When we imagine French women, we think long, lean, chic…à la Françoise Hardy.
And when we imagine French food, we think bread, cheese, butter…à la croque-monsieur.
Hold up. Is it just me, or do those two trains of thought seem incompatible? Like do they expect us to believe that SHE ate THAT? Clearly something doesn’t add up here. Continue reading
Disclaimer: Before you read this post, it should be noted that for every error my French students have made in English, I have made one much worse in French. A few stand out in my mind, such as the time I was talking about the French using fewer preservatives in their food, and I said that in the U.S. we eat more “préservatifs”…little did I know that “préservatif” is French for “condom.” Yeah, I said that Americans eat more condoms. Or the time I only wanted a little bit of cake and said I just wanted a “bite”…of course “bite” (pronounced “beet”) is a slang word for male genitalia in French. Go figure. Or, maybe worst of all, the countless times I have exclaimed that I am so “excité” in class, before remembering that in French, “excité” doesn’t mean “excited,” but rather it means “sexually aroused.” It’s no wonder I’m their favorite teacher.
Sometimes when I’m teaching a class, I pretend like I’m hosting a variety show…and by sometimes, I mean always. I think of my lesson plans as “bits,” and when I call on students, I refer to them as “volunteers from the audience.” The only thing missing is a laugh track like sitcoms have, which might be tough to acquire, considering the fact that most of my classrooms don’t even have projectors or speakers. Luckily, my
fan club students have to laugh because I’m so funny grading them. Continue reading
When I used to imagine my first apartment, I envisioned a balcony, bay window, wine cellar, clawfoot tub, rooftop terrace with a crackling hearth, maybe an exposed brick wall or two, an unconventionally cute neighbor to help me carry my bags…you know, the usual. When I actually began searching for my first apartment, I adjusted my criteria a little. The three factors I considered while apartment hunting were location, number of dead bugs, and price of rent–in that order. Continue reading
“Been around the world, don’t speak the language
But your booty don’t need explaining
All I really need to understand is
When you talk dirty to me
Talk dirty to me
Talk dirty to me
Talk dirty to me
Get jazzy on it.” -Jason Derulo
I would like to write a strongly worded letter to Mr. Derulo, in which I reprimand him for giving me this false sense of security. I’ve “been around the world” and I actually DO (sort of) speak the language, and can I just tell you that whatever the locals are saying in the bedroom COULD NOT BE FARTHER FROM MY MIND? French landlords do not “get jazzy on it.” Continue reading
Have you ever heard the expression, Those who can’t do, teach? For the record, I disagree. Everyone knows that those who can’t do, blog. And I’m lucky enough to do both! I’m heading back to France this fall to teach English at the University of Nantes. Je m’appelle Professeur Lucy. Continue reading
Warning: this post is not for the faint of heart (or for the easily-annoyed-by-white-girls-complaining).
Did you know that en français, “mouse” and “smile” are the same word? Yeah, if you wanted to say, “You smile at the mouse,” it would be, “Tu souris à la souris.” Except you don’t smile at the mouse. You scream and throw shoes at the mouse. Continue reading