tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61234600879831789582024-03-05T05:01:38.850+01:00This isn't Woody Allen's ParisTrying to survive Paris without embarrassing myself.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-10021756538428294292014-09-14T21:02:00.000+02:002015-03-30T13:55:59.255+02:00How to renew your au pair visa<div style="text-align: justify;">
So if you've decided that you just love being an au pair and everything that comes with it (free housing and transportation, the opportunity to experience another culture, having a constant and unrelenting headache, etc.), then you are probably thinking about renewing your visa like I did. I'm going to explain how I renewed mine in Paris, but note that the process is different in every city. France doesn't like to make things easy.</div>
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First of all, if you are planning on staying more than a year, make sure you've been doing everything right. This means going to school (okay really just paying for school) and going to your OFII appointment. If you don't know what OFII is, then you fucked up, and you need to get your shit together ASAP. As for school, you will need documentation that you've been going to class and that you've received a grade. The school I went to gave everyone the same grade and attendance for the most part, so you don't have to worry too much if you've missed a few classes.</div>
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Okay, so you've been going to your classes and you've already gotten your little OFII sticker, so you're good to go so far. No more than two months before the expiration of your visa, you will need to make an appointment on the <a href="https://www.ppoletrangers.interieur.gouv.fr/?motif=rensej" target="_blank">prefecture website</a>. If you're in Paris, your appointment will be at Porte de Clignancourt a.k.a. the worst place in the world. <b>I recommend making the earliest appointment possible and getting there before it opens.</b> Student visas all tend to expire around the same time, so you do not want to be stuck there all day.</div>
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Because of all the required documents, I would suggest getting them together at least <b>one month </b>before your appointment. You will probably have to harass your French family to give you some of the paperwork, so you may as well start early. Here's the <a href="http://www.prefecturedepolice.interieur.gouv.fr/Demarches/Particulier/Ressortissants-etrangers/Titre-de-sejour/Vous-venez-d-arriver-en-France/Listes-de-pieces-etudiant-et-commercant" target="_blank">page</a> (click on the link that says "renouvellement d'un titre de sejour etudiant") from the prefecture website of what you will need. I have put together a list in English of what <b>au pairs</b> will specifically need (I will go into detail about some of them after):</div>
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<ol>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Your original birth certificate + <b>one copy</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">A certified translation of your birth certificate + <b>one copy</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Your DIRECCTE contract from the previous year + <b>one copy</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Your DIRECCTE contract for the upcoming year + <b>one copy</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Proof of housing (given to you by your host family)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Grades/attendance from previous year + <b>one copy</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Your "inscription definitive" for the upcoming school year + <b>one copy</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Copies of your ID page of your passport, your French visa, and your OFII stamp</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">49 euros worth of timbres fiscaux that you can buy from any tabac</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Three passport photos</li>
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So let me point out that your new DIRRECTE contract does not need to be approved or stamped to go to your initial appointment at the prefecture. They will give you a receipt that will serve as a temporary visa for at least two months after the expiration of the original. After you receive your contract from DIRRECTE, you will then go back and get your fancy laminated Titre de Sejour (oh la la). With this you will feel so fucking French, you'll suddenly want to start protesting something - it's not important what, you just want everyone to know that one of them now, kinda.</div>
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For the translation of my birth certificate, I used a woman named <a href="http://www.kingtraductions.fr/" target="_blank">Karen King</a>. She only charges 35 euros, but did completely forget to send it to me. She was very nice about it and sent it out the day after I reminded her, but make sure you stay on top of it.</div>
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Also, you can take your passport pictures at any metro station in one of those little photo booths. It's only 5 euros for 6 pictures which I think is a pretty good deal considering how expensive it was in the US.</div>
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So that's what you'll need to renew your visa. It's not fun, and it can be complicated at times, but hang in there. The actual appointment(s) actually aren't so bad, so don't stress out like I did. Surprisingly everyone was really nice and patient with my broken French.</div>
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I feel like I've forgotten something, but I can't think of anything else. All and all, it took about 5 to 6 months for me to renew my visa, and now it's FINALLY over. <i>If you have any questions or corrections, please leave a comment.</i> I will do my best to help you with anything you need!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0Paris, France48.856614 2.352221900000017748.6894645 2.0294984000000178 49.0237635 2.6749454000000177tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-65210287841130992642014-09-12T14:03:00.002+02:002014-09-14T11:08:01.849+02:00Getting back into the swing of things<div style="text-align: justify;">
So if you haven't noticed, I haven't blogged since May (oh mon dieu)! Between working extra hours, English lessons, translating a book, and having a life, I just couldn't find the time or the will to write on my blog. So sorry for anyone dying to know about the dumb stuff I do on a regular basis.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMvb5pLFG6hQUideQeTChNOIS1gZLncHwnYenbo1FNzLwjI_Yrth0oLZ3e9_XgUyCBd66ExtlrPjbt67DpKxM4pm89APlFpPJsfECLJs4ku5ecrVl7IhOvBfOrdi-qt9TEhc6Jpu2McBf/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMvb5pLFG6hQUideQeTChNOIS1gZLncHwnYenbo1FNzLwjI_Yrth0oLZ3e9_XgUyCBd66ExtlrPjbt67DpKxM4pm89APlFpPJsfECLJs4ku5ecrVl7IhOvBfOrdi-qt9TEhc6Jpu2McBf/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh hey that's me!</td></tr>
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I will start writing posts again though! I have had a few people (which is like 100 times more than I ever would have dreamed) tell me that they miss my blog. So I am motivated once again! My schedule hasn't calmed down at all, but you three people are worth it.</div>
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Anyway, I came back from the US two weeks ago to find myself working with the same family, friendless and completely broke. So I'm facing the challenges of getting back into the swing of things and making new friends, both of which I've desperately been avoiding. P.S. I'm not friendless because I have no social skills and drove away anyone who would dare talk to me (although maybe that's part of it...) The truth is that all of my au pair friends left at the end of the school year and now there are a whole new generation of nannies wandering the streets of Paris.</div>
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I also have a shit ton of paperwork to do. Spoiler alert! I'm going to write posts on how to renew your visa AND how to get PACSed! Don't you feel lucky.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-32490252671578321652014-05-16T12:00:00.000+02:002014-05-16T12:14:12.579+02:00Teaching English in Paris: part two<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello to whoever reads this! So quick update: still no internet at my apartment thus I guess I'm officially posting about once a week until I get that situation sorted out. I will probably be doing a 'My life without sans internet' post in the near future (it might be filled with angry rants and tears, so prepare yourself).</div>
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If you read my previous post <a href="http://yayygoerin.blogspot.fr/2014/02/teaching-english-in-paris.html" target="_blank">Teaching English is Paris</a>, you know that I do in fact give English lessons to a few Frenchies in Paris. In that article, I had just started giving lessons, and now it's four months later. I've learned a lot since then not to mention experienced a lot of weird people. In this post, I would like to tell a few stories about the strangest, most uncomfortable English lessons I've had in the past four months. Then we can laugh and be awkward together, it'll be fun!</div>
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<b>The overt racist</b></div>
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About a month ago, I was contacted by a man who continuously called me "girl" on the phone and who found it completely appropriate to cancel last minute or call me in the middle of the day asking if we could meet in an hour. Because, you know, I don't have a life, and my time is worthless. As if that wasn't annoying enough, I'm pretty sure he only wanted lessons so that he could go on racist rants in English. At least he was an equal opportunity racist because he hates almost everyone - gypsies, Spanish people, the Germans, and basically anyone who is not French. At one point, he looked around to make sure no one was looking and said something along the lines of "we need to just get rid of all of them, I don't care where they go, they just can't be in France." Needless to say, I have never cringed so much in two hours. What made it worse is that we were in a touristy area which means a lot of people around us could speak English and understand everything he was saying. I was completely mortified and could not wait to get away from him. To make things even worse, he was supposed to pay me on Paypal which he still has yet to do. So basically I sat through a horrific, two hour racist rant for absolutely nothing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLePrGGiuSVV6a7IK1tJ9SZdmLXxy_dCGSgf-kZrC8rcp1K-8CMROclGKEH_FZ9mTgNxcfRilB2pCCX1KmLI2RSzD_OF2yAXiwjEuq0DGu3AZUyPB40H9SsmTxXTis0kwL91UoTm0xKRM/s1600/Malcom-in-the-Middle.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLePrGGiuSVV6a7IK1tJ9SZdmLXxy_dCGSgf-kZrC8rcp1K-8CMROclGKEH_FZ9mTgNxcfRilB2pCCX1KmLI2RSzD_OF2yAXiwjEuq0DGu3AZUyPB40H9SsmTxXTis0kwL91UoTm0xKRM/s1600/Malcom-in-the-Middle.gif" /></a></div>
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<b>The gawker</b></div>
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I really dislike this man for many reasons, but the biggest one has to be the fact that about every twenty seconds, I catch him looking down my shirt. Nice. He is also one of the most boring men I have ever met, and making conversation with him is painful. He seems to have absolutely no interests except for my chest of course, and any topics I bring up, he just shrugs and says something like "that is of no interest for me" or "I don't really care about that." So yeah, I'm not a fan, and I've started wearing turtle necks to his lessons.</div>
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<b>The American hater</b></div>
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I am not some super patriotic, America-is-the-best-and-everyone-else-sucks kind of person, but I do like being American. Considering that's where I was born and raised, I will always love my country, but at the same time, I am very aware of our faults. If you criticize the US about certain things, I will most likely agree with you. However, that does not mean that I want to sit through an hour of America bashing, so that some old French man can "teach me a lesson" on how awful my people are. I could mention any topic, and this man would find a way to personally blame me for the undoing of mankind. Maybe I could bring up cute puppies. His response would be that American's love for cute puppies is disgusting because we are too superficial and materialistic, and that one day there will be a mass genocide of ugly puppies because of me. Obviously that's a made-up exaggerated example, but sometimes that's how it felt to have a conversation with this man.</div>
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<b>The Putin lover</b></div>
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So I never met with this man, but I did receive I hate-filled rant about his love for Putin and his hate for America. Because I'm obviously the spokesperson for the US, and after reading this crazy email, I would realize the errors of our ways. I would then instruct my people to change their behavior and opinions, and they would abide. Also, last time I checked, at the end of my ad, I didn't say "Fuck Russia, go America," so I didn't really understand why I was the target of this rampage. The best part was that he spelled Putin wrong throughout the entire email, instead spelling it "poutine," the heart-attack inducing traditional dish of Canada.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYYRfEZl8dbHMaBiLoXlxRg2QHwApvvmcV3WcLSRZCDqp59WuUzTW2cx59PpUtE8NYg5WF4n7jH7kGlZQ6mAXHK4oALkjhIXCYXFBgcvasCfWTDwzj7sAwBxrce3q4dWMeCyBb7wgcZhkZ/s1600/IMG_0328.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYYRfEZl8dbHMaBiLoXlxRg2QHwApvvmcV3WcLSRZCDqp59WuUzTW2cx59PpUtE8NYg5WF4n7jH7kGlZQ6mAXHK4oALkjhIXCYXFBgcvasCfWTDwzj7sAwBxrce3q4dWMeCyBb7wgcZhkZ/s1600/IMG_0328.PNG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This is the original email, if you read French, you will get a kick out of it.</span></div>
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<b>The "I don't care that you want to teach English, I just want to have sex with you" people</b></div>
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I AM NOT A PROSTITUTE! I just want to teach English for 20 Euros an hour. My ad is not some covert signal to all of the creeps in Paris that I actually want to get paid for sex, and that this whole English thing is just a front. That's equivalent of going up to your local painting instructor and saying "come on, we all know what this is, drop the charade and come have sex with me." Just today I was offered 200 Euros to have a threesome with some stranger on the internet. I'm guessing there has to be some success rate among English tutors because people keep sending me these emails.</div>
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So there you have a few more stories of my experiences teaching English in Paris. I hope you found some humor in my discomfort because I know I always do. As I plan on continuing to teach here, I'm sure there will be more stories to come.</div>
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<i>If you teach English anywhere in the world, and you have awkward/embarrassing/annoying stories, please share! We can laugh and be happy that we haven't be murdered by a psycho yet.</i></div>
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<b><br /></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-91269654634921819432014-05-09T13:41:00.000+02:002014-05-09T14:29:41.729+02:00Dumb advice to get over being homesick<div style="text-align: justify;">
So you may have noticed (or maybe not because I really don't know if anyone actually reads this), but I've been MIA for the past three weeks. There are a few reasons for this: 1. I'm pretty sure my neighbors moved out, so I can't steal their internet anymore 2. I've been pretty lazy, and 3. all the homesickness that I should have experienced within the past four months, hit me all at once. I felt like I was almost completely debilitated by how sad I was... all the time. I cried pretty much all day everyday, and I didn't even know why. Everything just sucked, and I hated everyone and everything... including my blog. Also, I usually post a link to my blog on reddit, and I knew that if anyone posted anything negative (which of course would happen because, come on, it's reddit), I would refuse to leave my pet-carrier-sized apartment for about a week. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_tu1E0H1OokSKVAE8Mz-8_H6zO36uOAgEEIEH_JreuW3cMOrUQblrlgc4jVHxAtHD9cE4uvDd6WYmJ0i-9m-VsBN1_wIxCv3dj8psHZ82kL0NbjFXHkB5eFh5VBLqM8HfiDOCzPys07l/s1600/Kristen-Bell-Laughing-to-Crying.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_tu1E0H1OokSKVAE8Mz-8_H6zO36uOAgEEIEH_JreuW3cMOrUQblrlgc4jVHxAtHD9cE4uvDd6WYmJ0i-9m-VsBN1_wIxCv3dj8psHZ82kL0NbjFXHkB5eFh5VBLqM8HfiDOCzPys07l/s1600/Kristen-Bell-Laughing-to-Crying.gif" /></a></div>
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Anyway, THIS IS NOT A PITY PARTY! I did not want to bitch to the internet about my problems and how I miss my mommy - definitely not the best look for a semi-adult. After about four weeks of homesickness and one week of constantly crying for no reason, I think I have finally moved past being homesick. So yayy go me! Not that I don't still miss my family and friends, but I am not sad all the time anymore. There's a big difference, and I didn't realize that until this awful experience. </div>
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Because I'm super lame, I actually researched how to become unhomesick on the internet. Obviously that was my low point when I knew I hit rock bottom. I don't think the intention of the articles was supposed to be funny, but I found their advice to be hysterically stupid. So I guess in the end, they helped in a way. I am going to give you some of their examples on how to help yourself when you're homesick, and if you like being a sane human being, please don't follow them.</div>
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<b>Parents should stop communicating with their children</b></div>
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What the fuck?? This is from a <a href="http://edition.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/08/16/homesickness.not.about.home/" target="_blank">CNN article</a> where the author also states that being homesick isn't actually missing the physical dwelling you formerly inhabited. Because obviously that was a HUGE misconception that had to be dealt with. Okay, so I do kind of understand in theory why parents would have to cut their kids off if they were calling them every five minutes, but in reality, this is probably the worst idea ever. If my parents stopped talking to me because I was homesick, I think I would jump off a bridge. I mean you're already depressed, and then on top of that, your parents refuse to return your phone calls. What kind of advice is that??</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcemzayBSW9mBsW_ikyMzR4tBndTUVZInqVlUhGE6ykxhqPvFqgQK4e4SvbSCY8Mj8eVV5VCLtYoIz32clkf_qYfVAhL41NxxyAB6aJs298cw2uUlTWBKENcV6_ZmIJXQ2xSb0SSBO_DJ/s1600/86790-what-the-fuck-is-that-gif-Imgu-Cn5F.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcemzayBSW9mBsW_ikyMzR4tBndTUVZInqVlUhGE6ykxhqPvFqgQK4e4SvbSCY8Mj8eVV5VCLtYoIz32clkf_qYfVAhL41NxxyAB6aJs298cw2uUlTWBKENcV6_ZmIJXQ2xSb0SSBO_DJ/s1600/86790-what-the-fuck-is-that-gif-Imgu-Cn5F.gif" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Leave your door open, so you can meet new people</b></div>
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I know this '<a href="http://www.csu.edu.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0009/81639/homesick.pdf" target="_blank">how to guide</a>' to being homesick is meant for college students, but if I left my door open, the 85 year old perv down the hall would invite me to a cocktail party in his bed. And the last people I want to meet are the two guys across the hall who are consistently hammered at 3 pm while unsuccessfully practicing to become professional rappers.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPD8xqF1h_ejTpSDV4aLdNnu5N4N0IpPTP4U17YACSCBUICJn9hRBZOuRvvffMHL8Qmi9mBI-A3S_NOQK9oWr301jY2rLTOEchMZl6JkLTG0TiHz6KDINRjZDuRZx82EX8tNn55vzL5SNu/s1600/picardwave.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPD8xqF1h_ejTpSDV4aLdNnu5N4N0IpPTP4U17YACSCBUICJn9hRBZOuRvvffMHL8Qmi9mBI-A3S_NOQK9oWr301jY2rLTOEchMZl6JkLTG0TiHz6KDINRjZDuRZx82EX8tNn55vzL5SNu/s1600/picardwave.gif" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Find a new home in your different surroundings</b><br />
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You mean like a bar? Thanks for the tip <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Beat-Homesickness" target="_blank">wikiHow</a>, I'm on it.<br />
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<b>Don't think about the worst that could happen</b></div>
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Well I wasn't... until now. I have never talked to any homesick person who said "I miss home so much, and I'm pretty sure that my building is going to collapse while I'm in the shower, and then everyone will get AIDS from lollipops." </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIX4Zz-p4uighS1v78-iBso7XAkLOXk0cNi2ANSt9ByDx642Y4y3LY6LxE-5pCQr4Z6NWw6EYWnTlVGeRtAem3MeNCaYLE_zx_-UA-GLqMbqEHvoWM1npLDTxPqrrRGXtcAg69QmOFYLnd/s1600/scaredgopher.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIX4Zz-p4uighS1v78-iBso7XAkLOXk0cNi2ANSt9ByDx642Y4y3LY6LxE-5pCQr4Z6NWw6EYWnTlVGeRtAem3MeNCaYLE_zx_-UA-GLqMbqEHvoWM1npLDTxPqrrRGXtcAg69QmOFYLnd/s1600/scaredgopher.gif" /></a></div>
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<b>Remember to eat and sleep enough</b></div>
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Yeah... so I didn't mention that all I've been doing for the last month is eating and sleeping. I'm guessing that if I increase the amount of food I stuff in my face and how many naps I take during the day, this might get worse. Do you know how hard it is to be surrounded by bread and cheese when you're sad?? Pretty freaking hard. Then I'll cry because I can't fit in my jeans, and I can't buy new ones because they only sell my extra-tall size at American Eagle which only exists in the US, and look, now I'm homesick again!! It's a vicious circle, but thanks for thinking I'm not already disgusting <a href="http://www.counselling.cam.ac.uk/selfhelp/leaflets/homesickness" target="_blank">Cambridge</a>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85a2VuykpqEjWrI2E7XTr-s0W11wsgrClS5VFqMP_foFRjlyaAGi15-BJPqXsKREcRFCtAyxfy5TWLC-8wCrf1dfptWEO3Zy75IgwCzk06_k0OOBKOAA_346IfcBzV7NNEworPYw8Mw9v/s1600/chips.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85a2VuykpqEjWrI2E7XTr-s0W11wsgrClS5VFqMP_foFRjlyaAGi15-BJPqXsKREcRFCtAyxfy5TWLC-8wCrf1dfptWEO3Zy75IgwCzk06_k0OOBKOAA_346IfcBzV7NNEworPYw8Mw9v/s1600/chips.gif" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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Obviously most of these articles do have some helpful advice on getting over your homesickness, so I did link them. Just don't read the CNN article, that one really is complete shit. Anyway, if you're feeling homesick, maybe the stupidity of some of these articles will make you smile too, and then we can all be happy! Yayy! Or if you want to have a cry sesh, we could totally do that too.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com4Paris, France48.856614 2.352221900000017748.6894645 2.0294984000000178 49.0237635 2.6749454000000177tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-44926582164458623922014-04-22T14:43:00.001+02:002014-04-22T14:45:38.301+02:00Why does everyone expect so much from 22 year olds?<div style="text-align: justify;">
I usually don't write serious posts questioning society and whatnot, but I guess I felt like it today. So here's my rant about how everyone should get off everyone else's case and do whatever they want. Oh, and there's random pictures of Paris - there's really no connection whatsoever. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VLzssCr_fvc/U1Zgjq6DoZI/AAAAAAAABG0/RVVlLK8QcNg/s1600/IMG_0085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VLzssCr_fvc/U1Zgjq6DoZI/AAAAAAAABG0/RVVlLK8QcNg/s1600/IMG_0085.JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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As a recent college graduate, I understand the pressures that society puts on young twenty-somethings to hit the ground running after finishing school. Since high school, people have been asking me what I want to do with my life. During college, every time I would tell someone that I was majoring in French and in history, people would ask, "what do you want to do with that?" with that judgmental tone that made me want to scream. And the absolute worst was during entirety of my senior year, everyone from classmates, friends, family members to complete strangers asked me what I planned to do after graduation. Well, it's been almost a year since graduation, and guess what, I still have no idea. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J3vNnjM51NI/U1Zhg5O2GTI/AAAAAAAABHg/bHkPVeTeP88/s1600/IMG_0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J3vNnjM51NI/U1Zhg5O2GTI/AAAAAAAABHg/bHkPVeTeP88/s1600/IMG_0024.JPG" height="640" width="478" /></a></div>
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Maybe I was avoiding tough decisions and situations by moving to Paris, or maybe I wanted one last adventure before becoming a certified adult. Either way, it's been the best decision I've made so far (besides deciding to go back to being a blonde after accidentally dying my hair black... that still has to be the best one). As I discuss in my <a href="http://www.in-betweenlife.com/2014/04/guest-post-another-lost-graduate-who.html" target="_blank">guest post </a> on my friend Val's blog <a href="http://www.in-betweenlife.com/" target="_blank">The In-between Life</a>, not everyone is required to follow the path that is expected of them. I still do not understand why people expect so much from people in their early twenties, and why are we all required to become so serious so quickly? We go from being complete screw-ups in college, and then we're suddenly forced into the expectations of adulthood.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B3C09EOhD3Q/U1Zh___KWyI/AAAAAAAABIA/t5f8H9jhDC0/s1600/IMG_0034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B3C09EOhD3Q/U1Zh___KWyI/AAAAAAAABIA/t5f8H9jhDC0/s1600/IMG_0034.JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm not trying to say that we should all stay care-free and immature for the rest of our lives, that's not my argument whatsoever. All I'm trying to say is that everyone is different, a snow flake if you will, and we can't all be forced down the same path as everyone else. I know what people think when I tell them what I'm doing, but quite frankly, I don't care. I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't use to - people's negativity toward my decision to become an au pair really bothered me for awhile, but I think the most adult thing I've done so far was to choose not to listen to them anymore.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-42QC1klXpZs/U1ZicMBALSI/AAAAAAAABIY/t2OYDYSSG3c/s1600/IMG_0341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-42QC1klXpZs/U1ZicMBALSI/AAAAAAAABIY/t2OYDYSSG3c/s1600/IMG_0341.JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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Please check out Val's blog <a href="http://www.in-betweenlife.com/" target="_blank">The In-between Life</a> where she writes about being in your early twenties fresh out of college. Also, check out my <a href="http://www.in-betweenlife.com/2014/04/guest-post-another-lost-graduate-who.html" target="_blank">guest post</a> about my life after graduation and what lead me to my decision to move to beautiful Paris, France.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com4Paris, France48.856614 2.352221900000017748.6894645 2.0294984000000178 49.0237635 2.6749454000000177tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-87529352541211921082014-04-16T12:21:00.000+02:002014-04-16T12:21:43.384+02:00People I hate on the metro<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have been in Paris for more than three months now, and as much as I still love the city, some of its mystique is starting to fade. When I first came here, I thought the metro was the best thing ever because it was just so easy. I was also completely unaccustomed to mass public transportation because I lived in a small town in the US, so the fact that I could get almost anywhere by just swiping my Navigo was absolutely amazing. However, although the metro is still easy, while sometimes frustrating, my love for it has diminished mostly due to my fellow passengers. I'm hoping that most of you who have experienced the metro will agree that these people are the absolute worst, or if you haven't, that you will be thankful that you have never encountered them.</div>
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<b>Accordion players or anyone else with an instrument, microphone or stereo</b></div>
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At first, I thought accordion players were charming, and they would make my metro ride instantly more enjoyable and Parisian. Now, after hearing the same songs countless times, I want to stab their accordion repeatedly, throw it on the rails and wait for another train to run it over. Maybe it's a bit harsh, but seriously, accordions are super annoying. All I want to do is sit on the metro and eavesdrop onto people's conversations in peace, but no, someone has to get on the metro and try to sing at the top of their lungs. I have, one more than one occasion, changed cars to get away from their terribleness. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvykPlmE407P-hExpOxGxOes4xBkBpPo5x6ykNKYHbQFQdPqFIBDC38qkv-gGDTD4YcOPh4ym1Y-WlrqsB0zPsAiZzx31_7ExjdfDlUS6NF1RWqlSa4YLdRrSqYAfCmLKE3Oo11QQJc1z/s1600/angry-devito.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvykPlmE407P-hExpOxGxOes4xBkBpPo5x6ykNKYHbQFQdPqFIBDC38qkv-gGDTD4YcOPh4ym1Y-WlrqsB0zPsAiZzx31_7ExjdfDlUS6NF1RWqlSa4YLdRrSqYAfCmLKE3Oo11QQJc1z/s1600/angry-devito.gif" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>People who don't give up their seat</b></div>
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Obviously I don't mean to me. I am lucky enough to be a young, healthy person without any disabilities. However, I have on many occasions witnessed an elderly man or very-pregnant woman come on the metro, and no one has given up their seat for them. Who are you?? I know you play Candy Crush better when you're sitting down, but come on, please try to be a decent human being for twenty minutes out of your day.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCk7GnoWMkboO5xHKeDSQCrNve60ZSK962z3Dd8CTvD67NONxczJhBgM9GUE7ajNEJmtradvxpbmHLYw4HVR1BHaNrqF5-60elAqp9_a_DEbQHg8Mr6tOMdM3QdyOQnaneGVo7etLXM8mK/s1600/how-dare-u.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCk7GnoWMkboO5xHKeDSQCrNve60ZSK962z3Dd8CTvD67NONxczJhBgM9GUE7ajNEJmtradvxpbmHLYw4HVR1BHaNrqF5-60elAqp9_a_DEbQHg8Mr6tOMdM3QdyOQnaneGVo7etLXM8mK/s1600/how-dare-u.gif" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>People who haven't taken a shower in, let's say, five years</b><br />
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The only thing worse than being stuck on a crowded metro train where you're packed like cattle because we obviously all have really important places to go, is being sandwiched next to some one who smells like death rolled in shit. It's the only time when you'll actively wonder if you actually need to breath in order to survive the next ten minutes. For the love god, just smell socially acceptable. You don't need to smell good, you can even still smell bad, just not THAT bad. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2ZzqC126e0Ts5hy0tcrJXfHXKmUVwR8RusGPat_Og1TFw7UGFpzG-dOLHkQfOHHi8s-___gp7nZDgFf8vYLQQNLvaQ6Yor-lGggma4vUsgkreYWBwupKBZCbDRaf2D5mEl5qxTW3Bn9i/s1600/disgusted.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2ZzqC126e0Ts5hy0tcrJXfHXKmUVwR8RusGPat_Og1TFw7UGFpzG-dOLHkQfOHHi8s-___gp7nZDgFf8vYLQQNLvaQ6Yor-lGggma4vUsgkreYWBwupKBZCbDRaf2D5mEl5qxTW3Bn9i/s1600/disgusted.gif" /></a></div>
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<b>People who talk on the phone in the metro</b><br />
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1. How do you have service? My phone is completely useless when I'm half-way down the stairs entering the metro, how in the world can you be having a coherent conversation with someone? 2. What is so important that you have to have this conversation right now while the rest of listen? It's not like I can really choose whether or not to overhear it, and in case you're wondering, it's never an interesting conversation. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGXhclFPf5F6ZriZzv_u2FYPh2l9VOdnfnAExbS1XRT4atlMpk11Z_2QGE-W4xv7zGU2f8tIyamuxoOT4jgG0Eb4iNzohW9aKrcw6pKHBltVGEC6EJtfqDGTMdE9OeMn-4e17su5Vd1K8/s1600/throwing-phone2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGXhclFPf5F6ZriZzv_u2FYPh2l9VOdnfnAExbS1XRT4atlMpk11Z_2QGE-W4xv7zGU2f8tIyamuxoOT4jgG0Eb4iNzohW9aKrcw6pKHBltVGEC6EJtfqDGTMdE9OeMn-4e17su5Vd1K8/s1600/throwing-phone2.gif" /></a></div>
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<b>People who get on the metro before letting the others get off</b><br />
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This is simple logistics - you have to let people get off the train before you get on or else no one can really get on or off, and it's just complete chaos. Calm down and wait the five seconds for everyone to exit. Patience is a virtue, my friend. But you're not patient, so you look like an asshole, and everyone hates you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYKkgbL-vBDWdnmlfN97cXK0y6Fg98t_ikvNNQR5YtPSJ_ahAOKiaiu4_owIQKHSfwvtian_tN9iDuZvfSQ7f46DrLGEH-Uzd0Cx0RDirOSVtIGHNepXTqsAtB5gCygxmusjBC0YfyRGi/s1600/you-suck.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYKkgbL-vBDWdnmlfN97cXK0y6Fg98t_ikvNNQR5YtPSJ_ahAOKiaiu4_owIQKHSfwvtian_tN9iDuZvfSQ7f46DrLGEH-Uzd0Cx0RDirOSVtIGHNepXTqsAtB5gCygxmusjBC0YfyRGi/s1600/you-suck.gif" height="244" width="320" /></a></div>
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There you have it - just some of the people who I hate on the metro. I think I've become more cynical since I've been here because I actively had to prevent myself from writing about 25 of these. Let me know who you hate on the metro, and then we can be friends and hate them together.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com7Paris, France48.856614 2.352221900000017748.6894645 2.0294984000000178 49.0237635 2.6749454000000177tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-19971367997254947322014-04-13T22:28:00.000+02:002014-04-13T22:28:36.444+02:00Am I an adult yet??<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think everyone goes through this awkward "not a girl yet not a woman" period where, yes, the government recognizes that you are in fact an adult by law, but in real life, you feel like you are hovering around the mental age of 19. I think you officially know that you're all grown up when you have moved past the denial of getting older and accept that you are a responsible human being. However, I don't think I'm quite there yet, but I wanted to give you some examples of what my daily life is like. You can decide for yourself if I'm an adult or not.</div>
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<b>I moved out of my parents house</b></div>
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I think this is a huge determiner of being an independent, responsible person. If you still live with your parents, you are not a real adult (unless you moved in to take care of them or something, in which case you are more of an adult than I'll ever be). After 23 years of paying for school, living rent-free, and being fed, clothed and sheltered, I am officially no longer being supported by my parents. Although that sounds super grown up, I now work for a family who pays for my cell phone, my metro pass, and I don't have to pay rent. I never said that my parents no longer supported me because I was financially stable and self-sufficient, I just said they don't pay for my shit anymore... someone else does now. I really have no idea where this puts me on the adult scale.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYw97VAj5OazkAWln1G2BBTGWAKDLykJgIMPLtJUyHmLFJWUEFHckTYaR5slUEpXjYeMRWgV2DDYlzP0KQl0iCaQNVbcpNn9IJyUTVBMTue0y1UZGK2T3hpnWjAePGQ3Q-UMIKtz3avji/s1600/simpsonsdancing.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYw97VAj5OazkAWln1G2BBTGWAKDLykJgIMPLtJUyHmLFJWUEFHckTYaR5slUEpXjYeMRWgV2DDYlzP0KQl0iCaQNVbcpNn9IJyUTVBMTue0y1UZGK2T3hpnWjAePGQ3Q-UMIKtz3avji/s1600/simpsonsdancing.gif" /></a></div>
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<b>I still cry when I'm tired</b></div>
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You know when a two year old doesn't get enough sleep, and the next day he will be cranky and cry over anything and everything? Yeah that's still where I am in life. If I'm tired, I will cry over everything. Last week I cried because I couldn't find eggs in the supermarket. I will cry if anyone says anything remotely nice to me. God forbid I talk to my mom, I will cry out of homesickness for the next hour. As you can see, I really am a basket case when I am sleep deprived which is definitely not a sign of a well-adjusted, "I have my shit together" adult.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6TCHK9ZUunep3o0Mr8RoWs0Z8D9N14qm0RwA7daq9CAz-0YDUNvzsvamc-rD_GDviS0NVgeT-SA23ibMwRgneUOmtTsYCTh1weDK82Lfn5iYlz7TPaUXa7UkI7g6J2zf10beGWq3LfLs/s1600/temper-tantrum.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6TCHK9ZUunep3o0Mr8RoWs0Z8D9N14qm0RwA7daq9CAz-0YDUNvzsvamc-rD_GDviS0NVgeT-SA23ibMwRgneUOmtTsYCTh1weDK82Lfn5iYlz7TPaUXa7UkI7g6J2zf10beGWq3LfLs/s1600/temper-tantrum.gif" /></a></div>
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<b>I take out the trash on a regular basis</b></div>
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Gone are the days when I would let my trash can overflow onto the floor and be totally cool with it. I now take out the trash like a normal human being, meaning before it turns into a disgusting, hoarderesque situation. I really shouldn't be proud of this, but I've just come so far.</div>
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<b>I don't do my laundry until I run out of underwear</b></div>
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I really hate doing laundry. What do I hate more than doing laundry? Folding my clothes and putting them away. I try to avoid it at all costs which means that my outfits become more and more desperate, and I eventually wear bathing suit bottoms as underwear. I think I did more laundry in college than I do now, so that should really tell you something about my maturity level. </div>
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<b>I cook almost everyday... and not just Ramen noodles</b></div>
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I am particularly proud of this achievement considering the size of my "kitchen." If you read my previous post <a href="http://yayygoerin.blogspot.fr/2014/01/first-week-and-half-in-paris.html" target="_blank">First Week and a Half in Paris</a>, you know that my kitchen comprises of a mini fridge and a hot plate. I have recently added a toaster oven... which I primarily use to make pizza. Anyway, I do cook almost everyday, and not just simple pasta dishes (although I do eat pasta with butter and cheese quite frequently). I actually put effort into my meals now, and at least try to cook something healthy. I no longer spend the majority of my paycheck on crappy takeout when I'm too lazy to cook, mostly because I'm too poor for other people to make my food.</div>
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<b>I still procrastinate until the last second to do almost everything</b></div>
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I don't care if I have five hours to get ready, I will still probably be late to where ever I am going. My thought process is that if I have twenty minutes to get dressed, brush my teeth, and do my hair, I can still squeeze in ten minutes of Youtube or Facebook time. Sometimes when I try to figure out why I was late getting somewhere, I truly can't remember, but I just assume that I was doing some nonsense on the internet. I am never late because I am doing something productive. I have never said something like "oh sorry I'm late, but I was tweeking my resume and lost track of time." Usually I've been stalking my ex boyfriend's best friend's younger sister because it looks like she might be pregnant in her profile picture. This is not adult behavior, and someone should revoke my internet privileges. </div>
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So there you have a few adult/not-so-adult examples of what I do on a daily basis. I could probably write parts 2, 3, and 4 about the questionable things I do. Am I a real grown up? I have no clue, but probably not. </div>
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<b>I would love to hear some of your ridiculous adult/non-adult behavior, so please comment!</b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com6Paris, France48.856614 2.352221900000017748.6894645 2.0294984000000178 49.0237635 2.6749454000000177tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-69641583620315602212014-04-07T15:43:00.000+02:002014-04-07T15:43:23.638+02:00Sometimes you need to have a pillow fight in the street<div style="text-align: justify;">
First of all, Saturday was an absolutely beautiful day here in Paris, and I spent a significant portion of it in my apartment writing a post about Cinque Terre, Italy. I'm not complaining, but it just didn't feel right, so I was happy to learn that there was something weird and completely random to do in the afternoon. I went to a massive public pillow fight that took place at Republique in Paris and was organized (according to its Facebook invite) by Flash Mob Party (Paris).</div>
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Before I go on, and I'm not sure if I mentioned this in my Dankerque post, but I absolutely hate crowds of people. They are the worst, and I hate them, and I wish they would die. I usually try to avoid them at all costs - I refuse to go shopping on the weekends, I don't really go to concerts, and I most definitely don't throw myself into a mob of people who are physically attacking each other. However, as neurotic as I am about it, I am equally self-loathing because I did it anyway.</div>
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There's not much else to this story besides hundreds and hundreds of people smacking each other in the face with suspiciously hard pillows, but I would like to make one observation - the French love dressing up. After Dankerque and this event where people dressed up for literally no reason, I have realized that the French are just into it. I wish I was some intellectual psychologist who could make some assumption like "so much is demanded from French society that its people like to defy cultural norms with costumes." However, I have no idea what I am talking about.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHwMIeRSSHOfbPbMrLsiT0wX4l_J5biKiAVEeiGaR74uZJ21nFHgA0-fK_tMMP_MCSOdK56-4d2KHZCS-tNw6KUzFwjleF7wFdpQclSgJ9FgWmekWVrP8WWTDLDcMKuW6zeMaP3SGBkCM/s1600/photo+4+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHwMIeRSSHOfbPbMrLsiT0wX4l_J5biKiAVEeiGaR74uZJ21nFHgA0-fK_tMMP_MCSOdK56-4d2KHZCS-tNw6KUzFwjleF7wFdpQclSgJ9FgWmekWVrP8WWTDLDcMKuW6zeMaP3SGBkCM/s1600/photo+4+(2).JPG" height="640" width="478" /></a></div>
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Hitting people with pillows got old pretty fast for me, especially when I started assuming that people took personal offense to my face, and that's why they wanted to hit me so hard. I personally just didn't feel the need to attack anyone, so the fight was pretty one-sided.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-30520144169277258572014-04-05T11:56:00.000+02:002014-04-07T23:49:41.285+02:00Why you need to go to Cinque Terre, Italy<div style="text-align: justify;">
With the arrival of warm weather, I've been thinking a lot about where I want to go on vacation this summer. I will most definitely be coming home in August, but I also want to spend about a week travelling in Europe. If you have any suggestions, please let me know! I'm thinking Spain. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAiv_N-tnQ9tOc_YMSTVYDue84baedDT7Tv585P5un_kR7D3yh8gokzeomQxP3_BRrq4m3bAykvDjy4iUksR9N95L2YHSy-AQQzirq1rCmBto9QFswe4ZgiHh4B7tc5-EL10UEC2wLjxy/s1600/361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAiv_N-tnQ9tOc_YMSTVYDue84baedDT7Tv585P5un_kR7D3yh8gokzeomQxP3_BRrq4m3bAykvDjy4iUksR9N95L2YHSy-AQQzirq1rCmBto9QFswe4ZgiHh4B7tc5-EL10UEC2wLjxy/s1600/361.JPG" height="640" width="478" /></a></div>
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Anyway, my goal is to have an equally amazing time as I had in Italy last summer. I traveled along the Mediterranean coast, and everywhere was absolutely beautiful. Although I have so many recommendations for the other places we visited, today's post will focus on Cinque Terre.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRMDgyoF_A0PYsxQ5ysNbcZhhVQW3_5jbEgz5GGVQPlfjeA0nTPe4Pbsk0k62bNYTJ6Gxw3gKqgF6ICNuWu9GeXyTAjzl97EvxtkQFOJE_5nSkeqWCetgWyR-_D_IJUbEqWyKsP23ebDS/s1600/356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRMDgyoF_A0PYsxQ5ysNbcZhhVQW3_5jbEgz5GGVQPlfjeA0nTPe4Pbsk0k62bNYTJ6Gxw3gKqgF6ICNuWu9GeXyTAjzl97EvxtkQFOJE_5nSkeqWCetgWyR-_D_IJUbEqWyKsP23ebDS/s1600/356.JPG" height="640" width="478" /></a></div>
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Cinque Terre is an area of five small villages located on the Mediterranean Sea. All of them are almost inaccessible by car, so you typically take a train or hike between villages. Before everyone jumps down my throat for saying that you can't really travel by car, let me clarify and say that you can, but the roads are terrifying. Most of Cinque Terre is comprised of cliffs, and swerving on windy roads that overlook 600 foot drops is not ideal for most tourists. I'm sure the locals have mastered it, but not me. Also, parking's a bitch, so just walk or take the train.</div>
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The views are absolutely beautiful and hiking in between cities is a must. I wasn't as ambitious as most, and we did not hike to each city. We hiked between two villages and I believe it took an hour an half. However, if you are really into that, I would definitely suggest walking to each of them.</div>
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Also, after you've hiked, you will be hot, like really hot, so reward yourself with some of the amazing gelato that Italy is famous for. I think we ate at least two gelatos a day, and it was awesome. </div>
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Then after your gelato, you can go swimming in the sea which is obviously beautiful and really refreshing. You can always find a public beach, just keep a look out. The only downfall to public, or free, beaches is that you will be laying on sharp, uncomfortable rocks, and you will most likely be discreetly (at least trying) changing behind a towel. Private beaches feature lounge chairs and changing tents. We went to the beach in Monterosso although I believe all of the cities have accessible places to swim.</div>
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I would suggest going to Cinque Terre in the spring or fall because it was simply just too hot during the summer. You will be constantly uncomfortable in the summer. Although this picture was taken in Monaco, you can see that I have finally hit my breaking point and had a minor temper tantrum due to the heat.</div>
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One more suggestion: EAT! I ate so much, and I have zero regrets about the few extra pounds I put on. The seafood you will eat was probably caught less than 1km away from the restaurant, and the Buffala mozzarella is a must - they know what they're doing when it comes to mozzarella. Please eat as much pasta, pizza, seafood and focaccia as you possibly can. Oh and gelato, definitely eat a lot of gelato. And pesto! I could go on forever.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-13458422325463803452014-03-30T17:39:00.000+02:002014-03-30T17:46:51.659+02:00Why am I always lost?<div style="text-align: justify;">
I haven't posted in awhile (pure laziness), but I did want to write something short about how I am always hopelessly lost in this bewildering city. Most of my complaints are completely unjustified, but I don't think I am the only foreigner to have the same problems. At least I hope I'm not the only one. That would make me feel even dumber about wandering the streets with a constant look of confusion and panic.</div>
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I have been here for almost three months now, and I am really starting to feel comfortable in Paris. However, that doesn't mean that I'm not still constantly getting lost. Seriously, it's all the time. Thank god I live near the Eiffel Tower, so that I can at least use that as a landmark to get home.</div>
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It's not all my fault either although I do have to place most of the blame on my terrible sense of direction. If I have a gut feeling that something is in one direction, your best bet is to go in the opposite one. Besides the fact that I am spatially challenged, Paris is not an easy city to navigate. I am used to cities like New York or Philadelphia which are set up as grids, easy simple grids. But Paris? No, no, no, Paris had to be different and set up its streets diagonally that eventually meet to form "stars." I still have not wrapped my head around this. You think that if you miss your turn, that you'll just take the next one, and you'll arrive at the same street. Wrong! You'll end up on a street, but probably not the one you want. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAD7ExiaUHgfgwCXGZELsuPQ-a83rK7x5zlbyKn9vxH7PWNIIKxnjmqKGQ4px7sBxCBlqev0gsG5MREb8ViHEGsxqBvjZkALHCNLeC-bmcUu_iyWcDiz8IOlmLcHpZhQvxuXh90Rtty-d/s1600/idontgetit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAD7ExiaUHgfgwCXGZELsuPQ-a83rK7x5zlbyKn9vxH7PWNIIKxnjmqKGQ4px7sBxCBlqev0gsG5MREb8ViHEGsxqBvjZkALHCNLeC-bmcUu_iyWcDiz8IOlmLcHpZhQvxuXh90Rtty-d/s1600/idontgetit.jpg" /></a></div>
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Also, the metro causes me a whole different kind of anxiety. The metro is extremely easy, and I would like to think I've mastered it. I even give dirty looks to tourists holding up the line, trying to figure out why the Navigo only entrance doesn't have a slot for their tickets. Yes, so the metro is great, until you try to get out. Oh, you're meeting someone at Montparnasse, and they didn't tell you which exit to take? Good luck because you're going to be wandering the streets for a very long time.</div>
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Okay so let's say that you've managed to take the correct exit, and now you have to find the street to get to where ever you're going. Normal cities make sure that street signs are visible and clear, but Paris is not a normal city. God forbid there's a cafe on the corner (which is pretty much every corner by the way) with an awning, there will be no street side on that side of the building. You just have to take a wild guess if it's the correct one. </div>
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Between all these factors and my absolutely horrible sense of direction, I'm consistently pretty lost. Warning: if I make plans to meet you somewhere I've never been before, expect me to be at least 20 minutes late and to be extremely stressed out when I do finally arrive. I do usually find my way, but there is always some cursing and "I hate Paris" thoughts going through my head before I do.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-34706292439172891942014-03-19T11:11:00.000+01:002014-03-19T11:11:23.083+01:00The Struggles of learning another language<div style="text-align: justify;">
When people ask me why I became an au pair in France, I have many answers - I love the city and Parisian culture, I wanted to do something adventurous, but most importantly, I wanted to finally become fluent in French. I say finally because I have been learning French since I was about eight, and I'm still not fluent. Trust me, I know how pathetic that is. What makes it worse is being surrounded by people who speak like six different languages and picking up a new one is like buying a new pair shoes. This post is not for those people because if you are one of them, you make me feel really shitty about myself.</div>
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<b>Pretending to know what someone is talking about</b><br />
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This happens to me more than I would like to admit - I'm in a friendly conversation with a French native speaker, and honestly, I have no idea what the hell they're talking about. They could be talking goat ice hockey for all I know, and what do I do? I just smile and nod. Anytime the other person seems to be asking me a question? I just respond with "oui." Word of advice - don't do this! I look like a complete idiot about 75% of the time, and I'm not fooling anyone. Then once the person discovers that you've just been nodding along, not understanding anything they're saying about goat hockey, they will treat you like the complete idiot that you are for the rest of the conversation.</div>
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<b>When people ask you if you're fluent</b><br />
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When people ask me this, especially if they've known me since I was a kid and know that I've been studying French forever, I completely panic. How do I answer this?? Should I be honest and say "nope I still suck at it," or should I lie my ass off and say "uhh yeah pretty much"? I can't be completely truthful because then they'll know that I'm pathetic, but then there's always the chance that the friend they're with is actually fluent in French and will want to have a conversation. That's my worst nightmare, so I usually respond with "no, no not at all" which somehow comes off as being modest.</div>
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<b>Thinking you've finally got this</b><br />
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You're feeling really good about yourself because you can finally understand everything your teacher says or the journalist on the news. You think "hey, this isn't so hard, I'm finally getting the hang of this," but then you go to a bar or a party. You hear people your own age talking to their friends, and you suddenly realize that you know NOTHING. </div>
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<b>When people ask if you want to teach that language</b><br />
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If they could only hear the roaring laughter in my head when someone asks if I will teach French. Even with a degree in French, yes I said degree, from a real school, I am in no way qualified to teach French. Those poor kids would sound so stupid.</div>
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<b>When people ask you to translate on the spot</b><br />
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"Oh hey, I read this sentence in a book that's French, listen to it once, and translate it for me NOW." Again, this is my worst nightmare. I usually have a hard time understanding real French people, but when someone who's not a native speaker tries to say something to me, it's absolute jibberish. </div>
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<b>The moment(s) when you lose all hope</b><br />
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There have been so many times when I want to give up because I'm tired of being publicly humiliated or struggling just to say a seemingly simple sentence. It's easy to get discouraged because learning another language is really hard. Let's be honest, those people who know six languages are freaks. Anyway, don't give up because learning another language is rewarding and not to mention, really useful. If you're feeling discouraged, take a little break. Call your best friend from home or watch an English TV show. Then pick yourself up and try again.</div>
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These have been a few of my struggles while learning French. There are more because let's face it, the list is endless, but if you are in a similar situation, please feel free to share what has been difficult for you!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-83307044678657681482014-03-09T22:24:00.002+01:002016-08-28T15:22:59.670+02:00What to expect when you're expecting... a visa.<div style="text-align: justify;">
This post is long overdue since I got mine about two months ago, but I did want to sum up what you should expect when applying and receiving your visa to become an au pair. This is an overly-detailed description of exactly what you have to do and what to expect when you are getting your au pair visa. Hopefully, some of you who are currently going through the process or anyone thinking about being an au pair will find it useful.</div>
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Since I lived in New Jersey, I had to make my appointment through the French consulate in New York. A few days before I sent my DIRECCT paperwork to the family, I made my appointment online. You will need your passport number on hand as well as a vague idea of when you will be available. I cannot speak for all French consulates, but the one in New York only had time slots available from 9 am to 12 pm, so make sure that you can take off of work, don't have an exam that during that time, etc. After scheduling my appointment, I proceeded to change my appointment a total of three times because I was unsure of when the DIRECCT paperwork would be approved and sent back to me. This was cautious, but in the end, not necessary because all of the documents had been stamped and given to the family within two weeks. Warning: time slots fill up fast! You probably won't be able to make an appointment earlier than a month in advance, so keep this in mind if you need to reschedule.</div>
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Now that you have your appointment, read and reread the list of documents that you are required to bring to the consulate. In New York you will need:</div>
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<ol>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Your au pair contract +<b> one copy</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The letter (or email) confirming the dates that you are enrolled in school + <b>one copy</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Your visa application with a recent passport photo attached + <b>one copy</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Your passport + <b>one copy of the identity page</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Proof of your education status in the US + <b>one copy</b></li>
</ol>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Note: just because the website says to bring one copy of each document, I would bring two. I only brought one and had to make more. Also, I brought all of the documents that I had sent to be approved by DIRECCT. I was not asked for any of these papers, but it gave me peace of mind while I was there.</div>
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When you fill out the application form, try not to do it the day before like I did. I was rushed, made mistakes, and had to print it out again... many times. Also, you will have to change the page settings when you print out the application because it is in A4 format (the standard French paper size). This means that it is a bit longer than the standard letter size in America causing a few questions to be cut off. I can't describe to you how much this stressed me out nor do I like to admit that I had a small (okay not so small) temper tantrum while trying to figure out how to fix it. Also, make sure you check off "student" as the type of visa you are applying for - you are not considered an employee by France! I made this mistake and got yelled at by the disgruntled lady at the consulate.</div>
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Okay, so you have double and triple-checked that you have all your documents and that you have filled out your application correctly. Now it's time to go to the consulate. Depending on where you live, it may or may not be easy for you to get there. Either way, make sure you give yourself plenty of time for transportation and finding the consulate as it could be difficult depending on your familiarity with the city. I am a crazy person and left at 6 in the morning to get to my appointment at 11:30. Obviously I had a lot of free time beforehand.</div>
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When you arrive at the consulate, they will ask you for the confirmation email you received for your appointment. I was unable to print mine, so they just checked my passport. You will then be given a number, and when it is called, you will give all of your paperwork to one of the consulate's miserable employees. This is why it is important to make sure you have completed everything correctly and have all necessary documents: they will be even meaner to you if you don't. Trust me, I found out the hard way. Maybe only the employees at the New York consulate are this awful, but brace yourself just in case - they're not nice. Imagine DMV workers times 100.</div>
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They will ask you when you plan on leaving, so make sure you know the date of your flight. I didn't have my flight booked yet, but I knew when I wanted to leave. Do not give a vague answer, you will only make them angrier.</div>
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After you have given them your paperwork, you will be asked to wait again until they call your name (which you will barely be able to understand over the loudspeaker). At this time, they will give your appointment to come and pick up your visa. I had thought that they would mail it to me, but no, I had to go all the way back to New York for my appointment which was "anytime between 9 and 10 in the morning." It's more than annoying, but luckily my lovely mother booked a hotel room for the night before for a friend and I. Also, I had to pick up my visa the day before I was supposed to leave. Just a little stressful. </div>
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When you pick up your visa, they will give you your OFII paperwork which will be very important for when you arrive in France, so make sure you hold onto it! I will writing a post in the future describing this process.</div>
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Luckily, I did not have any problems getting my visa, but I know a lot of girls who had to go back to the consulate several times because they did not provide the required paperwork. Make sure you have everything, so this does not happen to you! I'm sure it will save you a lot of anxiety.</div>
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I hope this helps some of you sort out how to get your visa and feel free to comment if you have any questions! </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0Paris, France48.856614 2.352221900000017748.6894645 2.0294984000000178 49.0237635 2.6749454000000177tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-83105990629559916262014-03-08T11:48:00.000+01:002014-03-09T22:26:27.439+01:00What I miss about the US<div style="text-align: justify;">
Don't get me wrong, I am having an amazing time in Paris, and I am loving stuffing my face with croissants and ALL the cheese. However, I received an awesome package from my lovely mother this week, and it reminded me that there are some things that the French will never be able to give me. It's not that I can't live without these things, and I probably never missed or even thought about them before I left, but now, now is a different story. Finding out that my favorite pasta sauce tastes different in France (apparently I've grown to like the unique flavors of pesticides and hormones) is enough to send me spiraling into homesickness. In addition to my parents, my friends, my cats, and my car - can't forget about Howard - these are the things I miss about the US:</div>
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<b>Shamrock Shakes</b></div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
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It's March which means only two things - it's finally going to get warmer and the best food-related invention since someone decided to potatoes in oil and make French fries - the Shamrock Shake. It's green food-coloring and mint heaven, and the best possible way to celebrate Irish heritage and culture. Why, why don't the French sell them? I'm sure the French would love them too! This is my plea to the McDonalds of France, PLEASE realize your horrible mistake. You can still make it right for next year. I will even accept if you don't put whipped cream and a cherry on top like they do in the US, I just need my shamrock!</div>
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<b>Snow</b><br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
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I know that everyone in the US will hate me for this, but I really miss the snow. It seems like every time I go on Facebook or talk to my mother, New Jersey gets another foot of snow. The one year I leave, the North East turns into Canada. I'm sure that if I was still home, I would hate the snow right now and never want to see it again. However, in Paris, it's really not that cold and it rains almost every day in the winter. Maybe that doesn't sound too bad, but it will make you go insane, especially when you lose your umbrella and are too stubborn to buy a new one. I wish it snowed and was actually cold. Maybe just for a week.</div>
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<b>Calling people ratchet</b><br />
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They don't know what I am talking about. I'm tired of explaining the definition of a word which technically means a type of wrench.</div>
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<b>Southern Comfort</b><br />
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You don't know what I would do for a SoCo lime right now. Yes, I can go to the Hardrock Cafe and buy one, but my pride prevents me from stooping that low. If I did go to the Hardrock, 1. I wouldn't tell a soul 2. if you did somehow find out, put me on suicide watch because I'm that homesick 3. I would pretend to have some sort of different accent, it seems better that a foreigner goes there than an American. Too bad all of my accents suck, I can go from Indian to eastern European to British in one sentence.</div>
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<b>Buffalo Sauce</b><br />
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I have been craving buffalo sauce for the past two months, and thank god, my mom sent me a bottle because it's impossible to find a good one in France. The French definition of spicy greatly differs from ours not to mention that everything 'American' is excessively expensive (I'm talking 6 Euros for peanut butter expensive). I put it on my pizza, I dip my fries in it, I eat it with EVERYTHING, and I am a happy, happy girl now that I can have it again.</div>
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<b>Hair conditioner</b><br />
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Apparently, the French don't get knots in their hair. How? I don't know. I imagine that they spend a lot of time trying to force a comb through a solid glob of hair after showering. Have they not heard that we have this amazing product called conditioner that makes your hair shiny and soft and gets rid of knots? Okay, so you can find conditioner, but it's rare and expensive.</div>
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These are a few things I miss about the US, and I am sure that there will be parts 2, 3 and 4 in the future. I am going to go eat some bread now.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-61818627518705055742014-03-05T10:51:00.001+01:002014-03-09T22:27:53.377+01:00Le Carnaval de Dunkerque<div style="text-align: justify;">
I spent this past weekend in the north of France, in Lille and Dunkerque, for the Carnaal de Dunkerque. Perhaps the Ch'tis get mocked by the French but not by this American girl. 1. They're food is ungodly good. If I lived there, I would definitely gain about... 50 pounds, but hey, I'd be happy. I had fried Camembert with frites, and I thought I had died and go to fatty-foods heaven. 2. They definitely know how to have a good party.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The beach in Dunkerque.</span></div>
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Okay so let me explain the Carnaval. I guess it's what Americans would call a festival except everyone dresses in crazy costumes. Typically men dress as women in the most tacky and outlandish dresses with clashing tights and boas and whatever else they can find. Everyone also puts on a full face of makeup (my friends decided to give me a nice black unibrow and a huge clown smile), wears masks, wigs, or hats. It's absolutely ridiculous and oh so entertaining.</div>
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Did I mention that everyone drinks heavily during this extravaganza? It'll be important for the next part of the story.</div>
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As you have just about taken all of these glorious sights in, a procession leads you to a square in front of the mayor's office. This is where things got a little dicey for me, and the alcohol became necessary. Everyone packs themselves into the square and pushes themselves to the very front in order to catch the fish which are being thrown from the office. Yes, they throw fish at people. At the end, they throw a few lobsters which are apparently extra special. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The people in the windows are throwing fish into the crowd.</span></div>
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It gets pretty rough in this crowd. I was thrown and pushed in every direction, I broke my shoe, and was almost strangled a few times thanks to my boas. I also have a few really awesome bruises that I love to show off as battle wounds. Anyway, as I started worrying about my well being and dying alone in a sea of drunken people hungry for some fish, I left the center and made my way to the outside of the crowd. Not an easy task by the way. My friends and I had a meeting point because it was pretty much inevitable that we would get separated, so that came in handy. Otherwise, I would be living in Dunkerque right now.</div>
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After the fish catching, everyone links arms and walks through the streets. Unfortunately we missed this part because our bladders had needs (girls ya know?), and speaking of which, I peed in the street in front of hundreds of people. Not my proudest moment, but when you gotta go, you gotta go.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Yup, that just happened. They saw... they all saw.</span></div>
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I also did not mention that random people come up to you give you a zeutch, or kiss, on the mouth. It's said that back in the day, if you were married in Dunkerque, the only time when it was acceptable to cheat on your spouse was at the Carnaval. Cute. Well the tradition lived on, but it's really not as scandalous as it sounds. I was terrified of old gross men forcibly kissing me and slipping me the tongue. However, it's really very tame, and I only received one zeutch (I like to blame my unibrow for my unpopularity).</div>
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After a break, you then all join together around a merry-go-round, link arms, and continue crushing each other while running in a circle. You also sing traditional French and Ch'tis songs during this event and the whole festival. Obviously, I knew none of them.</div>
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We ended the night by forming a random dance party in front of a bar where I learned, again, that I am completely ignorant of all popular French songs.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sorry for the poor quality, but this is our dance party</span></div>
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So to sum up - fish, kissing, and costumes - what do they have to do with each other? I have absolutely no idea, but whatever, it's fun, so it doesn't matter. The Carnaval was definitely an experience, to say the least, but despite what I thought before, I will be going again one day. Although it may take me a few years to prepare myself.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-59819657315061463602014-03-04T21:59:00.000+01:002014-03-09T22:28:47.222+01:00The Heineken Experience <div style="text-align: justify;">
Sorry for the delay in my posts about Amsterdam, but I have shit to do and just haven't gotten around to it. Also, I spent the weekend in Dunkerque for a huge "carnival," but I will post about that later.</div>
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Anyway, while in Amsterdam, we thought it would be a great idea to go to the Heineken Experience even though I'm honestly not a huge fan of the famous Dutch beer. But hey, I'll always take an opportunity to drink during the day. My advice - save yourself some money, suck up your pride, and get hammered in a local bar in the middle of the day. They will most definitely sell Heineken as well... the same beer you pay quadruple to drink inside the "Experience."</div>
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Yes, technically you are paying for the museum (I just cringed while writing that), but there's really nothing worth paying for inside. I had thought we were going to the brewery and that it would be awesome to see the actual beer being made. But no, they do not make the beer there. They do however have all the equipment to brew Heineken on the premise, but it's just for display. I was pretty disappointed, but at least I got some cool pictures out of the deal.</div>
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After you see all of the useless contraptions with which any reasonable person would brew beer, you make your way through room after room of glorified advertisements for Heineken. The Experience did succeed in making most of the "information" interactive, but at the end you felt more or less brainwashed to drink Heineken. A better approach, in my opinion, would be to have ten rooms each dedicated to a different drinking game. I would buy Heineken for the rest of my life if I could play endless rounds of beer pong and flip cup. Then they could even throw in a few authentic Dutch drinking games as well, and that way I could at least say I learned something.</div>
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At the end of all the Heineken propaganda, you finally get to drink your two beers. However, they fail to mention when you're buying your tickets that these beers are only 33 cL, but it was the middle of the day, so maybe it was for the best. You also get to taste test a beer in the middle of the Experience, but it's practically child-sized. Still, a nice surprise. The bar where you drank your two Heinekens was actually really cool - the walls were huge TV screens that displayed different cityscapes. For five minutes, you were in New York, then you were in Tokyo, and then Moscow.</div>
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All and all, the Heineken Experience was fun, but definitely not worth the 18 Euro admission. Amsterdam has so many better things to offer than this tourist trap, and your time is better spent wandering the canals or going to the markets. If you want a true Heineken experience, go to your local pub, order as many beers as it takes to get piss drunk, and at least try to meet some Dutch people. Even if you make a complete ass out of yourself, you'll have a much better experience, not to mention a much better story to tell.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-44106832907037514322014-02-26T15:26:00.000+01:002014-03-09T22:29:47.867+01:00Amsterdam - it's cute as shit<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since I had last week off, I went to Amsterdam for a long weekend (that still feels really weird to say), and of course had an amazing time. And of course I am going to tell you all about it, but first I want to give a sort of overview on my thoughts of the city.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPoLhCnXwcDHLgCYyGIQRlReM8eSigGhGL_6JT5JjPzPyx8ijS9x1tiiZX6ONUc85z8_0ZmUSTsunzmNhX2br4KgIU-TUvy14LyUyxVn9buFKfef9jN68wgezzw8OMymAz5ZktxF7w3mB8/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPoLhCnXwcDHLgCYyGIQRlReM8eSigGhGL_6JT5JjPzPyx8ijS9x1tiiZX6ONUc85z8_0ZmUSTsunzmNhX2br4KgIU-TUvy14LyUyxVn9buFKfef9jN68wgezzw8OMymAz5ZktxF7w3mB8/s1600/photo+2.JPG" height="640" width="478" /></a></div>
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Let me tell you, it's adorable. First of all, we stayed in a boat which turned out to be a slightly glorified hostel. Despite some obnoxious English teenagers who woke all the passengers (yes passengers) up coming home at six in the morning, it was pretty awesome. Our "cabins" were super small, but the claustrophobia forced us to spend time in the the lounge and see more of the city in spite of our sleep deprivation.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This the Avanti - our hotel/getaway boat if anything should go wrong.</span></div>
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Anyway, let me get back to the cute as shit part. Everywhere you look in Amsterdam is beautiful. Okay maybe not the Red Light District, but then again, a fair amount of men find the lovely ladies in the windows to be beautiful too. For some reason I picture all of their clients being old Asian business men. I don't know why.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQoaAv-NBiv5-EzYRfMsDsRKThU0mnam5LLU_LHj9YOIQbOononhg8TilAvebuiFv_xDQYNuEsDsKofQP7VbD1crXEsp9cfbZ_Dsuei5YFGK4_qm05McvhST9zmv7RziB2Xv2rrx6ITu6Y/s1600/image+(39).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQoaAv-NBiv5-EzYRfMsDsRKThU0mnam5LLU_LHj9YOIQbOononhg8TilAvebuiFv_xDQYNuEsDsKofQP7VbD1crXEsp9cfbZ_Dsuei5YFGK4_qm05McvhST9zmv7RziB2Xv2rrx6ITu6Y/s1600/image+(39).jpeg" height="640" width="478" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes, that is a cat sitting in the window of a small old house sandwiched between two big apartment buildings. Adorable.</span></div>
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I'm getting off track. All of the houses on the canals are stunning with their quaint painted bricks and huge windows. I'm seriously considering becoming a professional au pair, moving to Amsterdam, and taking care of some bratty Dutch kids who live in one of these amazing houses.</div>
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And there are the bicycles. Everywhere. There are literally parking lots just for bikes, but don't let that adorable tidbit fool you. At first you're like "oh my god it's so freaking cute that everyone rides bikes," and it is in fact a hipster's wet dream. However give yourself twenty minutes in the city, and you will turn on those bikes faster than one of those prostitutes will climb on Asian business men. Every time you cross the street, you almost DIE. They seriously come out of no where! I am sure that cyclists hate pedestrians just as much as I hate them. We're probably pretty annoying while we're stupidly standing in bike lanes, staring at the coffee shops in utter amazement. </div>
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In case you are wondering, "coffee shop" is a euphemism for a place where you can buy weed and smoke it LEGALLY... and maybe buy some coffee too.</div>
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Okay so this is my brief overview of Amsterdam. I am realizing that it provides absolutely nothing useful, but I hope you enjoy the pictures. I will be posting suggestions of where to go, what to eat, drink, etc. along with some charming anecdotes in the next few days.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-80476932861845964912014-02-18T14:38:00.000+01:002014-03-09T22:31:12.923+01:00A day at Père Lachaise<div style="text-align: justify;">
As some of you know, I am on vacation this week because the little girl I watch is staying with her grandparents in Versailles. On Thursday I am going to Amsterdam, but until then my days completely free besides a few English lessons. So of course, I am exploring Paris.</div>
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Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day that gave Parisians a small glimpse of spring - which was amazing and cruel at the same time. I started out wandering through the Marais which was the intended subject of this post, but it turned into quite the disappointment because I wasn't aware that most independent shops are closed on Mondays. I don't think anyone wants to read about me walking through empty streets with nothing to do. Anyway, it was a pretty boring trip. I decided instead to go to P<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">ère Lachaise, one of my favorite spots in the city.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;">P</span><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">ère Lachaise is a beautiful </span><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;">cemetery</span><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;"> located in the 20th arrondissement and is home to many famous graves including Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf and Jim Morrison. However, I love taking a few hours to wander around aimlessly looking at the old, dilapidated graves of people whose families have long since forgotten. There is true beauty in the aging mausoleums, and, in my opinion, P</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">ère Lachaise is the most calming spot in the whole city.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe it says something morbid about me that I love this cemetery so much. Dead people are quiet, and they can't judge you like so many Parisians do. I would love to sit and read a book on one of the old graves in a secluded spot, but I'm pretty sure that's frowned upon even if the person has been dead for a hundred years.</span></div>
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Every time I visit P<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">ère Lachaise, I always tell myself that I am going to come at least once a week. It's so much better than the parks in Paris - 1. it's much quieter 2. there generally aren't any children, not that I don't like them, but the sound of children's laughter loses its appeal when it's your job to take care of one and 3. there is real history here, and you feel like you are somehow a part of it.</span></div>
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I even found a black cat walking through the maze-like passage ways, and followed it for a good ten minutes. I guess it's good that I'm not superstitious because I assume that's at least fifty years of bad luck.</div>
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To anyone who will be visiting Paris, I definitely recommend hopping on the metro, and taking a few hours to explore this enormous cemetery. On top of being absolutely beautiful, it's free! However, if you are looking for famous graves, I would suggest buying a map because they will be almost impossible to find without one.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-22102302434221859362014-02-14T11:45:00.000+01:002014-02-17T02:06:46.233+01:00Why I love that the French don't celebrate Valentine's DayWhen you think of Paris, you think of the most romantic city in the world, so you would naturally assume that the French would be really into Valentine's Day. Well, they're not. And it's awesome. Sure there are billboards in the metro advertising a nighttime Valentine's spa package (what?) and stores are trying to hype up the Americanized, fake holiday, but it doesn't seem like the trend is catching on.<br />
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You could make the argument that Parisians are romantic all the time, so a designated day to show your love seems bizarre, but I beg to differ. Perhaps it's the tackiness that surrounds Valentine's Day that prevents the French from obsessing over it like Americans do or maybe they can't handle the pressure. I don't know, but I like it. And here's why:<br />
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<b>I don't have to buy any gifts</b><br />
How did this get popular anyway? Why should anyone be obligated to give a gift to someone on a made up holiday that is supposed to sum up all the love they have for that person? As if buying a stuffed bear who's holding a heart that says "I love you," is sincere. It's really stupid. Living in Paris is expensive, and I definitely don't want to spend anymore money on pointless gifts.<br />
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<b>I don't have to pretend to love the flowers I receive </b><br />
I know how inconsiderate and unappreciative that sounds, but it's true. Last year the guy I was dating bought me four dozen roses. Four dozen! I know some girls would swoon over that type of gesture, but I just get uncomfortable. When I receive a bouquet of flowers, I have to put a huge fake smile on my face and go on and on about how much I love them. Then I am expected to put them in a vase and meticulously take care of them until they inevitably die. The point I'm making is, when someone gives you flowers, that person already knows that their gift is going to die. However, they still expect you to stress yourself out trying to keep that very gift, that everyone knows will end up in a landfill in the near future, alive for as long as possible. Honestly, the flowers spend more time dead in that vase than they do alive because I am too lazy to throw them out. If you really love me, buy me a plant, preferably one that I can eat.<br />
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<b>I won't get fat from the chocolates I get</b><br />
I love chocolate, and there definitely will be no fake happiness in sight when I open that box. That's the problem. Some people have the ability to eat one little piece of chocolate, savor it, and be done for the day, but not me. Most likely you'll find that empty box in my trash the next day, and you'll find me having an existential crisis about why I'm so disgusting. This year, no chocolates mean no self-loathing two days later.<br />
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<b>I don't have to sit through an overpriced six course meal </b><br />
I love going out to eat just as much as the next person, but these special "Valentine's Menus" have gotten out of hand. 1. There are like seventy courses. I didn't know there could be that many parts to a meal. 2. You can only choose between two options for each course. I'm an extremely picky eater. Like no fish, no pork, no eggs, no onions, kind of picky. Only have two options is pretty much my worst nightmare, and because I'm forced to eat that course, I usually order something knowingly fully well that I am definitely not eating that.<br />
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<b>A day no longer defines my relationship</b><br />
Since when has Valentine's Day become so important for a relationship? Now, if your boyfriend forgets Valentine's, it's grounds for a breakup and a night filled with Alanis Morissette singalongs. Ladies, it's not your birthday, so you need to calm down a bit. Also, the game you play where you subtly remind your significant other that Valentine's Day is coming up without actually telling him that he needs to plan a magical evening and buy you expensive jewelry, is really pathetic to watch. If you do celebrate V-Day, which by the way I'm not judging at all, why not just say "hey what do you want to do for Valentine's Day?" He is most likely going to answer with "uhh I don't know, what do you want to do" or "oh I haven't even thought about it." However, that does not mean that he has fallen out of love with you and has actually been planning how he can break up with you right before the big day, so he can get out of paying for your dinner. Please stop acting like there's a bigger meaning behind your significant other forgetting a made-up holiday.<br />
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After reading this, you might be thinking "oh this poor, sad single girl is feeling bitter and wants to let us know how much she hates love and happy couples," but I promise you that this is not the case. I am extremely happy in my relationship where I will not be celebrating Valentine's Day.<br />
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It is really nice living in a country where social pressures do not force couples to go through this bizarre ritual, and I am very much appreciative.<br />
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</script>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-67666041495356696992014-02-10T14:24:00.000+01:002014-02-17T02:07:27.115+01:00Pan-fried Parmesan potatoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFrWl3H1kFXD5nb5wckw2b0rSI_BpMoxK79BGRrxquwgaeG03hzzDYqfmujEt7xb8irdavpIzrt2p1KGpN3sE69FHFvFCHU19zCQaZzRCfJqu_YsFfCPL2e8i_9ETs9mDbi2Lo1nL7tI3/s1600/image+(3).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFrWl3H1kFXD5nb5wckw2b0rSI_BpMoxK79BGRrxquwgaeG03hzzDYqfmujEt7xb8irdavpIzrt2p1KGpN3sE69FHFvFCHU19zCQaZzRCfJqu_YsFfCPL2e8i_9ETs9mDbi2Lo1nL7tI3/s1600/image+(3).jpeg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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As I have mentioned before, I do not have an oven in my apartment, so I have to make the most of my two hot plates. However, this limitation has taken its toll on my addiction to potatoes and their carby awesomeness. Naturally, I found a way to make crispy, delicious potatoes that are not deep-fried or boiled. I modified this recipe from one that I found on <a href="https://www.yahoo.com/food/the-best-pan-roasted-potatoes-73529363422.html" target="_blank">yahoo food</a>, but mine is obviously way better.<br />
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To start, put enough olive oil in a frying pan in order to coat the bottom (a skillet is better, but I do not have one), but not too much because this will make the potatoes too oily. Bring the olive oil to a simmer over medium heat. While you are waiting for the oil to simmer (it does not take long!) wash and halve about ten small fingerling potatoes. If you have a bigger pan than I do, feel free to make as many as your little heart desires. Then sprinkle a layer of salt and pepper over the oil.<br />
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Add the potatoes to the oil with the cut side down and let them simmer at medium heat for about twelve minutes. Be careful when you add them because I have burned myself quite a few times doing this. Also, it is advisable to open a window if you don't have a fan above your stove as your kitchen (or in my case, my kitchen-closet-shower) will get quite smokey. Today I was able to cook to the lovely sounds of taxi drivers protesting outside (the French love to protest... all the time... over everything).<br />
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After twelve or so minutes, bring the heat down to a low setting, and put a lid on the pan. For the next twenty minutes you can waste time on Reddit (like I did) or watch stupid Youtube videos or whatever else you want to do because the potatoes will be just fine like this. Oh but it's actually probably a good idea to chop your one clove of garlic in between videos.<br />
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After twenty minutes, add the finely chopped garlic to the pan as evenly as possible (this is pretty hard, so don't freak out about it). Let the potatoes cook for about another two minutes.<br />
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Drain your potatoes using a colander, but keep your stove top on. If the pipes in your building suck like mine do, put a pot underneath, so the oil doesn't go down the drain. In case you're wondering what I do with the oil afterwards, I throw down the gutter outside my window like a freak. Transfer the potatoes back into the pan, and put it back on the burner (or hotplate if you're so lucky).<br />
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Sprinkle (very generously) Parmesan cheese on top of the potatoes, and put the lid back on the pan. The cheese should melt in about a minutes. Also, if you're smart, you will "accidentally" spill some cheese directly onto the pan, so you get some nice burnt Parmesan with your potatoes.<br />
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Now you can just slide those bad boys onto a plate, add salt and pepper if you would like, and enjoy!<br />
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<b>Ingredients:</b><br />
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<ul>
<li>Ten small to medium fingerling potatoes, the bigger they are, the longer they take to cook</li>
<li>Two tablespoons of Parmesan cheese (or more... lots more)</li>
<li>One clove of garlic</li>
<li>About two tablespoons of olive oil</li>
<li>Salt and pepper to taste</li>
</ul>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-40669062811476727722014-02-08T13:20:00.004+01:002014-02-17T02:07:38.921+01:00Teaching English in ParisI am currently teaching a few English lessons in Paris each week in order to make some extra cash and to gain some experience in teaching English as a foreign language. So far, it has gone really well and has been interesting to say the least. <br />
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After I posted ads on the internet, the response was overwhelming! I had no idea that so many people out there were looking to learn English especially since most people learn English in school here. <br />
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So I had my first English lesson which was a disaster. Our plan was to meet at Ivry sur Seine at 8pm and to find a cafe where we could do the lesson. First, I went to Issy val de Seine, a metro stop on the completely opposite side of the city. Then after speaking with the student, I hopped on the RER to go to the correct stop (I had to buy a more expensive ticket for this by the way) not realizing that I had gotten on an express train to the suburbs of Paris. As I saw my station pass me by, I started to panic. What was going on? Where am I going? I was already slightly uncomfortable meeting a complete stranger on the edge of Paris, at night, but my current situation completely elevated my anxiety. I comforted myself by making a simple plan of getting off at the next stop and taking a train in the opposite direction. However, we sped past the next stop... and the one after that... and three more after that. <br />
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At this point, I had lost all hope and thought I had entered the first circle of hell when the train finally came to a stop at Juvisy. I made my way to the platform which would take me in the opposite direction. For those of you who are not familiar with the RER in Paris, at night, it's not exactly the safest mode of transportation in the world. I was forced to put on my big girl face and at least attempt to hide the fact that I was completely lost and that the only person who knew my location was a stranger who for all I knew, was planning to kill me, cut me up, and make a stir fry with my body parts<br />
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I finally arrived at the correct station, at 9:45 mind you, and met my student. I found out that the only words he knew in English at this point where "hello" and "goodbye." I realized that this was going to be difficult considering I have absolutely no experience teaching and that this was my very first lesson. He then proceeded to take me to his apartment, which was not part of our agreement, claiming that he can't concentrate in noisy places. This would have been nice to know beforehand, but he seemed like a decent guy, so I wasn't too concerned. <br />
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As previously explained, he had no knowledge of English whatsoever, and I think he expected to learn overnight. The beginners lesson that I had prepared was entirely too difficult for him, and it was a struggle to get through just the vocabulary in an hour. He continuously claimed that he wanted to work very hard, but he seemed distracted and impatient during the lesson.<br />
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After the lesson was over, he walked me to the train, and claimed that 20 Euro an hour was too expensive for him. He asked me if I could give him a two hour lesson for the same price instead. I actually heard myself say "yeah of course, no problem!" So I had just agreed to work for half the amount we had originally agreed upon for the student who would be the most difficult to teach. What an idiot. This is probably why I didn't make it through a semester of business school.<br />
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So that's the story of my first English lesson. I now have about four regular students whose lessons have been much more enjoyable than my first. It's great because I actually have the opportunity to practice my French, especially with the beginners, and I am able to save for trips to other parts of Europe. <br />
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</script>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-62336891452902337672014-01-24T18:28:00.000+01:002014-02-17T02:07:53.743+01:00Things you learn living in a small apartment<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-73149490-c530-5bde-1c9d-920f4b0ed7f6"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you read my previous post, you probably saw the pictures of my new "apartment." I know that it is technically a just a room where I can eat, sleep and shower all at the same time, but living in this small space has taught me a lot.</span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your bed is a multi-purpose piece of furniture</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-73149490-c52f-13cb-6e01-3180b018cb50"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of course you use it for sleeping, but your bed has so many other functions that the average person doesn’t realize. Dining room table? Uhh, where else would I eat? Sofa? Absolutely, change the pillows around, and you have a new couch suitable for company. Closet? Hell yeah, I don’t put my clothes away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cooking is… an adventure</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-73149490-c531-0b2b-8c43-eaf8f6967cb3"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s a shame if you like to cook because frankly, it sucks. Cooking requires a circus-like juggling act where you constantly rearrange your ingredients, prep space, and equipment. Oh you only have hot plates? Even better! Just make sure you don’t burn the place down trying to make a simple bowl of pasta. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SsrhfpvQm1O1AC7lA1VMsQ6j1az05xbJfpTlNsCEVFZYCQ7op2mWFHOQFPaKtM1xAuU4Yyp2B3pcwsxKz950umCXvmNr3PX1KQsCsUIQjsDNm_bPnKG1faoArid5p7efKNo6KiyvX-bf/s1600/juggle.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SsrhfpvQm1O1AC7lA1VMsQ6j1az05xbJfpTlNsCEVFZYCQ7op2mWFHOQFPaKtM1xAuU4Yyp2B3pcwsxKz950umCXvmNr3PX1KQsCsUIQjsDNm_bPnKG1faoArid5p7efKNo6KiyvX-bf/s1600/juggle.gif" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Doing dishes is even worse than cooking</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-73149490-c536-c7f1-b3b5-26e3c430ab71"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This goes without saying even in larger apartments, but doing the dishes is even worse in a small space. The juggling you do to cook is multiplied by ten, especially if you don’t have a drying rack. Also, everything gets wet. Everything.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Claustrophobia is real</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-73149490-c536-055e-7a29-364468822977"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You get stir crazy, end of story, but as long as you don’t cover the walls with news articles of local murders and claim to be God, you’re doing pretty well psychologically.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtejeBSmbN9l-fVuLtp0jSqmt8_R73CbJWf2bpyGujE9l813ZOOSA7gg73wNoUcSCf_g1h0IydI6eIOlA8K3xMdnH7lU-_qi7_L-zjDsnQVT2Tti2DQX27mc3Dyt-LIA79Ka-0z62iPI2/s1600/insane.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtejeBSmbN9l-fVuLtp0jSqmt8_R73CbJWf2bpyGujE9l813ZOOSA7gg73wNoUcSCf_g1h0IydI6eIOlA8K3xMdnH7lU-_qi7_L-zjDsnQVT2Tti2DQX27mc3Dyt-LIA79Ka-0z62iPI2/s1600/insane.gif" height="256" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">However, there are some positives…</span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-73149490-c53a-990d-ff45-ca6935b75cb6" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You are forced to be a minimalist</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A small apartment does not allow for clutter or excessive amounts of clothes. You quickly realize what you need and what you do not. Maybe this doesn't seem like a positive, but you will be thankful for your new-found minimalism when it’s time to move out. Also, you can now tell people that their happiness relies too heavily on material objects without being a complete hypocrite. P.S. you might lose some friends this way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Again, I know it’s not really sounding like a positive, but being forced to pick up after yourself constantly has major benefits. 1. You are almost always company-ready 2. Your apartment will feel bigger the cleaner it is 3. You are forming good habits that you will keep with you for the rest of your life… maybe.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9buVz9TiT9kPqikTdrpWQE17sYkM1g8VvQBricJzZGr0eyADZc3t8kD8fs0GGwDkh_LlTE5_zQxZ12VczjJ4nrYXf5cFqgTjdHG3LTdiidvjkMGuVmLMwegjoPO4Lrl9rGbH6ml5qexJ8/s1600/cleaning.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9buVz9TiT9kPqikTdrpWQE17sYkM1g8VvQBricJzZGr0eyADZc3t8kD8fs0GGwDkh_LlTE5_zQxZ12VczjJ4nrYXf5cFqgTjdHG3LTdiidvjkMGuVmLMwegjoPO4Lrl9rGbH6ml5qexJ8/s1600/cleaning.gif" height="220" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You don’t have to worry about the basement flooding or the tv in the guest room breaking because, oh wait, you don’t have any of those things! As long as the electricity and plumbing work, you don’t have a care in the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So there you have it, that's what I've learned so far, and honestly, it's not so bad. My tiny apartment is all mine, and I can dance around naked or eat disgusting amounts of Nutella straight from the jar if I want to. We all know that these are the important things.</span><br />
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First of all, I started working for my super awesome family which has been great! Their daughter remains completely adorable despite the occasional tears over having to take a bath. Also, the family has been really accommodating and helpful since I've been here, so that has been very much appreciated.<br />
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Second of all, I finally moved into my apartment on Wednesday! Now when I say my apartment, what I really mean is my extremely small room and an area that I call my closet-kitchen-shower. Mind you, I did not say bathroom -- that's down the hall and outside. Did I mention that it is a seventh floor walk up? In case you were wondering what a room like this looks like, here are some pictures<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcdNHjl2UeS_XDS1mOjzODfT7_UsFCT0hhkRgTZ9MptkBG_301VtbdnUq1MJWzrnWSO9qwa2jwoImYj0h3OCxkELJkFvbuZX-B58IH7NeDDpNVtZbB2SCnrRZ6-EgoIMXsckZQ_CJTvqL/s1600/room1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcdNHjl2UeS_XDS1mOjzODfT7_UsFCT0hhkRgTZ9MptkBG_301VtbdnUq1MJWzrnWSO9qwa2jwoImYj0h3OCxkELJkFvbuZX-B58IH7NeDDpNVtZbB2SCnrRZ6-EgoIMXsckZQ_CJTvqL/s1600/room1.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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Please do not take this description of my room as complaining, I absolutely love my place. Not only will I get into super awesome shape from climbing the seven flights of stairs to my very own "apartment," but I also have this fantastic view from my window<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkBj46TDmHEzvSU1ZBX785GRf4FlD__cjBVEY4l7ZmL98PevCYl7cnO9ywitrsRm2s1ppeWp3QDLIE910u0VAixKbOUXZWjjFTQVPs9tMU0hDXa_JF4Ei_OtMoWa8irMo94ClRkRcjXKsb/s1600/eiffeltowernight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkBj46TDmHEzvSU1ZBX785GRf4FlD__cjBVEY4l7ZmL98PevCYl7cnO9ywitrsRm2s1ppeWp3QDLIE910u0VAixKbOUXZWjjFTQVPs9tMU0hDXa_JF4Ei_OtMoWa8irMo94ClRkRcjXKsb/s1600/eiffeltowernight.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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... and this one from the street<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQN5dnGVV1EyDDqaLaex3p34R3H-6E2T_bdc9GAC72AeEBgsB6lOI4a9lyuTmHtVEtvFlDjI_LZE3Mb3Urv1hP6HhF1ig_kUYuWdx_apvDpGduOZWcVIZwXrkjXs5ih8kTRnVokmp_Mc6h/s1600/eiffeltowerinsta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQN5dnGVV1EyDDqaLaex3p34R3H-6E2T_bdc9GAC72AeEBgsB6lOI4a9lyuTmHtVEtvFlDjI_LZE3Mb3Urv1hP6HhF1ig_kUYuWdx_apvDpGduOZWcVIZwXrkjXs5ih8kTRnVokmp_Mc6h/s1600/eiffeltowerinsta.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Of course living in such small quarters will take some getting used to, but I am more than confident that I will be able to do it without a problem. I am so confident that I am even going to try to cook a nice meal tomorrow using my two hot plates, so you have that post to look forward to.<br />
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As for what I have been doing for the past week and a half, well honestly, I've been sleeping a lot (jet lag's a bitch), but I have had the chance to go out a few times. I went to my all-time favorite bar "The Cork" which is right on the Canal St.-Martin as well as a lesbian bar that Baudelaire used to frequent (I am not sure of any connection). I also went to what I thought what going to be "Le Club du Fromage" which is a monthly party where everyone dresses up in costumes and dances crazily to outrageous music. However, it turned out to be just a normal club that night -- still fun none the less.<br />
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Sorry for the post being so general, but I promise to post more frequently to avoid this from happening again!<br />
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</script>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-18320713758502058422013-12-21T18:57:00.000+01:002014-04-16T12:43:52.394+02:00The most annoying questions people ask you when moving to a foreign country<div style="text-align: justify;">
Okay, so you're about to move to a foreign country for whatever reason, and you're super excited! You tell everyone who will listen about your plans, your job, and your living situation. After you have finished enthusiastically describing every last detail of your future life, you will inevitably be faced with at least one of these incredibly annoying questions:</div>
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<b>Why would you want to do that? </b></div>
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Umm I don't know, because I want to? Because there are places outside of the US that are actually pretty cool, believe or not. Because I've been studying French for the majority of my life, and I'm still not fluent. This question always irritates me because whoever asks it, will never accept any reasons you give, and will always insist that life in the US is way better than anywhere else. So just make something insane up, and have fun with it. </div>
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<b>When are you going to start your real life? </b></div>
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I guess I missed the part where this isn't real life? Because I'm going to be an au pair, or a nanny, I get this question a lot. I've learned that people view traveling and working non-professional jobs as a joke. Some people in this world just aren't meant to sit at a desk from 9 to 5 -- they want to explore, be adventurous, and experience new things. Maybe not forever, but maybe, yes, forever. Yes, I am a college graduate, but no I don't want to sell insurance or input data right now. However, that does not mean that I am wasting my life away and am not a serious person.</div>
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<b>OH MY GOD HOW MANY SUITCASES ARE YOU BRINGING?? </b></div>
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There is usually a follow-up question like: "Oh my God, how can you fit ALL your stuff in just two?? I would need at least seventeen." Nope just two, two is enough.</div>
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<b>Are you coming home for every insignificant holiday on the calendar?</b> </div>
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St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Fourth of July, COLUMBUS DAY?? Okay, I fully understand why people ask about Christmas, but when people are shocked that, no, I will not be home for my birthday or Cinqo de Mayo, I always wonder if they understand the concept of living abroad. There's no such thing as a quick trip home not to mention a cheap one. </div>
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<b>When are you getting your car shipped over?</b> </div>
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Okay, someone only asked me this question once, but it was by far the dumbest of them all, so it's making the list. There's not much you can say to respond to this except:</div>
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<b>How do your parents feel about all this?</b> </div>
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They actually want to lock me in the basement for the rest of my life and NEVER LET ME GO. Umm they're pretty cool about it? I'm an adult and even if they disapproved, there's really nothing they can do about it? They want me to lead a cultured, fulfilling life where I'm happy and awesome? I mean of course they're going to miss me, but it's kinda part of the whole growing up thing that we're all forced to do. I'm pretty sure everyone I've ever told about my plans has asked this with the same pitiful tone, so *ding ding ding* we have a winner for the most annoying question EVER!</div>
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So there they are! I'm sure if anyone else is in the same situation as I am, they hear a handful of these on a pretty daily basis. I'd love to hear more stupid/annoying questions that you've gotten or just know if I'm the only one who experiences this. I love comments!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-56443201406904751372013-11-24T19:58:00.000+01:002014-09-14T21:09:28.532+02:00Tips on Paperwork<div class="MsoNormal">
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After you find your amazing family using my previous post,
you will have to start the dreaded French paperwork. Your family will have to give this paperwork
to DIRECCTE (the French employment office) along with some of their own. When looking websites “explaining” this
process you’ll be like:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4ni_f1vzj4Y9t_tz9Pd4vOLtSImwu7jhFzyyWt8y2GRPcxYOpfXkf_-98qcp6EFmUnetnoW_i9uJtCEQACouyy7nGTxkKTiDFU0M2ID9uEIpzsCB6nYrcOyUUquHfJBsjGQQheNI9CbE/s1600/frustrated.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4ni_f1vzj4Y9t_tz9Pd4vOLtSImwu7jhFzyyWt8y2GRPcxYOpfXkf_-98qcp6EFmUnetnoW_i9uJtCEQACouyy7nGTxkKTiDFU0M2ID9uEIpzsCB6nYrcOyUUquHfJBsjGQQheNI9CbE/s320/frustrated.gif" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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I found the instructions on aupairworld.net to be less than
helpful, and don’t even try emailing them to ask questions – they know nothing!
Anyway have no fear, because I've done all the dirty work, and I don’t want
anyone else to throw things across their room in frustration like I did.</div>
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<ol>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Go to your doctor, and have them fill out your medical form. I used <a href="http://www.aupair-world.co.uk/inc/images/contracts/Certificat_medical__Medical_certificate.pdf" target="_blank">this one</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> provided by aupairworld. It may take a few days for your doctor </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">to fill this out and give it back to you, so that’s why I recommend doing it first. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Also, you cannot have your doctor fill out this form more than three months </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">before you leave for </span><st1:place style="text-indent: 0.5in;" w:st="on">France</st1:place><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, so don’t start too early.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Get your diploma translated as well as your medical
form from your doctor. If <span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">you have graduated from college,
get that diploma translated as well as your high school diploma. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I used </span><a href="http://www.rev.com/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;" target="_blank">Rev.com</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> because they only
charge $27, and they translate it in within 24 hours. Don’t bother getting it
notarized and mailed to you. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">It’s a
waste of an extra $20 per document, and it takes forever.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Make a copy of your passport. Because I had to scan all of the
documents that I sent to the translator,
I also printed them out, and sent them to the family - just in case.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Whenever you receive your contract (my family
emailed it to me), print out <b>4 </b><b>copies</b>, and sign them. Also read over your contract carefully!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Write a letter of motivation in French. This does not need to be perfect, so don’t stress
yourself out about it. I wrote about how
I love French culture and literature and how I
wanted to improve my French. I also said
that I wanted to eventually use French
when I have a full-time job. You get the
gist.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The DIRECCTE website does not state that you need
these documents, but they requested
them when my family went to drop off my paperwork. You will need a French CV
(I used <a href="http://french.about.com/library/writing/bl-cv.htm" target="_blank">these templates</a> from about.com) as well as a letter from the
French school where you will be attending.
I had to pay a deposit ($320), and then they
emailed me the confirmation letter that day.
Also, there is a myth out there that
your family will have to enroll you in school, and then they will take the deposit out
of your first check. I was able to do
everything myself online, so in my
experience, this is not true. However,
the process might differ by school.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Mail all of the documents. I used a USPS flat rate envelope and got
expedited shipping,
and my family received it in three business days. However, it cost me $43
dollars. I think it was worth it because
I am trying to move there in a month and a half
but if you have a little more time, you can send the documents a bit cheaper.</li>
</ol>
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As you can see, even getting the paperwork isn't cheap. All said and done, I spent $504 between translating the documents and getting them notarized, shipping them,
and paying for the deposit for school. However, I did sign up for two trimesters at school and I wasted $60 getting those documents notarized.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06240544265852854216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123460087983178958.post-48210243740866979792013-11-23T18:06:00.000+01:002014-09-14T21:08:27.715+02:00How to find an awesome family<div style="text-align: justify;">
After a few interviews from hell (which I will probably post at a later time), I met my incredibly awesome French family who I am unbelievably excited to work for. Finding a family can be difficult, but I tried to give my advice and tips to maybe make it a little easier for anyone out there trying to be an au pair in Paris. So here it is!</div>
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When choosing to be an au pair, you can either try to find a family on your own through non-agency websites or use an agency. </div>
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There are a lot of au pair services out there, and they are a great option if:</div>
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<ol>
<li style="text-align: justify;">You don't mind paying their fee (which can range from $150-$600)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">You're fine with getting matched up with whatever family the agency finds suitable</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">You feel more safe with working for a family who has been screened by the agency</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">You are willing to work for the minimum amount that France requires families to pay their au pairs</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">You don't feel comfortable with doing the all the paperwork by yourself</li>
</ol>
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I, however, chose to find a family on my own using aupairworld.net. This site was much more professional and, for lack of a better word, legit than other websites I found. I highly discourage anyone from using easyaupair.com because I received a lot of messages that turned out to be scams, and the website does little to nothing to deter scammers.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Speaking of scams, there are a lot out there targeted toward au pairs. You are taking a big risk by moving to another country and living with strangers, so be careful and trust any gut feelings you may have. A piece of advice - if someone offers you an extreme amount of money for very little work, it's probably a scam. Especially if the "family" lives in England because Americans can't even au pair there. As a general life rule, if anything seems to good to be true, it probably is. To find out if the "family" that is emailing you are scammers, I always Googled "the family name + au pair scam" before responding to any family. However, I have never encountered this on aupairworld.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway, I looked for a family for probably about two months, and I probably sent out 100 applications with only a handful of responses. However, I got a lot more feedback when I mentioned in my intro message that I was going to be in Paris in November. If you can, I would definitely recommend doing this because it allows you to better know the family and get a better sense if you like them rather than basing your decision solely on emails and Skype conversations. Also, you get to see your living arrangements and see how you interact with the kids. Finally, meeting the family in person gives you a HUGE advantage over all the other girls who sent them applications (I never realized how many girls want to be au pairs)! Fortunately, I was able to go to Paris because when I studied abroad there, I met friends who I could stay with, so it wasn't too expensive. And hey, I had an excuse to go on vacation, and who doesn't mind that?</div>
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Before I get too far, the most important factor in choosing a family is knowing what you want and what you expect. <b>Where do you want to live? What kind of living arrangements and working hours do you want? How many kids do you want to watch? What kind of weekly salary would you like? What kind of lifestyle do you want?</b> </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
These are all really important factors that you should know before you choose a family. In my case, I have already lived in Paris before, so I wanted to be independent and preferably live in my own apartment. If you have never been away from home or feel uncomfortable being in an unfamiliar city, then maybe living with the family would be a better option. This also factors into what kind of lifestyle you want. If you live with the family, you're pretty much on call all the time, and I would imagine you might feel strange about going out at night and coming home late. With a separate apartment, you can have a little more freedom, experience more nightlife, and not have to worry about work once you leave the house.</div>
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Fortunately, I found a family that actually wants me to be very independent and has rented me a seventh floor walk-up studio... right across the street from the Eiffel Tower! It's a very good situation for me (I mean almost no one would pass up on the location) because both the family and I want a similar experience from me being their au pair. When I met them, I instantly felt comfortable and at home, and I fell in love with their daughter right away (so cute and funny). So that's how I met my awesome family, and I hope this post helped in some way if you're currently searching for one as well.</div>
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