Last Sunday I got a nasty surprise as my bank card was swallowed by an ATM. "Incorrect code" flashed across the screen twice, so before typing my PIN a third and final time, I dug into my wallet and checked to make sure I hadn't gone crazy. As my card disappeared for good after a third and final rejection, I felt a familiar rage come over me. It was Sunday afternoon, Monday the banks are closed and Wednesday I'd be leaving for a business trip, giving me a small window of one hour on Tuesday afternoon to try and get my card back or otherwise be screwed.
I fetched my card on Tuesday without a hitch. Tuesday night when I tried to pay for my dinner at a restaurant though, I had yet another strange message: "incident sur la carte". I checked my bank account -- nothing. I'd been paid, all my bills were in order, taxes, expenses, etc.. everything looked peachy. My savings account was in-tact with no changes, so what could the problem be?
I decided to quickly google "incident carte bleue" and with every reply, I felt a hard lump forming in my throat: "comment faire quand on est interdit bancaire?" "Banque de France" "Interdit bancaire" "interdit bancaire" "interdit bancaire". Oh. My. God. This can't possibly be happening to me, right? I have a positive balance on my account, I've never spent a day in the red -- this must be a mistake, right? ... Wrong.
My name is still on my ex's account because our divorce is taking a long time. We own two houses together and we share a child. The details are complicated and unnecessary. What is necessary to know is that because I am listed on his account and because he is listed on mine, I am just as much in the red as he is regardless of how much money I personally have. We can't remove each other's names from our accounts until the divorce is moving, so in the mean time, I am just honest and truly screwed.
So what does that mean? It means I can't use my credit card and I can't use my checks. I can't withdraw money. I can't do anything. And how long does it last? Until my Ex takes care of his financial problems. Every time a check is rejected by his bank, I accrue fees. This will happen until all of the checks have been paid in full, and then from that moment it will take Banque de France one week to lift the ban. As of today, there are still checks that haven't been paid in full, and thus my bank accounts and my money remain off-limits.
I called my banker immediately and he is well aware of the situation. He decided to remove the bounced check fees I had been hit with because none of my personal checks have ever bounced and he's a pretty reasonable guy. That was lucky on my part. The other advice he gave me was to move as much money as possible to my personal savings account, which I promptly did.
The long story short -- there are some serious consequences for being irresponsible financially. Make sure you know what you are doing when you decide to open a joint account and make sure you know how to close that joint account should it ever come to it. For us, it involves either liquidating or buying out the two houses and truly beginning the divorce proceedings. Until that happens, neither one of us can move forward, and I am definitely suffering the consequences. Every day, it's a trial to pull myself out of bed not knowing what i'll get hit with next. Some days, I just want to curl up in my bed and wish this all away. It's complicated, it's full of paperwork and administrative hurdles, and I am emotionally maxed-out.
On a positive note, I really am trying to take all of this by putting my best face forward. I know that once all of this is finished, I will never have problems like this again.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
An Unorganized Life
I wish there was some little fairy that would follow me around organizing behind me, because life around here these days looks like a real mess. It started over the winter when the sky was falling -- bricks were literally falling off the house with all the freezing weather we had, and there were a couple of very dangerous near misses, where my plastic garden box was shattered when six inches to the right it would have been my car, and where bricks landed on the neighbor's roof, just near their new glass ceiling dome. Because my neighbors have lived here for ages and know everybody (it's like that in Roubaix) I asked them if they knew any masons. This was a few months ago and since then the weather has improved, but I had the house estimated twice and both times the agents told me that the state of my bricks was horrible -- "in ruin" were their exact words, so when the neighbor's cousin came knocking last week offering to repair everything, I decided to throw caution to the wind and let him patch up the holes.
Two weeks ago he showed up on a drizzly Saturday, and that was my cue to leave. I'm too much of a control freak to stick around while people are doing work. 1) I try to follow behind them with a broom, exhausting myself because the dust is never ending. 2) I ask too many questions, distracting them from their work and more or less driving everybody crazy. 3) I can't do anything but walk in circles, waiting for the workers to mess up, which astronomically increases the chances that they will mess up. So I took a hint and bowed out for the day. Driving back home, I was a ball of nerves -- what would the house look like? Would it be worse or better? No -- it can't possibly be better -- that would just be too lucky. Alas, as I rounded the corner and saw the pristine white mortar between my ruby red bricks, my jaw dropped. The arches around my windows popped. The columns on my balcony seemed to be glowing. Oh sweet Jesus -- they did a damn good job. They did such a good job that it made the cement casing that was still on the balcony look like shit. So I asked them to come back and repair that stuff the following weekend, and they quickly agreed.
Sunday they appeared with everything necessary to get the job done, and by the end of the day my brickwork (ok, at least the very urgent "in ruin" brick work) looked like new with beautiful new concrete casing. We made a lot of jokes (I'll have to elaborate on my life in Muslim/Arab/Maghreb/whateveryouwannacallit France another time cause it's pretty awkward/hilarious) and by the end of the afternoon we were planning a Halal barbecue for the entire family (which probably includes half of Roubaix, to hear them talk about it!).
Retreating inside the house, as the sun set I stood to close my shutters. Shutters are an important cultural aspect of my neighborhood -- if they are shut during the day, that means your house is most likely a squat and will be treated so. If they are open, people assume somebody lives there and they leave you alone. It's important to know the neighborhood code in order to have some peace. When it gets dark, I close them. First thing when I get up, I open them. It's that simple. So I go to the living room and start to turn the crank only to be met with a horrible crunch of opposition. "Grava" (my new word of the week which means like, cement remnants) got jammed into my shutters from where they guys were working on the balcony, and the shutters were jammed open.
For an entire night, I didn't sleep. What was meant to be a simple brick project ended with three of us up on ladders the next day, breaking open the 80-year old shutter boxes and trying to jab the rocks free with aluminum rulers. Today the tiles are splattered with drops of blood (it was a vicious battle), dust older than my grandmother and gritty little rocks leaving scratches all over my floors.
And where am I? Seeking refuge up in my room, the only place in the entire house where it's warm, cause it's too damn cold to be cleaning any floors and with all the rain we've been having, there's no real use anyway -- the floors are just going to get junky again in about 3 seconds.
I'm supposed to be traveling for work until Thursday meaning i'd come back to my messy, unorganized house on Friday with Victor in tow, and that's just not fair to him. So that leaves me with one option -- throw this place together, wipe up the mess, put away the ladder, and hope that we can quickly rebuild the shutter cases, repaint all three windows (cause you know you can't paint just one) and then call the DIY work quits for a few weeks.
In the mean time, if a little paint/cleaning/organizing fairy wanted to come in and do me a massive service, I wouldn't be the one saying no!
Two weeks ago he showed up on a drizzly Saturday, and that was my cue to leave. I'm too much of a control freak to stick around while people are doing work. 1) I try to follow behind them with a broom, exhausting myself because the dust is never ending. 2) I ask too many questions, distracting them from their work and more or less driving everybody crazy. 3) I can't do anything but walk in circles, waiting for the workers to mess up, which astronomically increases the chances that they will mess up. So I took a hint and bowed out for the day. Driving back home, I was a ball of nerves -- what would the house look like? Would it be worse or better? No -- it can't possibly be better -- that would just be too lucky. Alas, as I rounded the corner and saw the pristine white mortar between my ruby red bricks, my jaw dropped. The arches around my windows popped. The columns on my balcony seemed to be glowing. Oh sweet Jesus -- they did a damn good job. They did such a good job that it made the cement casing that was still on the balcony look like shit. So I asked them to come back and repair that stuff the following weekend, and they quickly agreed.
Sunday they appeared with everything necessary to get the job done, and by the end of the day my brickwork (ok, at least the very urgent "in ruin" brick work) looked like new with beautiful new concrete casing. We made a lot of jokes (I'll have to elaborate on my life in Muslim/Arab/Maghreb/whateveryouwannacallit France another time cause it's pretty awkward/hilarious) and by the end of the afternoon we were planning a Halal barbecue for the entire family (which probably includes half of Roubaix, to hear them talk about it!).
Retreating inside the house, as the sun set I stood to close my shutters. Shutters are an important cultural aspect of my neighborhood -- if they are shut during the day, that means your house is most likely a squat and will be treated so. If they are open, people assume somebody lives there and they leave you alone. It's important to know the neighborhood code in order to have some peace. When it gets dark, I close them. First thing when I get up, I open them. It's that simple. So I go to the living room and start to turn the crank only to be met with a horrible crunch of opposition. "Grava" (my new word of the week which means like, cement remnants) got jammed into my shutters from where they guys were working on the balcony, and the shutters were jammed open.
For an entire night, I didn't sleep. What was meant to be a simple brick project ended with three of us up on ladders the next day, breaking open the 80-year old shutter boxes and trying to jab the rocks free with aluminum rulers. Today the tiles are splattered with drops of blood (it was a vicious battle), dust older than my grandmother and gritty little rocks leaving scratches all over my floors.
And where am I? Seeking refuge up in my room, the only place in the entire house where it's warm, cause it's too damn cold to be cleaning any floors and with all the rain we've been having, there's no real use anyway -- the floors are just going to get junky again in about 3 seconds.
I'm supposed to be traveling for work until Thursday meaning i'd come back to my messy, unorganized house on Friday with Victor in tow, and that's just not fair to him. So that leaves me with one option -- throw this place together, wipe up the mess, put away the ladder, and hope that we can quickly rebuild the shutter cases, repaint all three windows (cause you know you can't paint just one) and then call the DIY work quits for a few weeks.
In the mean time, if a little paint/cleaning/organizing fairy wanted to come in and do me a massive service, I wouldn't be the one saying no!
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Teacher, Professor, Other?
Sometimes I think I made a big mistake in life when I chose my career, but that is a thought that hits me when my "French brain" is active, and not my "American brain". That's because in French culture, you choose what you are going to do for the rest of your life (more or less with few/rare changes) while you are still in high school. At university, you are immersed in what your future job should/would be, and then when you hit the working world you get right to it. It's also pretty strange to change fields, and sometimes even employers depending on the industry you work in. They tend to like to put people in these nice, square little boxes so that there's no confusion -- you go here, he goes there, she goes over there. You'll do this, he'll do that, she'll do something else. That's just how it is and trying to change it is futile.
My dilemma is that for the last year and a half I've been working exclusively with web/IT clients. Every lesson, I sit there and absorb their stories like the little sponge that I am, processing what they are saying, putting myself in their shoes to better understand their individual issues and needs. It's really for that reason that I love my job -- I love connecting with people, and I love learning. I love communication. There's no other way around it. I like standing in front of a group of people and explaining my passion for something -- it's really my driving force.
But now I'm at a crossroads -- I need to make a decision as to whether I continue with this freelance thing or whether I throw in the towel and go back to being a salaried employee. I burned a lot of bridges over the last years due to some serious unhappiness on my part with myself and my situation, and it's really only been in the last few months that I've finally felt able to breathe and relax again. Nevertheless, I know I can't (and shouldn't) go back to where I've already been, but I also know that there's not a lot of other options in my region. I've been traveling a lot to Paris and Lyon, but traveling every day with a little boy at home is unrealistic. I need to make a decision and stick to it, but either way it will symbolize a change.
Continuing on as a freelancer during these economic conditions means I won't know stability until(if?) the economy improves. Continuing on as a freelancer means scraping tooth and nail, sharp reflexes, reacting quickly -- jumping at every opportunity and not a lot of rest. I like the freedom of managing my own schedule and doing the job that I want to do rather than a job I am forced to do. But it's not comfortable -- just projecting over the next year and a half or so is showing that any way you look at it, I'm going to take a serious financial hit, which leads me to think about becoming an employee again. If i'm going to take a financial hit, it might as well be in the form of a signed contract where I'll receive a regular salary. The only problem is me -- I don't want to have to make either decision. I want to continue to prosper and grow, to learn, and to connect with people.
The other issue is that I've worked myself into such a niche that I'm not sure going back to training large retailers, sales associates, bankers, who have you, would interest me. The training I did before all felt so very meaningless; sessions lasted 20 or 30 hours, and for what goal? What I'm doing now is continuous, it's building on what we put in place last year, it's forecasting into the future. Except that it's not stable. Well, shit. I ought to start "diversifying" myself again, which was my strategy when I first landed in France, except that it goes against everything I've worked towards over the last almost two years. Another issue still is that I feel like book training, where you follow a 15-unit text book and teach in a very academic fashion, is beneath me now -- yes, I said "beneath me" -- I feel like my skills and my abilities go beyond that kind of teaching, and I don't want to do it. I like using books as resources, but nothing was as mindless as working at inlingua with their "method" and their "training" and their sing-songy, back and forth, repeat-repeat-repeat method.
Nothing professional feels quite as depressing as the prospect of going back to that.
I remember back a few years when I first got a call from the university I worked at for four years. I remember dreaming of being a professor -- that was all I ever wanted to do in life. Connect with students, teach, facilitate learning, instill a love of learning and languages. That's all I ever had in my mind. I remember getting the call and just praying -- please let me get this job, please let her give me a chance, it's all I ever wanted. I thought it would change my life, and it did, and it wasn't at all what I thought it would be as I look back on it five years later.
Today, I'm praying again -- praying that somebody else will see my potential and give me another chance. In what, I don't even know and I can't even say -- even to me, it's unclear. A lot of good opportunities have just fallen into my lap in my lifetime, and I'm hoping that there are still a few more good ones out there. In the mean time, I've got a plan up until September, but from then onward, it's still a mystery. All I know is that I need to break out of the box that I've put myself in, and find something in life that's going to fulfill my curiosity, my need to learn and my need to improve myself. Until then, I'll stay on standby, still looking for the right opportunity and riding out the rest of my (what I hope is only a) quarter-life crisis (which seems to be endless...).
My dilemma is that for the last year and a half I've been working exclusively with web/IT clients. Every lesson, I sit there and absorb their stories like the little sponge that I am, processing what they are saying, putting myself in their shoes to better understand their individual issues and needs. It's really for that reason that I love my job -- I love connecting with people, and I love learning. I love communication. There's no other way around it. I like standing in front of a group of people and explaining my passion for something -- it's really my driving force.
But now I'm at a crossroads -- I need to make a decision as to whether I continue with this freelance thing or whether I throw in the towel and go back to being a salaried employee. I burned a lot of bridges over the last years due to some serious unhappiness on my part with myself and my situation, and it's really only been in the last few months that I've finally felt able to breathe and relax again. Nevertheless, I know I can't (and shouldn't) go back to where I've already been, but I also know that there's not a lot of other options in my region. I've been traveling a lot to Paris and Lyon, but traveling every day with a little boy at home is unrealistic. I need to make a decision and stick to it, but either way it will symbolize a change.
Continuing on as a freelancer during these economic conditions means I won't know stability until(if?) the economy improves. Continuing on as a freelancer means scraping tooth and nail, sharp reflexes, reacting quickly -- jumping at every opportunity and not a lot of rest. I like the freedom of managing my own schedule and doing the job that I want to do rather than a job I am forced to do. But it's not comfortable -- just projecting over the next year and a half or so is showing that any way you look at it, I'm going to take a serious financial hit, which leads me to think about becoming an employee again. If i'm going to take a financial hit, it might as well be in the form of a signed contract where I'll receive a regular salary. The only problem is me -- I don't want to have to make either decision. I want to continue to prosper and grow, to learn, and to connect with people.
The other issue is that I've worked myself into such a niche that I'm not sure going back to training large retailers, sales associates, bankers, who have you, would interest me. The training I did before all felt so very meaningless; sessions lasted 20 or 30 hours, and for what goal? What I'm doing now is continuous, it's building on what we put in place last year, it's forecasting into the future. Except that it's not stable. Well, shit. I ought to start "diversifying" myself again, which was my strategy when I first landed in France, except that it goes against everything I've worked towards over the last almost two years. Another issue still is that I feel like book training, where you follow a 15-unit text book and teach in a very academic fashion, is beneath me now -- yes, I said "beneath me" -- I feel like my skills and my abilities go beyond that kind of teaching, and I don't want to do it. I like using books as resources, but nothing was as mindless as working at inlingua with their "method" and their "training" and their sing-songy, back and forth, repeat-repeat-repeat method.
Nothing professional feels quite as depressing as the prospect of going back to that.
I remember back a few years when I first got a call from the university I worked at for four years. I remember dreaming of being a professor -- that was all I ever wanted to do in life. Connect with students, teach, facilitate learning, instill a love of learning and languages. That's all I ever had in my mind. I remember getting the call and just praying -- please let me get this job, please let her give me a chance, it's all I ever wanted. I thought it would change my life, and it did, and it wasn't at all what I thought it would be as I look back on it five years later.
Today, I'm praying again -- praying that somebody else will see my potential and give me another chance. In what, I don't even know and I can't even say -- even to me, it's unclear. A lot of good opportunities have just fallen into my lap in my lifetime, and I'm hoping that there are still a few more good ones out there. In the mean time, I've got a plan up until September, but from then onward, it's still a mystery. All I know is that I need to break out of the box that I've put myself in, and find something in life that's going to fulfill my curiosity, my need to learn and my need to improve myself. Until then, I'll stay on standby, still looking for the right opportunity and riding out the rest of my (what I hope is only a) quarter-life crisis (which seems to be endless...).
Monday, May 6, 2013
27 & a Michelin (fallen) Star
*disclaimer -- this post is full of first-world problems*
To celebrate my birthday, we went to La Laiterie in Lambersart. This is my fourth Michelin-star restaurant since August -- it didn't take me long at all to learn to love gourmet food. I love how beautiful and creatively the food is presented on the plate. I even love pretending to be Anton Ego saying, "I don't like food. I love it, and if I don't love it, I don't swallow it." I like dressing up, drinking champagne in crystal flutes and really enjoying a great night. We've been planning to go to La Laiterie since back in January when it was fully booked and we had to go to Val d'Auge in Bondues instead. Then I was so disappointed when we couldn't get a table at Flocons de Sel in Megeve when we were there skiing and had to eat at Flocons Village instead. Granted this restaurant isn't the same "standing" at all, but with all the hype from my friends talking about how great it was, I did get my hopes up pretty high. With two missed opportunities at other times, I was really looking forward to finally giving this one a try.
Little to my knowledge, a table was reserved for us weeks in advance and when the big day finally arrived, I was so excited. In the reservation book next to our reservation it even said "madame vegetarienne" -- meaning that they knew well in advance and had plenty of time to prepare something great for me. Every other restaurant we've been to managed to present me with something original even if it wasn't my favorite.
After having our apero in the lounge, we moved to our table which was stylish, somber. Our first amuse-bouche was an asperagus soup that was too salty and a little bit too hot. We waited quite awhile for our first starter, and when it finally arrived I was worried. There was one asparagus cut in half, nicely presented with two sun-dried tomatos and three morilles. Everything tasted fine, but in terms of consistency, next to my friend's two langoustines, my one asparagus branch felt a bit measly. Nevertheless, I patiently awaited my second starter -- yes, a second starter -- because we opted for the five-course meals at 110€ a head.
After yet another excessive wait, our second starters arrived. Once again, I felt disappointed. The server set it in front of me and said something to the terms of, "uh, the chef prepares this stuff "au feeling" (=randomly, depending on his mood), give me a minute and I'll go see what it is." She comes back as I've already started eating and informs me that it was a purée of snap peas and cabbage. Sure, the ingredients were fresh. Sure, everything tasted OK. But at the end of the day, this was the second salad they'd served me. I patiently awaited my main course, hoping for something original. Afterall, I'm a vegetarian -- not a rabbit -- not an anorexic (obviously!). My friend was served lamb (I think) and fried risotto. His fried risotto was excellent and he liked his lamb too, but had the same qualm as me -- all of this felt very ordinary. What's the point in going to a gourmet restaurant with a Michelin star for something so typical? More than just that, he's a great cook and thus far we hadn't been served anything that he couldn't have made better in his very own kitchen.
When our main courses came out, that's when my heart just sank. On my plate there was yet another pile of vegetables, only this time they were nearly drowning in -- what? Oh, the waitress didn't know -- "let me go check!" -- soy sauce. If I wanted a vegetable wok, we would have gone to the Chinese buffet down the street. I silently ate my vegetables, fuming to myself that we were about to spend that much money on something so boring when we could have gone to any other restaurant with stars in the region and instead chose this one. I don't remember exactly what my friend had to eat, but he was just as disappointed, for there on his plate was yet another fried risotto side dish -- he was served the same side dish twice, which is a big no-no.
As the waitress came back to collect our dishes with a big smile on her face, I couldn't help myself -- she asked "ça a été?" (Was everything alright?) and I replied, "bah, non." and explained what we were expecting, why we weren't satisfied, and what a disappointment the whole evening had been. In addition to excruciatingly average food, the sommelier didn't really seem to know what he was talking about and kept trying to upsell me Champagne when all I really wanted was a nice glass of red wine.
The waitress nodded in agreement and came back with good news: my meal would be on the house!
The bad news? As soon as she delivered this news, we didn't see her for ages. No refills on water or drinks, and only one of the two desserts that we were supposed to have was actually served. Around 1 am, after clearing our plates and proposing coffee (seriously who drinks coffee at 1 am?), we realized our second dessert was never coming and decided to leave.
The chef himself came out and shook our hands, apologizing for the lack of detail and originality, told us that 100% of our check would be comped and invited us to come back. It was the fourth or fifth time that my friend had gone there and the first time he'd been so disappointed, so we may still give it another try yet. I was upset to learn that the chef at La Laiterie is the same chef as at Le Cerisier in Laventie, so there's no point in trying that restaurant either. In the end, we got a "290€ meal" (if you can say that's what it was actually worth) for free, but as far as going out to celebrate my birthday and having a great, unforgettable evening goes, it fell flat. All that hype for nothing, regardless of how cool it is that the chef actually came out to talk to us.
I couldn't help but to compare this experience to experiences we've had elsewhere -- Costes in Budapest, l'Atelier de Robuchon in Paris, etc.. it just didn't even begin to stack up. We went to l'Atelier on a whim one Sunday afternoon, reserving the same morning. We showed up and said "Madame est vegetarienne -- ça pose probleme?" (Amber's a veggie, is it still possible to eat here?) and we were told, "Oh yes, of course, no problem" -- no prior warning, nothing, and I think it was probably one of the best (if not the best) meals of my life.. at less than half the price as what we would have paid at La Laiterie. It's listed as the 24th best Michelin restaurant in the world, and plain to see why. I guess that's why I still think the stars are a good indicator as to whether or not something is original, creative, and delicious -- but it's also impressive to me when a restaurant knows how to offer dishes that suit a variety of clients rather than just carnivores.
I appreciate the gesture of comping our bill, but I would have preferred to pay for our dinner and have a truly magical experience in all honesty. I won't be ready to "try again" any time soon.
In the mean time, we've been testing all of the hotel restaurants in the Lille area -- Le Vieil Abreuvoir in Roubaix (for the 2nd time, both were good sans plus) and the Crowne Plaza Lille, which was alright for me but excellent for my friend who is a picky guy when it comes to the way his souri d'agneau is prepared. We'll try the Barriere Casino in Lille next which we've heard is pretty good, and are debating on whether or not to sink roughly 200€/person into a (hopefully) unforgettable meal in Belgium at Hof Van Cleve.
So there ya go -- my disappointment with La Laiterie, one of the "best" restaurants in Lille, and my 27th birthday. I don't know what the rest of my 20's has in store for me but here's to hoping it's something good.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
That time I admitted I was wrong
(Part two of this week's saga)
Yesterday when we came home to an empty house and no word yet again, I decided to do something about it. I asked my friend if he could text my girl to see if she was OK. There was no logical reason to slip off into the night like that except for the fact that she is a very quiet and sneaky (for lack of a better word) sort of person by nature. After some more thought, I decided that something else must have happened that was worth investigating.
And her reply? -- Oh my god, I left without telling you I was leaving? Well, yes. -- Oh crap, sorry about that.
Yes, she's forgetful. I've known that for awhile (would sometimes serve as her alarm in the morning to make sure she got up and off to work on time, always came along behind to make sure things like the gas were turned off, you know, little things that forgetful people tend to forget). So I decided to accept it at face-value rather than reading too much into it, and here I am at the end of the day two days later feeling my confidence and faith in humanity restored once again. We parted on good terms (rent paid, for those curious) and we all get on with our lives. The end.
So I will admit that I was wrong this time and happily so -- I much prefer the conclusion we just had to the conclusions that I was drawing in my head. If everybody leaves on a high note, then I can consider this little experiment a success, and nothing would make me happier right now.
Anyway, just a little update tonight because I felt bad about not telling the rest of the story. I was wrong, I definitely learned a lot of lessons and won't make the same mistakes again next time. The end!
Yesterday when we came home to an empty house and no word yet again, I decided to do something about it. I asked my friend if he could text my girl to see if she was OK. There was no logical reason to slip off into the night like that except for the fact that she is a very quiet and sneaky (for lack of a better word) sort of person by nature. After some more thought, I decided that something else must have happened that was worth investigating.
And her reply? -- Oh my god, I left without telling you I was leaving? Well, yes. -- Oh crap, sorry about that.
Yes, she's forgetful. I've known that for awhile (would sometimes serve as her alarm in the morning to make sure she got up and off to work on time, always came along behind to make sure things like the gas were turned off, you know, little things that forgetful people tend to forget). So I decided to accept it at face-value rather than reading too much into it, and here I am at the end of the day two days later feeling my confidence and faith in humanity restored once again. We parted on good terms (rent paid, for those curious) and we all get on with our lives. The end.
So I will admit that I was wrong this time and happily so -- I much prefer the conclusion we just had to the conclusions that I was drawing in my head. If everybody leaves on a high note, then I can consider this little experiment a success, and nothing would make me happier right now.
Anyway, just a little update tonight because I felt bad about not telling the rest of the story. I was wrong, I definitely learned a lot of lessons and won't make the same mistakes again next time. The end!
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
La Deception Totale
Let me tell you all what's on my plate.
Insurance quote is a real low-ball, not sure it'll get much higher.
Lawyer on Thursday -- let the battle begin.
Bank? Uh... we'll try again in about three weeks.
And the girls told me last Friday that they were both moving out. Early.
I knew that they would leave some time but sharing my life with these two young expats was something that I really, wholeheartedly wanted to do. I know I'm a busy gal jetting all around France to teach, but having them here brought me peace of mind and it kept my house "alive" when I felt like abandoning it. It was a great decision to open up my home to them.
Until...
You know that moment where somebody comes at you and they are dripping with emotion, and even though your logical mind is telling you not to react emotionally, deep down you can't control it because non-verbal communication is actually something like 80% (or maybe even more) of our communication? Yeah, that happened. The girls cornered me on a Friday night after a week of hearing about my friends getting fired and fretting over my future right in the middle of my "I'm in control! (but I'm not really in control at all!)" house scrub-down-fest. They sat down and nervously, anxiously, told me that they wanted to leave. My initial reaction was sadness -- this adventure is over -- and joy -- because they were moving on to bigger and better things. Until they just let it all out. At the risk of sounding petty, I'll paraphrase all the things that they never told me about before: afraid, angry about sharing a bathroom (even though one bathroom families are normal in France, but alright), didn't like being left alone when I was out of town but knew it was futile to say anything because I can't change the fact that I travel for work (and I was very upfront about my frequent absences from the beginning), and finally that neither planned on paying me the rent due for their last month.
Because I'm an animal too, I reacted. I fell right into their trap. Like hell you are leaving here without paying your rent if you think you are going to (also) recover your deposit, as they were requesting -- which my friend assured me (and he was there for all of this) is actually perfectly normal and not asking too much. Like hell, indeed. You know that asshole landlord that looks for toothpaste-filled holes in the wall? I could totally be that guy. Except that it's chipped enamel on the bathtub, a broken shower upstairs, a priceless piece of art damaged, frames fell off the wall, drinking glasses broken, a plastic cutting board with the imprint of a hot pan... yeah, I think I could be that much of an asshole.
In the end we talked it all out and what it came down to was me deciding that it's not worth it -- they owe me money but at the same time, they are just stupid kids who don't realize what they are doing, stupid irresponsible kids of today's generation that don't care about keeping their commitments or paying their debts. Now I sound like a grumpy old lady but that's basically all I can say -- I paid my debts when I was a student, and that's that. When I lived with a host family, I respected the rules and did what was asked of me. I shared a bathroom with the family. I ate what I was fed, and my rent was twice as much as my girls. I constantly cleaned up after myself and everybody else just to try and show my host mother that I appreciated her. I figured it was a small gesture of kindness, and she did seem to appreciate it.
I'm not saying that my girls never cleaned up, but they were sloppy and clumsy, and wasteful with energy. I'd come home and find their windows open while the heat was on when it was 0°c outside -- hence the whopping 550€ gas bill in February. All of this though? I could over-look it. I was just happy to have people here in the house with me. I could forgive it, because they are(were?) nice girls and this was an adventure. Plus, Victor loves them both so much -- whenever I pick him up from the nanny, the first words out of his mouth are their names. So I'm also disgusted for him -- he'll be so confused when they just don't come "home".
That leads us to today -- three days ago the girls told me they were moving out. Today I got home, and one of them had already left without so much as a "goodbye", let alone the tiny little "thank you" that I was holding out for. I know that acts of kindness are done out of, well, kindness, but damnit if a thank-you isn't nice from time to time. I got to thinking about everything I did from the very beginning which is only making me angry, hence why I'm writing about it in my blog -- so that I can just FORGET about it.
She stayed at my place for three days back in August to see if she would like it here. I gave her free reign, completely trusting her from the beginning. When she moved here, I picked her up with all her luggage at the train station and drove her back. Learning how to be a teacher, I spent many a Saturday or Sunday evening helping her lesson-plan. I taught her about the structure of lessons, what to consider about her audience before planning and how to switch things up and keep the attention spans of little kids active during 45 minutes. Any time she asked me anything, I stopped what I was doing to give her my full attention. I talked to her and I listened to her when she had problems with her teachers and her students. We played board games together. We cooked and ate dinner together. We had a lot of good laughs. She celebrated an amazing Christmas with my friend's family, and they even spoiled her rotten with gifts which even surprised me. I thanked her profusely for every little thing that she did to help out, fully appreciating her participation in the family, up until the point where she just stopped participating a few weeks ago.
When I asked what was wrong, she said that she was a tenant, and suddenly wanted to be left alone. Oh, but I was never here, and that bothered her too. I decided that the problem was beyond my fixing and wasn't actually with me, because the change came from nowhere. I tried to continue encouraging her to work on her essay that's due at the end of the month, to give education a second chance, listened while she talked about feeling lost about next year and what to do about a job, a place to live, her boyfriend, her dad... gosh, just about everything. And it felt really nice to be "needed". I was happy to give her my time.
And then I came home today and had a sneaking suspicion that something had changed. Her room? Nearly empty. Her cupboard? The bare minimum. Her shelf in the fridge? Well I don't get it, why didn't she just throw everything out already in one go? Same in the bath -- nearly empty bottles of shampoo and soap are all that's left. The second girl came home and pretended not to know anything even though I'm pretty sure they were partners in crime. I laughed it off to her face but oh believe you me, evil toothpaste-filled-holes-landlord will rear her ugly head and I'll follow all of the rules to the book. Deposit? You'll get it in 30 days, if you are lucky. You broke my priceless sculpture that was a gift and then tried to cover it up and hide it from me. I forgive you, but I certainly will not be forgetting any.time.soon.
So yeah, i'm fired up. I'm fired up because I shared my home and my life with two girls who actually didn't really care that much and took advantage of my generosity. Right about now all I want to do is take the low road, change the locks and throw all of their remaining crap out the window. My feelings are hurt because I gave as much as I could and did my best to take care of them, and they still complain. They want more, more, and more, and I'm just at a loss as to how I could have possibly done more than what I was already doing. I know I have a tendency to spread myself thin, but at the same time I also thought that two college-aged girls also wouldn't want to be hanging around with me all the time so I gave them a lot of privacy and space... apparently too much... or not enough, depending on who you talk to.
Both girls said, "don't take it personally!" but when they turn around and feel the need to sneak away, it's really hard.
Call me an evil bitch, but I at least thought I would get a "goodbye", even if she'll likely never pay her rent. Money is just money -- did sharing her life with the rest of us really mean so little to her that cutting contact and burning the bridge is all she can bring herself to do?
There are obviously a lot of details I've left out -- I'm not perfect and I do have a toddler, so I know that this wasn't the "ideal" situation for either of them but they both really and truly seemed perfectly fine here until they suddenly weren't anymore, and that's where I'm left wondering how I could have possibly gone so wrong.
Setting all of this aside because I can't change it, and going back to the other stuff.
Lawyer.
Bank.
Impending (possible?) unemployment or career change.
Aîe :(
Insurance quote is a real low-ball, not sure it'll get much higher.
Lawyer on Thursday -- let the battle begin.
Bank? Uh... we'll try again in about three weeks.
And the girls told me last Friday that they were both moving out. Early.
I knew that they would leave some time but sharing my life with these two young expats was something that I really, wholeheartedly wanted to do. I know I'm a busy gal jetting all around France to teach, but having them here brought me peace of mind and it kept my house "alive" when I felt like abandoning it. It was a great decision to open up my home to them.
Until...
You know that moment where somebody comes at you and they are dripping with emotion, and even though your logical mind is telling you not to react emotionally, deep down you can't control it because non-verbal communication is actually something like 80% (or maybe even more) of our communication? Yeah, that happened. The girls cornered me on a Friday night after a week of hearing about my friends getting fired and fretting over my future right in the middle of my "I'm in control! (but I'm not really in control at all!)" house scrub-down-fest. They sat down and nervously, anxiously, told me that they wanted to leave. My initial reaction was sadness -- this adventure is over -- and joy -- because they were moving on to bigger and better things. Until they just let it all out. At the risk of sounding petty, I'll paraphrase all the things that they never told me about before: afraid, angry about sharing a bathroom (even though one bathroom families are normal in France, but alright), didn't like being left alone when I was out of town but knew it was futile to say anything because I can't change the fact that I travel for work (and I was very upfront about my frequent absences from the beginning), and finally that neither planned on paying me the rent due for their last month.
Because I'm an animal too, I reacted. I fell right into their trap. Like hell you are leaving here without paying your rent if you think you are going to (also) recover your deposit, as they were requesting -- which my friend assured me (and he was there for all of this) is actually perfectly normal and not asking too much. Like hell, indeed. You know that asshole landlord that looks for toothpaste-filled holes in the wall? I could totally be that guy. Except that it's chipped enamel on the bathtub, a broken shower upstairs, a priceless piece of art damaged, frames fell off the wall, drinking glasses broken, a plastic cutting board with the imprint of a hot pan... yeah, I think I could be that much of an asshole.
In the end we talked it all out and what it came down to was me deciding that it's not worth it -- they owe me money but at the same time, they are just stupid kids who don't realize what they are doing, stupid irresponsible kids of today's generation that don't care about keeping their commitments or paying their debts. Now I sound like a grumpy old lady but that's basically all I can say -- I paid my debts when I was a student, and that's that. When I lived with a host family, I respected the rules and did what was asked of me. I shared a bathroom with the family. I ate what I was fed, and my rent was twice as much as my girls. I constantly cleaned up after myself and everybody else just to try and show my host mother that I appreciated her. I figured it was a small gesture of kindness, and she did seem to appreciate it.
I'm not saying that my girls never cleaned up, but they were sloppy and clumsy, and wasteful with energy. I'd come home and find their windows open while the heat was on when it was 0°c outside -- hence the whopping 550€ gas bill in February. All of this though? I could over-look it. I was just happy to have people here in the house with me. I could forgive it, because they are(were?) nice girls and this was an adventure. Plus, Victor loves them both so much -- whenever I pick him up from the nanny, the first words out of his mouth are their names. So I'm also disgusted for him -- he'll be so confused when they just don't come "home".
That leads us to today -- three days ago the girls told me they were moving out. Today I got home, and one of them had already left without so much as a "goodbye", let alone the tiny little "thank you" that I was holding out for. I know that acts of kindness are done out of, well, kindness, but damnit if a thank-you isn't nice from time to time. I got to thinking about everything I did from the very beginning which is only making me angry, hence why I'm writing about it in my blog -- so that I can just FORGET about it.
She stayed at my place for three days back in August to see if she would like it here. I gave her free reign, completely trusting her from the beginning. When she moved here, I picked her up with all her luggage at the train station and drove her back. Learning how to be a teacher, I spent many a Saturday or Sunday evening helping her lesson-plan. I taught her about the structure of lessons, what to consider about her audience before planning and how to switch things up and keep the attention spans of little kids active during 45 minutes. Any time she asked me anything, I stopped what I was doing to give her my full attention. I talked to her and I listened to her when she had problems with her teachers and her students. We played board games together. We cooked and ate dinner together. We had a lot of good laughs. She celebrated an amazing Christmas with my friend's family, and they even spoiled her rotten with gifts which even surprised me. I thanked her profusely for every little thing that she did to help out, fully appreciating her participation in the family, up until the point where she just stopped participating a few weeks ago.
When I asked what was wrong, she said that she was a tenant, and suddenly wanted to be left alone. Oh, but I was never here, and that bothered her too. I decided that the problem was beyond my fixing and wasn't actually with me, because the change came from nowhere. I tried to continue encouraging her to work on her essay that's due at the end of the month, to give education a second chance, listened while she talked about feeling lost about next year and what to do about a job, a place to live, her boyfriend, her dad... gosh, just about everything. And it felt really nice to be "needed". I was happy to give her my time.
And then I came home today and had a sneaking suspicion that something had changed. Her room? Nearly empty. Her cupboard? The bare minimum. Her shelf in the fridge? Well I don't get it, why didn't she just throw everything out already in one go? Same in the bath -- nearly empty bottles of shampoo and soap are all that's left. The second girl came home and pretended not to know anything even though I'm pretty sure they were partners in crime. I laughed it off to her face but oh believe you me, evil toothpaste-filled-holes-landlord will rear her ugly head and I'll follow all of the rules to the book. Deposit? You'll get it in 30 days, if you are lucky. You broke my priceless sculpture that was a gift and then tried to cover it up and hide it from me. I forgive you, but I certainly will not be forgetting any.time.soon.
So yeah, i'm fired up. I'm fired up because I shared my home and my life with two girls who actually didn't really care that much and took advantage of my generosity. Right about now all I want to do is take the low road, change the locks and throw all of their remaining crap out the window. My feelings are hurt because I gave as much as I could and did my best to take care of them, and they still complain. They want more, more, and more, and I'm just at a loss as to how I could have possibly done more than what I was already doing. I know I have a tendency to spread myself thin, but at the same time I also thought that two college-aged girls also wouldn't want to be hanging around with me all the time so I gave them a lot of privacy and space... apparently too much... or not enough, depending on who you talk to.
Both girls said, "don't take it personally!" but when they turn around and feel the need to sneak away, it's really hard.
Call me an evil bitch, but I at least thought I would get a "goodbye", even if she'll likely never pay her rent. Money is just money -- did sharing her life with the rest of us really mean so little to her that cutting contact and burning the bridge is all she can bring herself to do?
There are obviously a lot of details I've left out -- I'm not perfect and I do have a toddler, so I know that this wasn't the "ideal" situation for either of them but they both really and truly seemed perfectly fine here until they suddenly weren't anymore, and that's where I'm left wondering how I could have possibly gone so wrong.
Setting all of this aside because I can't change it, and going back to the other stuff.
Lawyer.
Bank.
Impending (possible?) unemployment or career change.
Aîe :(
Monday, April 1, 2013
A Life in Crisis
There's an economic crisis! (cue panic mode). People are getting fired! (cue negativity). What in the world can I possibly teach people who are about to lose their jobs? (cue confusion). (cue the death of my motivation). (cue existential wondering about my purpose in life). God, these really are hard times indeed if people in France are getting fired.
I guess I can't complain all that much -- people in Cyprus are having their bank accounts taxed at 10%. Here in France, the worst you get is a year's worth of pay & time off -- doesn't sound to shabby, does it?
Ah yeah, but I'm freelance. Shit. I can't "get fired". I actually have to keep clawing tooth and nail to win clients and keep my schedule full. Oh well -- there's always next year. And in the mean time, business is still rolling. I'll take advantage of that while I can.
So that's the explanation for my most recent absence -- the reason why I haven't updated my blog since February. Oh, and maybe that's also because it's been damn cold, I haven't felt like posting pictures of snow, snow, and more snow, and because my beef with the SNCF still hasn't been resolved yet. So goes life.
I mean, at the end of the day, I've just been waking up feeling sad. My friends are leaving -- the open space keeps getting open-er. My school year with my students is winding down-- only two weeks left! I'm hoping I'll have other projects lined up afterwards -- there's a lot of different projects in the works -- I hope the budgets will come through but in the mean time I really just wish I could start a food truck and be over with all this teacher-turned-web-lady stuff.
I decided that I needed to find some motivation to continue my blog though because this has always been something useful and therapeutic for me as well as great for connecting with other expats. I decided that a makeover was necessary -- enter my new header. Some of you may be wondering who the guy in the middle picture is -- that's a friend of mine, and at the risk of sounding like a copycat and calling him "C" , we just won't call him anything for now and I'll just elude to him in the vaguest ways possible and we'll all just agree that you know exactly who I am talking about, cause he's my best friend that's not a girl, he's good friends with Little V, and life in general with a best friend like him is good times.
And on that note, can you believe how big Victor is? My tiny baby grew up into this massive 2.5 year old -- he's the Godzilla of toddlers. He's also a hugging & kissing machine. Just this afternoon we had friends over who have a little girl that's almost two. They were standing together in front of his play kitchen when he turned to her and wrapped his arms around her in a massive hug. Then once he released her, he put his hand on her shoulder, leaned over and kissed her right on the forehead. I half melted/half died of jealousy. It was just so beautiful. Then he threw a massive temper-tantrum and reminded me why I'm tired all the time.
In other V-related news, he's talking like a little chatterbox and comes up with such doozies as "The moon! The moon! The moon est parti!" and "MamaCar est cassée, broken, broken!"... (Yeah, ok... I had another car accident. Nothing really worth writing about). He can also count from 5 to 9 in French which really impressed me today as he sat with the iPad playing a matching game, counting to himself, "cinq, six, sept, huit...". He can fill in the gaps when we count in English but I've never heard him spontaneously count on his own in English. We're also working on animal noises which has proven a challenge because they just aren't the same and he'll often say, "No mommy, pas 'woof woof' -- 'waah waaah!'" and if I say, "This is a frog," he might say, "No mommy, pas frog. Grenouille!" But then if I say, "Hey Victor, where's your frog?" he'll reach over and pick it up. I reckon this confusion and insistence on "teaching" me won't stop here -- this is probably just the beginning of a long life of my child correcting my language. I'm hoping that the temper tantrums however, will pass.
My life in crisis with my job, my existential questioning of my being, and my future.
Victor's life in crisis with his language confusion and constant movement.
That other guy's life in crisis for the same reasons mine is. Why does being an adult have to be such a mess? Why does money have to be so darn important? If only we could do without and spend the day designing lamps out of Legos.
It's all just one big tumultuous mess, but it's mine, so at least I have that.
I guess I can't complain all that much -- people in Cyprus are having their bank accounts taxed at 10%. Here in France, the worst you get is a year's worth of pay & time off -- doesn't sound to shabby, does it?
Ah yeah, but I'm freelance. Shit. I can't "get fired". I actually have to keep clawing tooth and nail to win clients and keep my schedule full. Oh well -- there's always next year. And in the mean time, business is still rolling. I'll take advantage of that while I can.
So that's the explanation for my most recent absence -- the reason why I haven't updated my blog since February. Oh, and maybe that's also because it's been damn cold, I haven't felt like posting pictures of snow, snow, and more snow, and because my beef with the SNCF still hasn't been resolved yet. So goes life.
I mean, at the end of the day, I've just been waking up feeling sad. My friends are leaving -- the open space keeps getting open-er. My school year with my students is winding down-- only two weeks left! I'm hoping I'll have other projects lined up afterwards -- there's a lot of different projects in the works -- I hope the budgets will come through but in the mean time I really just wish I could start a food truck and be over with all this teacher-turned-web-lady stuff.
I decided that I needed to find some motivation to continue my blog though because this has always been something useful and therapeutic for me as well as great for connecting with other expats. I decided that a makeover was necessary -- enter my new header. Some of you may be wondering who the guy in the middle picture is -- that's a friend of mine, and at the risk of sounding like a copycat and calling him "C" , we just won't call him anything for now and I'll just elude to him in the vaguest ways possible and we'll all just agree that you know exactly who I am talking about, cause he's my best friend that's not a girl, he's good friends with Little V, and life in general with a best friend like him is good times.
And on that note, can you believe how big Victor is? My tiny baby grew up into this massive 2.5 year old -- he's the Godzilla of toddlers. He's also a hugging & kissing machine. Just this afternoon we had friends over who have a little girl that's almost two. They were standing together in front of his play kitchen when he turned to her and wrapped his arms around her in a massive hug. Then once he released her, he put his hand on her shoulder, leaned over and kissed her right on the forehead. I half melted/half died of jealousy. It was just so beautiful. Then he threw a massive temper-tantrum and reminded me why I'm tired all the time.
In other V-related news, he's talking like a little chatterbox and comes up with such doozies as "The moon! The moon! The moon est parti!" and "MamaCar est cassée, broken, broken!"... (Yeah, ok... I had another car accident. Nothing really worth writing about). He can also count from 5 to 9 in French which really impressed me today as he sat with the iPad playing a matching game, counting to himself, "cinq, six, sept, huit...". He can fill in the gaps when we count in English but I've never heard him spontaneously count on his own in English. We're also working on animal noises which has proven a challenge because they just aren't the same and he'll often say, "No mommy, pas 'woof woof' -- 'waah waaah!'" and if I say, "This is a frog," he might say, "No mommy, pas frog. Grenouille!" But then if I say, "Hey Victor, where's your frog?" he'll reach over and pick it up. I reckon this confusion and insistence on "teaching" me won't stop here -- this is probably just the beginning of a long life of my child correcting my language. I'm hoping that the temper tantrums however, will pass.
My life in crisis with my job, my existential questioning of my being, and my future.
Victor's life in crisis with his language confusion and constant movement.
That other guy's life in crisis for the same reasons mine is. Why does being an adult have to be such a mess? Why does money have to be so darn important? If only we could do without and spend the day designing lamps out of Legos.
It's all just one big tumultuous mess, but it's mine, so at least I have that.
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