At lunch today I made A eat the tiniest spoonful of pea's I have ever seen in my life as part of a compromise. IE. I wanted him to eat about 1/4th a cup and he wanted to eat none. My negotiating skills are going to take some practice.
He ate the spoonful, and then helped me clear the table. He then walked into the bathroom where I heard him shout
AMANDAAAAA
Yes, A? What can I do for you?
AMANDA, my pee is green.
No, it's not.
Yes it is. It's green from eating too many pea's. It's true! It's green!
Insert eye roll.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Sunday, August 19, 2012
The Office of Found Items & the cutest thing I've ever seen
From my previous post, you know that Sunday morning of my bartending weekend, I lost my iPhone. This is terrifying because all of my contacts, email addresses, regular addresses, passwords, credit card information and more is all saved to that phone. By losing it, I lost valuable connection with the world, including my ability to facetime etc. Needless to say, when I realized I lost it, I began to sob.
While discussing my loss with the various people at WOS bar that Sunday, I lost any hope I had of finding it. Every single french person said "you lost your iphone in a cab? it is long gone." Continue sobbing. I email my parents and let them know what happened and that I am going to call all the cab companies in Paris to try to find my phone because of course, I do not remember what kind of cab it is that I took.
Starting this plan in motion, I realize that there are 20 something cab companies in Paris. joy. So I start googling "I lost my iphone in Paris, what should I do" out of desperation and sleep deprivation. I find the Paris craigs list classifieds lost and found section. No dice, but someone did find a nice wedding ring on the steps of the Opera that they would gladly return if someone can describe it.
My next google query "paris lost and found" takes me to the Canadian Embassy's website explaining that Paris has a very intricate Lost and Found system. Cab's are supposed to turn in any found items to their dispatcher and after a few days the dispatcher is supposed to turn in any unclaimed items to "Le service des objets trouvés" which is a subset department of the French Police. (website in french located http://www.prefecturedepolice.interieur.gouv.fr/La-prefecture-de-police/Objets-trouves/Le-service-des-objets-trouves just in case you were interested) This is translated as the Service of Found Items; which has happily in my life become known as a magical place that seems like it stems from a Harry Potter Novel.
They keep items worth less than 50 euro for 3 months and worth more than 50 euro for a year and 1 day. I quickly email them, give them my name, address, phone number and a description of my iPhone and tell them I lost it in a cab in the 5th Arr. and I desperately need it back. They request the IMEI number in the emails, but I tell them I do not have the IMEI number because it is written on the box in the US, but inside the leopard print case should be 250 dollars worth of monopoly money that a guy named Guillaume insisted I take the night before as a tip. Charming. Sorry, Found Items office. They tell me they will let me know in a maximum of 10 days if they found my phone, until then I should try to find the IMEI number.
I get the number from my mom, and finally decide to start calling cab companies. I call the first one and it is an epic failure. I do not know enough French to do this, I am HORRIBLE on the phone in French and I cannot understand a single thing anyone is saying. I voice this frustration to another friend named Guillaume (very popular french name) and he says he will help me call the cab companies and that it will go much faster since he actually speaks French. I punch him.
We call the first cab companies with zero luck, but they all say the same thing. If one of our drivers found it, it's at the office of found items. bahhh okay thanks.
I spend the next 4 days iPhone-less and miserable, trying to contemplate life without FaceTime. Every time I begin this thought, my eyes well up with tears. I watched the entire series of Arrested Development instead of thinking about life without iPhone.
I finally get an email a few days later that says an item appearing to belong to me has been located at the office of found items, to retrieve it I need to bring 11 euro, the printed out copy of the email saying it had been located and the IMEI number. I instantly started to cry from thankfulness. In one of the cities most famous for pick pocketing and petty crime, I had an honest cab driver who followed the rules and turned in my cell phone.
I print the email, write down the number, google the address, grab 11 euros and head straight for the office. I finally found it, inside the police department in an area of Paris that I had never been to (terrifying) and I have to go through a metal detector and a bag search to go inside. I don't care. I would let them TSA style cavity search me if it meant getting my iPhone back. I walk upstairs into a room full of smiling government employees and step in line behind a woman about 55 who can't stop smiling either.
Why is everyone smiling? It's Paris. People don't smile here. What is going on? I have decided that the Service of Found Items is actually the happiest place on earth. I walk up to a window and hand her the email print out. She hands me a number and directs me to sit down on these wooden benches that face about 7 glass windows. There are probably 20 people sitting around me, but my number is only maybe 10 away. There is an anxious teenage boy, an obviously American couple, a super fabulous gay man in a belly shirt that says "army" (he is my favorite), the older woman from in front of me in line, a man in a business suit, me and then some other people whose items I didn't notice.
The American couple's number is called, she lost her wallet complete with passport, drivers license, credit cards and money. They tell her to sit back down and hang tight. Teenage boy lost his backpack, fabulous gay man and older woman both lost their wallets and some other people ask about other items that I don't pay attention to and then it is my turn. I walk up and hand the smiling man my email. He asks for some sort of identification and I hand him my Indiana Drivers License. He has no idea what this is. He asks me about it. I explain that its a drivers license. He laughs. Most people in France don't have those. (mental note to pay more attention when walking) I give him the IMEI number and 11 Euros and he tells me to have a seat.
Finally the man in the suit walks up to the window and begins describing something that he has lost. I don't listen because I don't want to be rude and I am also too excited about the prospect of getting my iPhone back but then I realize everyone else in the room is paying attention to his description. The man behind the window walks away and comes back holding something that I can't see what it is. The man's face lights up and then he instantly blushes. He tells the man working that that is indeed what he was looking for, gives him the 11 euros and walks out holding a tattered stuffed animal, obviously belonging to a child of his who had absent mindedly left it somewhere. This is what amazes me. Some French person came across this ragged stuffed animal (I think it used to be a dog) with squish lines through the stomach where it had been hugged to death and instead of thinking, gross this toy is disgusting and throwing it away, realized that it was loved by someone, and turned it in to the office of found items, where a dad had enough love for the child to go retrieve it on his lunch break. Every single person in that office stopped and did a collective 'awwww' and a sigh. It was undoubtedly the cutest thing I have ever seen.
Finally, one of the men behind the windows gets up and goes around a corner. He starts calling people up to get their items. The wallets are all found, including paperwork, money and all credit cards. The teenage boy got his backpack back and then it was me. He brings around a small thing wrapped in white paper and I see a little leopard print sticking out. MY iPHONEEEEEE. I don't even wait for him to call my name I just sprint to the counter and jump up and down like a little kid at a candy shop window. He tells me how extremely and incredibly lucky I am and cautions me to be more careful. I would have jumped over the counter and kissed him if there were not a glass barrier (probably placed there after someone like me had that impulse). I wished everyone in the office a nice day and half walked half skipped out the door. It started to rain the second I got out the door. I didn't care.
When I told my mom the story she said "Well this says two things about France; 1. the french are really superior and 2. Socialism works"
I don't know if we could go thaaaaat far :)
Stay tuned for:
1. the nantes guy on the bench story AKA how to lie to french people
2. the beach with the host family; subtitle: pretending I don't know anything about stars
3. becoming frommers; how I became a tour guide
While discussing my loss with the various people at WOS bar that Sunday, I lost any hope I had of finding it. Every single french person said "you lost your iphone in a cab? it is long gone." Continue sobbing. I email my parents and let them know what happened and that I am going to call all the cab companies in Paris to try to find my phone because of course, I do not remember what kind of cab it is that I took.
Starting this plan in motion, I realize that there are 20 something cab companies in Paris. joy. So I start googling "I lost my iphone in Paris, what should I do" out of desperation and sleep deprivation. I find the Paris craigs list classifieds lost and found section. No dice, but someone did find a nice wedding ring on the steps of the Opera that they would gladly return if someone can describe it.
My next google query "paris lost and found" takes me to the Canadian Embassy's website explaining that Paris has a very intricate Lost and Found system. Cab's are supposed to turn in any found items to their dispatcher and after a few days the dispatcher is supposed to turn in any unclaimed items to "Le service des objets trouvés" which is a subset department of the French Police. (website in french located http://www.prefecturedepolice.interieur.gouv.fr/La-prefecture-de-police/Objets-trouves/Le-service-des-objets-trouves just in case you were interested) This is translated as the Service of Found Items; which has happily in my life become known as a magical place that seems like it stems from a Harry Potter Novel.
They keep items worth less than 50 euro for 3 months and worth more than 50 euro for a year and 1 day. I quickly email them, give them my name, address, phone number and a description of my iPhone and tell them I lost it in a cab in the 5th Arr. and I desperately need it back. They request the IMEI number in the emails, but I tell them I do not have the IMEI number because it is written on the box in the US, but inside the leopard print case should be 250 dollars worth of monopoly money that a guy named Guillaume insisted I take the night before as a tip. Charming. Sorry, Found Items office. They tell me they will let me know in a maximum of 10 days if they found my phone, until then I should try to find the IMEI number.
I get the number from my mom, and finally decide to start calling cab companies. I call the first one and it is an epic failure. I do not know enough French to do this, I am HORRIBLE on the phone in French and I cannot understand a single thing anyone is saying. I voice this frustration to another friend named Guillaume (very popular french name) and he says he will help me call the cab companies and that it will go much faster since he actually speaks French. I punch him.
We call the first cab companies with zero luck, but they all say the same thing. If one of our drivers found it, it's at the office of found items. bahhh okay thanks.
I spend the next 4 days iPhone-less and miserable, trying to contemplate life without FaceTime. Every time I begin this thought, my eyes well up with tears. I watched the entire series of Arrested Development instead of thinking about life without iPhone.
I finally get an email a few days later that says an item appearing to belong to me has been located at the office of found items, to retrieve it I need to bring 11 euro, the printed out copy of the email saying it had been located and the IMEI number. I instantly started to cry from thankfulness. In one of the cities most famous for pick pocketing and petty crime, I had an honest cab driver who followed the rules and turned in my cell phone.
I print the email, write down the number, google the address, grab 11 euros and head straight for the office. I finally found it, inside the police department in an area of Paris that I had never been to (terrifying) and I have to go through a metal detector and a bag search to go inside. I don't care. I would let them TSA style cavity search me if it meant getting my iPhone back. I walk upstairs into a room full of smiling government employees and step in line behind a woman about 55 who can't stop smiling either.
Why is everyone smiling? It's Paris. People don't smile here. What is going on? I have decided that the Service of Found Items is actually the happiest place on earth. I walk up to a window and hand her the email print out. She hands me a number and directs me to sit down on these wooden benches that face about 7 glass windows. There are probably 20 people sitting around me, but my number is only maybe 10 away. There is an anxious teenage boy, an obviously American couple, a super fabulous gay man in a belly shirt that says "army" (he is my favorite), the older woman from in front of me in line, a man in a business suit, me and then some other people whose items I didn't notice.
The American couple's number is called, she lost her wallet complete with passport, drivers license, credit cards and money. They tell her to sit back down and hang tight. Teenage boy lost his backpack, fabulous gay man and older woman both lost their wallets and some other people ask about other items that I don't pay attention to and then it is my turn. I walk up and hand the smiling man my email. He asks for some sort of identification and I hand him my Indiana Drivers License. He has no idea what this is. He asks me about it. I explain that its a drivers license. He laughs. Most people in France don't have those. (mental note to pay more attention when walking) I give him the IMEI number and 11 Euros and he tells me to have a seat.
Finally the man in the suit walks up to the window and begins describing something that he has lost. I don't listen because I don't want to be rude and I am also too excited about the prospect of getting my iPhone back but then I realize everyone else in the room is paying attention to his description. The man behind the window walks away and comes back holding something that I can't see what it is. The man's face lights up and then he instantly blushes. He tells the man working that that is indeed what he was looking for, gives him the 11 euros and walks out holding a tattered stuffed animal, obviously belonging to a child of his who had absent mindedly left it somewhere. This is what amazes me. Some French person came across this ragged stuffed animal (I think it used to be a dog) with squish lines through the stomach where it had been hugged to death and instead of thinking, gross this toy is disgusting and throwing it away, realized that it was loved by someone, and turned it in to the office of found items, where a dad had enough love for the child to go retrieve it on his lunch break. Every single person in that office stopped and did a collective 'awwww' and a sigh. It was undoubtedly the cutest thing I have ever seen.
Finally, one of the men behind the windows gets up and goes around a corner. He starts calling people up to get their items. The wallets are all found, including paperwork, money and all credit cards. The teenage boy got his backpack back and then it was me. He brings around a small thing wrapped in white paper and I see a little leopard print sticking out. MY iPHONEEEEEE. I don't even wait for him to call my name I just sprint to the counter and jump up and down like a little kid at a candy shop window. He tells me how extremely and incredibly lucky I am and cautions me to be more careful. I would have jumped over the counter and kissed him if there were not a glass barrier (probably placed there after someone like me had that impulse). I wished everyone in the office a nice day and half walked half skipped out the door. It started to rain the second I got out the door. I didn't care.
When I told my mom the story she said "Well this says two things about France; 1. the french are really superior and 2. Socialism works"
I don't know if we could go thaaaaat far :)
Stay tuned for:
1. the nantes guy on the bench story AKA how to lie to french people
2. the beach with the host family; subtitle: pretending I don't know anything about stars
3. becoming frommers; how I became a tour guide
last days in the country and my foray into bartending
so for my last 2 days in the country with the kids, I kinda just hung around with the exception of my trip to La Baule which is a 9km beach (my numbers have ranged from 7-9km because the french can't seem to make up their minds about how long it actually is.) This story isn't all that exceptional, I took the train to the beach in the morning, walked to the beach, laid down in the sand, napped for a while, swam in the ocean, realized I was getting burnt, bought sunscreen and lunch, laid on the beach again, took the train home. Just a normal day at the beach.
I took the train home on the last day and the kids just looked at me wide-eyed. A asked me where I was going and then gave me about 100 thousand kisses so I had a nice coat of slobber on my face for the train ride home; I took the first class train back to Paris (so swanky).
I hung around Paris for a few days and on one of these occasions, I went to WOS with Morgan. We were just sitting there enjoying our evening when the owner asks what I am doing the next night. With no other plans and Morgan having to babysit, I said 'nothing, why?' and it was explained to me that the bar was having a big party for the french running of the bulls called bayonne and that they needed an extra hand because most of the other bartenders were busy.
Before he could finish his sentence I had screamed yes in his face because I was probably more excited than I should have been. Okay said the owner, you have to wear all white and red because that's what people wear to the bayonne, told me to be there at 7pm and I quickly agreed and started planning my outfit.
Here are the things I did not anticipate:
1. the fact that I have literally zero clue how to make a single cocktail, mixed drink or even pour a beer correctly from the taps
2. the fact that by standing behind the bar, people were going to give me orders, some of those people only spoke french, and I had not learned the french words for 'shot' 'pint vs demi' and various other typical bar orders
3. no one taught me how to open the register, so i just was holding wads of money and desperately begging the other bartenders to open the drawer for me
4. no one told me that if the person doesn't hand you money right away, you make a ticket and stick it in the jar with their name on it (a lot of people drank for free because of me)
with none of that in mind, I show up at WOS at 6, because I wasn't doing anything else. I was put in charge of cutting up fruit to make sangria, and then slicing a bunch of cheese for cheese and ham plates. The owner told me it was going to be my job to serve sangria when people asked, the ham and cheese plates when people asked, to clear glasses that were empty and to walk around and make sure people were having fun. (Guess he pegged me as a social butterfly)
Easy enough! the night starts slow and I am just pouring Sangria and chatting with the few people I know who are cycling through the bar and chatting with people I don't know, trying to get them to order sangria. Sales skills. This works well until we hit road block 1. Someone orders Sangria and a Long Island. Now my experiences with Long Islands are atypical. I believe I would be frowned upon in Europe if I made a Kilroy's style Long Island and charged people 2 euro. meh. So I have to catch the eye of the only other bartender there at the time, and ask her to make one.
This girl bartender does not like me. She is from another midwest state, also blonde, and I think she thinks I am stepping on her toes by working at WOS for the night. She introduces me to people as "the other blonde american who works here now" this does not strike me well. I pour sangria and move on until the person hands me a full on handful of cash which leads me to roadblock 3. How do I open the register? I have to ask the bartender who dislikes me. Instead of showing me which would have saved both of us time and frustration in the long run, she just hits a bunch of buttons, the drawer opens and I put the money in. I make the change and turn to hand it to the guy who paid me in the first place. He tells me I can keep it.
I just made my first 2 euro as a bartender. Officially professional. All of the sudden there were a million people in the bar and it was getting intensely crowded. Two other bartenders show up and I am instantly in the way, so I start collecting empty glasses and walking around making sure that people are still having a good time. This seems to go well. People like to mess with new bartenders. Two british rugby players offered me a job cleaning their apartment for an hour a week for 20 euros. I considered this offer for quite some time.
I spend the rest of my evening avoiding being behind the bar because I am in the way, useless at making drinks, incapable of accepting payment and altogether annoying the seasoned bartenders. The owner is unaware of this, or just doesn't care. He is happy. He asks me to work the next day.
The next day goes way better because there is not a theme party and I worked during the day. Working during the day meant this: got early breakfast with people who hang out at WOS frequently, lost my iphone in the cab that I took back to WOS (this story coming next) while working: Owner poured the drinks, I carried them to whoever ordered them, took money, handed it to owner and then checked on people every so often. In between the scattered customers (not too many on a sunday afternoon) we played 'petanque' which is usually played outdoors by people who are 100, but we had an indoor set.
It's a lot like marbles only the balls are like 10 times as big. You throw a little orange ball and then you through bigger balls and try to land them as close to the orange ball as possible and/or knock people away from the orange ball. It was kinda fun, really difficult to play in a super skinny bar, but altogether a pretty good time.
This day bartending went way better, this is the day I learned about making a ticket and sticking it in the jar with the persons name, I learned how to open the register (then promptly forgot) and one of the bartenders even showed me how to close down the bar - hot water on the taps, how to run the dishwasher and all that jazz- she then split all the tips with me that night. I made 15 whole euro. I decide I like this girl bartender. She is from Poland and awesome.
I go home, decide that bartending in that capacity is probably not going to be my strong suit, but I would love to try again with slightly more training. I sleep all of Monday.
I took the train home on the last day and the kids just looked at me wide-eyed. A asked me where I was going and then gave me about 100 thousand kisses so I had a nice coat of slobber on my face for the train ride home; I took the first class train back to Paris (so swanky).
I hung around Paris for a few days and on one of these occasions, I went to WOS with Morgan. We were just sitting there enjoying our evening when the owner asks what I am doing the next night. With no other plans and Morgan having to babysit, I said 'nothing, why?' and it was explained to me that the bar was having a big party for the french running of the bulls called bayonne and that they needed an extra hand because most of the other bartenders were busy.
Before he could finish his sentence I had screamed yes in his face because I was probably more excited than I should have been. Okay said the owner, you have to wear all white and red because that's what people wear to the bayonne, told me to be there at 7pm and I quickly agreed and started planning my outfit.
Here are the things I did not anticipate:
1. the fact that I have literally zero clue how to make a single cocktail, mixed drink or even pour a beer correctly from the taps
2. the fact that by standing behind the bar, people were going to give me orders, some of those people only spoke french, and I had not learned the french words for 'shot' 'pint vs demi' and various other typical bar orders
3. no one taught me how to open the register, so i just was holding wads of money and desperately begging the other bartenders to open the drawer for me
4. no one told me that if the person doesn't hand you money right away, you make a ticket and stick it in the jar with their name on it (a lot of people drank for free because of me)
with none of that in mind, I show up at WOS at 6, because I wasn't doing anything else. I was put in charge of cutting up fruit to make sangria, and then slicing a bunch of cheese for cheese and ham plates. The owner told me it was going to be my job to serve sangria when people asked, the ham and cheese plates when people asked, to clear glasses that were empty and to walk around and make sure people were having fun. (Guess he pegged me as a social butterfly)
Easy enough! the night starts slow and I am just pouring Sangria and chatting with the few people I know who are cycling through the bar and chatting with people I don't know, trying to get them to order sangria. Sales skills. This works well until we hit road block 1. Someone orders Sangria and a Long Island. Now my experiences with Long Islands are atypical. I believe I would be frowned upon in Europe if I made a Kilroy's style Long Island and charged people 2 euro. meh. So I have to catch the eye of the only other bartender there at the time, and ask her to make one.
This girl bartender does not like me. She is from another midwest state, also blonde, and I think she thinks I am stepping on her toes by working at WOS for the night. She introduces me to people as "the other blonde american who works here now" this does not strike me well. I pour sangria and move on until the person hands me a full on handful of cash which leads me to roadblock 3. How do I open the register? I have to ask the bartender who dislikes me. Instead of showing me which would have saved both of us time and frustration in the long run, she just hits a bunch of buttons, the drawer opens and I put the money in. I make the change and turn to hand it to the guy who paid me in the first place. He tells me I can keep it.
I just made my first 2 euro as a bartender. Officially professional. All of the sudden there were a million people in the bar and it was getting intensely crowded. Two other bartenders show up and I am instantly in the way, so I start collecting empty glasses and walking around making sure that people are still having a good time. This seems to go well. People like to mess with new bartenders. Two british rugby players offered me a job cleaning their apartment for an hour a week for 20 euros. I considered this offer for quite some time.
I spend the rest of my evening avoiding being behind the bar because I am in the way, useless at making drinks, incapable of accepting payment and altogether annoying the seasoned bartenders. The owner is unaware of this, or just doesn't care. He is happy. He asks me to work the next day.
The next day goes way better because there is not a theme party and I worked during the day. Working during the day meant this: got early breakfast with people who hang out at WOS frequently, lost my iphone in the cab that I took back to WOS (this story coming next) while working: Owner poured the drinks, I carried them to whoever ordered them, took money, handed it to owner and then checked on people every so often. In between the scattered customers (not too many on a sunday afternoon) we played 'petanque' which is usually played outdoors by people who are 100, but we had an indoor set.
It's a lot like marbles only the balls are like 10 times as big. You throw a little orange ball and then you through bigger balls and try to land them as close to the orange ball as possible and/or knock people away from the orange ball. It was kinda fun, really difficult to play in a super skinny bar, but altogether a pretty good time.
This day bartending went way better, this is the day I learned about making a ticket and sticking it in the jar with the persons name, I learned how to open the register (then promptly forgot) and one of the bartenders even showed me how to close down the bar - hot water on the taps, how to run the dishwasher and all that jazz- she then split all the tips with me that night. I made 15 whole euro. I decide I like this girl bartender. She is from Poland and awesome.
I go home, decide that bartending in that capacity is probably not going to be my strong suit, but I would love to try again with slightly more training. I sleep all of Monday.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Pictures from the country part 2
Again: no clue why the order is the way it is:
#1 the giant church of Nantes, very similar looking to notre dame. Inside are the tombs of famous people
#2 the tomb of Anne of Bretagne's parents
#3 The castle belonging to Anne of Bretagne
#4 la Baule, 8.5 km beach, lots of women casually topless, I don't think i will ever get used to that
#5 inside the church at Nantes
#6 part of the 17 tourret castle in angers
#7 and #8 more photos of the castle of angers
#9 the inside of the church built within the castle of angers once used as a holding tank for prisoners of war
#10 Vineyard built on one of the walkways inside the castle at angers
#11 inside the crypts under the church in Nantes
#12 another casual view of the castle of Angers and part of the church
#13 just another section of crypts. Normal.
Stay tuned for the story of how I lost my iPhone and the miracle by which it was found. Also included will be "the cutest thing I have ever seen in my life"
#1 the giant church of Nantes, very similar looking to notre dame. Inside are the tombs of famous people
#2 the tomb of Anne of Bretagne's parents
#3 The castle belonging to Anne of Bretagne
#4 la Baule, 8.5 km beach, lots of women casually topless, I don't think i will ever get used to that
#5 inside the church at Nantes
#6 part of the 17 tourret castle in angers
#7 and #8 more photos of the castle of angers
#9 the inside of the church built within the castle of angers once used as a holding tank for prisoners of war
#10 Vineyard built on one of the walkways inside the castle at angers
#11 inside the crypts under the church in Nantes
#12 another casual view of the castle of Angers and part of the church
#13 just another section of crypts. Normal.
Stay tuned for the story of how I lost my iPhone and the miracle by which it was found. Also included will be "the cutest thing I have ever seen in my life"
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