Go go go
Wednesday, May 17, 2006 : 06:29 p.m.

BTW, PINOYexpats' latest theme is Homeward Bound. Just launched it last night (and if any of you have trouble with comments please leave me a note). Go go go.

PS. I never got to say thanks to Raquel and Kat, who were the two last issue's coordinators. Nice working with you, merci beaucoup.

The Weekend Diary
Sunday, May 14, 2006 : 11:15 p.m.

Saturday: Ever since the lock of our room window broke - almost a year ago - we have been living in half-light. We are lazy and I must do my part in getting the window fixed, meaning, wear Julien's ears out by repeatedly demanding him to do something about it. Noted. So. It was a sluggish Saturday, because of the sluggish weather. Woke up late, opened the fridge, realised there was no food. Struggled with the idea of going to the grocery to buy food. Ditched the idea and went to McDonald's for lunch instead. And, after McDonalds, we were too lazy to drive back home that we slept inside our car at the parking lot like hobos. We left because of the shame.

Waited in vain for La Poste to deliver Amazon goodies. Cursed La Poste for not delivering my Amazon goodies. Around dinnertime Karma bit us in the ass: we still had no food.

(What are scientists and inventors doing these days anyways? I demand to know why they still haven't invented a fridge that automatically replenishes its food stock to save everyone a trip to the goddam grocery store on Saturdays! And while they're at it they should throw in some effort to finally make the flying cars as well. All for the glory of mankind, people, all for the glory of mankind!)

Sunday: Today was one of those days when Marseille, kissed by the almost-summer sun, exuded charm and grace and seemed to be moron-free. It was probably due to the fact that we were by the "Consulat Road" (a road name I have invented, I am an inventor, yay!) Or maybe it was because we were able to hang out with a really great family. Or maybe it was Stade Velodrome's very good asphalt for rollerblading (actually, it wasn't asphalt, but the name escapes me. I could invent a name, but coming up with "Consulat Road" has exhausted my intellectual inventing powers). Add to that a very good mood. And sport. And sitting around talking. And the flowers by the side of the road. And Hazel handing me a pack of Oreos. Or cornering Basti for a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Or a combination of everything.

I went out into the night, I went out to find some light
Wednesday, May 10, 2006 : 08:35 p.m.

Dear god, Please, please pleeeease let me see The Arcade Fire play live because I love them and I'm a fangirl! The worst kind! Thank you, Kala.

Marseille Metro Morons
Friday, May 5, 2006 : 10:56 p.m.

The title stresses metro, but in no way am I limiting it to the metros. And in no way am I implying that all Marseillais are morons because it's not that; it's just that I have a Moron Magnet, which usually switches on in the presence of, well, morons. Of Marseille. That's how charming I am!

I don't know if I'm an easy target because 1. I am a foreigner; 2. I am small; 3. I look like I cannot defend myself. I'm getting the feeling that it's 4. All of the above. I have, on several occasions, confronted my tormentors but Christ... after telling them off, they just won't leave me alone. My haughty, well-prepared one-liners simply amuses them, which is even worse.

Admittedly, the act of confronting the Marseille Metro Morons scares the hell out of me. I know some people are blessed with the talent of telling off someone twice their size, but if only you could see the morons I attract! The most common type are the Jogging Pants: They're usually tall, beefy, and wear a uniform of jogging pants (that are hitched up to their ankles and bitin), football shoes (I imagine they find the spikes useful when they start kicking someone's ass?), matching sweaters, baseball caps and these low-slung, tiny bags where they probably carry their manuals of How To Intimidate People: Metro Edition.

Commuting in Marseille is a horror if you are 1. me; and 2. me and alone. Ten times more when I was working there, because my work hours were from 10am to 6:30pm. In the mornings, I'd encounter schoolchildren since my office was so conveniently next to a school. In the evenings, the children would be gone from the streets - but they still hadn't reached home: they would be in the Metro.

Exhibit A: Sidewalk
Like this one morning when I was hurrying to work. Of course, the sidewalk I had to use was the narrowest goddamned sidewalk in the whole of France. Jogging Pants guy with his group of friends were blocking the entire sidewalk. When they saw me they moved close to the walls with the intention of letting me pass - but when I was about to do so, this idiot stuck out his arm and his leg so I couldn't pass (and I couldn't walk on the main road, because of all the cars). I bumped into him, surprised at this random act of idiocy. "Could you move?" I asked him angrily. He kept his arm and leg there for a few more seconds, me glaring at him and he smiling at me; his group of friends laughing their asses off, until he finally withdrew. I uttered a curse word and they all burst out laughing, shouting after me, "Where's your humor? Can't you take a joke?"

If I had had an atomic bomb with me that day, I would've found that funny, the fuckers.

Exhibit B: Tickets
In Marseille metro stations it's not unusual to see people standing by the turnstiles, asking people for their used Metro tickets (since they're valid for one hour after purchse). I used to have a month's pass so I had no ticket to give to them. You'd think simply ignoring them would make them leave you alone.

"Mademoiselle, ticket? Ticket?" one dude would call out. I'd shake my head and start for the escalators. He'd follow me. "No ticket? What about a chat, then?" Then he'd start conversation, all the way to the escalators. And get this - just after safely stepping onto the escalators, he'd call out, "Connasse!"(bitch)

Yes, I'm such a bitch because I have 1,60€ to pay for my metro ticket, no?

Exhibit C: Walkman Phones
I knew it was a bad sign, last Wednesday, when I boarded the metro from the terminus going to Jules Guesdes station. Two Jogging Pants got into the same car as mine. Coming back from a job interview, I was wearing a skirt and heels (not my usual getup, and friends who have seen my battered Adidas sneakers can attest to that). So. The two Jogging Pants sat infront of me. One had a Sony Ericson Walkman phone; I have the same phone and believe me when I tell you that putting that damned phone to mid-volume can rouse the dead. These Jogging Pants were playing music from their phone full volume, and it was giving everyone a headache.

They went down at my stop as well, and walked very close behind me. I held my breath and waited for it - one, two...

Et voila. "Mad'moiselle! Ey, mad'moiselle!"

Me: *ignore, walk faster*

Once they realised that I was not going to pay any attention to them, Jogging Pants held his phone to my ear. Up close, at full volume, this is not a pleasant experience.

"What the FUCK are you doing!!!" I shouted, enraged, in English.

"Mad'moiselle, c'est quoi, ce bouquin?" said the Moron, as if nothing happened. He leaned close, pretending to read the title of my book but his eyes were looking down my shirt (well, I was wearing my special bra, heh...) so I had to lean back on the banister.

"I don't understand you. I don't speak French. Fucking idiot. Leave me alone."

"Oh!" he said. "You donz zpeak Frensh?" he laughed along with his buddy. And by laughing I mean those ugly, jologs, piyok-ing kind of guffaws. They both fell back a few steps, watching me climb up the stairs. They tried and tested a few moronic sentences in English, laughing boisterously, then started looking up my skirt, which I knew they were doing, because they were speaking in French, asking the wind to come and lift my skirt.

My latest pasttime is combing through Yahoo! Ask. Tonight I asked how to un-magnetize a magnet and someone answered:

You must apply an electrical current exactly 180 degress out of phrase from the magnet. Then attach the flux capacitor to the cathode and induce inductance.

Hmmm. Interesting. Now, about that flux capacitor...

I have the right
Wednesday, April 26, 2006 : 09:03 p.m.

A week earlier I was thinking of posting something, seeing that my birthday was coming up. I wanted to write about the things that make me happy, the changes I've gone through and all the things I'm grateful for. You see, the thing with my birthday is that it always falls on a PMS day. And for all the males out there who think that PMS is a lousy excuse for being, er, lousy, well shut up because you don't know how it is.

I had written something down on a piece of paper, and it was nice and sweet and if it had a smell it would've smelled like flowers and strawberries with maybe a hint of vanilla, but of course I threw the paper away and now I'm left with nothing. No gratitude, not a thing I can think of which I'm happy about, and upon reflection all the changes I've gone through and all the challenges I've taken on only gives me crap results. So, I'm sitting here thinking, damnit, I'm 27 years old, my plant Bruno seems to be dying, my carpet is full of crumbs courtesy of my box of Frosties (which I eat all the time, without milk) and the weather is alternately sunny and cloudy.

Tomorrow will be a better day, and then it'll be too late because my birthday will be over and will no longer be entitled to Special Birthday Attention. In the meantime, I'll go bask in a Sulk Session while watching Radiohead clips on YouTube. I have the right 'cause it's my birthday.

No I won't be sorry for all the things I've said
Tuesday, April 25, 2006 : 10:40 p.m.

I hate the fact
that I can now speak and understand French
and that nothing can be hidden from me anymore

Almost Crimes
Sunday, April 16, 2006 : 10:38 a.m.

Finally! We're seeing Broken Social Scene in Lyon. If anyone needs to be persuaded to watch them too here's a video!

We manage
Sunday, April 2, 2006 : 10:39 p.m.

For anyone out there (living in the South of France, preferrably around Aix-en-Provence, of course) who has been searching for a decent piste cyclable, hey-ho, I have an important announcement, we have found it! It's in Toulon. It stretches from Hyères to Toulon and beyond and most importantly - you'll pass by McDonald's, which is open on Sundays.

Since this discovery, we have been taking our rollerblades and driving 70 km on Sunday mornings, adding blisters and sores to our feet. No, I'm not complaining. In fact, I love rollerblading. I love the feeling when, after half an hour of uphill (gentle, but still uphill), my legs become numb and I become nothing more than a skating machine. Push, push, push. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in.

We have skated 20 kms so far and there's still a hell of a lot of road to skate. I can't wait til next week...

Also, I have made a startling discovery. Julien and I have taken to the pavement as if it were our home. Perhaps we were gypsies in another life. Or maybe even asphalt. Worse, we have the nerve to take pictures. And even worse than that, I'm posting them here.