Pansies, Tansies and a Missing Ear.

From here on out-

I will not wait this long to post. It makes catching up too difficult.

This will be long, but it will be the last behemoth, I promise.

Thursday.

First day of class. I'm a lucky girl; my two classes are the latest in the day, at 11am and noon. I listen to my roommate's 8 am alarm go off and toss over in relief. My first class is Advanced Writing for Electronic Media. There are seven of us in the class. Our biggest objective is to write a single, half-hour long script for a new sitcom. We are split into two groups. My group seems fine, except the girl who's favorite show is gossip girl begins to take a bit too much charge for my liking. I tell myself that this script is not going to be something to judge my ability off of. I begin to feel better. I kinda wish I took this class over a semester. It seems like it might be a bit too curtailed for my liking. One of my other instructors suggested I do an independent study with Babanikos. Might be a good idea.

Ethics in Telecommunications is next. This class will be more work, but it looks like its going to be mostly discussion based, which I'm thinking is going to be great. It's interesting to hear how stone-hearted some of my classmates are. Arguing media honesty even if it means hostages are killed. Yeesh.

Next I hear some girls are going to a market in Montemartre, and I ask to go along. I'd like to go shopping. 

Didn't happen. 

We ended up walking the Champs d'Elysee after arduous decision making. I decide I'm planning my own excursions from now on. I hate people. It was beautiful though! We walked quite far, from the Arc de Triomphe to the Louvre, along the Seine River and the Tuleries Gardens. Everything makes me wonder how the city has money to do anything. It seems to me the entire city budget is spent on aesthetics. Which I totally appreciate as a tourist. 

I get back to the hotel to find the faculty sitting together in the lobby with 3 half empty bottles of wine and cheese wheels. I sit down and begin chatting. At first I squat just on the edge of my seat, with my backpack on my lap, ready to go after a quick recap of my day. After I drink a couple plastic water cups of wine, I notice my posture has become significantly more sedentary than before. Before long, I've told two of the faculty members about TSF (my improv troupe) and that I'd like to be a writer/director for television. That's nothing. I begin to get in to my feelings of inadequacy, personal discouragement regarding my skill, and how I don't feel like I have talent. It's only after I finish that giant breath of hot air that I realize how far I've gone. Before I could apologize the two faculty members I was talking to begin gushing about how smart I seem and how I just have to want to succeed and I will. If I hadn't just become brutally aware of my surroundings, I probably would have cried. They become my two new favorite people. 

They invite me to go to Giverny on Saturday to see Monet's gardens.

Friday.

80% of our group leaves for London, including unfortunately, most of the friends that I've made. I'm left with the choice of making friends or finding some personal activities for the weekend. See 'I hate people.'

So I decide to go shoppin'! I bought me some dress and some top. I'll note them in the pictures I post. I spend altogether too much money. I combat this in my usual fashion- I eat a 70 cent baguette for dinner and corn flakes for the next three meals. If I didn't have a resilient digestive system, this diet of bread, cheese, water, and corn flakes would send me into a shock. I finished my shopping by buying a pistachio/chocolate ice cream swirl from this french chocolate store. It was glorious. I skipped home repeating "I went shopping in Pear-iss," as if I was teasing the U.S. economy.

I could do homework now... but why?

Saturday.

I go to see Monet's gardens with the faculty. I am the only loser student. But I quickly realize how cool most of the journalism faculty are. We meet in the lobby at 9 to go get train tickets, but unfortunately are too late to make the early train. We wait until the noon train, no big deal.

Or was it?

When we finally get on the train, we learn that we can't get to our destination because the tracks are being worked on. We get off a stop earlier and are forced to literally, fight our way on buses to get to our next location. The city hadn't planned very well to transport the displaced train passengers. We were fighting harder to get on trains than people fighting to flee Gotham. Watching the clock, we realize time is quickly slipping away from our visit to the gardens because we have to make sure to get on the return train by 6 to get home that night. We drive through the beautiful french countryside to Vernon, to get on a second bus to Giverny. We finally arrive, only to be welcomed by a huge line of other tourists waiting to get in to the crowd-controlled "museum." Everyone is frustrated, but cannot hold on to tension for more than 5 seconds at a time. The overwhelmingly sweet smelling air and fantasy-beautiful flowers make you smile in the same way a sincere compliment might- modestly and involuntarily.

We get in, we see, we swoon, we jet.

The professors look at me with increasing concern that they've ruined my experience with all of the delays. I assure them otherwise. I had a wonderful time, and yes, the journalism/communications staff at UF is awesome.

Sunday.

I have the day to myself. I decide to go to the Orsay museum and go back to Notre Dame. I knew I wouldn't do them with the rest of the group, so I decided to do them a mano. I wake up at ten? Shower, grab my metro map, and head out for baby's first day navigating the city. A little nervous, I wore obnoxiously plain and covering clothing. Somehow, that would make me blend in, counteracting the map and backpack.

Going to buy my ticket, I walk up confidently, knowing what I want to say. "Un billet reduit, s'il vous plait. Je suis une etudiante." The man at the counter rolls his eyes up from his computer. 6 euros. Do you have an I.D? Utterly defeated, I hand him my driver's license and money, say thank you (in English) and sulk away, only to hear him speak french to the people behind me in line. I guess I really am that transparent.

For the record: The french have been, largely, completely kind and helpful to me. I've met maybe 4 people who haven't cared for me as an American speaking English. Three of them were on this day. Most people are very nice, and some even excited to talk to me. They're fun.

The museum was beautiful. I absolutely admire sculptors. I spent awhile just staring at some of them. I saw some Monet, Cezanne, Matisse, Renoir and Van Gogh to name a few. It was pretty cool for someone who still isn't sure if these people existed or if its a hoax. I believe it now. My camera stopped working halfway through the museum, but I hit it in rage, and it started again. The stupid thing goes through batteries like the cookie monster through carrots. 

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(I'M POOR!!)

Listen to Your Song by Elton John