I always knew I was a go with the flow type of person. I am usually able to take what life throws at me, and come out on top. Surviving in France has more than proven my ability to just go with the flow.

For example: I am finally getting around to getting my residence card taken care of. Combination of waiting for paperwork and laziness, but I am finally doing it. So I go to the police headquarters in Paris to apply, which is what my rectorat told me to do, the website said to do, what everyone involved has said to do. So I get there, wait in line, and another line, and get told that I have to go to a different place, about a 30 minute trip away. So smiling, I say merci, and hop on the metro. I get to the other place, wait in line, and get told that since I am an assistant, I have to make an appointment to be seen at the headquarters where I was at in the first place. (By the way, this is the first time I had heard anything of this nature). I was able to walk out of there, smile on my face, blood pressure low. Going with the flow. Nothing is going to phase me anymore. God bless French efficiency.

In class Monday, the funniest thing happened. I was kind of embarrassed about it though. In my Literary History class, we were having a discussion about the Revolution in 68, and talking about the factors leading up to it, and its lasting impact on society. So there I was, making an intelligent statement about how the life of the generation of students in 1968 was so different that their parents lives, blah blah blah, when in the middle of my French sentence, I slipped out with “because” (in English). My brain was moving too fast I guess. At least it gave everyone a good laugh.

And my professor brought me in a huge packet about Camus. I had told him about my brother, and I think he brought me in everything he had about Camus. He is teaching again next semester, and I really hope that I can take his class. But then again, I still have to take my exam for his class, so I shouldn’t make my mind up yet. Hehehe. That’s next week. I am working on reviewing each day. I think I should be ok, but we’ll see.

And I finally gave money to the metro entertainment. As I was going home from babysitting on Tuesday, there were two guys dancing and rapping in the train. It made me smile, and laugh actually, so I felt that was worth something. They earned their Euro. Ha.

The French grading system is killing me. The University works on a 20 point grading scale. I did a paper for my writing class, I worked my ass off, had it checked by a French person. The teacher only made one correction, which was a relative pronoun I used incorrectly. And I got a 14. 14! Out of 20. In my brain, that translates to a C. But I’ve been told that a 14 is supposed to be good. So I guess I will go with it.

And Thursday I got my bed fixed! Yay!!!!!! Finally, I have my apartment back! Thank goodness, I was going insane.

But that’s a funny story. When the first guy came out to look at my bed to see what they were going to do about it, he came at 7:45. I didn’t think French people got up that early, let alone work at 7:45. I was still asleep. So this morning, I woke up at 7:30, prepared for an early morning bed change. Nope, they didn’t show up until 10. Figures.

And I had a fan club. In my PJs, with my hair up, not at my peak. I am scared to think of what would have happened if I had actually even looked half way decent. They were asking me all sorts of questions, and one asked me if I lived alone, and I said yes, and then they asked me if I was scared. I told them I had nothing to be scared of (but actually, I never closed my door, hoping the painters outside would run to my rescue if something happened.). One of the guys ended up asking if he could call me, and then showed me my phone number on the work order. Out of my mind, I said sure, and then he gave me his number. Thank god caller ID will warn me. I just hope I am with a guy when he calls, and have the guy answer my phone. Ha.

And then I embarked on my little adventure with the whole police thing. And as I was walking back to the metro from the second place, some guy in a delivery van pulled next to me and started hitting on me. I pulled the “I’m sorry, I don’t speak French” card. He then started to try to give me his number, in French. I smiled, shook my head, and said “no thank you”.

French guys actually are silly. I prefer creativity to creepiness.