Lifehouse Everything Skit

When the Lifehouse "Everything" skit was going viral back in '08, my friend and I wanted to bring it to Clarion University campus. We were just two little first semester freshmen and a bunch of people still offered to help us. We didn't even think to record it but luckily a girl in the audience whom I never met got it on camera and somehow I got tagged on Facebook. Anway, here's the result:

America-sick

The time has finally come. I miss home.

I was Skyping a friend the other day while she was in the student center at our school and I heard a conversation in the background in American English. I started crying. It was just so comforting to hear but I was so far away from it. I was in denial until that moment, but I had finally faced the realization of just how homesick I was. Truth is, I'm more than just homesick. My friend put it better; she said I was "America-sick." 

I'm surprised it actually took this long. I thought that if I'd get homesick it would have been within the first couple of weeks and then I'd be over it and never want to come back. But in reality it's in the last month and I'm counting down the days (which I know I'll regret the moment I get back). 

I always thought it was the language barrier that was the hardest. Don't get me wrong, it still can be difficult. I have yet to go one day without a miscommunication. But even when I'm traveling around to other countries and can speak English, I'm still so out of place. There's just something comforting about being in your own country. On your home turf. Even if you're not in your hometown, there's a sense of belonging that you're just simply entitled to. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone or explain why you're there or flash your passport. You belong. 

I miss root beer. I miss the drive to my dad's house. I miss being able to say exactly what I want to say how I want to say it. I miss my friends. I miss phoning my friends. I miss having nothing to do on rainy days. I miss the smell of my mom's perfume and smiling at strangers. I miss PB&Js and spinach dip and Kennywood and Monroeville and Reese's cups and Sheetz and reubens and being able to say any of those words and be understood.

My home-made (pun intended) collage of America through my eyes which took a shameful amount of time to make

There is a herd of Americans I found here and (of the ones I've talked to) they are all homesick too. My friend from Canada is as well. All of our European friends can have people visit and can take a train back home for the weekend if they want, and almost all of them have. But America. It's just so far away. 

It makes me feel like such a wimp because it's only been a couple of months. I've been away at school for this long and I've met people here from the States who have been here for two years and aren't planning on going back anytime soon. I don't know how they do it. Every part of me wants to hide in my room until it's all over. But the two-month older Deanna would kill me, as would my strong support system back home. So I am determined to make the best out of this last month. When I was in Canada for five weeks, I counted down the days until I could come home and I ended up wishing away some of the best days of my life. I don't want to make that same mistake again. 

But still, a tiny voice in my head keeps saying, "May 31st. May 31st. May 31st."

Sigh. Until then, I'll look at this cute little picture of the flag:

Why the French are always in a bad mood

Now that you've read my offensive and overgeneralized title, let me warn you that this entry will be a big, fat rant. 

I still don't have insurance for my room. My room is insured under my roommate's name; but when she left, they told me I needed to get it under my name too. What they don't tell you is that actually getting something important done in France is impossible to do without losing your sanity. Let me take you through the simple process of getting insurance here:

They send you to this one person's office. Ok, you can go there. You get there and they tell you to call another office. They don't give you the number. Ok, you somehow find it on an old document and call them. They don't answer the phone. Ever. Ok you'll go to the office. No one has the address. Go back to the first office for help. They tell you this is urgent. You can call them to get the address! Laugh at yourself for thinking something that ridiculous. Find the address in the phone book. There are two. Go to the one you know. Spend your afternoon walking up and down this street to its entirety to find a freaking number on the buildings. Realize that you're standing outside the address you wrote down. It's a clothing store. It starts to rain. You don't have an umbrella. Cry. Go back to your uninsured room and email your host coordinator for help. You receive an automated message saying he'll be out of his office until next Tuesday. Get a letter in the mail saying this is urgent. Seriously begin to think that you'd rather just pay the thousands of dollars if the whole thing goes up in flames than go through this any longer. Go to the place your roommate went. It's covered in newspapers and "For Rent" signs. Go to a tourism office, post office and random agencies to ask for information. They're all closed until 2 but really won't open until they decide to come back at 2:30. Go to your (still uninsured) dorm room and write an angry blog post about your struggles.

No wonder why the French are always in a bad mood! Again, this is a stereotype and a generalization, but if I had to go through this every time I needed to do something productive in my life I would be cranky too. And the story I gave above is just ONE scenario that I myself have experienced. For something as important as insurance, it's so unorganized and you are expected to do literally everything by yourself. That's probably because everyone is so consumed with all of their own ordeals of missed calls and unaccomplishable tasks they don't even want to bother with your petty problems. Every man is out for himself. 

It doesn't help that when you walk down the street absolutely no one moves out of your way. And then they all park like this:

Actual pictures I've taken of actual cars trying to actually park. I don't even drive here and this is frustrating.

Here's a tip: GO TO WORK. And when you're at work, DO YOUR JOB. One time at the first office mentioned above, the lady made me sit outside for almost forty minutes until she finished eating her salad. I wish I was exaggerating. Imagine living in a world where people actually did what they were supposed to do and therefore things could actually get done! "Mais non, c'est impossible! T'es folle toi!"

Don't get me wrong, I love France and am still having the time of my life here. I've had situations at home that can compare to this, too (yes, I'm talking to you, Clarion). And I don't actually think that the French are really even that rude. Most of the French I've encountered are more helpful and generous than many Americans I know. I am just so frustrated and this is a part of France that I don't want to forget but at the same time don't want to repeat a bunch of times. So there: now it's documented. 

If you made it this far into my post, thanks for reading and putting up with my first world problems. Rant over. 

Things I will miss about going back

As time goes on, I'm realizing that I'm closer and closer to my time in Europe coming to an end, which has me thinking a lot more about my return home. Earlier this semester, I posted about the things I can't wait to do when I'm back. And while I've thought of several things to add to that list since I've written it, there are even more things I will miss about France. So, au contraire of that list, here are the the things I will miss about leaving:

25. Catching a bus to Monaco, Cannes or some other beach whenever I feel like it
24. The fresh fish and produce markets (which I didn't take nearly enough advantage of)

23. Using the excuse, "I'm sorry, I'm not from here" when I do something dumb in public

22. Pretending I'm on my way to Hogwarts every time I take a train

21. Knowing that pretty much every man I meet will be absolutely beautiful

20. The beach 

19. The reaction from people when I tell them I'm American (unless I'm caught doing something dumb, then I'm from Canada)

18. Not even owning an umbrella

17. Eating pasta cooked by real Italians
16. The beach

15. Using conflicting time-zone differences and roaming charges to connect with people back home as excuses for why I'm on Facebook so much
14. Sending postcards
13. Hearing foreign accents speaking English
12. European style
11. Seeing little tiny adorable dogs everywhere
10. Planning my days around which European city I'm visiting that week
9. Chivalry
8. Posting pictures and statuses on Facebook that make my life look cool
7. Having pretty much every place I've ever wanted to visit so close to me
6. The beach
5. Being told I'm beautiful, magnificent and loved by random strangers almost every day
4. But also pretending I don't understand them if I want to
3. Being encouraged to correct people's grammar
2. My very motley crew of international friends 
1. BISOUS!!


So, dear friends back home, be prepared to hear about each and every one of these things (and then some) in full detail. You must give me at least two months to ramble on about Europe until you can start slapping me. Deal? Good. 

Viva Italia (again)

As most of you know, I went back to Italy this past weekend. Here's a little secret I'll let you in on: Before coming to Europe, I was more excited to see Italy than France. I can't really tell you why. France has Paris and the Riviera which is nice and all, but Italy has pizza and Rome and pasta and Italians and Verona and Gondolas and paintings and leaning towers and gelato and the Italian hospitality. 


Here is a hilarious clip of one of my favorite comedians, John Pinette, explaining his experiences in France and Italy: 

So yet again, I found myself off to Italy. And only after my flight took off did I realize I forgot my camera. Me: the picture-obsessed. I ended up buying a disposable camera when we arrived in Venice. When I was younger, before the digital-camera age, a camera with just 20 something pictures would suffice for months. I used up all of the film in one day, and that was while practicing restraint from taking pictures of every little thing I saw. I won't develop those pictures until I'm back in the States, so it will be a fun surprise for all!


We arrived in Venice on Thursday morning. We had to access our sleeping arrangements by boat, so we carried all of our stuff around with us for the whole day. We actually spent three whole days carrying literally everything we had on our backs, and I finally understood why they call it backpacking through Europe. I chose the words "sleeping arrangements" earlier because we didn't stay in a hostel in Venice. We instead chose camping, and I use this term loosely. The campsite was actually rather elegant - with its own restaurant, bar, shopping mart, and better showers and bathrooms than I've experienced at some hostels. By "camping," they really just mean we didn't have internet. The weather wasn't the best in Venice, but it was still beautiful. Venice is really a place like no other. Everything is by boat or bike and there are bridges and water just absolutely everywhere. There are all these beautiful purple flowers everywhere too, but it's still early and they weren't quite in bloom yet. And a Gondola ride was too expensive. So in conclusion, Venice in two cloudy days was worth it, but just not enough. 


The original plan was to hit up Venice, Florence and Verona, but there weren't cheap enough rooms in the latter two so we swapped them out for Milan. Again, the weather didn't shake off its slump and it was rather cloudy. It actually started to rain on us the first day so we had to go to our hostel in the early evening. But I will say I was impressed with Milan. It wasn't our first choice in Italy, and I honestly had no desire to even visit it at all, but it's worth spending a day or two. The giant cathedral there, Duomo, was enormous and, in my opinion, more magnificent than all of the churches in Rome. And right next door there is a big awesome shopping center featuring stores like Prada and Louis Vuitton and McDonalds. Guess which is the only one I would feel comfortable even walking in to?

Il Duomo, Milan, Italy (totally not my photo)

We also spent pretty much a whole day in the parks in Milan. We must have been there at just the right time because it was windy enough that when the wind would blow, all of these flower pedals from nearby trees would get carried in the wind and fly around everywhere. It was so romantic and playful at the same time. It rained water on day one, but on day two it rained flowers. 

In the end, I'd still like to visit Italy at least one more time to see Verona and Bologna, because I hear that they are both beautiful and less tourist-y. Doubt I'll make it back on my own, but that's why I now have Italian friends to visit ;)

I came home yesterday evening to study for a final I have tomorrow. And as we all can see, I'm doing a good job at procrastinating at that very thing. You can take the girl out of America and put her in a magical place on the other side of the world, but you can't the the procrastinator out of the girl. Or something like that.

Now I'm off to be a student. Thanks for reading about my adventures! 

[insert fun and reoccurring farewell line here]

Classes...oh yeah, I have them

So I've made it through more than halfway of my semester abroad without even mentioning school! I am "studying" here, aren't I?


Classes here are harder. Ok, wait. That's not true. Classes here are different, which makes them harder for me. 


First and most obvious: they're in French. Now, I've had my share of classes in French back home, but the professor knows we are all learning the language and treats us as such. I can actually understand her AND takes notes! Meanwhile, in France, my history professor says a date and I miss the next two sentences trying to write it down. My one literature professor gets really excited and talks so fast that even the French students have to ask him to repeat himself. Which means I'm in the back of the class putting my pencil to use by balancing it in the space between my upper lip and nose. This same professor made me read an excerpt out loud for the class this week after I begged him not to (also in front of the entire class). 


Secondly, the structure is just plain different. Most courses have a "CM" (cours magistral) and a "TD" (travaux dirigés). CMs are what we would call a large lecture class whereas the TD is the same course with the same material but can be taught by a different professor and tends to be smaller than the CM and more interactive for the students than just a lecture. Classes are only once a week instead of two or three times a week. There are neither projects nor homework even; your entire grade is based off one or two tests with no study guides. Maybe a paper or presentation is thrown in there at one point, too.


Then there's just a bunch of random stuff that's so different. I already told you about the paper. That should have been my warning message that sounded something like, "Things are different here and because you can't even figure out how to write on this piece of paper, you're going to struggle, kid." And just because your classes are at the same university it doesn't mean that they're all in the same campus. I live at campus Valrose but have to travel about 40 minutes to get to my classes in Carlone. And if I want to visit my program coordinator, I have to take a trip to St. Jean d'Angely. There aren't really any student clubs so I don't pass tables of people trying to talk to me into helping them change the world. Everyone brings their computers to class and types paragraphs of notes instead of bullets. When students give presentations, the professor analyzes it and points out all of the flaws right there in front of the whole class. I witnessed one girl get torn to shreds. It's interesting how the French learn history: it's all through literature. No, not text, through works of literature. So I'm essentially taking a bunch of lit classes.


I started freaking out because I missed class more than once and my Italian friend said, "Don't worry, you're in Europe." Europe or not, a failed semester is a failed semester. I guess we'll see. C'est la vie.

Going Greek

It's Saturday night France time, 12:31 am Athens time. Yes, you heard me. Athens. Two of my Nice friends and I arrived in Greece yesterday afternoon and we're leaving on Tuesday.

I absolutely love this country. Everyone here has been so nice to us. We'll be in the streets somewhere - cameras strapped around our necks, maps held up and turned at all different angles, faces contorted into confused looks - and someone will walk up to us and ask us if we need help with directions. Now I know I gloated about and praised France in my early blogs, but please. If a blatantly obvious tourist seemed to be struggling with directions, she is more likely to be shoved out of the way than offered help. We Americans aren't much different. Here in Athens, I'm sure the locals encounter more tourists than fellow citizens. But on so many occasions, random Greek strangers have gone out of their way to try to lend a helping hand and show us the way.

Then there is this adorable restaurant host. This place is located about three doors down from our hostel, and we were walking by and he, like any good business man looking for money, stopped us and asked if we wanted to eat. We had literally just eaten and we told him this. He said, "Oh that's fine! Come, sit down, have a glass of wine. It's on the house!" We were very hesitant and didn't want to take his offer at first, but he was so sweet and kept insisting so we finally sat down. Oh, and the fact that he took me by the hand and dragged me in probably had a lot to do with it. He ordered us each a glass of wine, the waiter introduced himself and we enjoyed the hospitality. The next day he remembered us, and when we went to eat there for dinner tonight, he thanked us each personally. 

Ok ok, so people who want something from us are nice. That doesn't mean anything. I have one sentence for you: The girls here are nice. If you go somewhere and the girls are kind to other girls, then you know you're in a extraordinary place. There is a genuineness to the people here; it's not a surface-value kind of generosity. It's the kind of generosity that leads a person to walk up to a lost stranger and offer his time and help. It is so encouraging to see them respond to people this way during this hard time for their country. They're either really good at hiding a mess or they have life figured out more than we do.

There was a security guard at Acropolis today and he made me delete all of my pictures I had taken of a stuffed animal in front of the attractions. He spoke little English and I had a lot of pictures of the little guy so the process took longer than he had hoped, but at the end of it he told us he felt so bad doing it and he wished he didn't have to. He said we were very kind and that he would keep our smiles. I don't quite know what that meant but it made me forgive him completely for making me delete my pictures. 

There are two islands here that I would LOVE to visit - Patmos and Santorini - but they are seven hours away. Looks like I'll just have to come back! 

And here I will take some more of this blog space to gab about guys. I can see why the ancient Greeks were so quick to confuse men for gods. Tan skin, dark hair, European style: they've got a lot going for them. This is something I learned the first time I went to the Greek food festival back home, where all of the beautiful Greek guys would come out from wherever they seemed to be hiding and feed me delicious pastries. But now I'm in the motherland and they're everywhere. One smiled at me just as he got done doing chin ups in the park. They had to clean my heart off the street.

I never thought I'd say this, but I don't want to go back to France.