The Jazzy Bahsoun

Life's our oyster and we're gonna suck that bitch down with a champagne chaser.

Behavioral Therapist
MA Developmental Psychology, Columbia
BS Psychobiology/ French, UCLA

Shelfari: Book reviews on your book blog

Movies to See:
Mission Impossible
Haywire
Shame
A Dangerous Method
Underworld:Awakening

TV Shows to Watch:
Portlandia
The Life & Times of Tim

Book to Read:
Game of Thrones
by George R.R. Martin

Album to Listen to:
The Black Keys
El Camino

Person to Hate:
Newt Gingrich

Group of People to Despise:
Fox & Friends

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Cute Overload

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Secular Coalition of America

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Sunday, August 13, 2006
The Parisian Chronicles: Part I - Flying the Coop
In the wake of the worst week of my entire damn life , I thought it would therapeutic, if nothing else, to reminisce about the best five weeks of my life.

To label me a "nervous-wreck" in the days leading up to my departure for Paris would be a stark understatement... I'm not sure what a more severe synonym would be but trust me, I was something severerer than a nervous-wreck. It wasn't just trying to remember things to pack for my trip, but it was the prospect of leaving my established comfort zone. What would I do without my Mustang, my Daily Show, my computer, my dust bowl of a room? Surviving on the bare essentials was something I was not familiar with, but had to become comfortable with. Then, I realized I wasn't backpacking across the Gobi Desert, and felt better about leaving. After all, it was only for five weeks.

I felt better once I was actually on the plane, after having gone through two hours of lines and security checks. I would just sleep the majority of the time so I wouldn't feel too anxious. My fellow passengers, however, had other plans for me. I don't know if you've ever tried to sleep before, but if you're surrounded by eleven babies, it makes it a little difficult. So, I stayed awake. I watched a ridiculous Matthew McKunohhee movie and two French movies to get myself into the mindset...of being French. Episodes of Magyver and Frasier were also offered in French. I passed. The rest of the time I read my guidebooks, so I'd look extra-touristy, and enjoyed the gourmet meal offerings (ahem). By the time we landed, the butterflies had returned. My ride from the airport (si tu es entrain de lire ce chef d'oeuvre d'ecriture, merci Monsieur Jean-Philip pour m'avoir chercher a l'aeroport), had been told to go to a different terminal, since Air France sucks, so we had to maneuver ourselves around the labyrinth that is Charles de Gaulle Airport to get to the car. And away we went, to arrive to the place we would soon fondly call the "Shitadines" at the "Place de Shitalie."

Upon arriving at the Shitadines, there were already student-esque people hanging out in the lobby. I was optimistic about the rooms given the pictures from the Shitadines website. It turns out that those pictures are what the Professors would get. And they didn't have roommates. What we would actually have was something like this...

And that was after we had done some redecorating a couple of weeks later. In any case, I dropped my bags off, changed out of my rank airplane attire, deodorized, and went back done to mingle. That's what people do, I thought. They mingle. One of the people downstairs turned out to be my roommate, Curtis, whose bags were already in our room. The rest of the people would soon become members of our Paris clique, a pride, a pack, a horde of 6-8 people that would explore Paris together. It would take some time for us to become comfortable around each other. Much shorter than usual because we lived together and had class together. But the first couple of days was the icebreaker period, filled with awkward pictures such as this one:

Notice how far apart we are from each other. It wasn't until much later that we would master the "awkward arm thing" (where you put your arm around the person next to you in pictures no matter who it is or how well you know them) and stand in much closer proximity to each other.

I would become closer with these crazy cats in just over a month than I have with people that I've known for many years. Of course there would be drama, mainly between the ladies naturally, but we would explore the City of Lights ensemble, make fun of each others French and become very close in general. I would grow to adore Paris alongside these people.

Stay Tuned for Part II of the Parisian Chronicles: Soccer and Riot Squads, Forced Culture at Museums and more antics at the Shitadines
7:09 PM
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