I’m sitting here eating Swiss chocolate. That I bought in Switzerland. Who hates me? Oh, but my iTunes just switched into a really old, not so great song, so maybe not so much. But really, would someone tell me to stop reading Cooking for Mr. Latte again- this would be the fourth or fifth time, and I bought it in August. The fact that I finally finished the 1400 page behemoth that is A Suitable Boy is not reason enough. I should be reading La vie- mode d’emploi ou Le deuxième manifeste du surréalisme. Sigh.

Remember a long time ago when, upon finding out that I was a French major, people would immediately ask me if I was going to be a French teacher? And remember how I always poo-pooed them and said “Of course not! I’ll never teach French! Never!” I began eating my words two years ago, and I still am. Teaching at Chevreul makes my heart happy. God, that sounds cheesey. But really, when you’re working with a class of 1ère and you ask them to come up with an outline for a detective novel, then you find out one group has made you the detective, and even given you an assistant, how can you not be happy? This assistant is apparently the PE teacher at Chevreul, and though I don’t really know who he is, I have seen a cute guy walking around with a whistle around his neck. And I really need to thank April here for turning me on to Harry Potter 6 years ago, because now I’m working with 13-year-old French kids on it. Teaching them to say “Hufflepuff” was hilarious. But I’m still smitten with the 6e, the youngest. If I do end up teaching, either French or English (here!), I want my students to be just like these 10-year-olds- great little students who are very proud when they say hello to me in the corridors or on the street.

Last Saturday was the distribution of the ultimate-guide-to-Lyon, Le petit paumé (literally, the little lost guy). It comes out once a year and details everything lyonnais, from shopping to movies to museums to bars to a huge section on restaurants. When I say once a year, I mean once a year. It’s distributed one day only in two locations. I texted Marc that I was going to demand my copy and he responded with a goodbye, as he was pretty sure that I was going to die in the mass hysteria that is the distribution at Bellecour. Obviously, I made it out alive. With four guides, no less. You’re only supposed to get one, but Rachelle and I went from person to person as a test of how many we could get. After four my bag was getting heavy, so we stopped. Take that one-per-person! I documented what was supposed to have been my last day, so wait on baited breath for a brand-new photo essay, featuring an easily-distracted-by-macaroons Gina, lunch at my favorite café which will now be forever overflowing with people because it’s recommended by the P.P., and finally our trip to Bellecour with most of Lyon.

There are so many things that I always forget to say, but that are probably interesting, maybe? Like the fact that one of the directors of Chevreul, who I teach English to, told me that they could probably help me get a work visa for next year. Or that I’m starting to work on separating myself from constant Centre Oregon-dom, as it’s hard to be around all the students all the time, especially when they call at 10pm on Sunday for grammar help (not ok. Just not ok). Or that I appear to have finally made French friends. Or that some of the students are still gunning for me to get married, while they’re here, so much so that they’re planning a pretend wedding. Or that my mom, yes, my dear dear mommy, is coming on Thursday. And that we’re going to Paris. Because all of that’s true. When I make up answers, it’s really only for students.