Peanut Butter

I've never been so bored in my entire life. And trust me...that's saying a lot. For some reason, I'm a champion at getting myself into boring situations. That being said, this one is by far the most antagonizingly, yawn- inducing encounter I've ever had.

It's compo time again.* 3rd and final time of my life. I can't really say I'm going to miss them though. In any way. Ever.

*Compos are tests French kids take in every subject once a trimester to see how much crap (incredibly useful knowledge) they've retained throughout the year. And in my case, as shocking a this may seem, I've retained nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch.

It's not really my fault though, seeing as for the first 3 months of my school year, everyone was speaking alien tongue, and it was all I could do to make sure I was on the right page of the book.

But alas, Brooke just ain't that sharp. I know, you're caught completely off guard, but please close your mouth; you're embarassing me.

This particular day in compo week is comprised of 4 hours of geography followed by 4 hours of math. In other words, 8 hours for Brooke to sit here twidling her thumbs, and think about totally irrelevant things until with any luck at all, the bell rings.

It's 2:30 pm. Meaning I wrote down every single last piece of information I know about the geography of France... (10 minutes and a whole half a page later, that subject was taken care of) and I spent the remaining 3 hours and 50 minutes sketching numerous animals, trying to convince myself that I have some artistic talent. Eventually I had to give up on that one too. My sad attempt at an elephant convinced me otherwise.

Now here I am, an hour into the math compo, playing a rather intense game with myself called, "How Long Can I Stare at the Proctor Before I Make Them Uncomfortable and They Awkwardly Try to Avoid My Glance." It's a great game. And as the proctors change every hour, this game has become quite eventful, I'd say.

Now I'm just sitting here, lost in my own head, which let me tell you, is a horribly dangerous place to be.

Serious thoughts and contemplations of the moment:

1. Why do french people hate peanut butter so much? I don't understand it. It's such a heavenly food. I mean sure, I'm a bit biased being that I was born and raised in America, and have been consuming peanut butter since I was a fetus, but still, I think the French are a little extreme.

Everytime I bring it up, they either start dry- heaving, or get this completely terrified look on their face as if peanut butter is the product of the devil, and the mere mention of it will send them directly into the depth of Hell. Most of them have never even tried it. I just can't grasp the fact that an ENTIRE nationality of people could have so much animosity towards such a life changing phenomenon.

And for this, I have a theory.

I believe that there are many french people sitting in their closets at this very moment, indulging in the sheer greatness that peanut butter is. They just can't do it in public because they risk being mocked by their family and friends, and even worse, they risk having to admit that the Americans are right about something. OH THE HORROR.

But here's a fact: Peanut butter does indeed exist in France. It's in the exotic foods aisle next to sweet and sour chicken.

But here's the curious part: There's never any left when I go to buy it.

You know why? Because my theory is correct.

I'VE CAUGHT YOU ALL, FRENCHIES. I KNOW YOUR SECRET. NOW STOP BEING COWARDS, COME OUT OF YOUR CLOSETS, AND SHARE WITH ME.

2. I just got really hungry for peanut butter.

3. French kids are extremely intense. Like, they go HARD on these tests. A girl cried earlier. Yeah, I know. Crazy. And I swear the kid's hair in front of me is literally smoking right now. I'm half- tempted to go open a window..

4. Why are so many words in the French language so similar? To this day, I still avoid talking about my neck in any way I can.

In the beginning of the year, I said, "J'ai mal au cou."* The erruption of laughter all around me sort of tipped me off that I may have been off.

* "Jai mal au cou" - "My neck hurts"

Eventually, after all the laughter had subsided, it was ever so kindly explained to me that what I had just said was, "J'ai mal au cul."* SUPER.

* "J'ai mal au cul" - "My butt hurts"

A little too much information there, Brookie? Yeah, I think so. Apparently I missed the slight difference in pronouciation. I'll pronounce it for you, if you're curious. You'll miss it too.

5. I really wish I was allowed to listen to my iPod right now. I need something to drown out the various tapping noises everyone in this room is making subconsiously. GEEZ. Someone needs to teach these kids how to breath and possibly channel all their nervous energy into something a little less annoying.

6. My phone just went off. And I pretended like it wasn't mine, as if it's normal for people's pockets to vibrate obnoxiously. But now my heart is beating really fast.

...it was my friend texting me to say she's skipping the compos. Rebellious? Yes. A good idea? Probably not. Am I jealous? Absolutely.

7. I wish the girl next to me would share her cookies.

8. You probably think I'm a fatty because all I talk about it food.

9. 2 hours and 15 minutes left. I can do this.

10. I could really go for some peanut butter right now.

But anyway, that's enough sharing of my tortured soul. I guess I'll go back to my super entertaining awkward eye contact game. I'm gonna throw a wink in there to spice things up. And of course, it's the teacher who wears leather pants everyday and looks like Santa Clause. SCORE.

11. My stomach just growled. Like, really loud. Like, turned multiple heads, LOUD.

...peanut butter.

Happy Birthday, Hannah!

hey Zig, thanks for always being there for me, and putting up with all my immature and annoyingness. Unfortunately, those two qualities of mine have not dissapeared or been reduced in any way during my year away, so I'm also thanking you in advance for putting up with me upon my arrival home. I hope you're up for the challenge. You are an amazing person, and I know how lucky I am to have you in my life. You're not afraid to be you, and I admire you for that. You deserve the best in life, and you always go after everything you want. All lameness aside, you're inpriring, and I hope you had the best birthday ever. I love you so much.

Guess Who's in the French News Paper...yeah, that good.

http://www.piefrance.com/trois-quatorze/reportages/brooke-la-photo-du-mois/

CHECK IT OOOOOUT.

The Removal of my Cloak of Invisibility (IN THE STACKS UPDATE)

Most embarassing morning of my entire life. And that's saying a lot, because...

1) I don't get embarassed easily.

2) I've had some REALLY monumental embarassing moments.

But seriously, this one's a keeper.

It all started this morning, but for you new readers, I'd suggest reading the previous "IN THE STACKS" post, otherwise this will make no sense.

Today was just like any other day. I walk into the library wearing my "I Know Something You Don't Know" smile, sit down at my normal computer which ironically faces AWAY from the librarian, and start my "research."

The second I click on the picture of the "World's Most Tattooed Man," my screen goes blank.

As I'm frantically clicking the mouse, my kiss of death appears on the screen.

"Votre ordinateur est bloquee. Vas voir le bureau." (Your computer has been blocked. Go see the front desk)

MERDE.

If this isn't embarassing enough, as this exact moment, EVERYONE IN THE LIBRARY stands up, and I watch them walk to the front desk.

MERDE.

So, naturally, I'm the last to stand up, and during my walk of shame, I'm glancing at all the computers in the row, and evidently they are all plagued with the same message.

As I get closer, everyone is now staring at me, and the librarian has now stolen my "I Know Something You Don't Know" smile.

"Mademoiselle, on utilise les ordinateurs QUE pour la recherche. Qu'est- ce que tu regardes?" (Young lady, we use the computers ONLY for research. What were you doing?)

Me: "bahh, la recherche, bien sur." (Research, of course.)

Apparently she was not satisfied with this answer, and continued to argue with me about my intentions. The poor woman thought she was going to win the argument.

I'm still surprised about the answer I ended up giving:

Me: "Mais, uh, Madame, je fais un projet sur l'effets economiques des tatouages pour les gens...pour mon ecole aux Etats Unis..." (But I am doing a project on the economic affects that tattooing has on people...for my school in the United States...)

Conversation terminated: computer unblocked.

The only problem? I actually had to spend the rest of the hour researching the economic affects of tattooing...

...although I still consider the confrontation a win on my part.

In the Stacks

Fun Fact of the Day: St. Marie Beaucamps’ library is my favorite place in this country.

…and it’s not because it gives me an excuse to be anti- social.

It’s also because Beaucamps has taken the optimistic road, and chooses to TRUST it’s students and their judgment when it comes to the internet.

AKA: blocked sites don’t exist.

No, I’ve never taken the big leap and checked my facebook at school, even though I know it’s possible. I have this feeling that the minute I press the enter button, various sirens and flashing lights will engage, the SWAT team will invade the library, and a voice over the loudspeaker will start yelling:

“Brooke Mummau, step away from the computer with your hands in the air…”

The act of checking one’s facebook at school has now become the equivalent of a terrorist attack. It makes you wonder what the world has come to.

I usually spend my study halls researching bands or looking at upcoming concert dates, you, know, making the most of my education. I wouldn’t exactly call it fear, but as more of a precaution, I always have my backup browser pre- loaded with “useful information,” so when the librarian decides to creep on me, I can use my ninja- minimizing skills and avoid all suspicion. The only problem is deciding what “useful information” I want to “study” everyday. The fact that I’ve been studying WWII for the past 7 months probably makes her suspicious enough as it is.

This may be a very insignificant aspect of my French life, but I’d just like to point out how nice it is to be able to surf the web at my own free will, without being accused of looking at Swedish porn.*

*Mifflin has an overactive imagination, in my opinion.

JUSTINE FREVIN.

Je meme pas savais qu'il y a pas des crayons a boire! :/

Mais, meme si tu te moques, JE T'AIME <3

Valentine's Day...

Valentine's Day.

Like all things, this day always arrives whether we want it to or not, and regardless of our feelings towards it.

In my 17 years on this planet though, I've come to find out that there are only two types of Valentine's Day participants, each type expressing only one emotion: anticipation...or dread.

TYPE #1: the hopeless romantics

Emotion: anticipation

And in the "type #1" category, we have two subgroups:

THE COUPLES

We all know this group. They're the ones who are standing in front of your locker EVERY MORNING playing tonsil hockey. And after many attempts to get them to move just 6 inches in either direction, your only option is to literally pull their heads apart. Yes,these couples exist in everyday life, but things just get 10x more intense on Valentine's Day. They're the ones who buy eachother flowers, and expensive jewelry, and do the things that they should be doing everyday, but feel doubly obligated to do on this occassion. Unless you're in this group yourself, they're pretty much just the group that makes you want to puke.

THE SECRET ADMIRERS

These are the individuals who are inspired by "The Couples," and can't wait for Valentine's Day to come so they finally have an excuse to make a move. These are the one's who wake up on February 14th every year, and believe that something magical is going to happen. You can spot these types easily: just look at any group of teenagers. More discreetly, they're all the kids that you can just tell took a little bit more time to get ready this morning. Then the more obvious, all the girls who are literally wearing an article of clothing with hearts on it. These are the people who save up all their hope and courage for this one day, write annonymous love letters, and pray to God that a flying baby in a diaper shoots them in the back with an arrow.

TYPE #2: the sinics

Emotion: dread (secretly) ANGER (outwardly)

Subgroups:

THE BELLIGERENT

This is the group that wants you to think they don't care about the holiday. They wear black, tear down decorations, and scream obscenities at the happy couples...and for one reason only: they're bitter. They're bitter out of jealously, and they're jealous that they can't participate in this holiday. Usually they have a broken heart due to a recent breakup, and most likely they were the ones who recieved the news, not the ones who did the breaking. Of course they dread Valentine's Day, because they have to go through a whole day watching happy people have what they don't. They find this unfair, which is why they lash out at everyone else.

Last but not least, we have...

THE GENUINELY OBLIVIOUS

These are the people who make it halfway through the day before realizing what day it really is. And upon hearing the news, absolutely nothing changes. They aren't bitter, or hopeful, or angry, they just could honestly care less. Valentine's Day is just another day to them, and they are unaware of the interminable love fest and complete madness going on around them.

There is, however, one more group that I forgot to mention. They are, of course, the minority of the holiday, but still hold a designated place of their own...

this group is rightfully named:

THE AMERICAN EXCHANGE STUDENTS IN FRANCE

Consequently, this is the group that I find myself in. Basically, this is an extension of the "Genuinely Oblivious," with a few more specifications. These are the people who woke up this morning, thre on a sweatshirt and jeans, and went to school. It's not necessarily that they don't care about Valentine's Day, it's more the fact that it doesn't matter whether they care or not. Regardless of how they feel, they are still in France, while all their loved ones are still in America. They find it ironic that they are in the love capital of the world, yet the have no desire to celebrate it. They realize that they are surprisingly thankful that they don't have to do the awkward, Valentine's Day gift exchange with their boyfriend, (or girlfriend) but they do miss the yearly cards and chocolate form their parents, and the company of their friends. They hope everyone is having a great Valentine's Day, however you are choosing to spend it, and they want you to know they're thinking of you.

^^^ see what I did there? Yeah, I know, I'm lame.

Well anyway, I hope you have a TOTALLY GAY* day.

* and when I say "gay," I mean happy, of course.



                                                          

Happy Birthday, Katie!

Katherine Ann(e) Mahoney.

I'm really a big fan of you. You're one of the only people who totally understands me, and understands my complete lack of maturity. Not only that, but you lack the same amount of maturity that I do. Evidenced in the mini reese's schemes.

I hope you have a swell 17th birthday, and go see a rated R movie for me. You're a boss.

I love and miss you so much <3

Being Attacked by a Mad Cow > Badminton

Who invented badminton? Whoever it was, I'd love to have a few choice words with them.* Wikipedia says it is a real sport, but I beg to differ. My teachers always tell me wikipedia is the website of the devil anyway**, so I refuse to believe its contents.

*If you are a fan of badminton, even the slightest bit, you might want to stop reading this, because it's about to get ugly.

**that is, wikipedia and google translate, of course. Ironic because google translate was one of my only vices my first couple days in France.

Definition according to Wiki: "Badminton is a racquet sport that is between two players (singles) or pairs (doubles), placed in two half-sites separated by a net . Players called badistes ^[1] , score points by hitting a drive with a racket to make him fall in the attacking half. The exchange ends when the wheel touches the ground."

Definition according to me: "Badminton is France's haughty- taughty version on tennis, created simply to aggravate American exchange students in gym class."

If you think I simply have an excessive amount of animosity towards something as insignificant as a gym activity, you're wrong. I have an UNHEALTHILY INSANE amount of hatred towards every monday morning from 11:00- 12:00 pm, when I am forced to 'participate' in this mockery of my hand- eye coordination.

^^^ The fact that my raquet has a 'smile' on it is also quite misleading, seeing as smiling is the absolute LAST thing I think of doing when I see it.

And no. My hatred does not only stem from the fact that I'm the laughing stock of my class... or maybe that's entirely it. I'm not completely aware of the reason myself.

I don't think it's from embarrassment, because I learned a long time ago how much easier life becomes when you can laugh at yourself. When I was younger, someone told me to 'never take yourself too seriously.' That's great advice, but somehow over the years, I changed that advice into 'don't take anything seriously. At all. Ever.' But that's another one of my character flaws that I won't get into right this moment. But I digress, being the laughing stock of gym is not what gets me.

Maybe it's how hard French people defend the activity that irks me. A piece of advice: DO NOT diss badminton in front of a french teenage badminton champion. Nothing good will come of it. In their heads, no American sport can ever compare. And believe me, I tried them all. But alas, that's not the reason either.

I've been lucky. No, I can't say I've ever been the best at any one given sport. But I can say that I've tried them all, or nearly all, which has played to my advantage many times in previous gym classes. No, Suchoza never picked me to be the captain of the basketball team, but I was never one of the last 5 girls against the wall that nobody wanted on their dodgeball team, either.

Interestingly enough, I can honestly say that gymnastics is the sport that has come in the most handy for me in the past.

"Are you the dorky, awkward, 4- eyed, brace- faced girl? Do you want friends more than anything in the whole world? The solution to your problems is simple! Throw a random backhandspring on the pushup mats, or nonchalantly walk around the gym or your hands. It works like a charm!"

^^^ And it really does. Even in France. After last monday's gym class, guess who has friends now? THIS GIRL.

I've always had a natural ability to be mediocre at every sport, and as sad as it is, I'm proud of that.

Yes, this is definitely the root of my animosity. I realize now why I couldn't pin in to one thing: because I couldn't admit to myself that I suck.

I may not have been able to admit it, but the results in my gym teacher's grade book don't lie. 34 students. 33rd highest score? Payton Mummau. 34th? Some girl who's only been to class one time in the past 8 weeks.

My mediocre ability is failing me, and I never thought I'd see the day that this would happen. And it's devestating. Going from being the girl who did 16 pull- ups during the 5th grade Presidential Physical Fitness Test, to the girl who can't serve to save her life, is unbearable.

You may be wondering why I care so much about that trivial matter, and why I'm treating it like the end of the world.

Well, because it is the end of the world. My world. Gym class is one of the only things in my life in which I'm not separated from everyone else by a language, and now it's ruined.

Of course, I'm only being melodramatic. I'm just living my golden rule: 'don't take anything seriously. At all. Ever.' I enjoy making a fool out of myself, in all honesty. That being said, I can't help but wish these next 3 weeks before the new gym unit would pass a little bit faster...

Happy Birthday, Dad, Sam, and Evan!

Happy birthday to the best dad in the world. I miss you so much, and I hope you have the best birthday ever :)

Happy birthday to one of the only people who truly understands me, Sammitch. I hope today is incroyable, and I can't wait to start our bucket list. #loveyoubud

and last but not least, happy birthday to the only person in my life that I fight with just as much as I don't. Regardless, I'm glad we met, and I'm glad we stayed friends through all of our immaturity and pointless high school drama.

BOOBIES!

The inevitable dream...

Bonne Annee, 2012!

Happy New Year! I must say, this was the most eventful New Years I've ever had. Luckily, this year I was able to master the art of self- cloning and telaportation.

This year I had the extreme pleasure of bringing in the New Year not only with my new 'family' in France, but also at home in my living room with my wonderful family, and on the couch with my best friends, Hannah, Katie, and Annie.

hey there, pretty lady :)

the silly string war was a little less messy on my end, this year.

CHEERS!

the annual cousin picture!

pArTyIn' PaRtYiN,' YEAH.

It was definitely a New Year's celebration for the books. HAPPY 2012!