America offers Reno 911! the movie. Nice offers Carnaval...

Hello everybody!! I hope that you’re all doing well and happy, and staying warm. You know what time it is?! 1:43 pm. Ok, ok. It’s BLOG TIME!

Fat Tuesday!

So last Tuesday was Mardi Gras. And how many times are you in France during Mardi Gras in a lifetime. So we opted to go out to the Parade that night. Here they have about 4 parades a week for a few weeks during Carnaval, and they tend to repeat the themes of the parade…but this was our first time. It was sooo much fun. I can’t even begin to tell you.

Here’s how it’s different from American Mardi Gras….

1) Silly String is the bomb. Literally. The word for silly string here is ‘le bombe’. And it is sooo great because you buy a couple cans and it’s all out war with you, the other spectators, and the people in the parade. It’s great, too, cause what better way to get the attention of a cute guy than to shoot him in the face with silly string?! We were all such a mess, but were loving every second. We got in a fight with some kiddies, though. A fight of the silly string kind. And they ran out of it, so they resorted to picking up chunks of it from the ground and throwing it at us. And when I least expected it I got pegged in the face with a ball of silly string and something hard that made my nose feel not too pretty. We opted to stop the game there.

2) Confetti Galore. Just like the parade I was in, Confetti was flowing like cheap wine at ladies’ night (back to that later). The people on the floats had these Confetti Guns, and there were these big elaborate confetti blowers. Again, totally pimped out in confetti attire.

3) Nobody shows their boobies. You don’t need to show your love pillows for goodies here like they do in New Orleans. A little role reversal, huh? The exhibitionist Europeans are the ones who are showing restraint this time around, and the prude Americans are walking Bourbon Street naked.

4) The King of New Orleans is a Rugby playing Jack Chirac. That would be like making the King George Bush in America. Well, like Clinton. And holding a football. But I’m told this is the first year it was a political King.

5) There is a parade-wide choreographed Dance. Everyone in the parade learned the same dance and did it like 5 times throughout the night. I thought that was reserved for the little kiddies I was accompanying. So not the case.

It was really sooo much fun, and the floats were awesome, and the dancers were awesome, and my company was the best part (the usual suspects).

Afterwards we decided to hit it up at the bar “Thor’s” where it’s ladies’ night on Tuesdays. I, of course, got my dance on to my favorite band here, Merla, and we met some pretty cool people that night.

So I had a very memorable French Mardi Gras. Yay me!

McMardi Gras

So how stereotyped are Americans in France? Well, I have a little anecdote to relay that may answer this question in part. As I mentioned two minutes ago (please see previous topic for those who have ADD), it is Carnaval time here in Nice. Surprisingly, with the possible exception of Christmas, the people here seemed the most into that holiday, with the little French Fries having parties where they got all dressed up and ate delicious food. But anyway, back to my story. So to kick off this week, and to take it easy before my vacation (which, I am pleased to announce began Thursday after work and ends the 12^th of March), I decided to talk about the way Mardi Gras is celebrated back in the States, or more specifically, in New Orleans.

So, there I was, sexy PowerPoint Presentation in hand, explaining Mardi Gras, all excited about the fancy pictures I found when I asked one class if they had any questions for me (assuming they would be about Mardi Gras). To my dismay, after my excited jabber, nobody raised their hands. So I offered my ‘No questions? I find that hard to believe!’ to which one student raised his hand. I was pleased that there was finally someone interested in my topics of teaching, until he asked his question. “Do Americans eat a lot more hamburgers than people in France?” Not exactly what I was going for. But you have to laugh at that one. So I did. And then the discussion took a turn from the festivities of Mardi Gras to the prevalence of McDonald’s. Good thing I was lazy and didn’t have lesson plans. Otherwise we would have been way off track.

It’s All in the Name

One of my classes has this really great teacher. He’s one of the friendliest and accommodating teachers to me and my English lessons. So it was no surprise when he was curious as to what my plans were for the upcoming vacation. So, at the end of class I was telling him how I was going to be taking a trip to Italy with a friend who is visiting from America. I told him how we were staying in Florence. He was telling me about this place I have to go see which is a neighboring town. And as he’s explaining the location of said town, one of the students in the class in front of which we were discussing my trip pipes in. He goes “You’re going to Florence?? That’s my mom.” After I forced myself once again) to stop laughing, we explained it’s also a place in Italy which seemed to calm his confused demeanor. French fries are so naïve and adorable. But it reminded me of the time I heard my mom talking about Hungary and I agreed that I was, too, and we needed to get home and eat something. So, I guess I’m not one to talk.

It’s No ‘Office’, but it’ll do

If you’re ever bored, I have a new recommendation. “Entourage”. It’s much better than I expected. Although I’ve only got the first season. And if you want cheap thrills, than I would go with “Nip/Tuck”. Although it’s so off the top that it’s almost predictable. If that makes any sense. Bottom line: I watch too many shows.

La Bataille des fleurs

Yesterday (Saturday) I headed to another parade. This one was more of an event cause you have to pay to get it, so I was expecting magic. So after waiting on line for a good while to buy the damn tickets, me, my roommate Alix, and her friend Marta and her boyfriend (the best looking French guy I’ve seen to date), headed into the parade. We bought standing room tickets, so we squeezed into a little crevice among the crowded barrier. So the premise of the parade is a Parade centered around flowers. That’s all I knew about it, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

It started late which was pretty annoying, but then it got off the ground pretty quickly. So basically what it entailed were a bunch of floats that were composed of hundreds of flowers, and then people in the parade were throwing out Mimosa flowers into the crowd. There were also dancers and musicians like the previous parade, but the aura wasn’t the same. There wasn’t the same energy to it that the other night parade had.

I thought I was going to have to break up a fight though next to me because there were these two old couples in front of me and then there was this mother that tried to squeeze her child into the front. And they were NOT having it. I mean understandably, we were super cramped and got their early enough to be towards the front…and paid, so it’s not fair for someone to just show up and squeeze themselves to the front. But this lady next to me (who was reallllly annoying cause she kept shoving her hand in my face to take pics and her hair kept blowing into my face which gave me the heebie jeebies) started yelling at the couple that it was a child. And then the couples retorted. And it got louder and louder and more threatening (in my ear, of course), but the best the annoying lady could come up with was ‘I hope your pictures don’t come out at all’. I think that’s when people realized they should throw in the towel, because you can’t reason with such a monster.

Sweet Dreams are made of these…

So I think I made mention of the fact that here in France, since my arrival, I have been dreaming so much. All my dreams have been quite vivid as well, and mostly just really bizarre.

So two nights ago, I had one of the most bizarre dreams that made me realize I am online waaaaay too much. In a nutshell, I dreamt that the doorbell rang, so I went to answer the door and this random guy punched me in the face and stole my laptop. So in an attempt later on to find out who it was, I borrowed someone else’s laptop, and I was actually instant messaging the robber, and then he sent me an instant message that had one of those smileys that you use…but it had a black eye and a runny nose. Then he apologized for punching me in the face. That’s the only vivid part I remember but then I do know I was sent on this scavenger hunt to find him ultimately. So it was a mix of Rocky, Ocean’s 11, and Amélie all in one.

But I think it was a subconscious intervention for my addiction to the internet.

My One-on-One French Fry Is the Bomb Diggity

I am pleased to announce that the boy I tutored got an A on his last test. Yes, he did. (It was irregular verbs). So all those index cards and practice tests paid off. And he was so proud to show me. It was really cute.

And there is this phenomenon apparently, where if you talk about what he’s passionate about his English gets like 10 times better. We were just having random conversation to practice his oral English, and I taught him the verb “to try”. And he goes, you know, there’s a thing called a try in rugby (he’s very passionate about playing rugby), so I was like ‘oh yeah? You think you can teach me the rules of rugby?’ So, all of a sudden there he was speaking English super fast and using big words and just being impressive. And the added bonus was I learned some of the rules of rugby…but I had Wikepedia explain the confusing parts to me after he left. So that lesson I think I learned more from him than he learned from me. I should be paying him.

Is that all there is?

Yes.

I hope you all had a wonderful week, like I did. And furthermore, this girl gets to go to Italy next week with the visiting Matt. So that should be a good blog to look forward to…I know you all can’t wait.

I miss you all very much, and don’t forget what month is coming up and what very special event happens on the 20^th of that month.

And on an unrelated note:

Dina Berkovits

Chez Mme Craighero

06100 NICE

+33 6 82 69 -- --

(Just thought you may like to have those ;))

XOXOXO,

Dina

Happy Year of the Piggy. Celebratory Blog Time!

Hello everyone. Let’s call it my Valentine’s Day present to you. Happy Valentine’s Day! So this has been already a weird week. It mainly entails craziness that is my job. When it’s not annoyingly noisy in class, it’s bizarrely inappropriate. Which, in turn, gives me good stories to relay to you. Along with some other things. Which reminds me as well, can anyone tell me when the last WEIRD NJ came out? Muchos gracias!

Lost in Translation

So there is this Akon song that is highly inappropriate for adults and children alike. The sensored version is “I Wanna Love You” which sounds innocent enough. But the nonsensored version is the same title but exchange the Love for the much more vulgar word that starts with an F and ends in a K. I’d write it, but I don’t want to burn my parents’ eyes. So we’ll pretend the word is ‘fark’ for the sake of this story, but you really know what the word is. And if you don’t, then I’ll tell you when you’re older.

Anyway, often times my students listen to American music…probably more often than not. They all have a somewhat strange love for Fifty Cent and they also know Christina Aguilera quite well. But, somewhere along the way, from the American circuit to the French waves, the edited versions are lost, and the nonsensored ones are played everywhere (including the radio), because lots of people just don’t understand the American curses.

So today, as I am innocently writing the date on the chalkboard for the French Fries, one of the boys, who often asks me to translate songs (previously translated: ‘my humps…uh…like a camels back’, ‘everybody dance now…everybody start to dance’, and so on.) comes up to me and he goes “What does ‘I wanna fark you?’ mean?”. I literally gasped and covered my mouth. And then I just said ‘no’. Which, like the previous ‘oh sheet’ girl, just got the rest of the class curious. But then I tell him to never use those words in English class, and then I turn around the continue writing the date, and that’s when the laughter starts. It was the longest date writing ever, because I didn’t want to let them see me laughing.

Then when I was walking home for lunch, I was listening to my MP3 player, and of course, Akon comes on. And then, no lie, I look at a tree and I see two birds babymaking. So little miss American is walking alone and literally cracking up thinking about the aforementioned events. We Americans are so very strange. Sapna’s roommate may be onto something there.

Unsmoothy Elevator

So this week some high being is punishing me for being such a lazy bum in France, and in return, the elevator in our apartment is out of commission. They are doing work on it, which is sort of surprising since it never seemed to not work. Sure, it’s the scariest elevator you may ever be on, but still…if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

So every morning we wake up to the sound of metal being sawed, or whatever it is you do to metal. And then if the sound isn’t bad enough, the smell is horrible. It smells like burning rubber, mixed with burning hair, mixed with burning B.O. However, today I think I snapped. What’s that crazy disorder that kidnapped people get where they fall in love with their kidnapper? Cause I had the equivalent episode, just with the nasty smell. All of a sudden the grossness started smelling like cookies in my mind. And I couldn’t get enough of it in my nose. But that’s neither here nor there.

But to top it all off, the mailmen, and their lazy asses, refuse to deliver packages as a result of the no elevator clause they apparently think exists, and pretend that we didn’t hear the doorbell, and make us pick it up from the post office. Lucky for me, you poopheads don’t send me anything (mom, Drew, and Ian…you do)…so Alix is the only one suffering from that fate thus far.

I am the Rainman

I have never seen that movie, so I guess I am a poseur for alluding to it in the title, but all I am saying is that I always know when it’s going to rain because that’s always the day after I hang my laundry to dry. More precisely, it will start as soon as my clothes need only about another hour more in the dry sunshine to completely dry. That’s when the rain will start. You don’t need a meteorologist when Dina’s in town with her stinky clothes. And without a dryer…

I was mocked by someone young enough to not know who Barney is

So since I teach 8 classes a day, I feel like a Troubadour. You know, traveling singer/dancer/English teacher. And so I have my standard big granny sac that I keep everything in. My purse, my cell phone, my colored pencils, my worksheets…literally everything. Needless to say, I get a little scatter-brained running from class to class, and have been known to leave things in the classrooms.

A couple weeks ago, I left my cell phone in one of the classrooms before lunch, so one of my students ran after me to give it to me. It was a little slightly embarrassing, but not enough to make me take pause. However, the class after lunch, I left my cell phone there, too. And then apparently, people talk, because the teacher of that class was like ‘again??’. So fine. A little more embarrassing.

But then, the other day I brought my laptop in to work to show them a powerpoint presentation I made for them for Valentine’s day, and also show them a Valentine’s Day episode of the The Simpsons, and then one of the 8-year-old girls in my class (the one who ran after me with my cell phone that fateful Thursday), smiles sweetly and goes ‘Don’t forget your laptop today.’ She beat me at my own game of sarcastic coyness! And she’s 8!! For that I had to give her props. I think her and I are going to be good friends.

Valentine’s Day Extraordinaire

So, 4 single dateless girls decided to romance with each other and head uptown to Le 54, a cozy little restaurant right next door to where the most dateless of all, Dina, resided. So, all 4 girls, who we will call Dina, Sapna, Angelique, and Alix for the sake of the story, got all dressed up and beautiful for each other, and headed to the restaurant. They had a 3 course menu that night, with a drink included, which was a pretty sweet deal. What better way to cheers the night as a single femme than to eat your heart out.

So back to first person.

For starters, I opted for the escargot. A bold move, for I’ve only had escargot once, and it never entailed a clamping tool and a mini fork with sharp prongs. This time I had to go hunt my little snails down in the shell. And let me tell you…some of those snails were hiding pretty well. And of course, there were several near mishaps where I almost sent the shell or the snail flying towards an unexpected customer. (Speaking of customers, it should be noted that us four were the youngest, by at least 20 years. So that was a little empowering somehow.)

As my main meal I went with the salmon in the chef’s sauce with a side of riz. I had it there before when I first arrived and it was the best salmon of my life. But this time, it wasn’t as good, but it wasn’t too shabby either.

Then onto the dessert, my good friends. I went with the tiramisu, which is not easy to find here in Nice. It was sooo good. Very rich, and very creamy. In other words, I could feel my arteries getting clogged at the time of indulgence. And I was loving every second.

So we had all that for 20 euro. Not too shabby, eh?

The one momentous occasion of the night, however, was the ‘piano player’. I put that in quotes because that is how he was advertised on the Valentine’s Day advertisement. But he was just a glorified lounge keyboard man. And he was serenading the crowd with love songs, for our dining enjoyment. But since we spoke English, his English covers weren’t flying with us. He was nice and polished on the chorus of songs (think “I just called to say I love you”) but then when he would sing the rest of the song, he wasn’t singing words. Just sounds that may have been rough estimations of what the words should be. It was funny for us. But then, he started belting out this French song. And we were just taking it in while eating. The other patrons, they took a pause from eating, though. And unexpectedly, all of the other fine diners started belting out the words with him when the chorus came. So who knew…all this, and karaoke!

All in all, it was a good night. And I hope your Valentine’s Day was good, as well J. Maybe even escargot-rific.

Oh! I forgot to mention my moment of sympathy I earned for the day, too.

I decided since now one was going to buy me flowers, than dammit, I was going to buy them for myself. So I walked to this fresh flower place that I always pass on my way to work, and I picked out potted flowers that are supposedly chrysanthemums, but I think they’re poseurs because they resemble my favorite daisy a little too much. So I take them to the counter to pay for them, and the guy there asks me something. And this is really bad to admit, but when I don’t really understand something someone says, I have an awful habit of just saying yes. Which gets me in trouble, because, for example, on this day he was asking me an either/or question. I thought he was asking me if I want it wrapped up. But anyway, he goes ‘No French?’ To which I reply “mais oui, je parle français.” To which he goes ‘Who eet’s for?’. Me: “ah, moi…”. Him and all the other workers: “Ohh. Eet’s for YOU. You buy zem for yourself!” Me: (disgruntled look) ‘oui.’
He didn’t offer the wrappage again L. But I walked home with some sexy little daisy-look alikes. And now they are gracefully dying in my room. Cause I cannot be trusted with anything living.

The Blind Leading the Blind

Ok, so you are probably thinking that title was some clever metaphor for a story I am going to tell you now. Think again, bucko.

Just when you thought you saw everything, France up and surprises you again. For example, the other day I was walking home past the market, and I look over and I see a blind person. Here all the blind people have those long cane-like sticks they use to feel there way around. It’s quite impressive (and frightening) watching the blind people cross streets here. So anyway, I see this blind person. And then I see she has her arm linked with another woman. Not weird at all. But then it takes a turn for the weird when I realized the lady whose arm she was linked with was also carrying one of those blindman stick things. So yes, two blind women were strolling along, arm-in-arm.

Thus, I saw the blind leading the blind.

Carnavale Time (doo do doooo)

So, one of the coolest opportunities happened last night. I was in the opening parade of Carnavale. Some of the classes I teach were in it, because the opening day has children following the float of the king in Nice. So they invite 4 or 5 classes from every school to be in the parade. One of my teachers invited me to accompany them, since I was going to go watch my kids in it anyway. So we all met at the school, and it was so cute. My students were so surprised and excited to see me. And I actually did my make up and stuff, which surprised the students because usually they see the roll out of bed look.

So, we all went to the classroom where we painted the kids’ faces and got them pimped out in sexy oversized tee-shirts and crazy-colored headbands. Then, it was my turn! I got my face painted and wore my XXL men’s tee-shirt and my hippy headband. I felt like a million bucks.

We then took a bus downtown, where I tried to explain ‘Miss Mary Mac’ to some of the girls, but they weren’t having it. This one girl refused to let go of my hand the whole ride, which was cute, yes, but I sort of wanted my hand back. And then the bus started singing ‘We will rock you’. Props for the English, but that’s all they sang. “We will rock you…” over and over and over again. Needless to say, I wasn’t sad when the bus ride came to an end.

So then we all headed to the Promenade des Anglais, where bleachers were set up for spectators, and that’s when the confetti fights began. We were all given a bag of confetti, and so the kids were all about that. At one point it was ‘Attack Dina with Confetti Time.” Imagine 25 students with a handful of confetti flinging it at you. And since I was laughing, I had plastic confetti all in my mouth, too. Then people started with the silly string. They sell it to the spectators there so they can shoot you with it. We were all such a mess, it was so great.

Then, it was time for the dance segment, where all the students in all the schools learned the same dance. They taught me in about 3 minutes before the parade. It was really cute, though. And there I was trying to follow along. I bet I was adorable, too. Hahaha.

All in all, it was really fun. The teacher took pictures, so hopefully I could get some of those to send to you.

The funniest part of the night, though, came when I called Sapna saying I was downtown and really wanted to go out. I hadn’t been out in a whole week (which is like a record), so I asked if I could just head to her house and clean up there, since I was close. It was so great walking through Vieux Nice. Guys normally ogle any girl that passes, with their stupid ‘you are charming, and radiant’ comments. That stopped that night when they saw the facepaint and confetti all over. Although, I did get one person saying it…in a mocking manner. It was hilarious. And then I was walking among this group of older people who were all dressed to the nines, and then there I am. They were all trying to read my shirt to understand.

When I got to Sapna’s, she and her roommate were quite shocked to see me, and they took pics of the after Dina, so I could definitely get a hold of those. We spent 20 minutes getting the confetti and silly string out of my hair, and another 20 minutes getting the paint of my face.

Then, when I went to change, confetti was flying out of every conceivable pocket and orifice. It wasn’t pretty, but still somehow retained it’s humorous charm.

And that was that. Definitely a night that I’ll remember for years to come!

La Cucheracha

I am absolutely positive I just spelled the title wrong. I apologize. All I want to say here is that if finding cockroaches was as lucky as finding ladybugs, I would be the luckiest lady in the world right now. Two in 24 hours. It makes me take pause before I eat anything (did I mention I found one in the kitchen…ugh).

Ok…so that’s all I’ve got. I hope you all had a great week, and continue that trend and have a great week to come. I miss you all!

XOXO,
Dina

Grammy's Night in the States. Quesadillas Night in the France.

Ok, so I am utterly bored on this boring Sunday. So what better time to write a blog, right? Probably wrong, but I'm doing it anyway. I am trying to come up with good stories as I type this intro. And so far nothing. So I am going to keep typing random nonsense until something comes to mind. Bears. They lost. Evangeline Lilly! STORY!

Those French Band Members sure now how to make a girl feel pretty.

So, as per usual, Sapna and I were the only ones getting our dance on at MaNolan's on a pretty dead Tuesday night. So there we were, dancing like it was our full time job. And since we figure we lend the entertainment for the band, we also figure that the band should be at our mercy. Thus, we make requests and expect them to play them for us. Usually it works out nicely. Sometimes an evil look has to be dealt, though. But anyway, I went up to the singer and asked him to play Oasis. To which he agreed. And then on the mic he goes...You sort of look like Kate from "Lost". I don't know if you take it as a compliment, but you do. To which Sapna goes "Yeah, it's definitely a compliment for her." And then singer says "OK good. So are you and Kate sisters?"
Me: Yeah. She's my older sister.
Singer: Really?
Me: Yes.
Singer: Haha. Well maybe you can bring her with you next time.
Me: Ok, that wasn't as smooth a compliment.
Singer: Um...Today is gonna be the day when they're gonna throw it back to you...

Money Money Money

So Thursday I started to teach my lesson on American money, with the intermittent English Pound thrown in there. And then I brought in the one American dollar I was able to save, which was like gold to the kids. That was until they had the smarts to ask me how much it was worth. And me and my sarcastic brilliance tell them 'compared to the euro? About a cent[ime].' So the teacher thinks this is funny. But now my students are severely led astray. I tried teaching them the correct amount, but I think it's still etched in their minds that the dollar was 1/100th of their euro. Needless to say, a lot of them probably booked their tickets to America already, hoping to take advantage of that exchange rate and buy their Justin Timberlake and 'Feefty Cents' albums there.

The Creepy Electricians

Ok, so granted I sleep in until crazy hours when I don't have work because A) I have nothing better to do B) I usually stay up super late C) I have amazing dreams here. So there was nothing more annoying to me than the stupid electricians right outside my door doing Heavens-knows-what, but seemingly with a chainsaw and a dying cow. Anyway, an hour later, there is a knock on the door. They are asking us to come in to see if some wires lead to our apartment or something. Alix and I just looked at each other and then they were like 'oh...no speak French?'. We said we did, we were just weirded out by random dudes coming into the apartment. Ok, we didn't say that. We actually said fine. But our body language displayed those former thoughts beautifully.

Anyway, they say thank you and leave. Two minutes later. Knock, knock. Sure, go ahead. Five minutes later. Uh huh, whatever. Go.

The next day.

I had my boy for tutoring. Knock on the door. They wanted to know if our TV was working. I said yes, the only thing that wasn't working was our kitchen light but more likely cause of the lightbulb. Then he starts talking to my boy that I am tutoring about Rugby. Who would have thought that the sweet 13 year old and the old electrician would have so much in common?

Anyway, after saying my bulb was out, he offered to change it for me, which was so exciting cause the last time I tried, I electrocuted the hell out of myself and spent the night tweezing metal shards out of my hand (I should not have admitted that in writing).
So after changing it, and me thanking him like 5 times over again, he goes 'you can repay me with a cup of coffee at noon tomorrow.' I laugh and say I only drink tea, but see you then, fully expecting to not be around then, if, on the off chance, he was serious.

So the next day I am heading out to work, and then he goes 'see you for tea'. I again laugh, and leave quickly. Then when I arrive home that night from work he was like 'you weren't there. I tried knocking and thought you were ignoring me.' Me: I told you I had work today..."

That night I double-bolted the doors for the first time in months :).

The Leak

So the electricians somehow sprung a leak somewhere, and so this other random guy knocks on my door and hands me a note. I read it, and looked miffed, so again 'No French?". Um, I do. My look is in regards to the fact that the water isn't working. And the fact that it won't be for the rest of the night. But, I had plans for that night. And they included showering and shaving. So, in a flash of brilliance, I run to the store and get those huge bottles of water to use for drinking/cooking/ghetto makeshift showering.

I am cracking up even writing this. Picture me with razor in hand, babywipes, and a giant bottle of water in my other hand. And then me pouring it all over myself. It definitely took me back to my Romanian roots. I now have a better appreciation of those 'when I was your age' stories. Obviously with the added inconvenience of women having to shave these days.

But in all fairness, it sucked at the time, but it makes a great story now. At least in my mind it does.

Might as well face it, I'm addicted to Carambars

So, for Valentine's Day coming up, I figured I could make a fun lesson of it. So I had my mom send me little Valentine's for all my French Fries, and I bought them candy to stick onto the Valentines (again, the leverage candy offers a teacher to get the kids to shut up is worth way more than the money spent on 6 bags of candy). But, I buy them this same crappy candy everytime. They are called Carambars, and they are just fruit flavored caramels, along with coke flavored and caramel.

But yesterday while I was preparing some of them, I was craving something sweet, so I unwrapped one, popped it in my mouth....and I frickin' loved it. Caramel flavor is sooo good. And now I fear I may end up eating all the candy before I have it to use as leverage. Thank goodness I don't like the other flavors. If anyone wants to have a little taste, let me know, and I can arrange it to give you a taste of my addiction.

Ils m'aiment :)

Last Thursday at one of my classes, one of the girls comes up to me and tells me so and so is in love with me. And then to make matters even worse for him, she walks in the room and points to him and goes 'See, it's him. He is in love with you.' So that was a little uncomfortable.

And then in my next class I am waiting for the other class to head into the room, and then one of the boys comes up and leans against the wall next to me, crosses his arms, and says the equivalent of "hey baby, how you doin'?"

So clearly, the only Frenchmen that show interest are the 8 year old ones. Not exactly what I was hoping for upon my arrival...It would be awesome if I was that Letorneau teacher, though.

The Dina's Day Parade

Some of my French Fries are going to be in a parade, because apparently the opening day of Carnivale always entails an opening parade where they introduce the king of Carnivale, and behind him marches students from all over Nice. So 4 of my classes are going to be in it, so I wanted to make sure I knew all the details so I could go see them.

However, as I was trying to ask one of my classes when the parade was starting and so on, the teacher comes up to me all excitedly and told me to bring in a white tee-shirt so she can make one for me incorporating the Rugby Parade theme (Rugby is a common theme in this e-mail apparently), and then I can accompany them. She got really happy saying how much the parents would love that. So I am not sure how I feel about this, yet. But it's next Friday, so I will let you know how it goes, if it goes. Again, I hope I really understood her properly, too. What a bummer to show up and have gotten it alll wrong :).

Ok, so I think that's all I've got for you.

There was definitely a story I was meaning to write about that I can't for the life of me remember right now. I'll be sure to make mention of it when I do remember it, however. But in the meantime I will happily OD on caramel carambars.

Keep sending the e-mails. Matt K...you're definitely in the lead for most entertaining and consistent e-mails. Keep up the good work. David, you're exempt this week for the phone call (but not for the music you were supposed to send). Mom, you're exempt, Megan, lifetime exemption status...and so on. I wouldn't mind e-mails from you all, though :)

I miss you all very much!!

XOXOXO
Dina

It's Blogalicious

So, there are a few stories I have to offer up to you this fine day in Nice. Some will make you laugh. Some will make you cry. Some will make you wish you were here. But they all will certainly make you miss me. Ok. Maybe not.

Que veut dire ‘You’re fat!’ en francais ?

So, if it wasn’t bad enough having a bartender tell me that I had a ‘pouch’ to make me think I was the fattest thing to come to Nice since Santa Claus, the other day I went to work wearing this cute white sweater I have. And I have been eating healthy foods as of late (with the HUGE exception of this weekend), but I was actually feeling pretty good. That was until my last class before lunch. So as I was leaving all the students were giving me their customary hugs and cheek kisses and saying ‘bon apetit’. And then one of the boys comes up to me and goes ‘So and so thinks you’re pregnant…are you pregnant?’. And at first I laugh because it just sounds so bizarre. But then I realized the horrifying truth behind this statement. My previously implied pouch looks like an incubator for a baby! I AM fat!

I then texted Sapna asking her if I am fat enough for my students to think I was preggers, and her response was ‘kids say the darndest things’. Which is what my mom reiterated. And everyone else, too. So, that justification got a little old. But I studied my naked belly that night, and realized that I do not, in fact, look pregnant. But just to be safe, I am never wearing that white sweater again.

The Super Obedient Dog

So just when you think you have seen next to everything there is to see, the other day I was walking down town and I look over and I see a dog…a dog who is walking himself. His owner was walking in front of him, but the dog was wearing a leash. But the part of the leash that the owner is supposed to hold is actually in the dogs mouth. It looked so funny and strange at the same time. I wish I had a picture. A picture of the dog taking himself out for a piss.

The Indian Adventure

So, as you may or may not know, my friend Sapna is Indian. And as you may or may not know, I like Sapna. And as you definitely know, I like food. So the next logical thing I would like would be an infusion of Sapna and food. Enter Taj Mahal, an Indian restaurant by the Port here in Nice. I have been craving Indian food, maybe since the day I met Sapna (which just sounds horribly wrong), but we finally decided to make a date out of it along with another assistant, Renee. So we went to this restaurant where Sapna schooled us on what would be good, along with some pointers from the incredibly patient waiters.

For starters I had this pastry thing, which was dough with meat inside that was minced up finely. It was really good, but just tasted a little like hummus to me, which I know is a ridiculous statement, but I am sticking to it.

Then, I went with the basmati and vegetables, which was also reallllly delicious, except for this one thing which I can’t even begin to describe. But it looked like a raison, and was steaming, so I figured it would be delicious. But I put it in my mouth, and it was hard and seeds poured out of it onto my tongue when I bit into it (which also may have cracked my teeth a little). I pretended to have a runny nose, but instead graciously put the spice (incognito raisin) into my tissue.

I was pretty full at this point, but I needed my Indian dessert fix. So I ordered this sampler of Indian desserts. Everything tasted so unique and not comparable to anything I have ever tried before, but sooooo delicious. There were 4 mini desserts, and each of them was soo different in consistency, flavor, and even temperature. But really amazing. Way cooler than the pistachio ice cream the other 2 got.

Finally, as we were walking out, Sapna asked the waiter if they had any blah blah blah, I couldn’t tell you what the word was if you paid me a million dollars. Just then did he realize that our friend was Indian. But he breaks out this jar of this stuff, which is an after dinner thing, which is supposed to help you with digestion. It looks like oats or something. So I took a little bit, and I seriously felt like I was eating a berry tree. There were little sticks in the mix, and I was chewing incessantly for a good 10 minutes. I would forego that aspect the next time.

But, all in all, it was quite fun and delicious. I would recommend the Basmati with vegetables to you all. And Indian desserts.

The After-Indian Delight

We were already feeling pretty good after our meal and wine, so we decided to go downtown since we were so close anyway. So the three of us went to MaNolan’s which turned out to be creep central that night. So we just chilled at a table with our wine. But then this old guy approaches us and tells us how Sapna is from North Africa. She is not. But he wasn’t having it. So we just lied to him and told him we didn’t speak French and were from England. Back to that later.

Then another guy approached us and we told him we were from Japan. He wasn’t buying it, and I was kicking myself for my horrible impromptu lie. But then this other guy approached us with his friend, so I told him an elaborate lie how we were just in Nice for the night after doing a short European tour. I told him I was just in Spain in Barcelona, and he asked me where I went so I didn’t know any places so I said ‘we were stuck in the hostel the whole time.’ Then I told him we were all from Canada, and that Renee was a dancer, and we were teachers. But we didn’t know any French. But then the creepy old man came back so I said ‘this is my French boyfriend’, and he played along making the old man actually leave us alone. And then he goes on to tell us all these places we have to see before we leave…he was basically being sooo nice, and here I was lying to him. When he left the table, we all were saying how badly we felt, and I was feeling badly on two levels for lying to him, and for suddenly being so good at it.

But anyway, a few minutes later we started dancing and he came over and started talking to us more, and I was like ‘ok…confession time. We live here.’ So he goes, “really?” So, then he goes ‘So you just got back from Barcelona?’ Me: “No.” Him: “But you’ve been traveling?” Me: “Uh, no.” Him: “But you just got here right, since you don’t speak any French.” Me: “Um, je parle un peu de français…”. Him: “Haha. Ok.’’ –5 minutes later--. Him : ‘You know I lived in Canada, too.’ Me: looking down at ground ‘Uh, yeah, about that…’. But we talked for the rest of the night, and he turned out to be super nice. In Nice. And forgiving about all the lies. He’s French, too, and was saying how he understands how girls would want to lie to the creepy Frenchmen.

My New French Friend: The Travel Guide

So, a couple days later my new French friend called. And we made plans for yesterday to go hiking. I warned him I would be holding him back, but he was all about the hiking. So he has a car, which was pretty awesome, because he took me all around the Riviera to these places I always wanted to see, but couldn’t easily get to. So he took me to this place called Ville Franche first. It was awesome. We climbed on this path that goes through the mountain. And you’re on top of this mountain but overlooking the Mediterranean. It’s pretty incredible.

Then he took me to this place called Èze, where there is a chateau that you can climb, so we did a quick climb up on top of that. It was not as cool, but still pretty nice.

Then he took me to this town that is right next to Monaco. It was around sunset time, and there is this place that translates to ‘Gold Horn’ because during sunset the light reflects off the sea, making the sea look…yes, you guessed it, gold. We climbed to the top of this little mountain, and if you look left you overlook all of Monaco. And then if you take a few steps to your right and look over the edge you overlook Nice. It was so beautiful. And the weather couldn’t be any more perfect for the beginning of February. Definitely something worth seeing. And the hike turned out to be a great time, and he was a great tour guide, being very knowledgeable on the history of the area. The conversation was also good, until he was like “What was the name of your friend…you know, the dancer…?”

The Superbowl…the French Way.

Sapna’s Bears were in the Superbowl yesterday, and they actually showed it on TV here in France. So I had a TV and she had to watch it, so I decided to make a party out of it. A party which turned out to be me and Sapna. We’re awesome. So she got here and before the game even started we had already finished the huge plate of bean dip she made, the plate of dip that I made, baguette pizza, and we were starting on the Salsa. Oh, and there were lots of cookies.

So the game started here at midnight (at which point I was already starting to get really tired), but it was hilarious. The pregame show here is completely different. Instead of giving information on the teams, and player bios, and stuff like that, they were explaining American Football to the French. They were talking about ‘Le touchdown’, ‘Le quarterback,’ and ‘le cointoss’. The best part was when they showed the field though, and then across the screen there was a big box that said 10 yards = 9.4 meters. Somehow that struck us as quite amusing. Anyway, with nasty beer in hand, we started watching the game. Then I took a nap the second period, only to wake to find Prince performing the Foo Fighters while wearing an Aunt Jemima head rag. That just didn’t seem right.

Then we watched the rest of the game, somewhat lifelessly, until 4:30 AM. But it was still a good time. My friend Didier called at 1:30 to ask if the party was still going on. It wasn’t heartening explaining that the party wasn’t a party, but more like a slumber party. Actually, just a slumber. But a fun one at that…

So…that’s about it. Which, was actually a lot. I miss you all very much, and hope you keep sending e-mails and stuff!!!

Hope you all had a good weekend and a food-filled Superbowl Sunday (so I can feel a little less guilty).

XOXOX
Dina