I Don't Think We're Even Allowed to Call Ourselves Frozen Embryos Anymore

Paris has been amazing thanks for asking! The weather is so warm and lovely and the baguettes are tres delicieuses!

I started my intensive french course today at the Alliance Francaise. So far so good. The first day of class always brings up insecurities in me though. Not because I'm worried about how well I'll do in the course or anything, but because, for some reason, no one ever wants to sit next to me in class. It's been like this since college when the idea of assigned seating suddenly went out the window because supposedly we were adults and could choose our own seats without incident. Seat choosing is a huge deal. I have a problem with being chronically early, so I would always try to be strategic when choosing my seat. I don't want to sit in the way front cus then everyone will think I'm a nerd and you risk the chance of constantly having your professor's genitals in your face, and you don't want to sit all the way in the way back cus then you might not be able to see and you also risk being surrounded by slackers who could maybe have this reverse-motivational effect on you. So I always walk into the room, analyze the style and substance of the layout and then park it. So there I would be at the beginning of each semester anxiously awaiting the arrival of my fellow classmates. One by one they file in, and one by one they sit no where near me. I never understood why no one would ever sit near me even though I was sure I had picked prime classroom real estate and surely everyone else would want to sit in the same area! Never the case! And I *analyzed.* I *know* I had the best seat! These experiences have really taken a toll on my self-esteem, and made me very conscious of my seat-choosing later in life. When I'm on the subway and it clears out, and the only other person on the train is still sitting next to me, I actually go through this internal battle about whether I should move my seat. I mean, I know how it feels to not have anybody want to sit next to you, so I don't want to ruin their day by moving my seat and offending them. They're left asking themselves, "what did i do? what is it about me? WHY I AM NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" And the struggle inside just keeps getting more and more intense and I start thinking "well, why don't *they* move??" And this is really a no-win situation either cus I kinda want them to move cus I want more space but don't want to be the mover in case I offend them, but then my feelings will also be a little hurt if they move cus I'll just never really know why. So as I'm sitting in my French class today, people are filing in and not sitting next to me. I snagged an awesome seat in the corner by the window. Then this German girl (I think, cus she was really pretty and I have yet to meet a German girl who isn't gorgeous. bitches) sat next to me and I was like, "great now I have no room to breathe cus this girl is practically on top of me." I can't win!

And then he walked in. Jordan Catalano. My heart stopped. He was 15 minutes late and listening to his iPod. His hair was a mess and probably hadn't been washed or combed in weeks. He's Italian. He's perfect. He sits next to the German girl (dammit!) and I can't believe there's only one person separating me from the love of my life. I do a quick once-over of my competition to see where I really stand and I see that she's engaged. I hope Catalano sees it soon too. I'm dying for the instructor to stop lessons so he can introduce himself! His name is Simon and he's from Milan, but I still call him Jordan Catalano. He says he does nothing. When asked to elaborate he says "no really. I do nothing." I want to marry him. I love doing nothing too! He has such a thick Italian accent when he speaks French and I wonder "why do the French laugh at my American accent? This is much worse." But I don't even care. I want him to speak Italian to me. I want him to tell me that I'm so beautiful it hurts to look at me. I want him to tell me all about Tino and their band. He's got this beautiful poof of hair on his head that says "I don't need to care." His tan skin makes his crystal blue eyes stand out like dandruff on a black wool sweater. We have yet to speak and I'm sure we never will, but that's ok. We are not meant to actually be with our Jordan Catalanos. They are only to be worshipped from afar.

After class I grabbed a sandwich and took a seat in the Jardins de Luxembourg. As I'm sitting there eating, I hear a petite "vroom vroom" behind me. I turn my head just a tiny bit to the right and see this old man on his scooter veer off the walkway and get stuck in the mud. I wonder if I should help? I don't want to laugh too hard cus then everyone will know that I see him and will scold me in their minds for not helping. I mean his family left him behind, so I'm not sure why he should become my responsibility. So he throws the scooter into reverse and kicks up a few pebbles but doesn't make much progress. So it's back and forth for about thirty seconds when the scooter finally overpowers the mud and off he scoots to rejoin his family who had made it pretty far already without him. Good thing he's got that scooter to catch up!