what should be 5 or 6 posts all crammed into one

Feb 23, 2008

I have this nagging sense of guilt about blogging lately. Blogging is something I love to do. I am a blogger. In French, je suis une blogeuse. (Yes, they have the word, 'blogeur,' for a guy, and 'blogeuse' for a girl!) I love to share all the little quirks of my world with the world via my blog. But I have felt for a long time like there is either (a) nothing to blog about or (b) things that are bloggable but I'm not allowed to blog about them or (c) things that seem really bloggable but anticlimactic and I therefore don't know how to write about them. Hmphf.

I recently recounted this dilemma to my mother (who lovingly added to the nagging sense of guilt about my lack of blogging), and when I began to tell her the things from category C, she responded, "Yes, but we who read your blog never encounter things like that...so anticlimactic or not, we like hearing about them." Okay. So here goes. A written panoramic scan of all the interesting, yet anticlimactic things I have seen lately in life.

One night, I stepped onto the Metro with a friend of mine who is perfectly fluent in French and English. As in bilingual. I'm a little jealous. But I digress. There is a man behind us who is obviously having a conversation with someone, and having it loudly. When I say, "obviously," I say this because he pauses to listen to their responses. He responds to what they have said to him. He asks questions, listens to their answers, and then responds in nearly perfect French rhetoric.

The thing is, he's not talking to anyone that any of us can see. My friend leans over to me and says, "Maybe he's on the phone, one of those wireless ear piece phones or something." I sneak a look back at the man, and then scan a look around at us, at all the people watching the man--and laughing a bit. "Nope, no phone. He's having that conversation with his invisible friend."

The really unique thing about this particular crazy man talking with someone we couldn't see was that he seemed to be having a very educated conversation, at first anyway. "They" were discussing the various leaders of French history and what each one had done for France. He was definitely a fan of Napoleon. Every once in awhile I had to lean over to my friend and say, "Did he just say xyz?" for clarification, but for the most part...he was one of the most entertaining Metro rides I've had in a long time. Especially when he shouted at the top of his lungs that Napoleon had declared war on ROAST BEEF! (I clarified that with my friend, and sure enough, there was no mistaking it really...he really did say that.) Then he got off the Metro and left.

Another day I was walking near the Invalides (a beautiful, important, touristy building where Napoleon is buried), and stumbled upon a caravan of no less than 20 police vans filled with at least 6 policemen in each one, all in full riot gear. I looked around me, a little concerned. Nobody seemed to care. Life was as usual. I mean, police in riot gear is normal...but that many? Not so normal to me. I never did find out what was going on.

Speaking of police in riot gear...I was reading one evening in my bedroom when I heard all kinds of commotion. Strange sounds of commotion, as if it weren't quite in my building. I opened the window and stared down and out. At the base of my building...police in riot gear. Again, a little concerned. Just beside my building, a gym where apparently some kind of game/match was going on with lots of loud cheering and commotion. The police were there to make sure it didn't get out of control.

This past week, a friend of mine and I were taking a walk in Paris. We headed a direction we'd never been before...something I do all the time. I mean, ALL THE TIME, I go a-wandering in Paris. The only times, in an entire YEAR that I've done this, that I feel a little unsafe, is when I have to walk under bridges. Homeless people literally camp out under bridges...but in a city with so many of them, if you're going to walk along the river (a pleasant thing to do), it's inevitable that you walk under a bridge every once in awhile. I've never had anyone even notice me, much less hassle me.

So anyway, friend and I are wandering aimlessly. We turn on one street, and stumble upon a drug deal going down. Oops. Scurry off of that street. So we take a right and land ourselves onto a large street. With lots of people. We should be safe here. I mean, it was 4 in the afternoon, broad daylight. So imagine our surprise when we passed a prostitute standing out there, ready for work already. And then another. And another. And another. And then...an entire street block of them. (Paris has a red-light district, you might of heard of it, it's near the MOULIN ROUGE...we were nowhere near that area. It's the one place I know NOT to go!)

We finally got ourselves off that street, and headed towards an even larger street, walking towards one of the bigger train stations. This large street, however...was the GHETTO. Paris has the ghetto, to be sure--all in the suburbs. Not in the city. Or so I thought. This wasn't even on the outskirts of the city near the suburbs. This was downtown. How have I, in 14 months of wandering, always in a different direction, missed this? Anyway, we were definitely out of place down there. When we finally got to the train station, we quickly avoided the man with his hand down his pants, as well as the drunks, and well...I was happy to get on the train and go home. That was all a part of Paris I had been happy not knowing it existed.

In happier news...If mail and packages constitutes love, Sue-Wee is the most loved person I have ever met in my life. Seriously, that girl receives more care packages than anyone I have ever known, ever. This week, one cousin sent a 10 POUND box of homemade cookies. I'm so not kidding. (Click on the red for proof.) 10 POUNDS of gingersnaps and oatmeal raisin, all in Ziploc bags. We have an entire cabinet FILLED with what I call "contraband" (stuff from America that you can't get here) that people have sent her.

• Hamburger Helper (makes a great meal)
• Kraft Mac n Cheese
• Velveeta Shells n Cheese
• Velveeta Cheese
• Marshmellows of various sizes (which I think are mine, actually)
• Chocolate chips of various brands and "flavours"--including toffee chips (also mine...except maybe the toffee chips? I don't know if I like toffee...doesn't it taste like nuts?)
• Non dairy flavored creamer (Sue-Wee doesn't drink coffee, and I don't put cream in my coffee...and she has informed since I posted this that the cream came with a group of people who came bearing gifts...)
• Every assortment of candy ever sold by Reese's (she loves Reese's)
• Six LARGE (I'm talking economy sized) jars of peanut butter (she also loves peanut butter) (I didn't actually count, so there may more or less that many jars, I'm not exactly sure.)
• Hostess Cup Cakes
• Betty Crocker cookie mixes (as if we'll ever need those...we have a lifetime supply of cookies due to the 10 POUND box)
• Duncan Hines cake mixes
• All kinds of Campbell's condensed soup cans. Yes, people have mailed her CANS of soup!
• Cranberry sauce in a can, which I think was supposed to be used during the holidays? (Also from the random gifts brought from people, and neither of us like cranberry sauce, which is why it's still there, I guess)
• Rotel sauce (to go with the Velveeta cheese)
• Planter's Nuts
• An entire shelf of every kind of RICE you could imagine (apparently her mother won a doorprize of RICE and mailed it to us)
• Instant Oatmeal
• Several jars of French's mustard...because in FRANCE, we can't get French's mustard. Ironic, huh?
• Also, since I'm adding things that are mine in the contraband cabinet...several large bags of light brown sugar, and at least two jars of vanilla extract...
• Plus, in her room, a box I can't inventory, but I spy that is FILLED with candy. Every kind of candy you could ever imagine. And the box is bigger than the 10 POUND box, but I am guessing that it is a conglomeration of several care packages all dumped into one big box.

And that's just all the FOOD items! Yesterday, someone sent her a pretty little notepad, a pen, and randomly enough...a magnet of a banana. Her mom sends the most random things. But other people do, too. She has picture frames. Mugs. Sweatshirts and tee-shirts. (All Arkansas contraband...seriously, you Auburn folk need to get on the ball. I'm Hogged out here.) Books. CD's. DVD's. Pictures. Letters. Cards. You name it, she's gotten it in the mail. I've never seen anything like it in my life. And here's the complete irony of it all--her love language isn't even receiving gifts. I am thankful, though, that so many people send her stuff. Because she's great at sharing. :)

Okay, I will now end the written panoramic scan of my life for you. I promise I will try to be better at writing about the random things I see and experience, even if I find them mundane, normal, or anticlimactic. But you, dear reader, faithful friend, have to promise to leave me a comment when you read. No comments makes me feel like I'm just out here in cyberspace talking to myself. While I do live in a world where people talk to themselves, I like to believe that I am not actual one of them.