tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85982407226590043902024-03-05T13:30:56.587-08:00bonjour provenceLilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-11162675646760450702009-05-12T07:46:00.000-07:002009-05-12T08:03:33.564-07:00Bliss<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxisiwe5_EWMno5i5x_C_OTBthD4D14__k_o2YVYHpSxW0qO3jnuAoP66KrK2oePWgvrjjzX1S_cCxOrhqTjv-FKxRWcxzw2N9P-t8sovO00nE63mYPnJz8mHt_x5CqDk7B8YowXHcmU/s1600-h/BRI_0101_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxisiwe5_EWMno5i5x_C_OTBthD4D14__k_o2YVYHpSxW0qO3jnuAoP66KrK2oePWgvrjjzX1S_cCxOrhqTjv-FKxRWcxzw2N9P-t8sovO00nE63mYPnJz8mHt_x5CqDk7B8YowXHcmU/s400/BRI_0101_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334949672487012530" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(my mommy took this lovely photo at the market in Lyon)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />I am so happy today. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Perhaps it is because I have loads of work to avoid, perhaps it is because I started the day with a giant bowl of lemon tea with lavender honey, perhaps it is because it is the perfect temperature outside and I am wearing my new sandals with the big green fabric flowers on them. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Perhaps there is something in the water.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Nonetheless, I have made quite a day of it. I bought chocolate chip cookies at the corner bakery and handed them out to friends and staff at the American Center. I bought cheery yellow flowers to go on my bureau. I bought three tiny macarons from a woman named Caroline who told me I spoke lovely French, and a hunk of strong cheese wrapped in paper from a pretty girl with tangled blond hair at the market. I have a sack of olives in a spicy pepper oil waiting to be snacked on in the fridge. I have walked (and occasionally skipped) around town today smiling at strangers, which is like shouting to the world that I'm an American. I could not be happier.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Last night I went out with friends to a smoky hookah bar on a side street where you take your shoes off and lounge around on giant floor pillows. We drank caramel vanilla tea and had chocolate fondue, and I had real conversations with some of the kids in my program for the first time, which made me a bit sad to be leaving so soon. Afterward a few of us went to Pizza Capri for melty mozzarella pizza with spicy oil on top, and ate them sitting on a bench along the Cours Mirabeau. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Spring has sprung and I don't know whether this explosion of glee is because the air smells like jasmine or because I'm excited to see everyone I love again. Either way, it should be a lovely final two weeks.</span></div></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-6543731676027149782009-05-08T10:09:00.001-07:002009-05-08T10:43:55.516-07:00I'm alive, I swear.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfj5gQ0TGwno1UF8HNJxGek9B992a0JwAHqS_-f4z4ECbp0fKIXCwZN8HhLD3T-J6LmiD75y9VemP8l_yIbPZ1BzXs_j62IznItHhyphenhyphenRStWgiOs0K8NxN5FG4zqPGQn-SwTloUJArZ3DYU/s1600-h/BRI_0382.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfj5gQ0TGwno1UF8HNJxGek9B992a0JwAHqS_-f4z4ECbp0fKIXCwZN8HhLD3T-J6LmiD75y9VemP8l_yIbPZ1BzXs_j62IznItHhyphenhyphenRStWgiOs0K8NxN5FG4zqPGQn-SwTloUJArZ3DYU/s400/BRI_0382.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333502107995922466" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKy143jFeEBs1DtA2Fs0ziQCSwmvmePzEB9Ol4bH9ePYwlusj7B3XH39IvmnbJMVzlBPGE3B84VDkvTu_TQGT8nAkBjextU6K89kLSTWvT0qRiTVDHP0-Z9xH8OOYfK9qW1MWHKZ_00g/s1600-h/lila+tot.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Tulip fields in Ho</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">lland!)</span></span></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKy143jFeEBs1DtA2Fs0ziQCSwmvmePzEB9Ol4bH9ePYwlusj7B3XH39IvmnbJMVzlBPGE3B84VDkvTu_TQGT8nAkBjextU6K89kLSTWvT0qRiTVDHP0-Z9xH8OOYfK9qW1MWHKZ_00g/s1600-h/lila+tot.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><br /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKy143jFeEBs1DtA2Fs0ziQCSwmvmePzEB9Ol4bH9ePYwlusj7B3XH39IvmnbJMVzlBPGE3B84VDkvTu_TQGT8nAkBjextU6K89kLSTWvT0qRiTVDHP0-Z9xH8OOYfK9qW1MWHKZ_00g/s1600-h/lila+tot.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><br /></a></div></span><br /><br />Hello darling family and friends, <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I'm back! I had a wonderful two weeks of vacation, and arrived back at home late Saturday night to discover the internet was broken and I had no way of telling anyone of my lovely vacation. Right now I am sitting in Quick, which is a sketchy French burger chain, taking advantage of their free wifi and trying to avoid the eyes of the creepy guys sitting one table over. </div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh45Mb0qfa55qi63rjdzS8RcZwqi11e61w6djmg9ghVtwE7wxHnH_aQQFGz6lspJCBm_ih01RPlFMcRubU1jr0kIk6IBeidla16BCKjRBON-uWKdoumf6v2joPobhh7pDUUS_wNfE4Q7hM/s400/the+girls+capri.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333502095592445522" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>I only have about two weeks left here in France, which is pretty weird but really nice. For awhile, especially right after Matt left, I was so homesick and my time here seemed interminable. Having only two weeks left is really nice, since I can really enjoy the town and the last few days of living in France and then go home to my family. It helps that I came back to sun and flowers and greenery, and so I've been throwing caution and cultural assimilation to the wind and strolling around town smiling at strangers all week. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As for my vacation, I could not have asked for a better two weeks, and it was really nice to get out of Aix. The first week I spent with my mom, and we went to Lyon, Amsterdam, and Brussels, ate delicious food, shopped, and had a lovely time. The second week I spent in Sorrento with friends, and made day trips to Positano, Pompei, and Capri. It was an amazing and lovely and pasta-filled week, and I will post more eventually, promise. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9w78Buwxgn5SmPIFPqrZpWu-0HKQBYvJXFpoG_9D4UZ6m9QWDcJWGw98nGJLKbbiUobdQxdw5PXFFlv91nrkjSVnvt-iOzMVfDqgcSd7ZiXcZauH9A25asNbnMDT364lfaqszMi9dhPM/s400/lila+nina.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333502100269739394" /></div><div>Tonight I am having friends over for dinner, since my host mom is gone, and tomorrow I'm going to a BALL!</div><div><br /></div><div>Seriously. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am trying to save money, since I have a non-paying internship this summer and will be poor for awhile (Greenpeace, though! I'm so excited!). I just transferred some of my savings over to checking because I had exactly $5.03 in my account (pretty sad), and the tickets are 22 euros, so I hesitated at first...but then I realized that it would be really really dumb to waste my second to last weekend in France sitting in bed watching The Office (sooo good though) and that perhaps going to a ball in France is well worth the extra babysitting hours. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I must dash home to meet my friends, but I would LOVE to hear from you all. My inbox is full of requests from deposed Nigerian kings and updates on the NHL (yay Hurricanes!), but sadly empty of updates from the US. Pretty please?</div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-12096684077035896392009-04-14T19:23:00.000-07:002009-04-14T19:37:00.152-07:00An Evening Well-Spent?My mom is coming to visit tomorrow, so I busied myself this afternoon with various chores & whatnot. I folded and put away my laundry, washed my sheets, organized my dresser so as to appear I do not live with makeup constantly scattered across my room. <div><br /></div><div>This evening I sent résumés and cover letters to various organizations in search of a summer internship (know anyone?). I took a measly hour to have tomato and feta salad and a glass of rosé with my host mom. </div><div><br /></div><div>I dabbled in homework, sent some emails, finally buckled down around midnight and got some work done. The cat played with a lilac petal on the floor, dashed around the bed a bit, purred. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then I smelled something horrible, and searched the room for a bit until I found that he had pooped in the freshly-cleaned sheets of my bed. I ran to the bathroom to grab some toilet paper, and as I reached for the doorknob I heard retching sounds from across the room, and turned just in time to watch Vanille the Calico vomit all over the freshly cleaned floor. </div><div><br /></div><div>Catherine was still up in the living room, heard me laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, and came to survey the scene. That is how we ended up giggling in my room at four AM, unsuccessfully trying to find another set of sheets to fit my bed, while Capucine yelled at us from the next room to shut up.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I still haven't finished my homework. </div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-44534452314558751432009-04-08T14:26:00.000-07:002009-04-08T15:11:58.146-07:00The (sometimes risqué) wisdom of French women<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yeyOJVHD3xv04_6U1A6cnGPyzLZ6F6COPzmz9Pl1Pez827UaRjT7UacBM-VtjuuLNwAej56I0uzmE9sS0GHLJ6vQVcGTqq0HswrRGjfMnbZsONU88WFV3j2fv_GBKEIH2J9eFtyjp7Q/s1600-h/IMG_3966.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yeyOJVHD3xv04_6U1A6cnGPyzLZ6F6COPzmz9Pl1Pez827UaRjT7UacBM-VtjuuLNwAej56I0uzmE9sS0GHLJ6vQVcGTqq0HswrRGjfMnbZsONU88WFV3j2fv_GBKEIH2J9eFtyjp7Q/s400/IMG_3966.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322446224100068706" /></a><br />Tonight at dinner I learned the following things from my French mom:<div><br /></div><div>1. I need to buy more sexy underwear. I guess she does my laundry, so she's allowed to have an opinion on it, but I worked at Victoria's Secret & had a killer discount for awhile, so I'm hardly wearing Bridget Jones-style control top underthings all the time. (NB: When you work at VS, you are not allowed to say "underwear." True story.) Nonetheless, apparently that je ne sais quoi starts at the very bottom, with satin and lace.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. I should wear my hair down all the time. Instead of thinking "I look like I just dug my way out of prison with a spork" when I look in the mirror, I should think "I look like Brigitte Bardot in 'And God Created Woman,' and am equally sexy if not more." Also, should not part hair. Instead, let it flop casually over to one side.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. I should wear a tiny bit of makeup every day. </div><div><br /></div><div>4. Live it up while you're young. You will never be this pretty or um, perky, again. </div><div><br /></div><div>5. Talk often about the person you love, it gives you a glow and makes your eyes light up. </div><div><br /></div><div>6. Seriously, real men just don't do telephones. Give it up. </div><div><br /></div><div>7. Also, boys who buy you flowers in a country whose language they don't speak, or for that matter, who fly halfway around the world to see you, should be kept around. These are the good ones. (Needless to say, she really liked Matt.)</div><div><br /></div><div>8. You will remember three hour dinners and cafés and conversation in twenty years. You will not remember your grades, or the homework you didn't do. Just let it go once in awhile. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight was lovely, and just what I needed. </div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-780148148074672172009-04-03T17:03:00.000-07:002009-04-03T17:34:43.347-07:00Paris!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTDNL4S1ClbwwJFtrRLe0qDTBDpOvJ9a9ngxC8b-EZMTHz27xsm3TjoH-Wc4NYlz1Ax-eiCVhx71E4VjnMdznS6Wk65tGluiqP9-8Hj1FkKRufckE_fz4z6Db12ofrH8AN2JCdhVnfd4/s1600-h/IMG_3899.JPG"></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FHKRlQ0kScvdEwN2skMX2GxL-a3J8iLgwgmWtzbCtHuTEge0aIfHFEidihagH0mU3OnPcS5xEFBtw2hE3_fDdVUIfiSdEpTHuNFKZ6xHtfnHV7A21wgTw8KUPrBVHCKFLAAolZTeCEU/s400/IMG_3875-pola.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320622535876668434" />It was lovely. Our favorite part was lounging around in the gardens of Versailles. Also good was eating an entire box of 18 Ladurée macarons. Worth it. I am sleepy, so this will have to suffice for today. I *promise* to write more later. <div> </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTDNL4S1ClbwwJFtrRLe0qDTBDpOvJ9a9ngxC8b-EZMTHz27xsm3TjoH-Wc4NYlz1Ax-eiCVhx71E4VjnMdznS6Wk65tGluiqP9-8Hj1FkKRufckE_fz4z6Db12ofrH8AN2JCdhVnfd4/s400/IMG_3899.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320625590923494210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">In other news, my mom is coming to visit for spring break! I cannot wait. </div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-43370547176054602512009-03-31T15:40:00.000-07:002009-04-02T08:47:09.782-07:00Caramel Tea and Oscar Wilde.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I wrote a friend an email today, and realized just how full of complaints I have been lately. I am homesick, they have no Mexican food here (please: if you love me, you will send me salsa. Or even better, a burrito, packed in dry ice.), no one sends me letters.*</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And then I realized...I am in Provence, studying nothing remotely related to science, surrounded by cafés and cobblestones and living in a town with more than one papeterie. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I have nothing to complain about. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So I decided to have a Lovely Day. I slept in, made pesto for lunch, went to the library with Arielle, and got fries from a sidewalk stand. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">There is a bookstore in Aix, Book in Bar, that has become a little haven for all us English speakers. So today, in pursuit of my Lovely Day, I went to Book in Bar, ordered a pot of Caramel Tea (delicious), and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">did all my homework before 3pm.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I have pretty significant ADD, so even doing my homework is a triumph, but completing it during daylight hours? Unheard of. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I walked out around five with a book of Oscar Wilde quotations and a bit of a stomachache. Four cups of tea will do that to you. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">*This is a genuine complaint. I share a mailbox with A. Adams, who has gotten three packages and six letters in the past three weeks. Every time I look in the mailbox, my heart does a little flutter to see that it's full, and then a horrible plummet when I realize it's, yet again, for Ashlee. </span></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-2289406297400850012009-03-29T16:39:00.001-07:002009-03-29T17:01:11.638-07:00Back soon...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFdc80J6UuRbNQN7WCQaHcpCIzDVl-GYCY6jkVliDw9Snr4rPlfP-L7icYRsP1s9oEWt7HMQm53KvjkACZGdvou4OUZNZVwEy64q4qLMzCiZrYBoX_mAZk7s3AEeOhqw9eiqOcvs4zrQ/s1600-h/IMG_3740-pola.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFdc80J6UuRbNQN7WCQaHcpCIzDVl-GYCY6jkVliDw9Snr4rPlfP-L7icYRsP1s9oEWt7HMQm53KvjkACZGdvou4OUZNZVwEy64q4qLMzCiZrYBoX_mAZk7s3AEeOhqw9eiqOcvs4zrQ/s400/IMG_3740-pola.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318762946971574130" /></a><br />I promise. At which point I will have updates on Paris, Matt's visit, and the tragic goodbye when I got all weepy and runny nosed in the Marseilles airport. And the bus. And my Société Française class. <div><br /><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw7KJG57bURm-DvxsOyY4IFa8c-f1Q4H3-RBqTyhubz63NMB-XY9W68YYUCwKd_OAdUUcZi4tqxL9G-mc7CqhF5Nr2rXpJFIa12KO9HEEseYsVSFpmPvkLbVjT6f7HoBTeJ-ecAljeosg/s400/IMG_3741.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318762933051268290" /></div><div>Homesickness has been quietly settling in lately, but it hit me like a wall of bricks when Matt left.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, they don't have real tortilla chips and salsa. How am I supposed to fill the void created by my absent boyfriend without the most delicious of all food pairings?!</div></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-60163063641272681792009-03-19T13:48:00.000-07:002009-03-19T13:56:25.485-07:00This is what Matt has done since he arrived:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vYOOFvvqVAfbes4AWlZSO0t21kXG0Vrk-_ClwakCdivW7_I6YMuKNxFS4Qj0qWdMHwxA15P8vxGjkRW-qbUUGbBoeQkc-5TPWJd67LaVJ1BiNTDt1oMa7j3PP5j7tmae0_RTafTj6Qs/s1600-h/IMG_3550-pola.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vYOOFvvqVAfbes4AWlZSO0t21kXG0Vrk-_ClwakCdivW7_I6YMuKNxFS4Qj0qWdMHwxA15P8vxGjkRW-qbUUGbBoeQkc-5TPWJd67LaVJ1BiNTDt1oMa7j3PP5j7tmae0_RTafTj6Qs/s400/IMG_3550-pola.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315005271994764994" /></a>Jet lag, you know. Tomorrow night we leave for Paris!Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-72583049134008075052009-03-17T15:37:00.000-07:002009-03-17T15:40:36.903-07:00Happy St. Patty's Day!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWZuqB-tbmEQJ8pwFx9efUzVBPjfpsiB52czahap9g9vdboZRwjaD9bDAs7gSysFgITmN_q9Zt_Y_wvlZtO9NDb2Qr1qQQUP9nDjIekE16_1hbpky0gdh8S1yEsgi31DdJaz2nnOC3wY/s1600-h/IMG_3532-pola.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWZuqB-tbmEQJ8pwFx9efUzVBPjfpsiB52czahap9g9vdboZRwjaD9bDAs7gSysFgITmN_q9Zt_Y_wvlZtO9NDb2Qr1qQQUP9nDjIekE16_1hbpky0gdh8S1yEsgi31DdJaz2nnOC3wY/s400/IMG_3532-pola.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314289697239050514" /></a>On my way home tonight, I heard a car horn that played "Dixie," and I got a bit wistful for NC. If you live there, enjoy the barbecue and delicious Mexican food while you've got it!Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-15827886460073137842009-03-16T16:08:00.000-07:002009-03-16T16:31:29.137-07:00Bizarre<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I got followed today. This person just started talking to me on the street, because (coincidentally?) we had been going the same way for a bit. He told me I walked fast, and had an athlete's legs, and I was mildly creeped out but just answered his questions since he seemed like he was just trying to be friendly. He asked where I was from, and said he thought I looked German or Norwegian (what?!) but not American. I just sort of nodded, and walked kinda fast, and then veered off at the American Center instead of going home. He followed me into the courtyard.</span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Do you want to grab a coffee?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"No, thanks. I have to study."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And I booked it inside. Claire, the 20-something adorable secretary, was frowning when I walked in. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Who was that?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I don't know. He just started talking to me on the street. He wanted me to get coffee, and I said I had to study."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Good. Stay here for awhile, okay?"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So I hung out for about twenty minutes, until Claire was sure he had gone. It wasn't the scariest experience of my life, but I kind of wonder if he would have followed me all the way home. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Nothing can bother me today, though, because in two days I get to see this one:</span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5t_o6K69nOgtWXnYoXjhp-GDbdb9RGvJAneuPJZEcQWtrK1voU6LtOJMlI6hEC2Wm6G0gdNXLkA0JSxoSoVAOtv2skG8bhKRv_qrud29NP6ouuLsH_5wX01jZ_NLGDjU9_abccVCnqBs/s400/IMG_2501-pola.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313928880400354450" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And another six days after that until we get to see this one:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPswQ7wEfyu10bjj4ols2jIs2FWaTFhhHyxVNqqibKaAJwXk5wwSWqeOh2dHfrPEyFEWFPVjz7imj2KPY89r_6-zGwHJidaT_LFXfQ-555f4tlZB4qrYra0knPtzLu-TRntcRZpQ4Hbgk/s400/IMG_3266-pola01.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313926644762331762" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am so excited! </span></div></div></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-39658989246065666032009-03-12T15:52:00.000-07:002009-03-12T16:46:31.783-07:00Triumph!Good things today:<div><br /></div><div>1. I am so happy with my volunteer position! These kids are the best, so funny and sweet, and the teachers are so cheerful and have the greatest rapport with their students. Today, we talked about boys and journal keeping at recess and drew oompa-loompas in class. I think I might request more hours with a class of little kids too, because this has been one of my favorite parts of the program. Mandatory coloring and girltalk? I'm so there. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's so great watching these kids make discoveries...today I was working with Salomé, whom I adore, and she was having trouble making change in one project that practices money skills. We started counting on fingers aloud, and I explained that it was just subtraction. At first she had to hold her hands up and work her way through it--10, cashier takes 1, 2, 3, 4, I get back 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...but within ten minutes, she was doing it all in her head and beaming from ear to ear...I was so proud! There is also Pierre-Nicolas, who every week writes me a list of all the words he knows in both French and English--all of which he's learned from playing video games. It's pretty impressive, and he knows a lot of words in English that I don't know in French. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say, this class is amazing.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Only one more exam!</div><div><br /></div><div>3. New language partner! Last one is never available, because he's a lawyer and is a real grown up, so Claire (the lovely, incredibly cool secretary at the AUCP) gave me another. Her name is Anne Sophie, and she is adorable and sweet and down to earth, and promises not to hit on me.</div><div><br /></div><div>and possibly best of all...</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Today when I went to my travail bénévole at College St. Joseph, there was a group of teenage girls sitting on the steps, looking way more together than I have ever been in my life. The class was still outside, and on my way back out to find them, the girls on the steps stopped me:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hi, we LOVE your sunglasses!"</div><div>"Oh hi! Thanks so much!"</div><div>"You're English!?" (French people can usually tell the difference between Brits and Americans when they speak French...and apparently I have a British accent?)</div><div>"Oh no, actually, I'm American. I'm studying here for the semester."</div><div>"You are AMERICAN? Mais non! You look like a French girl! We thought you were French because you are dressed like an Aixoise!"</div><div><br /></div><div>And then I got all dorky and "Omigosh, thanks so much! That is so flattering!" and lost whatever cool points my giant sunglasses (which one of my students says make me look like a fly. Thanks, Pierre-Nicolas!) earned me. </div><div><br /></div><div>But still...FRENCH TEENAGERS thought I was fashionable. Sweet. </div><div><br /></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-46901860442470046342009-03-11T14:44:00.000-07:002009-03-11T15:12:03.041-07:00Want mail?I have a small addiction to office supplies, craft materials, and pretty papers. I discovered <a href="http://www.papeterie-michel-aix.com/">Michel</a>, a papeterie here in Aix, on Valentine's Day, and now it is a running joke with my friends about how often I go there. I find it very calming and cheery, because they have paper and envelopes and notebooks in every color, jars stuffed with the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLKPJaUd0fKbDTG2XlcWG26_q2As-ESRWBk63t-2BDCCowzULreQpFH7C483nhePXYskS9CA-rC7-F98zR66niuSh0gYWL_AH38V0aajQota2msp4-LjvmmKRH97uBCow3fBab8zIi51s/s320/IMG_3120.JPG">best pens ever</a>, and as I recently found out, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">whole second floor I did not know was there</span> that is dedicated to things like colorful ribbons and heart-shaped felt stickers.<div><br /></div><div>I could go on about this for ages, but I really ought to study for my exam tomorrow, so I will get to the point: I have an overload of letter writing supplies and not enough people to write letters to! So send me an email (click on About Me, to the right) with your address, and I will write you a letter or postcard...because really, who doesn't like to get mail?</div><div><br /></div><div>(this includes you, <a href="http://mieletcannelle.wordpress.com/">miel et cannelle</a> readers!)</div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-57790607173390854492009-03-10T14:01:00.000-07:002009-03-10T14:31:37.911-07:00Today in pictures.<div style="text-align: center;">Today I woke up to this:<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_dhJgCTIlJEy9uL0Vd46Zwjt5DzaaqXH4twHiM6LBBPi6v393G_6FBBjybFZwu7VaaaFLK60Msw6xWAfdMr0Yx2jyHJEZE9TH0n58RZFjKmoGERUID7WwXxQ5OwF1Bjp_YIxzOuamjA/s1600-h/IMG_3468.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_dhJgCTIlJEy9uL0Vd46Zwjt5DzaaqXH4twHiM6LBBPi6v393G_6FBBjybFZwu7VaaaFLK60Msw6xWAfdMr0Yx2jyHJEZE9TH0n58RZFjKmoGERUID7WwXxQ5OwF1Bjp_YIxzOuamjA/s400/IMG_3468.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311668157803159074" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Had this for lunch:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ73eZ4OAFkTwggrRTfO_1e07SWtgo__U3pXD681k67bF3TJL6duAvKJUZvvVNAj0REtOTsCWhHvoKH-dzyuEGCcmlE33crQWrPHubgqF9hMX0qcxnI5kqI3fCxhnGqeaJ_aBoT60TGeE/s1600-h/IMG_3469.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 346px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ73eZ4OAFkTwggrRTfO_1e07SWtgo__U3pXD681k67bF3TJL6duAvKJUZvvVNAj0REtOTsCWhHvoKH-dzyuEGCcmlE33crQWrPHubgqF9hMX0qcxnI5kqI3fCxhnGqeaJ_aBoT60TGeE/s400/IMG_3469.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311668152461449458" border="0" /></a><br />Checked out my local library with Arielle, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-47Yb-x-NrB_Vz2fVFhsaXsdZJppFR4sKCk_EveCSgHU9g6ob5eDr_3NsLUkQ5gz02oRQdsuxaqWbW-9Hs_9jVACOpd3IEsYCHdU91PYy-uZesndCyiNJq9RHbau7yOblA1-XZyjtfpY/s1600-h/IMG_3472.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 321px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-47Yb-x-NrB_Vz2fVFhsaXsdZJppFR4sKCk_EveCSgHU9g6ob5eDr_3NsLUkQ5gz02oRQdsuxaqWbW-9Hs_9jVACOpd3IEsYCHdU91PYy-uZesndCyiNJq9RHbau7yOblA1-XZyjtfpY/s400/IMG_3472.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311668166759372562" border="0" /></a><br />And am now having a hard time following my own advice.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpMlDtdoIWxTZ5Ni7RGAgFTIYfa0Fxr2B579SYv9hqEnYxwJbur0vluAFt9RLcXS0pIDZTZoR1flscUF4GDI7Rh3E3rukgXgw5pV6kLLFE9TXEu98UAN2dQAuFP0U08bz-LIYn39ExWo/s1600-h/IMG_3476.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpMlDtdoIWxTZ5Ni7RGAgFTIYfa0Fxr2B579SYv9hqEnYxwJbur0vluAFt9RLcXS0pIDZTZoR1flscUF4GDI7Rh3E3rukgXgw5pV6kLLFE9TXEu98UAN2dQAuFP0U08bz-LIYn39ExWo/s400/IMG_3476.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311668176929842530" border="0" /></a><br /></div>PS: Mini blackboards and chalk are cheaper than post-its! What?!Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-4622275715553945072009-03-10T13:44:00.000-07:002009-03-10T13:51:10.968-07:00Starry-Eyed AgainThis is how I feel about Aix right now:<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KVNcLUE87HQ&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KVNcLUE87HQ&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />(via <a href="http://amandabruns.blogspot.com">first milk</a>)<br /><br />It's inconvenient, really, because it's just starting to get warm and I'm just falling in love with the city again, and it's midterms week! Bother.<br /><br />Also, Julie Andrews? Still as awesome as she was when I was five.Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-32070985353005065732009-03-10T02:10:00.000-07:002009-03-10T02:51:17.175-07:00Malentendus?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In my Written & Oral Expression class, we rotate through the roster giving mini-presentations in class. As part of this, we choose a section of vocabulary from our thesaurus and present a few words from our composition to the class. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqiLMADqkt7HvoUa7ijhnuSXvK_M65KYLlQWdVxJ2kl5VbWIGJqQBN3D5fWS-oHCEENb4vIZKBgpPUBa5VwlpnV60fA_J4HJum3aVIQlrH9LAJgLgd8fBp_Br6istO4VL_RvFyH_Im_w/s400/IMG_3465.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311484844913024274" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A couple weeks ago, I made the mistake of using "ça me fait venir" in a composition, which, as you can see in the above photo IS IN OUR THESAURUS. (For those of you who don't speak French, let me refer you to translate.google.com, for a general idea of what I said.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">My very dignified, very French professor, Jean-Michel, came up to me as I was writing this on the board. "Leela," (this was all in French) "Leela, are you sure that is what you want to say?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I start giggling immediately, because I had wondered about the literal translation...but I showed him where it was in the book. "No no no. That is not what that means. I do not think this is what you want to say."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And then...the worst part. I tend not to think before I speak, and I tend to have a bit of a verbal diarrhea problem...which is why my immediate response to my very proper, old-fashioned, Aixois prof was...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"I don't know, they were REALLY good eggs!"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(I turned bright red after I said it, practically ran to my seat, and then alternated between being mortified and laughing hysterically for the rest of the class.)</span></div></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-48683662470530358002009-03-08T12:14:00.001-07:002009-03-08T13:18:58.267-07:00It was Legen-wait for it-DARY.Last night I made French friends! <div>We ran into some other people's language partners at Le Pet't Bistro Saturday night, and it might have been my favorite evening yet. </div><div><br /></div><div>Two of the guys we were hanging out with are obsessed with the TV show How I Met Your Mother (which, PS, me too...it is way underrated), and when they found out I go to college in Minnesota, they got SO EXCITED because one of the characters is from there. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I told them mon copain is Minnesotan, they had a slew of questions, including:</div><div>Is he really tall? (Yes)</div><div>Does he wear purple and yellow all zee time? (No)</div><div>Do lots of people in Minnesota wear purple? (Only because of the Vikings)</div><div>Does he like to feesh a lot? (Yes)</div><div>Does he feesh for zee walleyes?! (Yes, among other things.)</div><div>Does he play zee feeshing video games? (Not that I know of)</div><div><br /></div><div>And then I got told I look like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/media/rm1458280704/ch0026516">this girl</a>, which is completely false but she's a knockout so I'll take it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was walked most of the way home by an entourage of six French engineering students, who were not even slightly sketchy, and we talked about Alain Robert, the French Spiderman.</div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, a successful evening. </div><div>(AND I even got invited to a costume party, which I can't go to since I'll be in Paris. Bummer.)</div><div><br /></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-39373946890365304102009-03-07T05:55:00.000-08:002009-03-07T06:04:06.112-08:00Ah, Roast Lamb Sundays...I have decided that rather than studying for midterms next week, my priority today is planning Matt and I's trip to Paris. <div><br /></div><div>My host mom tells me we <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">must</span> do a boat tour of the Seine, so I headed on over to the Bateaux Mouches website, where this description made me laugh:</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; font-style: italic; ">Every Saturday, Sunday and on public holidays,<br />the Bateaux-Mouches® propose a convivial<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; font-style: italic; ">and relaxed lunch with accordion music.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; font-style: italic; ">It is like a pleasant melody which reminds you</span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; font-style: italic; ">of Sunday family lunches over roast lamb,<br />children’s laughter and heated discussions…</span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div>I mean, my Sunday lunches typically consist of turkey sandwiches and stale gummi bears, but I guess that's kinda the same...</div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-33327237377522288472009-03-06T13:13:00.000-08:002009-03-06T13:43:46.672-08:00I've always been bad at following directions...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i41.tinypic.com/2ag59ch.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 402px; height: 495px;" src="http://i41.tinypic.com/2ag59ch.png" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> (image via </span><a href="http://leloveimage.blogspot.com"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Le Love</span></a>)<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am sick, and the doctor told me to stay in bed for two days. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In my family, you don't stay in bed for two days unless you are near death. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here are some things I busied myself with:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Marveling at </span><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/jolispaons/2447284360/in/set-72157604766091529/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">this dress</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> made out of phone book pages.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Wishing I knew where I could buy supplies to make such wonderful things as </span><a href="http://ohhellofriend.blogspot.com/2009/02/envelope-book.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">this.</span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Watching The Office and other TV shows online.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Napping. Lots.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Remembering how much I used to love poetry in general, and </span><a href="http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">this poem</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> in particular.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Wishing I had someone to bring me chicken noodle soup.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But finally, around two-thirty today, I got so bored that even going to class seemed a better option than staying in bed any longer, so I packed my purse full of the five different medicines I've been prescribed and trotted off to the AUCP. I'm only good at being sick when I'm faking.</span></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-76386091457375903482009-03-04T12:52:00.000-08:002009-03-06T12:56:39.661-08:00As long as my down comforter is there...<object width="400" height="225"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2540216&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=1&color=&fullscreen=1"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2540216&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=1&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="225"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://vimeo.com/2540216">Fifty People, One Question: Brooklyn</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/askyourself">Fifty People, One Question</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<div><br /></div><div>As for me? Narnia.</div><div><br /></div><div>Or, if it has to be real, my cozy little corner in Nourse 101, with all five of my pillows and the window open. </div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-38409978699925592082009-03-03T13:31:00.000-08:002009-03-03T14:08:24.526-08:00tuesday bluesI'm homesick. I miss pancakes with butter and <a href="http://bonjourprovence.blogspot.com/2009/02/yoga-and-my-awesome-boyfriend.html">fake syrup</a>, and American television, and snow, and most of all, speaking English. There are a hundred little interactions every day, and they all have to be done in French. <div><br /></div><div>I miss people smiling at you on the street and chatting in the checkout line. </div><div>I miss it being socially acceptable to stop someone and pet their dog.</div><div>I miss grilled cheese sandwiches made with Kraft singles. </div><div>I miss having profs with office hours, even if I never really go.</div><div>I miss seeing bright colors everywhere, instead of just black and grey. </div><div>I miss Minnesota in the wintertime, and the way Carleton looks at midnight when it's snowing. </div><div>I miss wearing hoodies all the time, and eating two eggs sunny side up every day for breakfast. </div><div>I miss the people and places I love. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But mostly, I just want to chat and laugh and tease and crack jokes and be snarky and bitch and argue and rant in English, whenever I want, with the words I love. </div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-36146559054809935312009-03-02T10:06:00.000-08:002009-03-02T11:12:04.493-08:00Pretending to Study<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">Editor's Note: This post takes a quick turn for the schmaltzy. Be forewarned. </span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I am sitting on my bed with my friend/neighbor/classmate Allison, and not doing a thing. We had such good intentions, coming here to study, but really all I've done is repeatedly check my email and watch silly videos. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It is good to be back. I missed my huge bed and my huge sweatpants. Advice: Never travel without sweatpants. I did, and it was a mistake. A huge one.</span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJU6LJRBdMiDeKGBhzfXiPyrE3U0AQM_TPfHx_s-OUP8zBkv_CmUCXdf1TxtRm5UqE_q0h5YN2IMYkdzQts7Zq_fLNM_0CW8vciyU2slKkRf1meaAhVB5lA72OiEbhJnP-mdmU4nDJE2o/s400/IMG_3297.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308670006707870994" /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Matt gets here in sixteen days! Not that I'm counting. I never wanted to be one of those silly girls who talks about her boyfriend all the time, but he is pretty deserving of all the hype. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">He is the kind of guy who will walk in the snow to get you (me) chicken soup when you're (I'm) sick, and stay up until 4am with you (me) when you haven't started studying for an exam until midnight the night before (Just kidding, parents! That never happens.), and climb halfway up a mountain for you when you drop your ski pole like an idiot and don't think to stop until you've almost hit the bottom. Also, he fully encourages and often finances the regular consumption of large amounts of pizza and McFlurries, and thinks I'm cute even with pizza sauce on my nose and sticky ice cream fingers. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The best part though, is that I can always be my crazy and neurotic self, without all the trouble of pretending I am a perfectly normal human being. And I only have to wait sixteen more days!</span></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-47476828461971371552009-03-01T14:36:00.000-08:002009-03-01T15:24:31.912-08:00Adventures<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlNR-miyGJuvPA93PNAIJBayBDfImObLHaTG7hkFxv93qdrudfnZHNsVwwTmOrDEVRnOW1_9QV65x0MtMi_jeVd-crGsDALkldJ94ZE4i2sbkqKc6SWkLTRW-9hiiL0pQrMDDA1vxqpc/s400/IMG_3244.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308353498106668754" /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm back! I had such a fun vacation! I frolicked and picked oranges in Menton with Emily, a close friend from high school; went to Carnavale in Nice, admired yachts in Monaco, marveled at the David and haggled over the price of handbags in Florence, had delicious creamy cappuchino flavored gelato in Siena and pretended to hold up the tower in Pisa. It was wonderful. <br /></div><div><br /><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yI6KPS1tUFhYqmspHQQZR02PlrZD0SHvnEy8IKPbjftiHTzCXKYaD2_aMmtlxFQFk8pUXhqST0yW3lm3V4OXItUCEjoR277s1u1kYW8xpX74f1MQ0uARbP66DxgG3dZMYjdphZ20urw/s400/IMG_3414.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308359652262605794" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>I made two friends at my hostel, which made the trip a lot less lonely. On our last night in Florence, after Kellie the Australian had left for Cinque Terre, my new friend Janine (24, Canada) and I went out to dinner (for the first time, since there was free pasta at the hostel). We had an honest-to-goodness four course meal! Here's how it went, because I am obsessed with food:</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhttZl58UkdOnGcmJbTCHxjKj429GdyfUO2ddEwlLk3lg-p2OmFd5hQIRJj_6K5Vog5Z3CUIUTV5ws2kcrJxt0Y3Qu86lIDVNCMmKuFEGQnZ7AB4E7Eatta3YPa4oJgTMAQSNeFwzW4Rsw/s400/IMG_3394.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308359621782374786" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div><div>7:30ish: Arrive at Trattoria Anita. Spend 20 minutes pondering the menu. </div><div><br /></div><div>7:50ish: Order Bruschetta and the house red. Receive complimentary glasses of yummy Prosecco.</div><div><br /></div><div>8:00ish: Chow down on bruschetta. Dip bread into oil and vinegar mixture, because we are not real Italians. We do not care, because it is delish.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>8:05ish: Order first course. Ravioli Rosé for Janine and Tortellini with Truffle Cream Sauce and House-made Sausage for me. But we promise to share.</div><div><br /></div><div>8:30ish: Receive pasta dishes. Every third word out of our mouths is "mmm." Neither of us will ever be satisfied with pasta in North America again. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>8:55ish: Waiter comes by to retrieve our empty plates. Notes what a good job we have done sopping up all the sauce. We order more bread, he protests: "But you will get fat!" We laugh, and get it anyway. </div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhib66fC88igBKN_alvPDDg0fKenb8TDLtffCDs9Ec46qz3P11vwoHBRSkMaZM6PPftffZqmyqw8EZyQdkxCuAySg-jUgIiCApMZktvLr8gpTAf4iDKh8WiZpObl5LS7AGgM3NuAXvXaQE/s400/IMG_3359.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308360875280400722" /><div><br /></div><div>9:00ish: Order main course. Both go for roast chicken, with a side of Asparagus with Parmesan. </div><div><br /></div><div>9:05ish: Waiter was right. We cannot finish this bread. Drink more wine instead. Talk about boys and how they make us crazy. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>9:25ish: Chicken arrives. We try really hard to finish, but need to save room for dessert. I have never had such delicious asparagus. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>9:40ish: Cannot eat any more chicken. Begin pondering dessert. Tiramisu for Janine and Crème Brûlée for me. </div><div><br /></div><div>9:45ish: Waiter brings us Limoncello on the house. They are trying to get us drunk.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJRfzF3hpGQpoOb4hJtcUT6UY3ZMK8ioaUstrslZLjpLbiSter94bE1ySR0u-bFCD_o7OS1aaySNe8PFczXI1tiPU-T7cwwii0bJbPIG9tvLB-0PLF-ZN8T1oU8LGqjax1Ahd-ysD2r4U/s400/IMG_3393.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308360865100852962" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>9:55ish: Dessert arrives. Only swear words accurately capture how delicious it is.</div><div><br /></div><div>10:25ish: We leave Trattoria Anita, stuffed and happy, and laugh as we walk back to the hostel. </div><div><br /></div><div>The best part? Only 55 euros for the two of us. Sweet.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4pek44GYbzzmV9JqefM0PjwHdDjdCbaiUVctGDfT3sE0uNDRzdOSKfbQ02_NMgpkuLXGuREvtqUJ3y3b8dxZFsoar9RkioAJlPlCKmI11tHRpwH2wdXiFDZ7WQ62QTZg-yOWgPsHdKWw/s400/IMG_3366.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308360868347615906" /></div></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-14466069553461266952009-02-20T11:54:00.000-08:002009-02-20T11:58:37.718-08:00I'm off!I leave tomorrow morning for Menton, and from there to Florence. I'm terrified, since I'll be all by my lonesome...we'll see how it goes. Yikes. Also, I'm not bringing my computer (I have an addiction, and it needs to be stopped.) so I'll be neglecting this until I get back next weekend!<div><br /></div><div>Love times a million, </div><div><br /></div><div>Lila</div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-19948095675833801132009-02-17T05:42:00.000-08:002009-02-17T06:24:38.409-08:00An Open Letter<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6sk9bRhHqhONa86umsnFC0R2P7Xpegavcl3tHx01NbVtj-A7W7daI5TTFBWnjLql8lF4E0fJFEg0dNoaho4Jwr-GFqBxSqDd9Jbi79mTePBod6AevXs1A6MroMDCa40M_9iB0IaTnkw/s400/IMG_3126.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303770582584848450" /><br /><br />Dear Indiana Pizza, <div><br /></div><div>I was only in Indiana for a brief period of time, but I think you're a little off the mark. Just for comparison's sake, here is a photo of Indiana:</div><div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 375px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1391/822140868_1d20d63525.jpg?v=0" border="0" alt="" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As you can see, there do not seem do be any cacti, deserts, cowboys, or indeed, indians. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Nice try though. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Love, </div><div style="text-align: left;">Lila</div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8598240722659004390.post-84557089192144154352009-02-17T04:41:00.000-08:002009-02-17T05:36:26.361-08:00Yoga and My Awesome Boyfriend.<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This is why Matt is the best:</span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVSgTL1f5KMdyfaqn8WdX282YeFXphmkVFTk6pOlV8J7PqykL15dAEpRqL8zm-IOmWjCxSvO5ggHJaXEiQU-o5x7LFGYgTnXz63-bgbix7t8IiMCcT8SRz9Yjhb6OQHD6nzHlEsSqhZok/s1600-h/IMG_3129.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVSgTL1f5KMdyfaqn8WdX282YeFXphmkVFTk6pOlV8J7PqykL15dAEpRqL8zm-IOmWjCxSvO5ggHJaXEiQU-o5x7LFGYgTnXz63-bgbix7t8IiMCcT8SRz9Yjhb6OQHD6nzHlEsSqhZok/s320/IMG_3129.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303746979046467922" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">A Valentine's package!</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I don't know if you can see the background, but that is chocolate, some sweet homemade coupons, a teddy bear, and a big ol' bottle of Aunt Jemima's, my friends. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This part is key. Most fellas would be foolish enough to think that I would prefer some real Vermont maple syrup, straight from the tree, but not Matt! He understands that I am just an Aunt Jemima kind of girl, and I think maple syrup is kind of ick. And he does not even judge me for it, even though it's a little lowbrow. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> This kind of mutual understanding is the key to having a successful relationship, seriously.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Vbninw_mgTlrdSxTveQJ1INtfRDYY6SvAk-zyqL5cJdCrU_NCp4B9ZrgGmVtOqEX7WDntel-yie7wuzWL7DhjL7RJO5ARmAepJ3xQcpjk8y2JC3aXHwf6SVmq9BwXpJ2_1EuL0aeq4o/s1600-h/IMG_3133.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Vbninw_mgTlrdSxTveQJ1INtfRDYY6SvAk-zyqL5cJdCrU_NCp4B9ZrgGmVtOqEX7WDntel-yie7wuzWL7DhjL7RJO5ARmAepJ3xQcpjk8y2JC3aXHwf6SVmq9BwXpJ2_1EuL0aeq4o/s320/IMG_3133.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303746970838553010" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The Mystery Strawberry.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I found this in the street today. First person to figure out what it is gets a postcard from Florence! My best guess so far is a placecard holder, but why it would be lying in the street is beyond me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I had my yoga class this morning. The instructor is a tiny blond woman, and at first I wasn't sure how I felt about her because she kept addressing me in English, and I'm all "Dude, I understood it the first time, stop calling me out on being American!" But THEN I totally owned and did the headstand pose that she said first-timers rarely accomplish, and she announced how awesome I was and everyone applauded. BAM. I win, yoga. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Mom, thanks for signing me up for gymnastics when I was five. I never did get the split, but my sweet headstand skills turned out to be quite useful. </span></div></div>Lilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106827124183771251noreply@blogger.com