Happy Birthday, Marge!

JOYEUX ANNIVERSAIRE!

Happy birthday to my best friend. The only person who has NEVER let me down. I hope today is all she wants it to be, and I hope she knows that I'm thinking about her. I never stop. I'm so proud of you, Margo. Love always, Brookie

^^^ my family helped me out with this one. The papers say "Just to say happy birthday." And get this! It wasn't even my idea, it was my host mom's! They're so nice.

^^^ here's me and all my lameness. "Happy 14th birthday, Marge." I love you so much.

STRIKE!

Something hit me the other day as I was sitting in a never- ending history class. I realized that I'll probably have perfect attendance this year. It would be the first time in my life. But instead of feeling proud, or however "perfect attendance kids" feel, I felt tired. I was tired just THINKING about going to school EVERY SINGLE DAY for a whole year. It's a foreign concept to me. I mean, everybody has those days when they just don't feel like going to school. (everyday for me...) Over the years though, I have become the master of getting out of school. *COVER YOUR EYES MOM AND DAD!* I mean really. If I'm being completely honest with myself, I was probably sick 2 times. I mean truly, can't get out of bed, feel like shit, watch TV eating soup all day, not even enough energy to go on facebook, SICK. And how many days of school have I missed over the years? Yeah, I really have no idea. Quite a few, I can tell you that. But on those days where school just seemed like a torture chamber, I became pretty good at the "excuse game." I guess you could say I channeled my inner Ferris Bueller. "Ferris Bueller, you're my hero." Well said, Cameron.

I began studying the art of "faking sick" when I was in 7th grade. It all started one day, right before a giant Pre- Algebra test that I had forgotten to study for. Back then, grades were the only thing I cared about, and I was in tears because I was petrified of getting a bad grade. It was then that I decided to try my hand with the nurse. I went down, got my file, and sat in the waiting room. All the while, my heart was beating out of my chest, and I actually felt like I was going to throw up just from being scared shitless that the nurse would know I'm phony.

After I waited a while, I heard a soft voice say, "Payton?" So I followed the voice into the tiny room, closed the door, and let this woman poke and prod me with various metal tools until she came to a conclusion.

"Well sweetie, you don't have a fever, but your face looks a little blotchy, and you're throat's a little red..."

(I was silently thanking my eyes for the tear session I had earlier, causing my face to be blotchy. And for the cherry cough drop I had consumed just 5 minutes before. I figured that the nurse would smell the menthol on my breath and assume I was getting over something that had on last kick. It was an added bonus that it turned my throat red.)

...after a pause, "You know what, you don't look so good. Do you want to go home?"

So I put on the most innocent face I could muster, hunched my shoulders over, let out a pathetic little cough, and nodded my head.

"Okay honey. Now, your file has two contact numbers in it. I'm assuming one for mom and one for dad. Who do you think we should try first?"

"MOM!" I'm sure my abrupt, and rather loud answer surprised her a little, but regardless, she dialed my mom, and I sat with the same anxious feeling in my stomach as I had when I first went in. You see, the reason it was so critical that she call my mom, and that my mom actually pick up, is because of my dad. He has this amazing ability that allows him to see through my bullshit. EVERY TIME. It's a pretty impressive gift. I mean, it's annoying for me, but it ultimately makes him the best dad ever.

Mom- this is not to say I took advantage of you. I mean, after a while you saw through my bullshit too, but you were just too tired of fighting with me about it.

Anyway, that's the origin of my Hookie profession. Needless to say, since then I've changed and refined my methods, but the hookie game lived on...up until this year.

There's a problem now. Both my host parents are doctors. Yeah, I know. So this means no more sick days. (who sees through sick bullshit better than doctors, right) This is why the whole "perfect attendance" thing was such a huge slap in the face for me. Oh well, I guess it might actually do me some good to go to school. Turn over a new leaf. I've already turned over 10,000 in the last month...what's one more?

I almost forgot to say the real reason for this insanely long and pointless story! So, when I was sitting in that never- ending history class yesterday, there was a knock at the door. A woman walked in and said, "Premiere S5? (my class) You have no class tomorrow."

Just then, an erruption of cheers and screams fills the history classroom. Of course, I'm still in the dark, so I kindly ask my neighbor what is going on, and I'm told that the teachers are going on strike. French teachers strike like it's their job. Gotta love France. Hello new sick days...

P.S. I bought my first pair of heels the other day! I mean, I've worn heels before, but these are my "school heels." I'm pretty excited. My school is like a runway show EVERYDAY. It's amazing. Unlike at Mifflin, here, I stand out because I DON'T wear heels. I know what you're thinking. Wait to conform, Brooke. But don't worry. I'm still that creepy girl in the corner, dressed in all black with her headphones permanently glued to her ears. (no lie) Only now, I'm wearing heels :)

^^^ I didn't buy these. I seriously thought about it, but I don't think I'm ready for their intensity quite yet. We'll see where things go...

Not just your average field trip, my friends.

^^^ the view from where we ate lunch.

^^^ my second time in Paris. Just as beautiful.

^^^ The crew! Antoine, Camille, Solen, Justine, Louise, and Perriene :)







I officially survived my first French field trip, though I'd be lying if I said it took a lot of effort. The trip was for Physics, which I wasn't too thrilled about, seeing as I have officially chosen the Liturature path in life, and I don't like to be forced to use the scientific portion of my brain. I don't even think that part of my brain fuctions, to be completely honest with you. We went to the Palais de la Decouvert, a science museum in the center of Paris. I wasn't dreading it, but I definitely didn't know how I was going to survive 7 hours in a science museum. It turns out I not only survived it, it was one of the best days I've had in France so far.

We left the school on a Bieber Bus (I don't know what they're called here, but that's what we call them in the states...) at 8:00 am. The bus ride went by fast, and so did my iPod battery. I spent the entire bus ride listening to an angry white man yell about how he wants to kill his wife. (I'm going through a hardcore Eminem phase right now) We arrived in Paris around 12. I had never driven in the circle around L'arc du Triomphe, but I had heard from Madame Lewars that it is very dangerous, and should not be attempted by inexperienced drivers. Fortunately, the bus driver happened to be very experienced, and we made it to Champs Elysees unscathed.

  Although I was slightly fearing for my life, the view of L'arc du Triomphe from the chaotic, blurred circle of cars was gorgeous.

I'd say we were "dropped off" by the bus driver, but we were more like "thrown off" the bus by the bus driver. I knew something was wrong when I saw his eyes bulging out of his head and his arms flailing uncontrolably. He seemed to have calmed down though once he was sucking down his cancer stick and we were all off the bus and on our merry way. I think the 4 hours of teenage babble really got to him...it got to me too...

At this point, the proffesor said "get lost." Okay, maybe those weren't his words exactly, but they might as well have been. He said, "You can go wherever you want to eat lunch, but be at the museum by 13:00." So basically, we were free to roam Paris for an hour until our time slot at the museum opened up. Good deal. Better than all the field trips to Nolde Forest, I've been on. The crew and I found a nice spot next to the Seine River, overlooking the Eiffel tower. (As shown in the above picture) It was pretty much as good as it gets.

Me and Camille :)

^^^ Like all buildings in Paris, the architecture of the museum was amazing.

Once inside the museum, it was like going through airport security on September 12, 2001. Our bags were searched, and put inside a locked cage, and rolled away before we could even utter a word of objection. Strange, but I wouldn't want to be blown up, so the extreme precaution was quite alright with me.

After our bags were put in the bulletproof room, we were each handed a packet of papers the size of a 8 year old's Christmas list, and told that we'd find the answers to all the questions in the different exhibits. Ok. We're in a French museum. All the exhibits are in French. I guess Brooke isn't finding the answers. It's a good thing I have generous friends who don't mind lending their work to the poor American girl, desprite the teacher's strict "NE TRICHE PAS!" warnings. (no cheating)

After walking around the museum for which seemed like 9 hours, (it was only 45 minutes) we were all hearded into a tiny room to watch the "Electromagnetique Spectaculaire." Some guy with an intense amount of energy showed us different experiments all having to do with electricity. It was actually really interesting. I got to sit for an hour and watch different 16 year old voluteers get the s**t shocked out of them. It was hilarious, These two girls, one of them being my friend Marie, were put in a cage filled with static, and all their hair stood up. No one could stop laughing, and they had no idea what was going on...

After this demonstration, there was another one which I'm not even going to elaborate much on, because it was probably one of the most boring things I've ever sat through. Some lady stood and talked about the Periodic Table of Elements for an hour. It was terrible. Her boots were REALLY cute though.

After "The Boring Lady," we were free to roam some more around the museum, and there were lots of little hands- on things that kept us entertained until it was time to go. There was this little room that you went in, and it measured your body heat and showed in on a screen to the people outside the room. It showed the different temperatures in those rainbow colors. (you know, hot areas are red, orange, and yellow, and cold are blue and green) I went in, and everyone outside the room starts laughing, and I didn't know why. Then I hear Remmy yelling, "BROOKE, BROOKE! Your nose is blue!" I went out and looked, and sure enough, my nose was totally blue. My chest: red. My shoulders: red. My head: red. My nose: BLUE. It was hilarious. Everyone was saying it must be an American thing. I say it must have been due to the fact that the museum felt like a freezer.

^^^ I'm on the left, obviously.

^^^ there were also these really huge lenses, and I'm sure they had an educational purpose, but we didn't read it. We were content just making funny faces into them.

We got on the bus around 5:45. (17:45 France time) To be honest, I was worried about the bus ride to and from Paris. I didn't know what to expect. However, I was pleasantly relieved to find that the bus is just like it is in America: it's the best part of the whole trip. I don't know what I expected. Prim and proper kids discussing what they liked and disliked about the museum...I don't know. I came to find that once we got on the bus, no one even remembered we had just spent them last 7 hours in a museum. Finding who had the best food and begging them to give you some was everyone's main priority. The bus rides were loud, immature, and crazy. Just the way I'm used to, and just the way they're supposed to be.

Overall, it was a great day. Good friends always make any field trip fun, and although I would have liked if my friends from home were there, I had a GREAT time, and I can't wait for the next one. (it's another trip to Paris in October :)









Faire de la Natation...

　

Let me take a minute to talk about the events of my school day today. It was an extra comical day, which was surprising, seeing as it was a Monday and I almost killed myself when I woke up this morning. (I'm not a huge fan of Mondays...) Anyway, it all started at 10:00 am. Every Monday I have gym from 10:00 am to 12:00 pm. It may seem like a really long time, and it is, but I actually don't mind it because for one thing, this terrible event only happens once a week. And also, it's nice to get it over with first thing Monday morning so I don't have to think about it for the rest of the week. But today, gym class was super special. It was like I got in a time machine and was transported back to 6th grade at Governor Mifflin Intermediate School. There's a clue, right there. Can you guess what unit we're studying right now? *DING DING DING* If you guessed swimming, you are correct! So we got on the bus to go to the swimming pool, (It's like 3 towns over, and a 20 minute drive) and I'm stopped by the female gym teacher. She says, "Vous etes nouveau?" (You are new?) Thank goodness I understood her. I'm really tired of standing there like a slap- happy idiot, nodding my head up and down and smiling this goofy smile because I have no idea what someone just said to me. There's only so many times I can use the phrase, "Je ne comprends pas," before people just think I'm a blonde idiot...and I think I used it that many times, unfortunately. So I say, "Je viens des Etats- Unis." (I am from the United States) Then she giggles and says, "Je sais. Je peux dire de vos cheveux. Dans quel etat? (I know. I can tell from your hair. Where in the United States?) So after I stand there translating her question, and trying to figure out if she was in fact mocking my hair, I say, "OH! Je suis desolee. Pennsylvanie." (OH! I am sorry. Pennsylvania) At this, her face lights up and she says, "COMME NEW YORK CITY?!" (LIKE NEW YORK CITY?!) I actually had to step back and wait a second for my hearing to return. I'm kidding, but it was extra loud. It's like the misinformed assumption of anyone who's not from France: Paris and France are interchangeable. WRONG. Paris is a city in France. French people seem to have this same assumption for any state in America, and New York City. So I say, "Non. Je suis Pennsylvanie. New York City est New York Etat." (No. I am Pennsylvania. New York City is New York State) Yes, I do admit my grammar and sentence structure was a bit off, and I had just told her that I was actually the state of Pennsylvania, but I think she got the idea. Then I went and quickly took a seat next to some kid who drooled all over me the whole bus ride, and kept trying to talk to me about Eminem. (and I'm not saying "he drooled all over me" to flatter myself. I mean, he produces an excessive amount of spit, and most of it was being sprayed in my direction as he tried to have an English conversation with me about my favorite rapper. Not my favorite part of the day.)

When we got to the pool we all had to swim a warm- up lap, and then we were ready to get started. Here's the drill: Every week, every student has to swim three sets of 50 m laps, and we get a time for each lap. The swimming itself is actually really easy. It's just the time it takes to do it. There are approximately 72,879,678,124 students all crowded around a pool the size of my kitchen sink. It's like a mosh pit, and the unlucky ones don't get punched in the face; they get thrown in the pool. I'm not claustrophobic or anything like that, but there's something unsettling about standing like packaged sardines in between two guys wearing nothing but peices of fabric they we call "Speedos." Once I could breath again, and I wasn't the middle of a "Brooke Sandwich," it was my turn to swim. I seriously haven't even swam a lap since 6th grade, but it turns out I actually enjoy it. It's something mindless to do, and I need a few things like that in my life. I don't have to talk, English or French, and I don't have to think about anything. I'm not very good, (my times being 50 seconds, 56 seconds, and 53 seconds...) but I still enjoy it. Then when we're finished swimming, we have .00045 seconds to change and get back on the bus before it leaves for Beaucamps. Overall though, I actually enjoy it...surprisingly...

                                    The Socre- Coeur...

  

...ain't it PURDY?

Addison Margo Mummau

                                                                            THEN:

                      
I talked to Marge for a while on Facebook today. And when I say "talked" I mean "pop- chatted," which really is the next best thing. Any time I get to talk to her is worth it. I miss her SO much, and that's one thing that is not getting any easier. I think about her constantly, but I know she will be all rght because she has such a huge group of people at home who care about her and love her. No one as much as me, though. We have a special connection that nothing can break. Not even being separated for 10 months. This is starting to sound really sappy and lame, so I'm going to stop with the heartfelt emotion now. She knows how I feel about her. The thing I'm most sorry about? I'm most sorry that just when she thought she'd never have to ride the bus again...WHAM! There it is. The big yellow vehicle parked on Kurtz Mill Road at 6:58 am. That sucks. SORRY MARGO. But anyway, I miss her so much, but this year is going to be so good for her. It's going to give her an independence that she never would have known if her big sister was always there. Although I can't physically be there with her, I am always with her in some way. Margo, I am so proud of the person you have become, and I wouldn't want you to be any other way. You are spontaneous, and fun, and beautiful, and the people in your life are lucky to know you. I miss you so much it hurts, but we'll see eachother again. Love always, Brookie
                                                                    
                                                                       NOW:

FOOD!

I have officially stooped to a new low in my life. I just used the end of my hairbrush as a spoon. There is a very good reason for it though. I am sitting in my room, and I had this EXTREME craving for peanut butter. So I pulled my emergency jar out of my desk drawer, and in a hormonal, hungry teenage girl frenzy, reached for anything long enough to get to the bottom of the jar. My hairbrush was the only thing in site I decided wasn't going to give me a disease if I ingested it. In my opnion, I was being resourceful. I didn't want to bother anyone by going into the kitchen in search of a spoon, and I didn't feel like answering pointless questions about why I was taking said spoon to my room, so I feel I made the right decision. Sanitary? No...Delicious? YES.

I MISS AMERICAN FOOD. We went to McDonald's the other day, (the Frenchies call it MacDo...in a french accent, of course) and I was so excited because how much more American can a resturaunt be, ya know? I was terribly mistaken.

Difference #1: There is an actual person who comes around and takes your order. NO! This is all wrong! McDonald's is the place where you stand in line for 20 minutes, and when you finally make it up to the counter, you're greeted by either a zit- plagued teenager or a completely tatooed convict in hiding who act like it takes all their energy to utter the words, "Hi, whadya want?" Not in France! The people look professional, and smile, and ask you about your day. It's CREEPY.

Difference #2: And the best part! In France, the burgers actually look the way they do in the ads! It's amazing! They actually look edible, as opposed to the lovely grayish- brown patties we get in the good 'ole USA. Our burgers are served on a bun that seems to have drastically deflated for some reason, and the bag they give this "food" to us in, is dripping with an unidentified substance that is hard to differenciate from motor oil. Paper Happy Meal bags do not exist in France. Just a sanitized tray, complete with silverware. Yes, my friends. Actual silverware, not the plastic kind. Palpable.

Difference #3: (and the most important) The term "Fast- food" is totally lost on the French. I don't know if they understand that McDonalds was FOUNDED UPON the idea of being FAST. Order fast, eat fast, leave fast. That happens to be the point of the entire McDonald's empire. Here, it's considered an actual resturaunt. I know, strange. We actual sat in McDonalds for an hour and a half to eat our food. The experience was SURREAL. (I am aware that you don't care, but I got a Big Mac. The significance of this, is that when my mother was pregnant with me, she ate a Big Mac EVERYDAY, up until the day I was born. Her reasoning? I really have no idea, but I am almost certain that it was not doctor- perscribed. My guess would be that it would probably even be frowned upon by most doctors. I've never been pregnant, but from what I've heard, the cravings can get pretty bad. And I wouldn't want to be that zit plagued teenager taking my extremely hormonal mother's order at McDonalds...that's for sure.)

Despite all the grease I consumed as a fetus, I think I turned out ok :)

So now that I've successfully managed to talk about McDonalds for four paragraphs, I'll mention some other French dietary practices. Believe it or not, Hershey's chocolate is not exported out of America. That was an insane shocker when I got here, to say the least. I went into Hershey's withdrawl, I started to feel very tired all the time, I became very irratable, I didn't leave my room for three whole days...(this is an extremely pathetic exaggeration, thank goodness) None of this happened, but I was sad. So I emailed my mama asking her to send me some candy, and low and behold, 10 days later a package arrived for me. It was FILLED with candy. Bags and bags of Hershey's miniatures, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups out the wazoo, and about 72,567 King Size Hershey Bars. It was like a dream come true. (the package also contained a laptop, $300 cash, an ATM card, and multiple letters from my darling sister, so I was happy for multiple reasons...) I am ashamed to admit this, but I managed to polish of an entire bag of Hershey's minis all by myself. Whoops. It's not my fault they're so good. I just couldn't resist their charm. I am weak.

Tomatoes: I NEVER ate tomatoes in the USA. In fact, I avoided them at all costs. They were the ONLY food I didn't eat, (other than mayo) and I was very particular about making sure all my food was tomato- free. Well that totally changed when I moved here. I eat tomatoes at least three times a day. No joke. Raw, cooked, alone, mixed in salad, stuffed...seriously, any way you can imagine a tomato, I've eaten it. And I have to admit, they're not half bad. Dare I say it...I actually...uh...may...sort of...like them. *GASP* I still don't eat mayonnaise though. That is the only other food that I despise with great passion. Sorry Annie, my hate for mayonnaise will probably never change. They don't eat much mayo here, so I'm safe.

Cheese: HOLY FREAKING GREAT GOBS OF CHEESE. This country's entire WORLD revolves around cheese. I eat tomatoes a lot. I eat cheese more than alot. For dessert after every meal: cheese. Snacks during the day: cheese. Stomache ache: eat some cheese. <<< I'm kidding about the last one. But regardless, we eat a lot of cheese. There is an ENTIRE aisle devoted to cheese in the grocery store. Young cheese, old cheese, green cheese, bleu cheese, wasabi cheese, hard cheese, expensive cheese, cheap cheese, wine cheese, bread cheese, dessert cheese, cheese cubes, cheese wheels, cheese blocks...I wish I was exaggerating with this one. While I've been here I've tested about 15 different kinds of cheese, I'd say. They're all pretty good, but clearly I do not take my cheese as seriously as the Frenchies. I mean, at home I eat slices of cheese out of a plastic bag, and the only thing foreign about it is the name on the package. In the "Cheese- Snob" department, I am totally lacking. If you heard the rumor that good cheese smells like feet, I'd like to tell you that it's not true. Sadly, I cannot tell you that, or I'd be lying. The smell is so overbearing, that my younger "brother" Robin leaves the room everytime the cheese is brought out. Yes, it's that bad.

SATURDAY SCHOOL.

Pre- Saturday School: It's 7:30 am. ON SATURDAY. Why am I awake? It's funny you should ask. I happen to have school in an hour. Awesome. Oh, how I love Biology.

Post- Saturday School: I am alive. It wasn't too bad. Two hours of complete boredom, actually. Usually I'm bored in class because I can't even begin to follow the lesson because the teacher is rambling on and on in French. But today, I was bored because the teacher was rambling on and on in English. I'm sure you're wondering why I am in an English Biology class...or maybe not. But I'm going to tell you anyway. The students in my class happen to be EXTREMELY FREAKING SMART, and they CHOSE to take Biology in English as a challenge. Weirdos. Well anyway, we're learning about the heart, which I was extremely well informed about in 7th grade health class, so everything is just a review for me. We watch videos in English and have to take notes, and I am always picked to read my notes because naturally, I understand what's going on. Then I read my notes, 3 words per minute with excessive announciation, and a giant lightbulb goes on over everyone's head. I can see it sometimes, I swear. So at the end of class today, Mr. Vanrapenbusch announces that there will be a test on the heart next Saturday. Easy, I thought. As I'm packing up my stuff, he walks over to me and says, "Payton? You will take the test in French." Sweet. A great end to a great Saturday morning...

I went shopping after school though, so the day was pretty much redeemed, in my eyes.

(The shirt says, "I want fashion and boys." I guess this pretty much sums up the mind of an American teenage girl...)

School Pictures :(

I really hate school pictures. Even in France. They are unflattering, and unnecessary...but they're mandatory. So here's my school picture for the 2011- 2012 school year. Yay...

Septembre

(This is not mispelled. ^^^ It's how the Frenchies spell it.)

I left one month ago. Well, this coming Thursday will officially make it one month. I don't know about you, but it flew by for me. Everything I did this month was new. That's 30 days of unfamiliarity. <<< (I don't think this is a word) I have to say, these were the scariest, most uncomfortable, and most depressing days of my life. This being said, I don't regret my decision to come here. Though I am becoming more and more comfortable in my new home, I still wake up every morning wondering where I am, and why my room looks so different. I've talked to my sister and my parents EVERY DAY for over a decade and a half, and now I'm lucky if I have time to send an email once a week, or go on Facebook for 5 minutes. It's a new way of life, and it will take some getting used to. I'm up for the challenge though. BRING IT ON, FRENCHIES!

^^^ This is my room. Well, half of it anyway. I love it.