Revelations from breakfast pastries and long ass french lines.

J'ai beaucoup de la chance. I am so lucky.
I could not ask for a better transition to France. I met this woman, Sophie, through a ridiculous interweaving of communication through facebook.  She has been my saving grace. I do not know what i would have done without her.

First of all, when i contacted her and was nothing but a stranger, she came to the apartment that i am now in and put in a deposit check for my first months rent in order to hold the room for me. Like, holy shit that is nice. I can't put that more eloquent. After arriving here yesterday, she took me straight for a meal...and paid for it. Then she dropped me off at a store where i could buy my essentials. This is the store that was made out of golden chiffon that i decided not to purchase.
I woke up this morning and she took me to a boulangerie which is a bakery. We sat and ate jambon et fromage ( ham, and cheese on a baguette), pain aux raisins (raison bread) and pepito (which is like this incredible that puts every donut to shame. Its crunch on the outside and fluffy on the inside which is lined with chocolate). We talked on the cafe outside of the boulangerie next to the cobbled stone street and got to know each other fairly well for our first official day. I was so tired yesterday I considered myself useless.
We have come from such different backgrounds. Sophie is 34 and single.  She has brown hair and brown eyes and is probably 5'7". She has such a sweet spirit. It's already evident how helpful she is. She is an English teacher at the school i'm teaching at so I suppose i could call her my colleague :) Although i feel so inferior to her. Her intelligence intimidates me but her eagerness to be my friend counteracts that prideful feeling. We talked about our families, and her grandfather was 18 during the invasion of Germany. In 1943, the gestapo came and took her great grandfather who was 60 at the time and he died in Auschwitz. I have never met anyone who actually had a relative die in Auschwitz and it was just so surreal to listen to her story. It's so rich with all of the things i've only read about in books.

We continued to religion because a priest walked by.  ( I swear i'm not making this stuff up haha). She asked if i wen to church and i said, "no." She said that she was atheist and then I told her i was more of the universalist take on things. I think i'm spiritual.  Then my christian upbringing became the topic of discussion. I was so involved in church at a young age that it would even make a mormon's head spin i think. But she just looked at me, wide eyed, and kept saying, "Vraiment? Serieusment?" which is the equivalent to our, "Are you kidding me?" She said that just think if i put all that time into my studies that i might have cured cancer by now. HAHA! I laughed so hard.
Then she asked, "Do people really believe the earth was created 10, 000 years ago in America?" And i said "no" and she responded with a, "Good, it's only an awful rumor" before i could correct her and say, "It's actually 6, 000 years they believe."
Her mouth dropped to the cobble stone.
I am literally laughing as i type this because this conversation just shows you how vastly different worlds are and everything is relative.
We ventured onwards to other territory and she asked me how i managed to think so much differently than my christian upbringing.

I had never really been asked this before and she made me wonder. I chewed on my pepito and responded that i think there were two things.

The first one was that my whole life i hated myself because i thought i was gay and i was taught that i was going to hell for it. So, why would i be a part of something that would never let me be genuine?

*cue the jaw dropping cobble stone scene, the sequel.

"Surely you can be gay and a christian?" she said. Voila, there it was. She said this simple sentence. There was a subject and verb. So why was i so profoundly astounded. I felt like was punched in the brain.
I rebuttaled, "I think that would save a lot of suicides in my country."

But alas, the majority of most christians would never think such a thing. Her great grandfather had to have blonde hair and blue eyes to save himself from Auschwitz and I told her that i had to love vagina to do the same.

The second thing that helped me save me, per se, was my parents divorce.  When you grow up, you think that your parents are perfect. This was the first time that i was really threatened with a tragedy in the family. You heard of parents divorcing all the time and you simply judged them and went on. But this time it was MY family. I surely couldn't judge us. So really, it was the first time i had to look from the outside in. We were finally the family that our church was talking about, whispering all kinds of ridiculous scenarios to why Jack and Susan were no longer together. I can definitely attest to the fact that my church failed my family, with a coulpe of exception with certain woman. However, it was for my betterment. I was able to leave this place that i was constantly hiding myself. As soon as i stopped singing "Washed in the Blood" (which is so disgusting if you think about it) in the Praise Band on Wednesday and stopped sitting in circles and sharing my "prayer requests", which if i was honest it would have been, "I need to stop having lustful thoughts about some of the guys in youth group." then i was able to have a little clarity.  The world is much bigger. And to be honest, even from travelling a couple of hundred miles north, south, east, or west you will find that the "world" is much, much more different than your hometown.

***You might have much more positive experiences and hold your church close to you. I think that's great that you have something :) It's just not for me.  (It's always difficult to find a balance to expressing myself with not putting in so many jabs. I don't want to be extreme on anything because that makes me just as bad as the intolerant people that i bash. So i try to be nice. But i can promise you it wont always come across so :)***

Anyway,  after i made amazing strides of self growth in my first morning i began to think that France would be much more than i could hope for. It helps that i met such an incredible woman that asks such great questions and listens even better.  After lunch, we went to the bank and set up myself an account. I got renters insurance from them for 4, 80€ and a phone plan for 26€ a month. I liked the convenience of it all. We left the bank and went to her apartment where she said that she had sheets, quilts, pillow cases, plates, bowls, utensils, and the most amazing thing of all-- two dark green, vintage armchairs that i could use to furnish my home. Is this woman an angel or what? She seems so concerned with making this apartment my home. She goes to India and gave me a tan and navy sham for my bed with the traditional indian design of elephants and trees, and then she gave me a 12 foot long red curtain looking thingy with lions and flowers and donkeys, and deer. It's just beautiful. She also gave me a blue striped quilt to put over the arm chairs. She told me that she would take me to a wine store and we could get the wine crates for free and build shelves. What a great idea! I've never had such a chic room!

We eventually journeyed  to a home goods store and i managed to buy two towels. Each were 8,99 which was quite the discount from the night before. BUT, something i could not find cheaper was a pillow. My god, pillows here are ridiculous. The "cheap" ones are like 13€ and they are seriously shitty. They are stuffed with the puniest little synthetic fibers that wouldn't even dare trying to hold up  my head. I had to buy a 20€ pillow. I only justified it because whats more important than what you put your head on?
We got in line and it was a long one. There was only one cash register open. Finally a side register, you know the kind that's there for returns and help and such? well it opened up so Sophie and i scooted over there. There was a guy in front of us but from what i've learned so far in france that lines in France is like trench warfare. The man took notice and screamed a French expletive that i haven't learned yet, threw down all of his goods on the floor and walked out.

*awkward silence*

I asked if this was normal and got the most cliche response in the world. "C'est la vie."

She was right, it is life but more so in France, I think. They don't seem to be very efficient and usually have only one cashier. Oh wait,  that's probably because no one works in france. The stereotype is oh so true.
 I went to the grocery after this store alone and Sophie went home. It was at Marche Franprix that i learned more of this french trench warfare.
I had gotten all my goods and made my way to the line. I got three pieces of what i think are like a hybrid of plums and apricots. They looked good. I got some goat cheese and toasted baguettes for dinner. I got some pain aux chocolat for breakfast in the morning and some jus des pommes (apple juice). I walked up to the long line, where there was again only one cashier. I had made it to the next person and stepped over probably one foot at the most to look at this news paper that had the headline "Une Femme, 72 ans, est mort par un camion" which translates "A woman, 72 years old, is run over and killed by a truck. And before i could process the tragedy i had a bitch of truck elbow past me in line and started to put her things on the belt. I wanted to say something. Well, ok...i was shocked and didn't know what to do at first. There is something about being foreign that makes you a lil nervous and keeps you from saying, "What the hell, Bitch!". I knew what i could say. "Excuse moi, madame. j'etait ice avant vous." ( Excuse me ma'am, i was here before you.) But i was so afraid she'd take my accent as a sign of weakness and shit all over it and say something so fast that i would understand it and i would stare and look dumb and probably just explode with a FUCK YOU!
"Ummm you ehh see sir, I am Franch and am how you say beeetch?"

I defeatedly took my place behind her, and waited my turn. I finally made it to the register and the man with big ole freaking glasses scanned them and threw my stuff over to the end of the counter like he was snapping peas or something. The next man behind me had already nudged his way and i was left feeling disenfranchised at the end. I couldn't see the computer screen for my total and the cashier looked at me and said, "Discount."
Why was he speaking english to me? Was it that obvious I was American? Could he tell from my reaction from being cut in line since any respectable Frenchman would have screamed an expletive, throw down his good, and walk out.

"Discount?" I repeated. "You have a discount."

"Non, DIX - QUARANTE."

Oh my god, he said "dix- quarante (Dix- quarante is 10,40€.)." which would make much more sense since he is french, i am and in france.  I should really start assuming everyone is speaking french to me.

Maybe i thought he said "discount" because subconsciously my bank account is rotting away because i'm having to buy fucking 20€  pillows.