I didn't even have the key to open it. Waste of my fucking time that was, and of course renders me late for class. Unfortunately, I have this thing that, when I'm late for something (usually class), even though I've made it all the way there, jumping many hurdles and all, if I'm late, I'm likely to just turn around and go back. I become really anxious in those sort of situations where I am unwillingly drawing attention to myself. I already feel foreign enough as it is, I don't need to aggravate that condition.
So yes, I was only 5 minutes late, and I turned around and went back. However, I decided all my peddling and shivering (the wind has been biting lately) should not be done in vain and decided to visit some youth employment place to parooze some job postings. Well, on my way there, my beautiful, wonderful, spectacular, bug-like sunglasses slipped out from my coat and onto the road. I dismount my bike and put the stand down but there's a a car approaching so I let it fall (which later proves to be a big mistake) in order to try to save my estranged spectacles. But to no avail, the car crushed them and this here is what puzzled me: I start to feel that awful, burning sensation behind my eyes, like when one is fighting back tears. I have no clue why the crushing of something as mundane as a pair of sunglasses, was rendering me a blubbering blubberball. The lady who crushed said glasses however, was kind enough to come out and see what she'd done, but I told her that: "It's just a pair of sunglasses, it's sad but c'est la vie." Even then I was touched, because in this country, we've been rearended by someone and the offending party didn't even come out to apologize or anything.
So yes, my wee lil' spectacles were broke and still holding back my tears, I went to pick up my bike and carry on with the day, only to find out that the chain had fallen off the gear. Well, that was too much for my floodgates to take and I just let loose and cried and cried and cried. Eventually, I decided that I ought to at least give fixing it a try, and with a bit of staring helplessly and weeping at my lame and greasy bike, I figured it out and continued on with me day. I'd also never done that before, had to put a chain back onto its gear.
But yeah, that would be the dicky part of my day. The rest of it was uneventful at least.
Ohh, and I've managed to do a trick on my hula hoop! Basically, I stand there with the hoop starting on my arm and then I put my leg up like a doggy taking a wee and then put the hoop on my ankle, spin it for a bit and then transfer it back to my arm or to my other arm. The gracefulness and fluidity of my movements still need work, only time and practice will fix that though. My next venture is to have the hoop slither up and down my body. Sexy.

And I'm not even in Holland yet...

2006-02-25T22:03:00.000+01:00

Five prostitutes lined up nicely along the canal.
The cops are handing out speeding tickets across the street.
Vive la France.

More bicycle follies

2006-02-23T15:22:00.000+01:00

I nearly killed a little boy the other day. Although, the experience seemed to have a far more profound effect on myself, than him. See, I was riding my bike to see some friends for a school project, along a bike path that was fairly wide. I see the aforementioned little boy and his father learning all about the joys --- and ultimately the perils of riding your first two-wheeler, heading towards me. So I move off to the side to give them more room, as I too, was once learning to ride a vicious two-wheeler. Despite my efforts, he still ended up crashing into my back wheel, sending me into leaping, bike throwing, panic. I also seemed to completely lose my grasp of the French language at that very moment. In the end though, I didn't kill the little boy and he was fine after his daddy picked him up and dusted him off. And I went about the rest of my day, 5 years older.
Today, although much less fruitful than I would have liked, at least did not involve the murdering of minors. Went to the library as I am a bit of a bookworm and have already read all of the English literature in the house short of recipe books. Of course, I found out it's not open until 1 o'clock in the afternoon. So I figured I'd check out the "Centre de Formation d'Educateurs des Jeunes Enfants" as I am growing weary of university already. So I'm looking into other options to reach my goal of becoming a kindergarten teacher, and they happen to offer just that. What I'm mainly interested is their "alternance" program where you work part-time and go to school part-time. I think it would be far more valuable as a learning experience, not to mention a far better use of my time. Instead of learning about linguistics, allegories and colonies for the next 3 years, all of which do not interest me, nor do I believe they will ever come in useful when teaching 5 year olds to color in the lines or the fine art of sharing; I can just dive right in there and get busy.
So I found the place, a cluster of antique, and modern buildings, housing a kindergarten, the school and other things of that nature. It was really beautiful. I walked into the open building, into the open office with the secretary labouriously looking like she's not going anywhere soon, only to be told they're closed and must return tomorrow between 8 o'clock and noon. Fuck. It reminds me of that time I went to buy a booklet for one of my dreaded linguistic classes. The place was open and the secretary wasn't doing anything when we walked in, and although the item we were asking for was within an arm's reach of her, we had to come back after 1 o'clock, because: "That's the way it is.". I was pretty baffled by that experience to say the least.

P'tite pute

2006-02-22T11:57:00.000+01:00

I guess, crossing the street, albeit on a bike, makes you a "little whore" in this country.

Yummy in my tummy

2006-02-15T14:00:00.000+01:00

Today is raining. So today, I will write about yummy nummy, scrum-diddly-umptious chocolate. My mum keeps buying me chocolate. Mums are funny like that. We live in Strasbourg, right on the border of Germany and France. Germany has less taxes so everything is hella cheaper. From tampons to plane tickets. So this presents a wonderful oppurtunity for "stocking up" on stuff, whether it's useful or not. Of course, chocolate is always useful. This is my collection at the time being. I'm so glad I have, albeit not always present, the tiniest shred of self-control in my body.

A Day in the Life

2006-02-14T11:23:00.000+01:00

My weekend, has been the most eventful since I've arrived here. Not that that's saying much. I choose to live a rather boring life, but that's okay, it's just who I am. I am content in solitude and homieness, and am equally content in the middle of a roaring crowd of people, when the mood strikes. I'm a rather inconsistent person, I guess being an air sign does that to you in a way.
Anyways, Friday night, I wanted to go to this jam session type thingy of musicians AND painters. It was the first "cultural" or "social" thing I chose to participate in when I arrived here and I had such a wonderful time that I was really stoked on attending the next event. To my disappointment, either the date or the venue had changed. What I thought was supposed to be the art/music jam session, turned out to be a hardcore techno night... It made me sad. At least these guys I met before going, smoked me up and gave me a ride. So venturing outside my home wasn't done in vain.
Saturday... I think I was ovulating. Two guys ended up making me give them my number in a span of 10 minutes. I say made me, because I often try to pussyfoot my way around saying no because I find it REALLY hard to say no, but it's something I'm going to have to learn to do living here evidently. Basically, what they do, is they see you have a cell phone and then they give you their number, and I thought that would be it, but then they tell you to call them so they can get yours from caller ID... And I just didn't know how to get around that one. At least I don't have any or many credits left so I can't respond. And then after escaping that, I went to meet my first "student", but it turns out he was interested in more than just learning English. Fuck. Luckily enough for me though, one of his friends had his wallet stolen and he had to go help him out, leaving me to finally enjoy the evening alone. So I went to this bar, Zanzibar, and saw some live music. They were pretty neat, I liked them. I know the singer at least was English, or American or Canadian or some other place that speaks English. But I was too shy to ask him. But yes, they had a cello and one of those really big basses. I thoroughly enjoyed it, second-hand smoke and all.
Sunday, I met up with one of my sister's friends, Rebecca and we went to a rather disappointing Tattoo and Piercing convention thing in Colmar. Colmar is a little town south of Strasbourg I believe, about a half hour by train. It's the birthplace of the guy who sculpted the Statue of Liberty. I thought that was pretty neat. Anyways, as disappointing as the convention was, I got to ride a train, got some tattoo ideas and saw some more of France. It was a worthy excursion.
Oh yes, and on Saturday, they had 3 different protests. Yes, all on the same day and all different causes. The first one was a bunch of pissed off Kurds. Apparently Turkey has imprisoned one of their leaders and are allegedly keeping him in inhumane conditions. Protest #2 was a bunch of pissed off Turks. Protest #3 was a bunch of pissed off Muslims over that Danish comic mocking Muhammad. What I found interesting though, was how they were all embraced by authorities. The police and Gendarmerie (The French equivalent of the RCMP or National Guard.) had closed off a bunch usually busy roads just so they could all march and rant and rave. This is an interesting country.
Feb. 13, 2006

Protests and poop

2006-02-14T11:21:00.000+01:00

Never before, have I seen so many people excersise their right to protest. I've seen a few since arriving here and was always too shy to ask what they were for, except for one about chickens. That one was obvious cause they had a giant bloody chicken as part of the display. Although, I'm certain they would have LOVED to have informed me what it was all about. But that's just silly lil' ol' me and my shyness. The first protest I experienced was a little scary cause they were setting off explosives of some sort and I nearly crashed my bike, so I was kinda pissed off. But the one I saw yesterday was kinda neat, amongst the obligatory picketers, was a truck with a band and what I'd guess to be the leaders of the protest in it and they were playing music and protesting. Another thing, I've seen alot of since coming to France, is dog poop. The French seem to have this extreme aversion to picking up after their dogs. I guess they'd rather step in it. What a strange people. I actually saw a dog take a poop right on top of another dogs poop. The interesting thing about it all though, is I never knew dog poop came in so many different colors.
Feb. 8, 2006

Sparkly chocolate

2006-02-14T11:14:00.000+01:00

I am in love with the German people. Glück.
Feb. 7, 2006

Brain fart

2006-02-14T11:13:00.000+01:00

I had a stoner moment today. Not to imply that I am such a devout stoner, so to speak. I know far too many people who are far more worthy of the title than lil' ol' me, but I have imbibed in my fair share of good ol' ganja.So I was on my way home on the Tram (It's like a train, except more caterpillar-like) from errands and such when I saw on the side of this chick's bike: "Gottfried". The first thing that comes to my dope-deprived mind is: "Got fried" so I giggle to myself for a bit, but then I started to think: "What's with the extra T?" And after a good few mintues of racking my brain, a good few minutes too many, it dawned on me that the bike wasn't subliminally telling me to "Get fried", but it was just the brand name. Oops.I must say though, I haven't been decently fried since I left Canada. I came close one night, but I don't think the amount that I smoked was worth the subsequent buzz. Basically, I didn't get as much bang for the buck as I would have liked. At least it wasn't my buck. Unless you count my lungs. Which brings me to my next point that they mix all of their bud and/or hash (There's alot of hash here and next to no bud, at least nothing worth smoking.) with nasty ass tobacco. Blech. It's enough to make me not want to smoke weed at all. Oh well, I suppose I can wait until Sosan and I get to Holland this summer. Yay!
Feb. 4, 2006

An idea

2006-02-14T11:12:00.000+01:00

I was just thinking, that perhpas I should take advantage of the fact that I exist in such a technologically advanced time period such as this. Realzing that brought me to the conclusion, that perhaps I would like to take up this "blogging" thing while I'm off and away in this far away land known as France, in order to still keep in touch with my dearly beloved Canada and all the wonderful people I have met in my 18 years there as my homestead.It's new and exciting and cheaper than sending everyone long rambling letters every now and then. Plus, at least in sharing this way, it's far more voluntary than letter writing. I mean voluntary for you, not me. Anyways, enough with this silly explaining and justification business. Oh well, I am silly girl. Anyone who knows me should know that by now.So, life in France... where to begin what with all the nose-scarred men who follow you, school secretaries that don't do their job, disappearing classes and the scrum-diddly-umptious food. Well, I'll start with yesterday. Yesterday, after finally finding when and where (That's another story all together.) my Italian class would be, I, of course attend the class for the first time, albeit 3 weeks late (Classes only take place once a week.). So I am standing outside the classroom door, quickly scanning the door and its perimetre assuring myself there are no changes posted nor any ill teachers to be informed of. I confidently stride in, apologize for being late (I'm not much of a morning person.), only to have the professor inform me that the Italian class has moved and no he doesn't know where to. So after another round of apologies and blushing I exit with my tail between my legs. Grr, now I had to go all the way to my campus (Everything is spaced out here because the city is really old.), and go to the Italian department to see if anything was posted there. Of course there wasn't and the secretary wasn't open until 2:30.I guess my only other choice is to go back to Canada and pay off student loans for the rest of my life. Oh well.
Feb. 3, 2006

Change of heart

2006-02-14T10:58:00.000+01:00

I've decided to move my bloggy thingy here, as this service seems to offer a far more esthetically pleasing lay-out. A more flexible lay-out than the "Bebo" thingy I was using before, although the name "Bebo" still makes me giggle.
And since I have some spare time on my hands, I'm going to copy and paste my old entries in here.
Okie dokie, until next time...