Plants and Paris

Yes, I am in Paris, and naurally the day spent alone in the enormous "city of love" fighting my way to the embassy has yielded a lesson: Paris without a significant other = sad. Perhaps it was just the thunder rolling its way over the Eiffel Tower, or maybe it was the hungry and lonely baby bird I found abandoned in the park who desperately pecked at my hand, but most likely, most likely, it was the incessant amount of hand holding and bench side snuggling that was going down seemingly everywhere I looked. Le sigh. I'm missing K intensely. Like woah, in fact.

And of course it was all a little frightening. I'm a young small animal from an island paradise; enormous cities and their means of public transportation are creatures unknown and unkind to those who probably spent past lives burrowing and nesting near mountain streams or whatever.

I did however accomplish what I came here to do: get these silly power of attorney papers signed at the embassy. And tomorrow I may be meeting up with an adequately handsome member of the opposite sex, so things could be on the upswing before I hop back on the train tomorrow night and retreat to Dijon. I will of course keep you all in the know :)

In other not so exciting news the night before last was my first in my new apartment.. and look at the adorable plants I bought to keep me company at my breakfast table!

French Pizza = Yes

I'd like to put it out there that France has a serious leg up on Italy when it comes to the eating-pizza experience. Here's why: huile pimentee. Olive oil with hot red peppers, rosemary, thyme, and garlic steeping in it. Aka, spicy ecstasy in yum form.

I know what you're thinking- pizza is oily enough, can I please not add more slick to that which all ready stains my napkin orange? I too thought this. Until I experienced the multiple orgasms that come after dousing a pizza in this stuff till its basically drowned and gone to heaven. Pizza in France is now one of my most favorite pass times.

..And today was a rather wonderful day! Here's why: I am now the proud (but also pretty nervous) owner of A: a French bank account, and B: a French apartment. That's right! They keys shall be placed in my hands tomorrow morning! If all goes well, that is. (Time has been showing us that it tends not to, but positive thinking is in fashion these days.)

Secondly it was an incredibly warm and beautiful spring day, and evidently, love is in the air because not one, not two, but three Frenchmen conjured some reason or another to stop me in the streets. The first two ditched upon discovery of the language barrier but the third graced me with the serious and sensual phrase: "J'adore votre accent.." Welp. The day suddenly earned 10/10 for happiness points.

On a completely unrelated note, last night I had a dream about M's that ended in getting pummeld by the backhand of his angry wife. Ok universe! Enough with the subconscious karma stp! It did leave me wondering what disasters (and delicious non disasters) were avoided by moving to France, though.

No Thank You Croque Madame

A French grilled cheese: aka, a croque madame. The lesson learned here is that I am never, EVER, going to eat this again. Especially, ESPECIALLY, only two hours before dance class. This thing is heavier than eating a stick of butter and has more fat in it that you can shake a stick at. Creamy French cheese and ham all melted together with an egg on top.

Still no news on the appartement, and I'm about ready to go wild animal on the agency. Paris on Monday, now to go throw up!

Pigeon Party

So I've been rather silent lately, hoping that some epic advent should befall me and I'd have the substance for a literary thrill ride. Alas. er, helas.

What I have done, however, is peacefully and pleasantly enjoy the sunshine these last few days wondering about the warming city. I'm very excited for French spring. (Yes, I'm completely sure it's different from American, Turkish, or Asiatic Spring.) Yesterday I even had the thrill of watching French Pigeons bathe in a French fountain. Aint that just a hoot n a half. See video.

Actually, I am a little overly enthralled by animals, and I happily watched these cuties for a good 20 min while I got my sun dose for the day. You gotta love how it's three cleanly young ladies bathing together and then some jerk male shows up and starts doing spins and dancing and crashes the whole girls' afternoon out. Typical.

News on the apartment: though I waited breathlessly all throughout the day to receive word from the agency that it is indeed within my grasp, no call came. UUUGGGHHUUUHH. Yes, as I have told B many times, I WILL faire le suicide if I must rest any longer in this baking cloud of stench that is B's realm.

Oh! But either way, at least I do get a vacation. I've booked my train tickets up to Paris for next week. I'm staying for three days in the city to get some silly (and relentlessly harassing, I might add) paperwork sorted out at the embassy. I'm staying with a French friend of a French friend from the islands. Hurray! Step two is to arrange some handsome young fellows to take me out and about while I'm there. To those of you who are scoffing: Yes, I think this is perfectly within my online dating power.

I also met some girlies in town yesterday, at long last; one from England and the other two from the states. Mayhaps fate has seen it fit to offer me a cafe' companion at last. One can hope!

The French Twenty Third

It's my birthday! ..And a lonely one. I've thus far spent the day cooped up in B's gross apartment feeling sorry for myself and avoiding his unpleasant face at all costs.

The good news! Maybe. I'm moving out of here at long last! I have found a studio. No larger than a walk in closet, mind you, but free of rotting shrimp shells and boasting some charming workability. See for yourself:

Oh! And, amusingly, guess what I see out that window?? Could you believe it, it's B's windows across the street! Yup. All the searching and I find my studio right across the street.

So back to the birthday. I spent most of it moping  so finally I convinced B to "take me out" for dinner. At the restaurant, all he did was stare vacantly into the distance while he twirled his hair. He is a compulsive hair twirler by the way. It drives me crazy. And if he cant get his hands on his hair, he does it with the hair on his neck. Always lovely while sitting in a restaurant. It's a little disconcerting, actually. It's just a little more obsessive than natural human habits. It absolutely can not be stopped.

I had a a great plate of salmon, but was unpleasantly surprised afterwards to learn from B that I was paying. Great. So now my eyes are tired from a day of intense feeling sorry for myself. ..But adventure is on the way! I can feel it!

The Last Egg

So Hawaii's not too much worse for the wear. My home town's a little flooded, a few people have their houses floating in Kealakekua bay, there were some sea creature casualties, but all are fine and aloha spirit stubbornly remains.

boat house.

Ali'i drive.

I chickened out and cancelled my train ticket to Paris because I was having trouble finding a place to stay. I'm authentically terrified of how my sensitive and irrational self will handle a birthday friendless and moneyless, so I let images of me weeping solitarily in a Parisian hotel room the night of the 16th scare me into cancelling the trip. For now.

I'm also sorely aware that staying here with that wretched stinking creature who lies on the couch ALL DAY and watches tv, (rising every 30 min to don his coat and smoke in the stairwell) is no good for me either. It's so depressing. How does a person like that live with themselves? Why does a person like that even have a name?? In my fury he shall be an "it" for this and potentially the next few posts.

In other negative news I'm turning 23. No longer with the sexy dangerous ring of 22. How I love the number 22. As I'm explaining/complaining to a Greek friend over facebook chat this very moment:

"Aging is much easier on men. You guys are fertile all your lives; aka: women find you sexy all your lives. Women loose it along with the last egg, condemned to a life of non-sexyness."

yes I waste time on worries comme ca.

And last but not least, I transferred some money to K tonight. I talked to him over the phone and he had given his "last dollar to a guy on the street." He drawled on about wanting to die and kill all who worked at insurance companies and banks.

It reminds me of Obi-Wan when he had to fight Anakin and sever his heart strings for his young apprentice because he had gone to the dark side. Obi-Wan still loved Anakin, but he had to accept the the fun loving person he cared about was gone.

I haven't seen the side of K that's the spiritual creative and cuddly man I fell in love with when I was 18 in a year.

"The boy you trained.. gone he is! Consumed by the dark side, young Skywalker has become!"

Tsunamis at Home, Stairs in France

On my toes here in France as I wait to hear word from my Hawaiian homeland. Trouble in Asia usually means trouble in the island chain, but the last few tsunami scares blew over with only several inches of raised sea levels, so you never can tell. Heres a video from a friend and fellow Hawaii dweller, Alex:

In other, not nearly so exciting or life threatening news, I went to my first dance class yesterday. And, an hour before the class, I fell down the stairs of the monk tower.

Let's face it, it was way overdue, but having happened only moments before my great hurtle into having a life abroad felt a little cruel and unnecessary. The result was growing a welt the size of second butt (or third boob) on my lover hip, the crimson color of what B called a "raw steak." See image below.

Of course I'm obligated to say it's much worse in reality. And this pic was taken yesterday- today it's like a big black rock. I'm both proud and worried for my internal bleeding.

Despite the pain and fear, I walked to my dance class all the same. I was so shy I stood outside the door for ten minutes until someone else came along and I entered with her. In spite of the throbbing, I jette'd and plee'd with all the vigor I could muster.

This morning, not surprisingly, I could barely walk. B took me to the pharmacy where I showed my third boob and was given all sorts of medication and salves.

Now to convalesce. In the mean time keep your fingers crossed for the ohana, the aina, and of course the Hawaiian phoque.

Forgive Me Legolas

Well I guess this is a... learning experience. Before this eccentric chapter of my life I always thought that casual sex and the now passé' term "friends with benefits" was only for the sexually deviant and hopeful high-schoolers. Well! Here I am, living with a guy that drives me absolutely BONKERS, (I couldn't even get him to sign the Humane Society boycott of Canadian food in protest of the seal clubbing because "it iz joost not important to [him]")and doing the roommates-that-sometimes-have-sex-thing. If only my virginous fat and pimpled younger self knew what the future held in France.

Not that it's any good, mind you. I insist all the lights are off so I can't see him and focus all will power on Ewan Mcgregor, forbidden professor, or of course, K thoughts. But the later usually leads to a kind of sadness. That's right past self. You who once kissed Orlando Bloom posters and daydreamed about Sonic the Hedgehog and Legolas: You knew about true love. And you would be ASHAMED.

But all this silliness aside, I have two adventures ahead of me. A) I found a ballet studio in centre ville, and I need to make a pilgrimage to Paris to visit the embassy.

In the U.S, when you need something notarized you go to the bank and pay a small fee. Here, when I explained what I needed to B, he thought I was way out of line asking for a bank. "Any-zing official and you must be going to the mayor!" and, bien sur, the mayor resides in the grand palace in centre ville. And yes, you even get to cower, bow, and seek an audience. Alas the lesser mayor of Dijon was no good, (I found out after doing it TWICE) and I must go to Paris.

SEAL DEFENCE INFO BELOW!

Click here to FIGHT FOR THE PHOQUE!

Rabbit Fur Shoes

So no post yesterday; I'll admit my chipper and resiliently optimistic outlook failed me and I had a minor B-like break down. I spent the day in bed and cried like a teenager. B had had shrimp several nights before which meant that there was a mountain of heads, legs n' tails piled by the door- and mixed with some old garbage and rotting meat I couldn't even even go near the area to escape. B spent the day in front of the tv, in itself infuriating, and, with no friends, no job, seemingly no direction and the smell of old shrimp creeping up the stairs, I lost it.

The sporadic moments I spent out of the bed and not so teary-eyed I passed desperately looking for something to get involved in. I looked at schools in Paris and sent emails to distant family members and French guys and girls via dating websites. Though I may be feeling better today, one thing is clear; I've got to get out of here.

Fortunately today had a rosier opening. I woke up to an email from appartager.com, a French website for searching for roommates. Four young people in a beautiful old house a few minutes out of centre ville had expressed a mild interest in my illiterate self to be their fifth. What an uplifting thought! A social life! A place away from shrimp carcasses! I sent them an email and am now waiting for the best.

In other news today B was suddenly overcome with a desire to paint his apartment. He uncharacteristically launched himself into the world and returned with a gallon of white paint. No complaint here, the orange of his living room had long burned my retinas. I spent the better part of the day helping him paint, and he paid me back with a veggie pizza in the soir. It's a big improvement I think; anything to make this place less shrimpy I'm gonna be in favor of.

a good roommate to the bitter end.

And a final interesting tid bit: while I sang French Disney songs for B, we some how got on the topic of Cinderella. Turns out, the "glass slipper" is actually a bad translation from an original French story. Don't quote me on this now, but apparently Cinderella originally left a rabbit fur slipper at the ball :)

Rapunzel

Frustration x 1 billion. I'm trapped in a medieval tower staring longingly out the window at the world beyond. Too bad my story's been told all ready or maybe I could make some money selling children's novels.

In a rare turn of events, B took me out to a cafe where we had a drink with his friends. THANK YOU GOD. It was the first time he's seen his contemporaries since I arrived in France a month ago and I practically clung like a sea urchin to the female in the bunch, talking her ear off in my French/English melange. Not only am I desperate for interaction beyond boring B, especially female, but I love sitting with a bunch of young people chatting away in French!

that little white umbrella on the right is where we sat and where I froze to death and contracted cancer via second hand smoke.

So what have I been doing to my better my life? I've joined a dating website, that's what! What's the plan?? Solicit the affectionate eye of another naive French man to later break the heart of gently so that I have another place to live. It worked the last time, right? Brilliant.

But seriously, that's only one of the for-the-most-part-pathetic efforts I have launched to stimulate a more exhilarating life abroad. I think I should get myself to Paris. So I've begun emailling students and other people my age I've found through social networking in attempt to create a support web, so that I may find a place to live / stuff to study / tasks to accomplish in the great city of romance.

In other news the sky is blue outside! And I HATE being inside when the sun is outside! Honestly I can't understand people my age who can sit inside all day in front of the tv/computer. (cough cough B cough cough) You know what kids? when you're old, that life is your only option. Sitting home alone without functional legs or eyes or ears or people that want anything to do with you. I'll watch tv then. For now, I'm in France, and I'm not gonna sit around waiting for my hair to get long enough for a prince to climb up. I'M GOING OUTSIDE!!!

Oh yeah, and look! A salad. B makes them. I've decided it's the only plus to living with the frustratingly boring guy.

Its got potatoes and a wedge of raw ham. How French!

Worried Mothers

Today, while I was taking a shower, or rather, attempting the freezing uncomfortable struggle that B calls "a shower," the buzzer started going off at our front door. Weird, you can't even get to our door without a key to open the one downstairs in the street. I'm naked in the tub though, so there isn't much I can do about it. While I cling to life against frost bite the person outside, seemingly very impatient, is pressing the door bell over and over and over again. B is, of course, asleep- and, as I've said before, if it don't wake the dead it aint gonna wake B.

By the time I was out of the tub and had a towel around myself the person was gone but had left a note under the door. It was from B's mom. oh yeah.. I did send her an enraged email last night about B lazing about all day.

The night before I lost my usual chipper and caring composure when B was still asleep at 9 pm. I was SO FRUSTRATED WITH HIM that I screamed and kicked a box across the room at him. He still didn't stir.

I simmered down a little, and, like I used to do with K when he was in a similar funk, I prepared an offering of food. That finally got him up. Then, while he ate, I asked him if it was his medication that made him so tired. When he said yes, I told him that he needed to change his prescription. The drugs weren't helping him if they were making him sleep away his life. He explained that they were good because he didn't have stress and worries while he was asleep. I insisted that the only cure for his depression in the long run is to lead an active lifestyle.

Then he gets irritated and whimpers "Pleeease Lea, I iz knowing what iz good for me, okay?"

Then I loose it. I yell at him that "No, you obviously have no idea what is good for you!" I try to explain further that drugs that make him sleep instead of facing his problems are only prolonging his depression. Then I storm out, cry, and write a frustrated letter to his mom. whoops.

So I send her text saying that the door is unlocked and she comes back. I hide upstairs while I hear her crying in the kitchen with B. Dang! Looks like I stirred things up a bit.

Fortunately when I showed my timid face in the door I learned that she had come for other reasons as well. While B had been spending his life asleep, he'd been neglecting his adult duties; paperwork involving hospital stuff and rent stuff and work stuff that I couldn't really understand, so his mom had come to get some of it straightened out.

I ended up having to take her around the town to various places in centre ville to drop off paper work for B. She tried to talk to me about his problems and I explained the best I could, but she doesn't speak any English and my French is still terrible.

Anyway! I did notice when she jokingly called me B's nurse. So that's my life abroad, I guess. Laaaaaame. I mean, hurray, I'm helping someone by living with them, I suppose, but I'm starting to feel like I've been baby sitting depressed jobless men for the last 6 years of my life.

So, to perk myself up, I posted some more adds around town as an English tutor and sent some emails to piano teachers asking if any would risk giving lessons to an illiterate. I look forward to a more active life! I do I do!!!