Tuh-day

Another unfair, happenin' day, but only 20 or so to come.

It really started last week, when I could change my schedule for math speciales. If you forget, that is my 3rd math class which is basically to help with the French math terms and stuff. Personally, I find it pretty unnecessary. The teacher said I could take off the class Thursday morning, so I'd have sport.

Now, this might not seem like such a big deal to you (and really, it isn't to me either) but I just wanted to point out something with this particular example.

About 3 weeks or so ago, I could have changed my schedule like that, but I would have had to have a different class after lunch, which would actually make my lunch only 1 hour, which is not fun. I decided against this choice because it was rather a lose-lose situation. Sure, I'd get to play sport or whatever, but I wouldn't get to sleep in that day or have a longish lunch. But I did want to have sport, because they were doing rugby and I thought that'd be cool; we don't really seem to do that in the US.

So, okay, I thought all was lost for that opportunity. And then of course, that ol' "everything works out" thing came along (strange it should come along for this, when it implies that everything works out) and I could do sport and not have to shorten my lunch.

So there you go.

Anyway. The excitement didn't stop there, of course, as after I got over the fact that even if Claire and Emma weren't here (who would offer translations, stick by me for exercizes, etc.), well, Claire appeared, but instead of rugby the bilungual and possibly trilingual class decided on soccer. But actually, I'm just going to surprise all of you, possibly making you jump out of your seats and/or have to read the sentences over and over and/or scratch you head, and refer to this ball-kicking popular sport as football from now on. Or at least in this blogpost. So there- we played football. It's actually just "le foot" in French, which kinda cracks me up. Little do they know, they're referring to their pieds. Hehehe. No I know, it's not hilarious at all.

Three teams were chosen after a routine 5-minute run and stretching, and I was picked more or less actually last. But at least I got on a team in which everyone knew English. Claire and Olivia were also on my team.

You know, looking back, maybe some of my football-obsessed (or maybe to make it even more funny, I could say foot-obsessed; I'm positive you guys are just rolling on the floor laughing. rofl) friends/people I know back in them States would be envious of me getting to play with, like, real European/French people. Ugh, that's pretty racist. But no you see, it's just that... I mean... I guess... Europe is sort of more.. foot-based and stuff? I mean, sure, there are awesome players in America and stuff, but can't you see what I'm saying??? Can't you???

Me and this inacurately-called-in-the-American-area sport go way back. It even stops way back too. It seemed like soccer was all the rage when I was around elementary school age, and pretty much everyone played it. This ravenous obsession (which included the near-fatal injuries of my fellow classmates because of pure parent energy- no I'm kidding) continued for a while, but I got off the crowded, now competitive train before I could really register the memories. Several many others continued, but I guess it wasn't really my thing.

So anyway, I wasn't one of those hot-shot kickers/head-butters/sliders on mud/rip up your jersey and look like you're giving birth after scoring a goal people. I tend to hover around the defense area, and probably use all the wrong techniques/etc.

But actually, it was pretty fun.

A mix of French and English begs for the ball, international grunts, swearing and head-butting. Lemme tell ya, those football players are pro (well, the pro ones are) for a reason- they're fricking good, and they're pros. What I mean to say is, some of these guys were good. Not to be sexist (actually, one of my French and non-English speaking classmates mentioned this certain thing after a later proposed game. She was all "sexiste!" with a French accent. It was exactly what I do in those situations [in an American accent, of course] and I suddenly felt like some barrier crashed down between us in that moment [though I think she was rather unaware of this connection]. I should have given her a hug) but I guess it really was most of the guys.

The thing I noticed about defense was that it was....hard. You want to just jut your foot out to stop their mad, grunting rush while they grab your jersey and you can already hear the other people yelling their name for them to pass the fricking ball, but then of course they move. They always move.

They'll go where you don't expect it, and being smart, you expect this unexpected expection. But then you go where you in fact don't expect it, which is really where you do expect, and they then go where you don't expect it, but really it was where you did expect it, because it was where it wasn't. All this time, I stare down at the ball and his jumbling feet, and then there's this little put and he's gone.

Practice would cure that (un)expected stuff, I suppose.

There was one particular case of the strifes of being a defender, which to this day (well, it was this day) I go back through in my head. Probably because I still have one, as opposed to what could have happened if I should have changed my decisions.

The ball was way down there that-a-way, you know, the end where the defenders don't really go, and when the ball is there, they're in cross-fingers and then get ready for a groan or jumping up and down. The other team had it though, and one strong foot pa-tooted that circular object way up into the AIR and over to where I was. It was high- but it was the kind of situation where you look up, get your brain aquainted with the danger, and then after that rare silence of a few miliseconds where everyone, and I mean everyone, tilts their neck, and then it falls. You can make some decisions before it plummets down onto the muddy grass. It got close enough to do a header, and I wasn't putting that option past the ability of any of these guys. I heard some yells of "you can do it, such and such!" and such, and I tried to position myself so as not to be so entirely out of luck. There was a split second where I actually considered jumping up and making the ball meet my hairy, hard skull. I mean, it was right there. I had my head all ready, and I just had to...whatever. But then I thought, "Nah. I don't really want to get my head crushed" and the other guy got it.

Perplexing, I know.

To avoid further needless details about this football adventure, I'll then skip to the next few semi-happening parts of my day.

After my first FLE class (I had two in a row after sport), a cat suddenly appeared in the room. And when I say "appeared", I mean that when I looked down at the floor, even the mere thought of a cat being anywhere close was invalid. And then I saw people looking down and my teacher mentioning something about not having fear. So my brain, after making some thoughts, told me I should look down (or I told my brain to look down?) and there it was- this furry, thin, small, dark, cute little meow-ing kitty frisking away in that foot-padding way only kitties can do. Someone picked it up, and I of course echoed the ever-obvious question in everyone's minds, "Why the crap is there a cat in here anyway?" I said it in English to a friend, and I got the usual answer. But then she said, "people live here, you know". Yeah, I dunno either.

We put the cat outside, where it hid rather scared-looking under a cabinet with people stroking it and saying various things. Then class resumed, and after a while we heard these regular cries outside; poor cat. And then I heard something like barking. Just, strange. You just never know what you'll stumble on in these French schools these days, eh?

English math was then fun, which involved much laughing, distraction and not work. I won't go into details, because it was sort of that "well, it happened with my friends and was fun. And you probably weren't there" thing. And then the spanish teacher wasn't there, so after lunch I only had math speciales. Pretty good day.

Oh and also. Zach is actually going to leave (yeah, like going home home) by himself this Monday. My mom was all worrying about it, and I too find it kind of weird. But I'll tell you what, this school system's just too weird. The grades stop after tomorrow, so........ but then we still have two more weeks of school....... and like..... yeah..... logical.... But anyway. My mom and I have set up a Father's Day present for my dad by including him in our 3-day Paris trip. I even got my mom to like the idea of busking over there. I mean, street musicians! Woot! So we'll see. I'm excited. We're going next Sunday till Tuesday, so I'll miss some school. But whatever. That, my readers, is pretty much the anthem of teenagers everywhere. But I really mean it this time. [...]

I'll now stop exhausting you with my 20-days left in beautiful France crap and have dessert. I'm tired, annoyed that I'm still here (of course), excited, annoyed again. Just in case you wanted to keep tabs.

Whoa, that post took pretty much the whole of RHCP's Stadium Arcadium (Jupiter) album to write....