ALLELUJA!!!

Okay two things:
1. China is chnging their policy on abortions so that people will keep their little girls and balance out the population a bit.

2. I now have more access to a computer. I hear tell that when all of the other international students arrive they decend on this place white on rice, but until then Carrie and our are confusing ourselves further by typing in English and not practicing our french.

Until I can figure out a sneaky way to get my photos on here I'll have to settle for telling you about it. Carrie and I live in a building, called Foyer International, about fifteen minutes walk from the main building of the campus. My room is two stories tall, kind of. The bottom is a little room with pink tile floors, two tables, three chairs, a fridge, two HUGE bookcases and a sink. Then there's a staircase that leads to a loft with a bed and a dresser. Thankfully this building also provides a kitchen, free washer and drier, and breakfast for what it's worth to anyone aho wakes up on time to get it. Wheee! Everything creaks and there are exposed pipes in the room which carry the conversations from the other rooms into mine. (I pay three times more for this than I did for living with Zack, Jonathan and le hot tub, mind you.)

On the bright side, there's only one bathroom on the whole floor... um.

The buildings are all very old and very close together. And there are a million skinny, lovely people to look at . For all it's worth, there's a distinct lack or fat people... here's to walking absolutely everywhere and eating nothing but bread, cheese and chocolate!

We managed to find a grocery store though so at least we won't starve to death. You would not believe the amount of cheese that can be purchased here! But the fresh flower stands and the crazy drivers and the nutty people who sold us coffee to benefit the tsunami victims (0,80€) kind of make up for the shatty stuff.

One good thing: Carrie and I fit in much better than the other American students, that's for sure.

French phrase for today: Je ne parle q'un peu de française, s'il vous plait, pouvez-vous parler plus lentement? (I only speak a little french, please, can you speak more slowly?)

France? HA!

Okay, take the worst room in Cline, add a "mezzanine" and then tear all the wall paper off and make it dark and funny-smelling... Welcome to your new home! Neat. If I can ever get the past the fact that I don't understand a damn thing, and if any other Americans ever show up and if I can get a phone and stop hating everything... I'll be totally fine, seriously. Please send me an email with all sorts of snotty, American what-not and I'll love you forever.

Dear Mona-Lisa, put your red shoes on.

Did you know that a glass of wine in France is cheaper than a glass of coke?

That being said, what is up with China? Yesterday their 1.3 billionth person was born. I find this fascinating. Supposedly, without their harsh laws about how many children a family can legally have (one) they would have reached this milestone (1.3 billion) four years ago. The penalty for having more than one child ranges from steep fines to losing your job and being placed in a work camp for the mentally ill. The result is that the average number of children per family has fallen from 5.8 to 1.8 and the ratio of males to females in now something like 115 to 100. The estimate is that 40 million men in this generation won't be able to find wives.

Remember in the 80's when being the kid with divorced parents made you wierd? (Not that many of my friends would, because somehow all of their parents are still together.) In China, I wonder if having siblings makes you the weird kid with the disfunctional, unpatriotic family.

Speaking of numbers: Coca Cola has donated about ten-million dollars to South Asia, as has Pfizter (the people who make Viagra). This is pretty damn cool if you ask me. I will take this moment to refrain from making a specific comment about our shatty government.

Anyway... 5288 people in Indonesia are dead and Patricia Arquette isn't really a psychic. Also, Amber Fry sucks and I have too much time to read the newspaper/watch The Insider.

Lick this Blog: a Disclaimer

I hate the idea of the blog. Having a blog, in my opinion, usually means you're a bit of a wanker. I say that with the utmost respect for people who can actually develop an interesting idea, but you see: a blog wishes it were a diary, left strategically open to a juicy, tantalizing page in the hope that the right person will happen upon it, thereby telling the reader the thing you can't tell them to their face (i.e. "I want you"... and I do). Only this diary is written by someone incredibly, remarkably boring who actually only wants you because they're so remarkably bored. Armed with the knowledge that I am, now more than ever, a wanker of rare form: nothing I write will ever be interesting enough. This blog will mercifully self destruct in five... four...

The situation is thus: my internet access will be extremely limited over the the next five months, due to the fact that even though Al Gore invented this technological marvel, someone in the past few years has apparently kept it hush-hush from the French.
Though originally this limited time online was a major disappointment to me (who needs to communicate with their mom anyway?) I realize that it keeps me from commiting a horrible crime: I refuse to tell you what I ate for breakfast or my "theme-song-of-the-day." Just because one makes a sentence, doesn't mean a word's been said. Tell me, do you care if I was late to class?
Upon my triumphant return I'll probably still be just another A-hole, but I want to find that my friends still know who I am and don't hate me for it.

Indeed, I want you.

note: "blog" is to be changed to anything other than "blog," which ranks in stupidity with such words as the state-name "Kentucky" and the adjective "puffy."

The good news: I might come back

Today's Agenda: purchase ticket to return from France, don't spend frivelous money on things like shin guards and finger puppets.
Agenda Status: accomplished.

Cheese Map

Don't expect a lot of exciting things to happen here for the next seven days as too may things will be happening in my actual life for the likes of you lot. Between now and my next post I will have moved to Lille, France. You'll note that Lille is so close to Belgium that it actually smells like beer and chocolate like the magical factory of Willy Wonka. The "Cheese map of France" is not as full of wonder and glee as I might have expected, and you'll note that Lille's not on it. In fact, all the maps on this site look a bit like they're made out of construction paper and maple syrup, but they have a cheese map nonetheless.

The list of things I don't have prepaired for this semester grows the more I realize that I will be 4629 miles from Campbell's Soup, Mary-Sue Rix and free refills (not to mention my parents). I said the five-month good-bye to Tim at seven this morning and won't be seeing him 'til he meets me in Paris (with el chor) in June. Neat. I'd like so say it's like some awesome black and white movie but it's a little more like heavy anesthetics since it hasn't sunk in that I leave on SUNDAY. Let me say it again: SUNDAY. Or rather: DIMANCHE.

Cripes.

A bientot.

Fala Fala la lala fa fa

Jaunting finished, presents opened and properly marveled at, holiday cheer evenly distributed. Now people can stop wearing those bright red sweaters everywhere they go. Did anyone else see those signs along Yuree drive that say: "Put the Christ back in Christmas?" I want the Catholics to put a sign up that says: "Put the Mass back in Christmas." But only because I think Catholics are neat-o.
Speaking of Mass, I got to see Tim sing with his high school church choir on the Eve and since it was a candlelight service everyone left with hot wax all over them. It was a jolly affair. A big, dark room full of people holding lit candles that reflected off the chandeliers... like a heavy metal love ballad for Jesus, only no one was wearing a Led Zepplin t-shirt.
Anyway, at the annual white-elephant party I got a surge protector. Neat. Tim got a deflated weather balloon and a Polish tool kit... and my grandpa told him that I said he was ugly. I think it was a success. Unfortunately, my 9-year old cousin, Cheyenne, ended up with my gift, which was a six bottles of cologne and a caraffe of musk. Subsequently, the ranch smelled like a gigolo and I take the blame.
If you've never seen Tim eat six king-size Hershey bars in two days, I recommend it.
Jingle Jingle