Caffeine is life...

Actually, I like the week before the vacations, the waiting, the Christmas atmosphere... It's just cute. And I'm very happy because today something good happened, and saturday, at my party, I met a guy that was just... amazing. And we haven't yet started to discover each other but I'm very happy about it... A suivre.

Well, for this vacation, infortunately I won't be able to forget what Rochambeau means (^^) because I have a LOT of work... as always.
But still, on fifteen days, you can enjoy relaxing in your bedroom... Relaxing means cuddling in front of the TV in the most comfortable clothes ever (okay, on garde la nuisette de soie) with a big amount of chocolate (I"m thinking MMs... but something else too) and watching Sex and the City without feeling guilty because it's not very intellectually stimulating...
I kinda miss long, warm bathes with a lot of bubbles, that smell either coconut, wild berries, passion fruit or orchids... But since I've watched Psycho, I'm kinda scared of getting murdered in my bathroom...
Well, otherwise, Christmas is a good occasion for my favorite sport after figure skating - shopping.
It's funny but I remember that day at Macy's when I decided to try white pants. Okay, I have a serious issue with white - I like to wear it with black and gray because it's really wonderful, but most of the time it makes my little callipyge look enormeous. Actually it's like if unconsciously I don't want to wear it because of this. So one day, I realize that I have no white pants in my closet while almost every woman on earth does, it's almost become a basic in a wardrobe. So I'm off to Macy's with the very stubborn thought that I won't move from there before I've bought a pair of white pants, eventhough it's very tempting to blow it away and get some shoes. I get there, get a few pair of pants to try...
First one - too small. F... this, ça commence merveilleusement bien.
Second one - turns out to be for pregnant women. Kinda immoral... And it's kinda big on me at the belly, I absolutely don't want a reason to fill it.
Third one - too small. Patience bichette.
Fourth one - too small.
Fifth one - no button on the waist.
Sixth one - too small.
Seventh one - the zipper is broken. It would fit perfectly however.
Eighth one - costs 200 bucks. I'd rather buy shoes, and chocolate.
Ninth one - too small.
Tenth one - has a stain on the butt.
Eleventh one - too small.
Twelveth one - too small.
Thirteenth one - too small.
Fourteenth one - too small. I'm getting pissed off.

I go to return all of these, but I am unable to open the door. I push on the lock, hit it, push again...
I'm stucked in a fitting room where someone has written "fuck" on the walls. (Note: I'm not voluntairely using an insult, I'm just writing what was there).


(Article continued on April 8th, 2009... because Mademoiselle doesn't like to keep unfinished work...)

Worse, I get my cellphone, which has no signal and the battery is slowly dying... The last thing I want to do is yell like a crazy for someone to come and save me... So I call my mother. After a few moments : ''Please leave a message for.....''. I resist against smashing it on the lock to open it and I call my aunt. "Please leave a message for....''. At least she has recorded her name... I call my mother another time. Then my aunt. Then my mother. Oh yeah, I forgot to say that I had to stand up on a wooden bench with my hand raised as high as I can to get a signal and each of this call was one fifth of desperate attempts.
Then, my cellphone lets me down. No more battery. Dead. Muerte. Adios or whatever.

No need for CPR, although I've tried. I'll just skip corny details for the convenience of my most beloved readers.

I realize I must start screaming my lungs out. I hear someone getting in the hallway.

"Hello, excuse-me, I have a tiny problem over here... I think I'm stuck in the dressing room...''

My history teacher always said I have a terribly low voice. "Parle plus fort, j'tentends pas....''

But my conscience/instinct is definitely forbidding me to use any barbaric way to get out of this, i.e. hitting on the door, screaming (although it has a ''Rose in Titanic'' thing...)...

And my survival instinct tells me that I need to get out of this thing because this is the only time in my life where I can go shopping, I've been there for half a goddamn hour, for what, again? Trying goddamn WHITE PANTS!!!

I decide to use my historian intelligence and work on that lock again.
Pull.
Pull.
Pull.
Pull...


Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand....

OPEEEEEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(had to end this story anyways, after five months of putting it for tomorrow........)




So white pants are kept inside while Mademoiselle runs to the shoe store...
After that, it's either shoes or ice-cream (mint and chocolate chips)...


Note: On monday, April 5th, Mademoiselle FINALLY BUYS WHITE PANTS!!!!!

Actually, it's more like disappointment.
But on the other side, I'm relieved.

Not long ago, I was in a relationship with a person I thought was the most wonderful and intelligent I've ever met. Suddently, that person blows off everything. I do my best to fix it, but what is there to fix?
I ask help from a person which I thought was a close friend, and instead, this one ends up taking the whole thing personnally because the person I'm with hasn't told her about "their" sexual orientation.
Anyways, I wish I never trusted her.

And on the other side...
"Une personne normalement constituée" would use dialogue to solve a problem, not just blocking you off MSN and leaving a comment on a picture just because there's some 50-year-old man in the background...
Anyways, this excessive jealousy shows that I had serious illusions on that relationship.
It was not jealousy? What is it, then?
Why can't people behave goddamn normally?

Anyways, I'm just happy I didn't fall deeper emotionally. I'm just happy I've had this misadventure now, during my youth, and not later, when it would've been harder to get out of it. Basically I think that's what our teenage years are about : mess around with people so we don't end up marrying some guy that will blow off our money on alchohol and drugs, cheat on you and beat you, and of course with a bunch of kids that make divorce completely impossible...

I'm also glad that this happened now, and not a few hours because the bac of french, or worse, the TPE or the bac of history...

I seriously doubt that love exists. It's more like an illusion.

Bichette, whatever. The most important thing for you is history, isn't it? Not some stupid children games like relationship stuff... You've kinda passed that age...

Thank you, Aphrodite, Zeus, Appolo and all the others... and Clio of course...

For the food, shelter, clothes, shoes, internet connection [and much more], things that seem so evident but that others can't have.
For the wonderful last two years and a few months I spent in this wonderful country that I may call mine.
For the knowledge I am getting every day.
For the angel in human form who, since the day she got into my life (Oct. 9 2006), filled me with confidence, culture, knowledge, intelligence and passion... And for what that angel helped me get exactly one year ago, right before Thanksgiving, when she held me up while I was falling and about to reach the bottom...
For the very dear friends I have, who have always been here for me, even in my toughest moments...
For some really nice family members I am lucky to have. Because most of those family members came here and we spend a wonderful summer together...
For letting me know the feeling of love, that wonderful sensation that brings joy and happiness to your heart if you see your beloved one (It's more complicated that it sounds)
For the good grades I had in history (way to go) and french and TPE (was it a grade? or an appreciation?)
For the hopes I have for my future, eventhough it's gonna be tough at some point, I know I'm on the good path...
For my dear classmates in 1ere L, two nice, funny and unique young ladies... (love ya girls -k-)
For letting me get in 1ere L, eventhough not long ago it seemed radically impossible...


For everything...


In conclusion, even if there might be some clouds in the sky, I should not forget this overall happiness...

Okay. Let's start with the beginning.
Sunday morning, you're sick, tired, a real headache, and you've got one-third of a historical novel to write before tonight in order not to disappoint a teacher you - admit it - admire a lot and are very proud and lucky to be working with.
How the hell are you supposed to write something of the quality that teacher is expecting from you when there is some stupid person fidgeting around you and assaulting you with bitchy well-measured remarks?!
How the hell are you f*cking supposed to deal with both the writing (and all what comes with it : the grade, the project that could be used to enter to college and major in history) and the sickness, headache, etc... and HER?
She's like, yeah, I won't bother you, I'll be silent and stuff, and she's supposedly making you a giant favor, so you're not supposed to say a f*cking word.
BUT I CAN'T WORK without total silence, that's 1).
2) I can't work when every second she's like "is that supposed to be...?"
3) I can't work when there is some activity around me, when I try to look at my screen but she is FIDGETING around!

I just wonder what's better. A CDI full of sixièmes (not that I'm discriminating them, only I understand that they're bored and they don't have the right to go anywhere else) and with english-keyboard-accent-free-slow-working computers, or that:

Someone pretending to make you a favor, in your own bedroom, but harrassing you so that you're not able to write a f-ing word of the one-third of the historical novel you're supposed to send to that teacher you extremely admire before tonight and who might be already angry because you didn't send anything during the week... Because it's f-ing impossible to send anything when you come back home, tired, exhausted... and with a few dozen tests every day.

Whatever. History first, right? We must fight, we, young lil' people...

She's gone now. And I've blown enough steam. The blog is a genius idea...
I'm gonna get back to work. With Tchaikovsky as a consolation...
Peter Ilitch, I love you.