Photos of Horror

Why is it that every passport photo I take is succeedingly more horrific than the last?

I have always considered myself (maybe a little vainly) to be a rather photogenic person. My school photos were adequate, my drivers license photo is above average, and my senior photos were great... even my drunk pics are kinda fun! Sure my eyes may be a little blood-shot, my hair is usually a mess, and my smile is kinda crooked... but I always look like I'm having a good time!

Normal photo of moi. Well... semi normal.

So why do I look like a cross between a troll and the ghost of Christmas future whenever I get in front of that blank white screen? It doesn't even look like my face anymore. The eyes are too squinty. The mouth is a thin grimace. And the hair... oh god, the hair. Imagine that doll that you had growing up that you just loved - you played with her every day until she was mostly bald with only a few scraggly hairs hanging off back of her head... ya, nice image.

Scary ghost-pale photo of me.

And apparently this is supposed to reassure customs officials that I am not a serial killer. Or the Bride of Chucky.

Please tell me this doesn't really look like me. Please tell me this picture explains why security officials always stare an extra long time at my passport. Please tell me this is a figment of my imagination. And if its not...

LIE.

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Café Culture

One of my favorite things about living in Europe is going to cafés. Everywhere you look there are cafés with wonderful food right on the sidewalks. Not only do you have a view of your favorite Parisian monument, but you are right out there among the people. You get to eat, chain smoke, drink a glass of wine and most importantly - judge people.

This is the national Parisian past time. It is so ingrained in their culture that at these cafés you don't face your friends while you talk - you sit side-by-side facing the foot traffic so as to have a better vantage point to judge the people as they walk by.

"That girl has a cute jacket."

"Those heels are adorable! But how does she walk in them?"

"Parisian men in suits. Ooo la la."

"Stupid American tourist in bad clothes. They're making us look bad."

Although I have left Paris, I have taken this penchant for judging back to the states. But there is a severe lack of cafés in which to engage in one of my favorite time wasters. So... I have adapted this habit to the party scene.

Sitting around a crowded bar or party evaluating that girl's outfit, or this guy's two-step style, I've realized that I don't judge to mock people (well... maybe not all the time); it's more of a way to analyze society. After my many silent hours in Europe, not speaking the language, not knowing the people - I learned to appreciate just watching the everyday interactions of human life. The group of teenagers thinking they were so cool smoking cigarettes outside the high-school. The old woman with her nurse sitting in the Luxembourg Gardens everyday. The guards outside my apartment grabbing snacks from the local allimentation to make it through their shift. The smiles on the people's faces when the sun came out after a long winter.

No matter where you go, its the same - everyday life being lived.

It's great to be a part of that - to make up your own stories for the people, to admire them, or to judge them from afar.

And if you don't have anything nice to say - come sit by me at a café in Paris and let's talk about how no one should EVER wear a cotton college t-shirt in the fashion capital of the world.

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Vampires - Real and Imaginary

...or 2 rants about random and unrelated things.

So for the past few weeks, I've been jogging around my neighborhood after I get home from work a few times a week. (Self-high-five!) I have not been known for my dedication to working out, and I am frequently rather vocal about how much I hate running (separate rant). But sitting at a desk all day is pretty boring after being active (either walking or biking) for 10 to 12 hours everyday. The most exercise I get is walking to my car. So I decided this was a good way to spend my excess energy, and I usually go running around dusk. This is a lead up to my actual rant.

Apparently every mosquito in the Texas area has realized that I am fresh and relatively untouched meat. The mosquitoes in Europe aren't so bad. In fact, I never remember getting bitten by anything besides the occasional spider or angry gypsy.

So now I have bruises all over my legs from scratching. I'm going to have to start bringing a baseball bat with me to defend my poor legs from the pterodactyl sized mosquitoes that are trying to eat me alive.

Rant #2

I'm always kinda ashamed of myself when I get sucked into a mindless book series. I know I can be a bit of a literary snob, but... let's take Twilight. Ok... ignoring the fact that after the first book, the rest of them just go downhill plot-wise - why do I feel so strongly about the characters? Why do I want to sit down and have a serious counselling session with Edward about his self-esteem issues? And why do I want Bella to quit being so melodramatic? I'm so wrapped up in their lives!!! Obviously this is the point of best-selling fiction. We get wrapped up in it and forget about annoying little plot glitches.

I started reading the Sookie Stackhouse vampire series on a friend's recommendation (the show True Blood is based off it). I've been trying to read The Road (kinda dark) and had just finished Lolita (really twisted) - so I just wanted something light. And once again I've been sucked into the world of mildly amusing, mediocre literature. Its like Grey's Anatomy... you know exactly what's going to happen, you're kinda ashamed of yourself that you watch it every week, but you can't stop.

The best part is that I looked at a picture of the author... oh this poor woman. Charlaine Harris is an unremarkable, uninteresting looking middle-aged woman who is obviously writing about the exciting life of a buxom blonde that she wishes she had... because I highly doubt that at any point in time she looked anything like the girl that is her heroine. I hope she enjoys her highly successful literary career because her love life is probably as stagnant as ever.

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Happy Fall of the Berlin Wall

Today marks the 20th anniversary of the Berlin wall... and to celebrate that, a few videos for your viewing pleasure.

David Hasselhoff on the Berlin wall on Dec 31, 1989

And if that wasn't enough Hasselhoff... here is my favorite video

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Organizational Skills

For the most part, I am a very organized person... my affinity for Excel spreadsheets and Google calendars should be more than enough proof of that. But... even though I've been home for almost a month, I still have not unpacked.

In my defense, I didn't think that I would be living at home for more than 2 weeks - so why get organized when this was not a permanent arrangement. (Excuse #1)

Excuse #2: I lived in 25 square meters in Paris!!!! Do you know how big that is? Ok - here's a visual. Go into the master bathroom of your house, or better yet, your walk-in closet. Now add a bed, a stove, a mini-fridge, and a shower and PRESTO - you have my apartment. The only thing that's missing is a little, gay Frenchman. I could wash my hair and cook pasta at the same time. Those of you who stayed with me - back me up on this statement.

So needless to say, the ability to "spread out" has truly been a luxury. But I may have taken it a little far.

Yes, that is 2 huge suitcases, 1 mini suitcase, a duffel bag... and a partridge and a pear tree

If you're curious as to how I get to my bed, its easy! You jump over suitcase #1, two-step around the tennis shoes, high jump over the giant pile of books and try not to impale yourself on the stilettos that I have strategically placed to discourage any monsters trying to attack me (you can never be too safe these days).

I need to clean. I need to organize. But... you can ask my roommates (that would be Kim and Jeff Naron) - my mess does not ooze into other parts of the house. It stops at my door. So at least I've got that going for me.

And I might have gone a little overboard at Half-Priced Books as well.

Oh well... Anyone need a book?

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A Breath of Air

There is something to be said about coming back to the states. As I was leaving Paris, every bone in my body was screaming, "DON'T GO!!! YOU'RE GOING TO MISS EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS!!!! The scenery, the energy, the adventure! What are you going to do in Houston? Been there, done that. Go somewhere else." And of course a certain part of me does miss all of that.

But until I got here, I didn't realize that for 8 months, I have been living with this constant... pressure.

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I just finished reading, A Year in the Merde by Stephen Clarke. I think that for a year he's been following me around. Everything that happens to him in his year in Paris was my life. In the book, he goes to restaurants I went to, to bookstores I shopped at, had visa problems that I had, and everything that he observes about the French people, I also recognized at one point in time or another. Its such a great characterization of the French people. But that's just it... there are huge differences in culture that take a lot of getting used to.

Which relates back to this certain pressure - everyday... in my job, in my social life, in my home life... I was constantly being bombarded by NEW and DIFFERENT. And as exciting as that is, it is truly relaxing to just come home to the OLD and FAMILIAR.

So I am very content to stay here for the moment. I didn't think I would ever want to. I thought I would immediately HAVE to leave. But I think I'll stay... till its time to go. And it will be... someday. But not today.

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The Expat Life

Almost 8 months ago, I moved to Paris. I had a unique job which presented unique challenges. I had a boyfriend. I had a plan.

8 months later: I am officially retired from tourism. I don't have a boyfriend. I also don't have a plan.

But I also have realized a few things about what I want my life to look like. I have had the opportunity to meet people from all over the world, in all different professions, in all different walks of life and places in their life and each person has impacted me by giving me something NEW to think about.

Some things I know:

- I love Europe. I love my lifestyle here. Going back to the US - to me right now - means giving up part of my freedom. My freedom to walk around in the middle of the night and still feel safe. My freedom to never worry about how I'm going to get somewhere (bike, walking, taxi, public transportation, trains etc). My freedom to figure out who I am and not conform to the expectations that Americans have of what life is supposed to be like after graduating college.

- I can't work for the proverbial "man" anymore. I grew up in a family of entrepreneurs - no one in my family works in corporate America. No WONDER I can't see myself there. I can't get passionate about a bottom line. Non-profits, social enterprises or start up companies are much more interesting and personal to me.

- I want to be an expat. The expat community is unbelievable. No, you don't get along with everyone. But everyone challenges your perception - with each person I meet I am forced to reevaluate my ideas, values and beliefs. They don't necessarily change - but they are tested.

I'm not done with Europe. I'm not done with traveling.

And then there's the question that I'm dreading: what is it like to live in Paris?

I'm not sure if I can answer that question for someone who has never lived abroad.

Paris has been romanticized by art, literature and pop culture. It is the place of dreams and love and fashion and beauty. But to me, its where I learned what I want in life. Where I cried when my heart was broken. Where I walked around alone in a foreign city thousands of miles away from my friends and family. Where I worked my ass off. Where I craved Mexican food.

"Despite the perpetual rain, the sordid merchants, and the Homeric vulgarity of its carriage drivers, she would always remember Paris as the most beautiful city in the world, not because of what it was or was not in reality, but because it was linked to the memory of her happiest years." - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Paris is everything that you've imagined it is. Romantic. Magical. Perfect.

But until you live here, until you've been an expat somewhere, you can't understand it.

I started this blog to keep in contact with my friends and family - to help you share in my life over here. But as I try to put into words what its like to live here, as I try to summarize my time and what I've learned, and who I've become - I can't do it. It's unexplainable.

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