let's fly to the moon, just for now

i don't believe anyone who thinks they've got it all figured out.

caught

i lied to you
about not updating this blog
while i'm in france
but you can read it anyway
if you want to

i'm warning you
though
that i'll only write
crap
here
and it's not that important
for you to read
but it's important
for me to write

love.

the art of finding oneself

i know where i am and
i keep waiting for myself to knock on my own door
toc toc toc!
even my onomatopoeia is in french
that must mean
i'm making progress

no one comes and
i'm standing myself up
on purpose because
i'm waiting for something
that i used to know

i am
i know how to be
i won't
act like i still need to figure that out

how can i look for myself in a place i've never been?
i don't really want to find myself
somewhere else
because i already know where i am
and i like it a lot

remember me i saw you on the tram

does that pop tab
that you've laced into your shoe
make you feel good?
i also notice
that you have two different shoelaces.
you remind me of someone
who has two different shoelaces
too.

I hate it when people post song lyrics.

Dear someone listening in the shadows,

I only talk to you sometimes. And though I ask for help in riddles, it is clearer in my mind, clearer in my mind.

Born of a sign that carries vessels, but in a month as cold as ice. I know I question things too quickly, but I have never questioned if I've loved, loved.

Dear someone watching from the shadows, I'm clenching water in my fists. The drops, they slip right through my fingers, but there's water on my lips, water on my lips.

Born of a sign that carries vessels, but in a month that brings just ice. I know I question things too quickly, but I've never wondered if I've loved, loved.

Dear someone watching from the shadows, you've seen me lose all the water from my hands. I'm not a skillful water carrier, but the raindrops keep falling on my head, falling on my head.

Born of a sign that carries water, but in a month that brings just ice. I'm not a skillful water carrier, but I've, learned to carry love, learned to carry love.

I'm not a skillful water carrier, but I've learned to carry love.

what's today, tuesday?

Here's the day you hoped would never come
Don’t feed me violence, just run with me
Through rows of speeding cars
The paper cuts, the cheating lovers
The coffee’s never strong enough
I know you think it’s more than just bad luck

There, there, baby
It’s just text book stuff
It’s in the ABC's of growing up
Now, now, darlin’
Oh don’t lose your head
'Cause none of us were angels
And you know I love you, yeah

Sleeping pills, no sleeping dogs lie never
Far enough away
Glistening in the cold sweat of guilt
I’ve watched you slowly winding down for years
You can’t keep on like this
Now is as bad a time as any

There, there, baby
It’s just text book stuff
It’s in the ABC's of growing up
Now, now, darlin’
Oh don’t kill yourself
'Cause none of us were angels
And you know I love you, yeah

It’s okay by me
It’s okay by me
It’s okay by me
It was a long time ago

It’s okay by me
It’s okay by me
It’s okay by me
It was a long time ago

There, there, baby
It’s just text book stuff
It’s in the ABC's of growing up
Now, now, darlin’
Oh don’t lose your head
'Cause none of us were angels
And you know I love you, yeah

There, there, baby
It’s just text book stuff
It’s in the ABC's of growing up
Now, now, darlin’
Oh, don’t kill yourself
'Cause none of us were angels
And you know I love you, yeah

notice

Tomorrow morning at 6:50 a.m. EST, I will begin an approximate year in France. I will no longer update this blog during my time away. Instead, please check in with me at http://elizabethinfrance.blogspot.com.

Don't be strangers, kids.

kiss me and don't cry (it's just for a little while)

My home will be here Thursday through Sunday:

























That's right, biatch. Floor 32.

this car is for sale for $5995

It's cute, clean and runs well, too. I'm leaving the country and have to get rid of it.

1998 Subaru Forester (Rocky Mountain Edition):
- 10,000 miles on rebuilt engine (150,000 miles total)
- 5 doors
- CD/cassette player, FM/AM radio
- new battery and front brakes, relatively new tires
- 1 previous owner (all owners non-smokers)
- body in good shape
- Carfax and maintenance records available

Please, pretty please, buy my car. E-mail me at elizabeth.suzanne.brown@gmail.com if you're interested.

i can say goodbye better than you

Today I dropped and fatally damaged Ethan's Canon PowerShot A630, a refurbished camera for which he paid about $150. I promised to replace the damaged goods, and it's going to cost me dearly. (What's $200 compounded for 20 years on a student loan at 5.3%?)

This transpired while we were working on a photo shoot project for Mama, who requested that we take some "serious" photos of each other before our respective departures for France for the year. Needless to say, we didn't finish the project, but we got a few decent shots before I ruined everything.






UPDATE: My parents kindly signed over to me the rebate check from my new iPod nano for $199. Now I can afford to buy the camera and have it shipped to Ethan overnight. Just goes to show that even when one has written off one's parents for financial assistance, they sometimes pull through. 'Rents rock.

and she started a slam poem as an excuse to tap heavily on the keys

quand l'aîné connais pas
ce que le jeune a trouvé
il faut pas remarquer
il faut démarquer que les deux sont uniques
qu l'une peut pas comprendre
mais c'est pas just "un autre" mais son frère qu'ils veulent prendre!
et putain qu'il est obstiné, dommage que c'est sa vie
elle ne peut rien faire car quand elle l'approche
il fuit

il faut l'avortissement d'accoutumance, mon frère.

now let's all just relax and calm down

Independence, KY -> Yellow Springs, OH = 1:34 hours

Ethan's "surprise" will be here by morning and I can finally enjoy my gift to myself.

What's the point of blogging if I'm going to be so vague? If M. weren't out of town, I'd have sometime to blab to excepting the World Wide Web.

Someone remind me to post more pictures of Kai and Amélie once their fevers break.

yeah, but did tom sawyer ever look this clean?

Ethan, Papa and I drove to Chicago and back home all in one day. The occasion was an appointment at the French consulate where we sought our student visas. We had a delectable Italian lunch at Pizano's, which Ethan and I had discovered with Colin last June. The prices have increased by about $5 per bowl of pasta, and the portions have been halved, but it was still so worth it, we all agreed.

I really can't bear being a tourist in Chicago. It still feels so homey and natural to me to be there. A text message exchange with Spencer, a phone call to Laura, and an invitation from Nancy to stay in her brand new condo downtown at the corner of State and Randolph inspired me to use my credit with Southwest to fly back before I leave for France September 2. Turns out that I'll have some time off while Kai and Amélie are vacationing at the beach, so I can make a long weekend of the whole thing.

one, two, three, four, tell me that you love me more

push for right, pull for left, and yes, you can pedal forward

My family is fabulously good at turning a bore into a party. This past weekend, the company with which my mom recently started a new job held a picnic in New Carlisle. We hardly knew anyone and Papa had to leave early, but the rest of us had a famously good[ish] time.

The grown-ups were having hors d'oeuvres in the kitchen

In preparation for Monday, my return to work as full-time nanny to Kai and Amélie, I've been rehashing the good old days of 2007. I just found the following footage, taken by Colin last Christmas, stored away and forgotten during the long winter. During a dinner party, Amélie babysat the kids in the living room, telling us of the joy and angst of being four.

Sometimes I'm content to do nothing at all

There is a certain blissful sort of morning that I spend in Yellow Springs. It usually consists of plenty of coffee in various states (hot with cream, black over ice). Today I'm hanging laundry to dry on the clothesline, listening to locally produced music, and reclining with Ethan in the living room. We are silent save for the occasional suggestion of an activity, something to replace our boredom. But we're not really bored, and these assertions are dismissed without vocalized dissent.

Nowhere on the program does one find a shower or real clothes. Ethan and I wear boxers and Adidas running shorts, respectively, and tee shirts. Our hair looks sleepy and our skin is dewy and unwashed. There's nobody around to see us. We're just sipping our coffee and looking at the ceiling.

We're perfectly happy.

Sometimes I seriously wonder about WordReference.com

pack	vi	(fill a room with people)	entasser vtr ⇒
The concert hall was so packed that you couldn't even see the band.
*Ils ont entassé les prisonniers dans les wagons.

She thought she wanted a ring with diamonds but she really wanted a diamond ring

I'll say it: I'm a fool for shallow movies. Something about watching female protagonists who, say, would commit a violent crime for a pair of Manolo Blahniks gives me a strange sort of hope.

In the past week I have seen the Sex and the City movie and "Priceless," starring Audrey Tatou. Tatou plays Irène, a glorified hooker, a trophy girlfriend whose prizes come with a price tag.

The unexpected result of these two moviegoing experiences has been that I feel more comfortable than ever in my own skin. Women are meant to idolize the likes of Carrie Bradshaw. And why not? There are about a million dollars worth of couture between our worlds. Hey, any woman would be envious!

Strangely, I'm not going to preach about looks not mattering. They do. Call me superficial (I call myself "aesthetically concerned"), but I have a society-induced overly critical eye when it comes to my appearance.

The good news is that the only standards I force myself to live up to are my own. The bad news is that my standards are set at unrealistic levels.

I can't say for certain why Carrie Bradshaw makes me feel wonderful. I think that when I spend a movie with characters like Carrie and Irène, I don't see the unattainable aspects of their appearances (like $525 gorgeous Blahniks), but our similarities. My hair is a lot like Carrie's. I have zits, and she has a mole. (At least mine go away.) I'm probably as thin as she is.

It's an obvious point to make, but please allow me because trust me, it's a big one by my book: Sarah Jessica Parker doesn't have much on me. I might even have one or two on her.

At the end of the day, we're much alike. Except I sleep in underwear and a tee without a long strand of pearls. Sorry, Carrie.

I also disagree with critics of Sex and the City who write it off as being irrelevant to real life. No one knows where Carrie Bradshaw's money comes from (and it seems to be an endless stream), but at least she spends it on clothes and not Botox (which she abhors). For how much she's willing to drop on a pair of shoes, she is an extremely real woman, whose mascara runs and who sometimes puts on too much makeup by accident, whose hair is frizzy and whose fingers are fat and masculine. She doesn't have perfect skin, and she looks awful when she cries.

So lay off my Sex and the City. Give me 40-something, unairbrushed, old-maid-stood-up-at-her-own-wedding Carrie and her realistic love woes any day.

And as for the shoes--a girl can dream, right?

No One Questioned They Were Kin

They Told Her She Looked Different SInce They'd Seen Her Last

Somehow I always pull in to town listening to the "Here We Go," the first track on Dispatch's Bang Bang. There's no significance to that song, really. It just sounds good with the windows down. I always come into Yellow Springs with my windows down, no matter the temperature. I also always drive south on OH-68 until its intersection with Limestone Street, even if I'm ultimately headed in the opposite direction.

You tell me.

Elizabeth is busy. Try again later.

We're going to Chicago this weekend. It's like looking forward to sleeping in your own bed after months away from home.

Fucking's All The Rage

This quaint Austrian town has an unfortunate name.

I felt the need to verify this photo on Google Maps.

There it is, right there on the Fucking road. None of the Fucking residents seem to understand the joke.

Clearly they are far more mature than their British counterparts.