To tattoo or not to tattoo

It's a feeling of rebellion, of freedom. Everyone experiences it at some point once they've left the nest, the need to express yourself and show the world that you are an adult, but you aren't done having fun yet. This crisis usually manifests itself in a piercing, a tattoo, that one night you get really drunk for the first time, you name it. My rebellious phase has been slow and cautious in showing up, calculating things and making sure the time is right for said phase to show, and I have to say I'm quite grateful because lately, all of my friends seem to be going through this and not all of their decisions are great.

She won't be thrilled with me for writing about this, but one friend of mine who broke up with her boyfriend of a year called me for advice a day or two after the break up. I don't know why, I have no idea what to do when it comes to handling significant others especially ones whom have been part of a life for so long. Anyway, I managed to talk her into remaining calm. She wanted to go out and party and do all of the things she hadn't when she and her ex were together, simply because it was one of the reasons he broke up with her. I thought I'd given very sage words of advice until I checked back in with her on Sunday. The result of her first weekend as a single woman: a tattoo.

Now, the idea has been planted in my mind ever since the summer between high school and college when I went to the state fair with two of my best friends. We got henna done, Emily picked out a geometric pattern, Sarah got a swirl of flowers. I chose a sea turtle swimming through some bubbles and flowers. Ever since that day, I've been hooked on the idea of actually getting a real turtle tattoo.

People always ask me "what's the significance of the turtle?" and my answer is: I really like turtles. When I went to the Bahamas with my science club, I got to see a real live sea turtle up close and personal. I've always had compassion for the endangered species types, and I mean really, who doesn't love turtles? Sure, some of you might think my reasons are a bit immature, but I've been thinking about it for almost two years now, and I keep coming back to that little design.

This is a bad picture of a prototype that my friend Sam hennaed on me earlier this evening. It's just a cute little representation of a turtle, but that would be the general location I would choose. It would be much smaller, maybe only the total size of the shell on this one.

So now I have to decide, do I want to get a tattoo when I go home for spring break? There aren't any tattoo shops anywhere near me, so it's really my only option. Here comes my rebellious streak, peaking slowly around the corner to make sure there aren't any dangers ahead. Do I just go with my gut and spring for it? Or should I take another two years to decide?

Saturday Snapshot

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. how much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.

When I was over in Europe, I took a trip to Rome for Thanksgiving. I met up with two friends who were studying abroad in Budapest, Hungary and we took over the Eternal City for five days. On day two, we went to the old Roman forum as the sun was setting. The temple below and winged chariots on top were stunning in the fading light, and I just thought of how many sunsets had touched those columns and winged steeds. Rome is beautiful, in a slightly grittier, louder, and more Italian way than Paris. Well worth the trip

I want a hedgehog

As some of you probably know by now, I am an animal adorer. If it's got a face, two to four legs, and especially if it makes some sort of squeaking or chirping noise, I'm going to love it. And yes, that includes lizards and excludes snakes. Snakes are the stuff of my nightmares, and I'm also not a fan of worms, hence the two to four leg requirement. Fish are different so don't start that argument with me.

Anyway, my roommate decided that college wasn't for her about two weeks into the semester and left me with a room to myself. While I enjoy it most of the time, it can get a bit lonely, especially since I've been sick and confined to my bed for much of the past three weeks. Naturally, my first choice for some company of the non-human variety would be a cat, but those aren't allowed at school. Other people suggest fish, but once again, fish are a completely different story. With the exception of Maurice the dancing fish, owned and much adored by Delana @http://delana-dujour.blogspot.com, you can't really pet or play with a fish.

So I started scrolling the internet for small creatures that the school couldn't protest, especially since I will be moving into my new sorority house next fall where it might actually possible to have a real pet.

Hamster. No, too much like that car commercial.

Guinea pig. Too big, too noisy.

Lizard. Awesome, but not cuddly.

Then it hit me....

Can you get much cuter than those little noses, fuzzy tummies, and little chirpy sounds? Yeah, I'm sure some of you think the spines poking out of their back might be an issue. Actually, they really aren't. When I worked at the local zoo, taking care of and playing with the hedgehogs were part of my job. Once they get used to you and come out of their ball-like defense mechanism, they're playful, snuggly, and shockingly soft. My co-worker and I could sit with our two little charges, Gidget and Gadget, for ages just petting them and feeding them little bits of fruits and veggies.

So, now I want a hedgehog. I would name it Hamish, because how could a hedgehog not be called something like that. They are British for the most part. My mother does not approve, but I'm an adult now and I can do adult things! Like buy a hedgehog after I get enough money.

So who knows, maybe next fall there will be a new addition to my party of one. I'll keep you posted.

Return to the blogosphere

I know, I know. Your reactions are likely the same as my mother's "I'll believe it when I see it."

Well here you are seeing it.

When I last left off I was still in Paris, living the dream despite the last post I left you with was a down one. Now I'm back in the States at university for the second half of sophomore year and I've started working out what I'm going to do with my future.

Classes are planned for the next two years, depending on what my minor is going to turn out to be; the three languages required for my Multi-language/Modern languages major have been selected. French, Italian, and German!

Now all I have to do is decide on my minor. Communications? Economics? European Studies? It's going to be a tough choice. The really good news is either way I get to go back to Europe next year! Back to France in the fall, or off to Austria in the spring.

It all depends on the decisions I make in the coming week, so wish me luck!

Ups and Downs

So today I woke up feeling down. Nowhere near college dorm second semester depressed, but I was not at my best. Despite that, or perhaps because being crippled by depression last year actually taught me something, I got up, got dressed and went down to the brocante. Getting out of the apartment and leaving my French hosts still asleep at 10:30, I just tried to breathe in the crisp air and enjoy the sights and sounds of markets.

Markets are the ultimate loneliness killer because everyone treats you like you've been best friends for ages. Of course, they're all trying to sell you stuff, but I challenge you to live in a foreign country for three months and not get a little lonely for all those American things we take for granted. Like being able to strike up a random conversation with anyone at any time and being completely sure of what you're saying, and that you'll be able to understand your new acquaintance.

Today though, not even all of my market friends and a tresse chocolat (braided pain chocolat with a glaze) lifted my spirits more than marginally. I dashed down for a conversation with the friendly metro worker to reload my Navigo Pass. The magic smiles of others weren't even working for me. The end of my market cheer up plan came when I heard the strains of a familiar song being played by a very familiar sound. Closing my eyes and inhaling the fall scent I could almost feel the crowd around me turn into my classmates, alumni, and other cheering fans. The bleachers would be cold if we sat, so we stand and huddle for warmth as we cheer on the home team. There was a marching band just like the one back in high school.

I could feel the tears trying to leak free right there in the middle of the market, and I knew it was time to call it. Back in the apartment, I woke a slightly disgruntled host to let me back in before he promptly fell back asleep. Slipping through my temporary room and trying not to wake my temporary roommate, I took a book onto the balcony and read. The Ya-Ya Sisterhood is a great book, one of my new favorites, but it's not exactly a fairy tale to help conquer dark thoughts.

Finally, after a few hours more of moping and pestering my mother via Skype with my need for reassuring words, I gave in to her sage advice: "take a book, go to Starbucks and get a mocha."

In our world, a mocha heals everything. I never really understood how true that was until after snagging a seat in the crowded cafe, 'grande mocha blanc' in hand, I could finally feel those dark clouds lifting. It probably helped that I made something of a friend with a student desperately searching for a place to finish a paper and letting him sit at my table. And the Christmas cups and music and decorations in the background probably had something to do with it. Or maybe it was being able to leave the foreign world I live in and just for the next hour or two, be transported to a familiar place not so far from the world I've known since I was born.

Saturday Snapshot

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books.Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. how much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.

Today, I made a trip out to the Trocadero. If you've ever seen pictures where people are posed to be holding, squishing, the same size as, etc, with the Eiffel Tower, this is where it's taken. It's a crush of humanity, but still pleasant with the pipe music of the Peruvian band that was playing in the background. And of course there was the eclectic mix of those people who think it's amusing to have their picture taken as if squishing a French monument, mostly British and German tourists.

What I liked best about the Trocadero is the pool of fountains below. Unfortunately on this trip I wasn't able to get spectacular photos of the water, I'll have to go back. That and the metro ride there. It's one of the few lines where you aren't underground, instead you float (read: bump) along above Paris, cross the Seine and see the Statue of Liberty, French style.

Magic Smiles

I was going to write a post today about my new home, the location, the people, etc. Then I had a "Stupid French Day" that I was going to write about, complete from the point where I thought I was going to be murdered, to finally making it home and breaking down in tears because somewhere along this stupid French day, the charm broke off my new favorite necklace that I picked up in Aix at a little craft/brocante/antique place, and now I can't find it anywhere.

Somewhere in the tears and frustration, my mind decided it needed chocolate in order to cope, or we just weren't going to be able to handle all of this any more. I gave in and blindly stumbled out of the apartment as it was getting dark in my quest for instant gratification and mood

enhancement drug of choice.

This wasn't the familiar, family oriented arrondisment where you couldn't walk a block without seeing a Carrefour, Fanprix, Lidl, or any other market chain where they sell everything for prices akin to American grocery stores, but everything looks cheaper because it's in euros. This arrondisment is old, and full of students and older folks, not many families to be seen. It has boulangerie after boucherie after vegetable market, but no such thing as a grocery. I guess they have something against those establishments whose names don't end with the requisite "ie".

Finally, I saw a metro station, and descended into the city to buy the Navigo Pass that would help prevent my having another stupid French day. The employee behind the ticket counter

smiled at me. Just smiled, and I couldn't help but smile back even though my world was falling apart and I still had no chocolate, and I was about to spend more money on this stupid pass. Still, that smile made everything look brighter, and once I had my pass in possession, I climbed what I thought was the entrance I had used to get down into the metro.

A grocery. Someone had put a place where they had chocolate at not exorbitant prices, right outside the metro for me. Never mind that I ended up quite a ways away from where I actually wanted to be, there was a sort of mea culpa from Paris, apologizing for the stupid French day. "Yeah, we didn't actually mean that. It was just sorta a test to see how much you really loved me. Here's some chocolate to make up for it."

Chocolate in hand, I started back what I thought was they way home. I ended up walking in the wrong direction, could have carried on that way for ages too, but the very nice old man who was walking his dog very slowly stopped in front of me to give his canine friend a pat. That's when I looked up at the street sign and saw my mistake. I even knew how to correct it. The old man and his dog smiled at me and I smiled back and altered my course.

A light misty rain began to fall and in the dark if I ignored all the French signs and made the voices a hum, it took me back to some of my favorite childhood memories. Going to the ballet with my parents when I must have only been four or five, skipping along in my new dress and asking if they thought the people around us thought that I could be playing Clara in the Nutcracker. That magical night when I saw my first opera, Rigoletto, with my dad and how the wet pavement outside seemed to take on an entirely different look, it sparkled. As I saw the smiling parents and children skipping along the damp streets, it was no longer misting rain, it was sprinkling happy memories.

First Night before every new year with my best friend and our two families, and the snow never stuck but melted on contact with the concrete downtown. Halloweens with friends when it was really too cold and wet to go trick or treating, but we all went anyway and then sipped hot apple cider with cinnamon and had chili when we got back home. Those nights when we went to meet Daddy for dinner at our favorite Chinese restaurant downtown near his office. Going to the ballet, the opera, a musical, with friends and family.

I felt like that child again as I walked through the glittering streets. It was cold enough for everyone to be wrapped in jackets and scarves and hats, but not bitterly so. It erased the stupid French day from my mind, and proved to me once more that everything is better with a magic smile.