Just had to share with the world my favorite ad, bar none, of all time.
SO CUTE, but yet also quite clever: here
For those of you who kvetch about my exclusion of non-francophones, all you need to know is the tagline: "Everything's more intense."
enjoy, I've still got a fair amount of work until my grande fête this saturday.
xoxoxox
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Friday, June 09, 2006
Cathartic whinging.
I promised to at least try make this blog funny. I never said it wouldn't make me sound like a horrible person. Hasn't been a post in a long while, because I've been lacking decently humorous episodes of my life, seeing as I've been in a hell MONTH. What enormous of amounts of work CAN do, though, is make you awesomely mad at the world. Without further ado, The Shit List.
1. American tourists. Jesus titty-fucking Christ, we are one ugly, fat nation. Granted, I swear I didn't think so before, and I probably won't think so when I go back, but man, we are so annoying. Or maybe it's a new passport requirement? Don't bring with you: lighters, explosives, or pesticides. DO bring with you: 10 tons of lard, ugly white sneakers really ugly caps, and your OUTSIDE VOICES whenever you're in a quiet place. Shudder.
2. Sciences Po Librarians. So, I may not do the "returning books" thing well, and I have general angst about the school's resources, but man, they're just MEAN. Except for cute Stefan, who knows my name. Yes, I go to the library that much.
3. The White Dog's owners. Let me explain.
Oli's seen it, so at least I have a witness to say that it actually exists, and isn't some LOST-like appearance. So basically, some crazy old rich person in the next block, instead of actually walking their dog, just LETS it out, and lets it wander around the block for hours on end. Literally, wanders around in circles, and looks scared and won't let you touch it. Which, seeing as its the quiet stuffy 16th isn't such a problem, but the poor fucking dog just drifts around with the most pathetic look on its face.
I actually incredibly sorry for it. You have to understand that this is coming from a girl that kicked a dog on a date once.(when the guy wasn't looking, and it was kind of a gentle tap) (and the dog wouldn't stop licking its balls, it had to be done).
Man, this list could go on, but let me just add a few more:
1) People who call themselves "princess," allow their parents to, or even worse,call themselves "Daddy's little princess"
2) Posers in Paris. People who, despite their extremely strong accent, try and speak French to anglophones. Bite me, everyone can tell you're American, go fuck off.
3) Anyone who works in French administration, anywhere. Just trust me, you'd hate them too.
4) THAT GUY/girl in your classes. Sadly, at Master's level, it only gets worse. In France, it's ten times worse. They all have names: "Donkey lips" (arabic class), "La petite grosse" (Enjeux Po class), "Belligerent Canadian" (every class), etc.
5) Pretentious hippies. Either you're hippy, and chill, or your pretentious, and not. Don't try and name drop things like, "Oh, yeah, I went to this really mind-blowing session of Oonamamweh last night. It like, changed my life." Although, you know what? Don't care what you're saying anyways.
Anyways, now I should get back to the work I've been bitching about, although god knows I could go on. This is awesomely cathartic. Night all.
1. American tourists. Jesus titty-fucking Christ, we are one ugly, fat nation. Granted, I swear I didn't think so before, and I probably won't think so when I go back, but man, we are so annoying. Or maybe it's a new passport requirement? Don't bring with you: lighters, explosives, or pesticides. DO bring with you: 10 tons of lard, ugly white sneakers really ugly caps, and your OUTSIDE VOICES whenever you're in a quiet place. Shudder.
2. Sciences Po Librarians. So, I may not do the "returning books" thing well, and I have general angst about the school's resources, but man, they're just MEAN. Except for cute Stefan, who knows my name. Yes, I go to the library that much.
3. The White Dog's owners. Let me explain.
Oli's seen it, so at least I have a witness to say that it actually exists, and isn't some LOST-like appearance. So basically, some crazy old rich person in the next block, instead of actually walking their dog, just LETS it out, and lets it wander around the block for hours on end. Literally, wanders around in circles, and looks scared and won't let you touch it. Which, seeing as its the quiet stuffy 16th isn't such a problem, but the poor fucking dog just drifts around with the most pathetic look on its face.
I actually incredibly sorry for it. You have to understand that this is coming from a girl that kicked a dog on a date once.(when the guy wasn't looking, and it was kind of a gentle tap) (and the dog wouldn't stop licking its balls, it had to be done).
Man, this list could go on, but let me just add a few more:
1) People who call themselves "princess," allow their parents to, or even worse,call themselves "Daddy's little princess"
2) Posers in Paris. People who, despite their extremely strong accent, try and speak French to anglophones. Bite me, everyone can tell you're American, go fuck off.
3) Anyone who works in French administration, anywhere. Just trust me, you'd hate them too.
4) THAT GUY/girl in your classes. Sadly, at Master's level, it only gets worse. In France, it's ten times worse. They all have names: "Donkey lips" (arabic class), "La petite grosse" (Enjeux Po class), "Belligerent Canadian" (every class), etc.
5) Pretentious hippies. Either you're hippy, and chill, or your pretentious, and not. Don't try and name drop things like, "Oh, yeah, I went to this really mind-blowing session of Oonamamweh last night. It like, changed my life." Although, you know what? Don't care what you're saying anyways.
Anyways, now I should get back to the work I've been bitching about, although god knows I could go on. This is awesomely cathartic. Night all.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
The French citizenship test, partie No.1
In dishonor of Sarkozy's latest proposal on curbing immigration to France, I'd like to offer my own personal Citizenship test for the Republic.
FRENCH CITIZENSHIP TEST
#1. You are a male between 11-80 years old. You see a blond girl speaking English on the street. You do which of the following:
a. Say nothing
b. Look her up and down, imagine her naked, and continue loafing
c. Scream out "'Ello! 'Appy Birfday!" then look her up and down, imagine her naked, and continue loafing
The correct answer is: C
#2. You see a man with long hair and orange-tinted skin. He:
a. Has Been stranded on a desert island with nothing but carrots to eat
b. Is an average man- a Sciences Po professor, for example
c. Is the prime minister, Dominique de Villepin
The correct answer is: B or C
#3. Cheating is wrong.
a. True
b. False
c. Irrelevant statement in French society
The correct answer is C
#4. What was France's position in the Second World War?
a. There was no Second World War
b. We surrendered like little bunnyrabbits
c. Heroic resistance against the coward Saxon invaders.
The correct answer is A or C
#5. What is most important to know about the United States?
a. The girls are cheap and easy
b. Bush=bad
c. The worst of its music: Sean Paul and Ben Harper
The correct answer is: All of the above
FRENCH CITIZENSHIP TEST
#1. You are a male between 11-80 years old. You see a blond girl speaking English on the street. You do which of the following:
a. Say nothing
b. Look her up and down, imagine her naked, and continue loafing
c. Scream out "'Ello! 'Appy Birfday!" then look her up and down, imagine her naked, and continue loafing
The correct answer is: C
#2. You see a man with long hair and orange-tinted skin. He:
a. Has Been stranded on a desert island with nothing but carrots to eat
b. Is an average man- a Sciences Po professor, for example
c. Is the prime minister, Dominique de Villepin
The correct answer is: B or C
#3. Cheating is wrong.
a. True
b. False
c. Irrelevant statement in French society
The correct answer is C
#4. What was France's position in the Second World War?
a. There was no Second World War
b. We surrendered like little bunnyrabbits
c. Heroic resistance against the coward Saxon invaders.
The correct answer is A or C
#5. What is most important to know about the United States?
a. The girls are cheap and easy
b. Bush=bad
c. The worst of its music: Sean Paul and Ben Harper
The correct answer is: All of the above
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
"Are you now or have you ever been..."
If you're looking for zany adventures, see the blog prior to this. This said, I felt I had to share.
I auditioned for a part in a movie today. (!!)
Really. Sketchy story short, I was walking down the street with none other than Joseph Swan, Esq. I barked something at him in American English. Then got approached by French film student-looking girl who thus gives me an appointment to go to the bureau of her film company. Les Films du Poisson. Look, it actually exists.
Today I had my appointment and I got ushered into their converted apartment-office off of Republique, and was ignored for a solid 15 minutes. I've never felt cooler.
Everyone in the office was in a hurry, but yet they didn't seem to be doing any work, and still looked incredibly important doing this sort of nothing. Painfully Parisian. And in movies! No, not "movies," films.
Finally, woman that randomly picked me up pulls me into audition room and describes the role. I learn that I would be auditioning for the following part:
Awesome.
It also occured to me that I should have loved and nurtured my drama/film friends more, at a time like this. I'm sure that I wasn't supposed to be feeling this stupid and unprepared. Or maybe I should've remembered the tough, real life lessons of acting camp when I was in 5th grade.
Woman hands me the script and tells me to pick any line I want and read it.
Another nightmare. I pick the line that sounds the prettiest in French and I feel I wouldn't trip over. "Je pose pour les etudiants des Beaux Arts." I mean, it almost rhymes, goddamnit! She must've sensed my pleasure at how pretty that sentence was, then points me to the one phrase I was avoiding:
"Je suis communiste."
I mumble. "Encore" She says. "JE SUIS COMMUNISTE" I blast, trying to sound as socially concerned and militant as possible.
Anyways, so, if there ever were a time to finally just own up to the fact that i'll NEVER be able to run for public office, this is it. Somewhere, deep in a closet in Paris, there will always be a camcorder in Paris that has a recording of me saying I'm a fucking communist.
And if I get lucky, there will be footage of me playing a cokehead nude-model communist!
Goodnight.
PS: Home...
I love the Delray.
I auditioned for a part in a movie today. (!!)
Really. Sketchy story short, I was walking down the street with none other than Joseph Swan, Esq. I barked something at him in American English. Then got approached by French film student-looking girl who thus gives me an appointment to go to the bureau of her film company. Les Films du Poisson. Look, it actually exists.
Today I had my appointment and I got ushered into their converted apartment-office off of Republique, and was ignored for a solid 15 minutes. I've never felt cooler.
Everyone in the office was in a hurry, but yet they didn't seem to be doing any work, and still looked incredibly important doing this sort of nothing. Painfully Parisian. And in movies! No, not "movies," films.
Finally, woman that randomly picked me up pulls me into audition room and describes the role. I learn that I would be auditioning for the following part:
- It's 1980. I'm an American Girl
- Who has just returned from a Kibbutz in Israel.
- Declares, "Je suis communiste."
- Then takes the main character to the Art School (Ecole des Beaux Arts a Paris)....
- ...Where she is a nude model. *cough*
- And then takes her to Le Palace, an old Parisian club that the movie is attempting to recapture
- She walks into the club and knows everybody, is really cool (seriously, no way I'm getting this role)
- Where She then does drugs in the bathroom, and corrupts main character.
Awesome.
It also occured to me that I should have loved and nurtured my drama/film friends more, at a time like this. I'm sure that I wasn't supposed to be feeling this stupid and unprepared. Or maybe I should've remembered the tough, real life lessons of acting camp when I was in 5th grade.
Woman hands me the script and tells me to pick any line I want and read it.
Another nightmare. I pick the line that sounds the prettiest in French and I feel I wouldn't trip over. "Je pose pour les etudiants des Beaux Arts." I mean, it almost rhymes, goddamnit! She must've sensed my pleasure at how pretty that sentence was, then points me to the one phrase I was avoiding:
"Je suis communiste."
I mumble. "Encore" She says. "JE SUIS COMMUNISTE" I blast, trying to sound as socially concerned and militant as possible.
Anyways, so, if there ever were a time to finally just own up to the fact that i'll NEVER be able to run for public office, this is it. Somewhere, deep in a closet in Paris, there will always be a camcorder in Paris that has a recording of me saying I'm a fucking communist.
And if I get lucky, there will be footage of me playing a cokehead nude-model communist!
Goodnight.
PS: Home...
I love the Delray.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Dear God, It's Me, Yehudah
("And I have this annoying American next to me on the plane...")
We've all had bad flights before. I am the first person I know to vomit on Orthodox jews mid-flight.
Initially, I was pleased with my seat. Toward the front. Window Seat. I sit down and open my Vogue. My neighbors, who we'll call Yahudah and Abraham open the Talmud. They've barely hit puberty and look just adorable in black and white as they store their hats in the overhead bin.
Everything's going well, until it hits me. I realize that because of the time change, I should be taking my birth control, about...now. I discreetly reach into my bag and attempt to pop it out of the container into my hand that's in the purse.
On the way to my mouth, I drop it. Like a cokehead diving after the last bit of blow, I frantically start searching around my skirt and purse area. No luck. I start flailing my arms and making little panicky noises as I search.
"Did you drop something?" Yehudah asks. "NO! I mean, no, no, I'm fine," i mumble. More flailing of the arms and searching. I find the elusive fucker and continue casually flipping through my magazine.
Then a wave of nausea hits me, much like that time I downed multiple pitchers of Sangria at Bar 10. Urgent, Strong, but...sober this time? Strange. I think I was a solid 12 years old the last time I booted during the day. (There were all those benders when I was 11, but that's a different story)
Trip 1 to the airplane toilet. Goodbye meals of the day. I mumble apologies to Yahudah and Abraham on the way back to my window seat.
10 minutes later. Turbulence. Oh God. I try desperately not to curse on the way to the toilet, lest I hurt their Y and A's (peot)-protected ears. I pass out from exhaustion for a little bit, thinking how much shittier vomiting is when you're sober.
When I wake up again, after the foolish mistake of trying to drink water, except now, everyone's asleep. It's urgent this time. I mumble Excuse Me to Y and A, but they're long asleep.
Then, my stomach starts to rebel. It's now or on their black pants.
"PLEASE DEAR GOD MOVE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MOVE MOVE MOVE!!!" I start screaming as do an awkward tango over their laps (they jump up...i'm guessing they weren't a big fan of the vomiting-girl loin on theirs...)
No good. An Air France stewardess is bent over, ass against the Toilet Door. Naturally I start to hit her side with my free hand. (A gentle tap, she assured me later), and I reacquaint myself with my new bff, the Air France toilet.
Move over, Mile High Club, "Vomiting constantly" is the new "Sex on an airplane."
Yours Awkwardly,
F
We've all had bad flights before. I am the first person I know to vomit on Orthodox jews mid-flight.
Initially, I was pleased with my seat. Toward the front. Window Seat. I sit down and open my Vogue. My neighbors, who we'll call Yahudah and Abraham open the Talmud. They've barely hit puberty and look just adorable in black and white as they store their hats in the overhead bin.
Everything's going well, until it hits me. I realize that because of the time change, I should be taking my birth control, about...now. I discreetly reach into my bag and attempt to pop it out of the container into my hand that's in the purse.
On the way to my mouth, I drop it. Like a cokehead diving after the last bit of blow, I frantically start searching around my skirt and purse area. No luck. I start flailing my arms and making little panicky noises as I search.
"Did you drop something?" Yehudah asks. "NO! I mean, no, no, I'm fine," i mumble. More flailing of the arms and searching. I find the elusive fucker and continue casually flipping through my magazine.
Then a wave of nausea hits me, much like that time I downed multiple pitchers of Sangria at Bar 10. Urgent, Strong, but...sober this time? Strange. I think I was a solid 12 years old the last time I booted during the day. (There were all those benders when I was 11, but that's a different story)
Trip 1 to the airplane toilet. Goodbye meals of the day. I mumble apologies to Yahudah and Abraham on the way back to my window seat.
10 minutes later. Turbulence. Oh God. I try desperately not to curse on the way to the toilet, lest I hurt their Y and A's (peot)-protected ears. I pass out from exhaustion for a little bit, thinking how much shittier vomiting is when you're sober.
When I wake up again, after the foolish mistake of trying to drink water, except now, everyone's asleep. It's urgent this time. I mumble Excuse Me to Y and A, but they're long asleep.
Then, my stomach starts to rebel. It's now or on their black pants.
"PLEASE DEAR GOD MOVE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MOVE MOVE MOVE!!!" I start screaming as do an awkward tango over their laps (they jump up...i'm guessing they weren't a big fan of the vomiting-girl loin on theirs...)
No good. An Air France stewardess is bent over, ass against the Toilet Door. Naturally I start to hit her side with my free hand. (A gentle tap, she assured me later), and I reacquaint myself with my new bff, the Air France toilet.
Move over, Mile High Club, "Vomiting constantly" is the new "Sex on an airplane."
Yours Awkwardly,
F
Monday, April 24, 2006
SPRING FAIR by the numbers
The first of my Super American Vacation! posts...
3: Entire days spent at Spring Fair
1: of these days that Baltimore was issued a Flood Warning.
12: Number of Hours spent consecutively drinking on Friday
100: Percent of meals on Friday that were based around "pasteurized cheese product" thanks to Spring Fair vendors
(think: Philly Cheese Steak, Cheese Fries, etc. etc....groan...)
20-30: Percent of people that looked completely confused to see me.
95: Percent of these people that I didn't like anyways.
1: Time I actually ducked behind a stranger to avoid seeing someone.
28479412798: Hug-Tackles received in Beer Garden (awww)
85: Percentage of people whose first response to seeing me was, "YOU'RE BLONDE!" (guys, I've been blonde on the inside for a long time)
15: Minutes spent in PJs (just about enough)
75: Times A***** W*** had to be convinced not to beat up a Sophomore that had insulted her
(Or as she screamed.."SOPHOMORE WHORE!")*
*postscript: The girl turned out to be a freshman, anyways
4: Perfect number of days to be back at Hopkins, before realizing that it's suffocating and I'm fine with not being here.
25: Of May 2006, When Commencement begins, and I'll be mentally with you guys. Mwah.
I'll post more post-US updates, including pictures, sometime very soon. Maybe they'll be funnier posts, maybe they won't. We'll see.
3: Entire days spent at Spring Fair
1: of these days that Baltimore was issued a Flood Warning.
12: Number of Hours spent consecutively drinking on Friday
100: Percent of meals on Friday that were based around "pasteurized cheese product" thanks to Spring Fair vendors
(think: Philly Cheese Steak, Cheese Fries, etc. etc....groan...)
20-30: Percent of people that looked completely confused to see me.
95: Percent of these people that I didn't like anyways.
1: Time I actually ducked behind a stranger to avoid seeing someone.
28479412798: Hug-Tackles received in Beer Garden (awww)
85: Percentage of people whose first response to seeing me was, "YOU'RE BLONDE!" (guys, I've been blonde on the inside for a long time)
15: Minutes spent in PJs (just about enough)
75: Times A***** W*** had to be convinced not to beat up a Sophomore that had insulted her
(Or as she screamed.."SOPHOMORE WHORE!")*
*postscript: The girl turned out to be a freshman, anyways
4: Perfect number of days to be back at Hopkins, before realizing that it's suffocating and I'm fine with not being here.
25: Of May 2006, When Commencement begins, and I'll be mentally with you guys. Mwah.
I'll post more post-US updates, including pictures, sometime very soon. Maybe they'll be funnier posts, maybe they won't. We'll see.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
'Cause I'm (annoyed) to be an American...
I bit of introspection about my nationality:
Here's a short list of what it is to be American. Nowhere in here will you find the words "patriotic" "Bush" or "love my country," don't worry.
I am an American...
1. I am loud.
In vain do we struggle, but we just can't get ourselves to laugh like Japanese schoolgirls.
3. I cringe when I spot other Americans, thinking that, naturally, I look completely native. Even with a popped collar and sorority sweater.
4. I will kill you in a debate on American politics
You may THINK you know everything about the states because a friend of a friend studied abroad, or you took a week long "holiday" in New York, but you're wrong. Sorry.
5. We're not all ignorant.
Just the president.
6. Actually, I won't give you a blowjob .
I just need to get this out there. Please tell all the European male friends you may have. Some slut(s) have made it very hard for us.
7. If you're French, don't even try to speak English to me.
My French is probably better than your English.
8. If you're British, your English is better than my English.
Keep talking. The bag over your head only makes you look hotter and your accent stronger.
(accepting submissions...apparently my nationality isn't that well defined)
Here's a short list of what it is to be American. Nowhere in here will you find the words "patriotic" "Bush" or "love my country," don't worry.
I am an American...
1. I am loud.
In vain do we struggle, but we just can't get ourselves to laugh like Japanese schoolgirls.
3. I cringe when I spot other Americans, thinking that, naturally, I look completely native. Even with a popped collar and sorority sweater.
4. I will kill you in a debate on American politics
You may THINK you know everything about the states because a friend of a friend studied abroad, or you took a week long "holiday" in New York, but you're wrong. Sorry.
5. We're not all ignorant.
Just the president.
6. Actually, I won't give you a blowjob .
I just need to get this out there. Please tell all the European male friends you may have. Some slut(s) have made it very hard for us.
7. If you're French, don't even try to speak English to me.
My French is probably better than your English.
8. If you're British, your English is better than my English.
Keep talking. The bag over your head only makes you look hotter and your accent stronger.
(accepting submissions...apparently my nationality isn't that well defined)
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