Ripe

Avocados.  You have to wait until they are JUSSSTTTT ripe before you can eat them.  There is nothing grosser than eating an avocado that has not reached its prime.  It's hard and has a weird consistency.  Plus, it tastes like crap.  But, once you've placed it in the sun for a couple days, it reaches that dark green color.  When you squeeze it, it's not too soft, where you break it with a little bit of pressure, but you can definitely get that squeeze in.  And then, then you cut it open, and the color is a light yellowish green; plus, its soft and spreadable, but if you'd rather not spread it, it stays in its solid form.  And it tastes nutty, sweet (sweet?), and wonderful.  But alas, sometimes we let the avocado rest on the windowsill for a few too many days, and then all of a sudden, when its cut open its just a little too brown.  Even though it still tastes good, its bruises have diminished its appeal.  

there you go, there's the avocado.  

Now, I'm sitting here today, in my room, the window is open, and while there's a light breeze, the sun is still beating down, making it warm and beautiful.  I am wearing my newly made shorts (made them myself), a light tank top, and my hair is pulled back by a headband.  I'm eating a peach.  I'm thinking about cutting up the watermelon in the fridge and eating that next.  Maybe I'll go the the park for some sunbathing.  I'll take a book.  Right now I'm reading, "The God Delusion."  Life is good, Paris is good.  

I am the ripe avocado.  I'm just scared that soon, I'll become the brown one.  

Give me ideas on what to do with my time.

Please and thank you.  

sverige

for you i'd wait til kingdom come

the weather is hot and sultry.  i raise the blinds and step outside.  the sun hits my face.  i pack a blanket, water, book, ipod.  i slip on a tank top and a skirt.  i go to a park.  people are sprawled out everywhere.  i find a spot, set up my space.  Paul Auster and the sun keep me entertained as Akon plays his catchy tunes.  why Akon?  because Akon rocks.  

i deserve this weather.  i have been waiting 9 months for this weather.  and now, in my last three weeks here, I will fully take advantage of this weather.  i thrive in this weather.  

please sir, no more.

In 6 hours I wake up to go take my final exam of the year.  The final test I will take while in Paris. The final French grammar test of my life (hopefully).  

These past weeks, I've felt a growing need to sit down in a large lecture hall and learn about supply and demand, opportunity costs, the hazardous effects of minimum wage!  Ahhhh, just typing it out makes me want to go back to the classrooms filled with the economic minds of tomorrow.   What I'm saying is that I miss real school.  Real school!  Real school where I had the capability to sit down and learn fun facts that actually matter!  I'm so tired of learning grammar rule after grammar rule. 

 "You can use this tense when you are speaking about this, but uhh, sorry here are the exceptions to that rule."  Subjunctive, conditional, passé simple, pronouns, prepositions...PLEASE STOP!!!!!!!!!!! 

At the beginning of the year, I remember thinking, I would totally be able to become awesome at the French language and then one day teach people these rules about grammar.  But, when I think about possibly taking another French grammar class in the future, I think I spit up a little in my mouth. 

In some ways it's a relief, at least I can check French teacher off the list of possible things to do with my life.  

Today as I was studying (haha, flipping through the pages of my binder, skimming, really.  What?  No mom, yeah I studied...haha, no I studied today I promise....huh?), I was thinking, "wheennnn willll thissssss evverrrrr ennnddddddddddddddd??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?"  Torture, I tell you.  TORTURE! 

I also realized that my level of French has reached a pretty good level, still not perfect, but pretty good.  I mean, I can totally communicate, and if I come back to live here (which, oh yeah, I want to), I'll be able to survive.  I'm surviving now, right?  Right.  

So, au revoir French classes.  Hello summa summa summa time.  

I should probably go to bed now. 

poems are cool

I'm supposed to be studying for my oral exam tomorrow.  But, I really want to share a poem with you; one that is part of the list of texts I may have to analyze in front of my teacher.  I really hope I get it, because I connected so much with it while I was reading.  Yeah, it's in French, and I think that's the way it should remain, but I'll try to find some sort of translation for all of you non-speakers out there.  

Le Pont Mirabeau par Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918)

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine 

Et nos amours 

Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne 

La joie venait toujours après la peine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure 

Les jours s'en vont je demeure 

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face 

Tandis que sous

Le pont de nos bras passe 

Des éternels regards londre si lasse 

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure 

Les jours s'en vont je demeure 

L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante 

L'amour s'en va 

Comme la vie est lente

Et comme l'Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure 

Les jours s'en vont je demeure 

Passent les jours et passent les semaines 

Ni temps passé

Ni les amours reviennent 

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine 

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure 

Les jours s'en vont je demeure

I think this poem has a very nostalgic quality to it, for those of us, well, for anyone really, who has lived somewhere, and who has had to leave prematurely, or without really wanting to leave.  I know it has this "love story" theme running through it, but taking that out.  Well, hell, why take it out?  There's so much love in the hood, here.  So yeah, time passes, people come and go, love comes and goes, and he keeps saying, "je demeure," or "i remain."  Remain locked in this time, guarding a certain feeling, love; but love, I think love is the most fleeting of feelings.  I think we try so hard to capture it, and once we do, we try so hard to keep it within us, but it slips away and again, we remain.  Do we realize when it has left us?  Or do we keep holding on to the memories, hoping that the memories will have will bring back the same feelings?  

I dont know.  OH.  I just realized I didn't get a translation.  Ok, go find on.  I know you can.  Do it.  DO IT.  

LOVE (because I have a lot of it to offer), Ranna 

The Surprise

I get a text last monday from thom.  "It's my adopted birthday tomorrow, come meet me out for an early dinner and drinks." 

How could I ever say no?  Thom is my great friend and I want to spend his birthday, adopted or not, with him. 

"I will be there."  I text back.  

I talk to Yasna online that night.  

"So tomorrow is Thom's adopted birthday."

"He's adopted?"

"I don't know, I think he just decided it was his birthday.  I guess?  I dont know." 

We start talking about trees.  

Salma babysits on Tuesday.  Her phone is not charged so I give her mine.  I can't get in touch with anyone.  Thom calls her 9 times.  Finally she gives him her own number and he calls.  I pick up.

"Here are the details. "  [Details]

"OK, sure cool." 

"Cool?  Sure?  No, you're supposed to say you're so excited, that you cant wait, you're supposed to sing for me."  He starts singing.

"Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to meeee. Today is the day I was separated from my druggie parents.  Happy birthday to meeeee." 

Awkward pause.  

"OK.  Cool, I'll sing to you tonight." 

So, he's adopted.  I wish I had known.  

I meet Marion at Hotel de Ville at 8:00.  I'm late, as usual.  We walk to a restaurant in the Marais.  We have flowers.

"Hey, sooo did you know Thom was adopted?" 

She looks at me, typical Marion look, "You didn't know?"  

We keep walking.

Outside of the restaurant.  We look up and see Thom sitting at a table.  He smiles, waves, and walks down to greet us. 

"So, who's coming tonight?"

"Just me, Thomas, you guys, and one of my Polish friends." 

I'm confused.  I always imagined Thom's birthday being a rather large affair.  Simple?  Really?  

We walk in and up the stairs.  Thomas stands up and greets us.  We kiss twice on the cheek and sit down.  I notice Thomas is drinking a martini and Thom is drinking a coffee...and beer.  Gross.  Really?  Coffee and beer?  Really?  

Chatting begins.  Chat.  Chat.  Chat.  Chat.  He extends his hands.  Marion and I hold one each. 

This is weird, kind of.

"My bitches are all back with me"

"Hi guys." 

My stomach fell to the ground.  Hey.  I know that voice.  

It all happened in a sort of slow motion.  Marion and I both looked back to see who was talking.

When I saw Yasna I thought it was all in my imagination-that she wasn't real.  And then I looked at Marion's face, who look equally as confused and shocked and it hit me like a bullet.  

I got up and walked away with my hand over my mouth.  "No f**king way!!!!!!!!"  

Marion was still looking at her and Yasna was laughing hysterically.  They hugged.  No.  Wait.  Whattttttttttttttttttt??  

"What the hell are you doing here?"  Marion yelled.  

"I don't know I just decided to come back to Paris for a week and surprise you guys."  

Surprise.  Yeah, you could say I was surprised.  

I went in to hug her still not fully sure if she was real or if I was having a really vivid dream.  Nooo.  This cant be real, as I hugged her.  I talked to her last night.  No wait, I talked to her online this afternoon!

"Wait...you were in Paris today when we spoke???" 

Evil laugh

"You bitch!!!!!!!"  

As we sat down and [sort of] calmed ourselves the story about her surprise visit kept unveiling.  Little details about the day and the weeks prior finally made more sense.  And then it hit me...

"Thom.  Are you actually adopted???"  

Laughter.

"No.  But wasn't it a good story?"

One of the best weeks of my life.  And today we go to Sverige (did you know it's pronounced, Sve-ri-yeh?  Fun fact).  

Be gholeh mamanam, "Shomah dohtah az hamdigeh khasteh nashodin hanooz?" 

Yeah.  Not so much.  

I'll update when we come back.  Cheers.