Frizzy-Frizz-Frizz

It is a fact that people are never satisfied with what they have. I am certainly no exception to this rule.

This post has NOTHING to do with my weight, nor will it mention the state of my clothes.

People, can we talk? How many of you wish to have different hair?

I'm not talking about a hairstyle. I mean the actual strands that are attached to your scalp. Do you have straight silky hair that can never hold a curl in place? Does your wavy coiffure suffer from arthritis and fringe the second it senses that a thunderstorm is a-comin'?

Thanks to many previous generations involving mixing cultures and races, I am blessed with having to continuously provide financial support to Paul Mitchell hair mousse and Biosilk. If I don't spend hours trying to uncoil what I should just unconditionally embrace, then I will be left with a literal hair-raising experience every time the moisture level increases by 2% to make me look as if I had just been struck by lightning.

On Tuesday, I placed my locks into the safety of a Dijonnaise hairstylist and carefully described what I expected as the outcome.

A few snippety-snips and a glance in the mirror later, I ended up having a huge sense of satisfaction with how my hair perfectly glistened with a slight sheen.

Ha-ha! Take that, Humidity!

But I should have known better than to become overly-confident with my temporary victory. Almost as a way to teach me a lesson in humility, the skies in Dijon turned against me (and my hair) and allowed rain to fall down on me.

Eeeeee...yeaaaaaaah.

There will be no escape from the frizz for me. Not unless I undergo drastic chemical treatments. One of my roomies got so fed up with how flatly her hair is that she got a perm. I'm far too much of a scaredy cat to even consider getting a "Brazilian" treatment.

I should just be content that I am at least not bald.

Barb the French Bean

Happy Easter, Y'all

This year, thanks to a courtesy care-package that Mom lovingly sent from the good ol' U.S. of A., I celebrated by decapitating marshmallow bunnies with my teeth (images far too gory for this blog).

The marshmallow bunny massacre continued by drowning them in a sea of molten hot chocolate.

No one can help you, Marshmallow Bunny. NO ONE.

So, how do you deal with Resurrection Day?

Barb the French Bean

It's No Fun Being an (Almost) Illegal Alien

On my birthday, I had a job interview and it went well. The company showed interest to keep me on board to become a part of their crew. However, the one issue that had been dogging me was the fact that I needed one crucial document: a work contract. Without this golden ticket, I could not logically file all of my paperwork.

Still, the company requested that I go to la Préfecture the day after the interview to see what information I could muster. For one fleeting moment, I honestly had some hope instilled in me.

In my quest to prolong my visa's expiration date, I have decidedly come to one conclusion: France possesses, hands down, one of the most cryptic paperwork bureaucracies that I have EVER dealt with.

This should come as no surprise to me seeing as how I already had the fortunate encounters with requesting a Carte Vitale (for which I am still waiting), filing for the CAF , requesting another visa from the French consulate in Miami, and eventually getting a second yellow OFII sticker in my passport. Yet a carte de séjour resides in its own category of photocopy championships. In order to obtain the information to make my dreams come true of residing in France for a longer period of time, a trip to la Préfecture was an inevitable stop in my journey. La Préfecture is essentially the gathering point for anyone who wishes to have a driver's license, a renewed identification card and, in the case of foreigners, visas and political asylum. I, however, think that it's a waterhole for mothers clutching their hysterically screaming toddlers and for downtrodden, sullen-faced men. Once I walked through the door into a stuffy room filled with a crowd of people either slumped on plastic chairs or standing stoicly until they were called. I knew that I was going to have to wait my turn. I yanked off a ticket with a number. 538.

I automatically glanced at the front desk to see if an illuminated panel would display the current number. There was none. Even my effing deli counter at the supermarket has the counter and this place didn't. Instead, I saw only one frustrated lady sitting behind the glass partition. I felt quite sorry for her because she seemed to be handling everyone who was in the room.

I sat down on the uncomfortable chair. Only twice in my life have been affronted with a language situation in which I could not understand what was being spoken around me. The first time was during my week-long experience in Italy. Here, in la Préfecture, I heard African mothers hushing their babies to be silent, a henna-tattooed woman excitedly jabbering away in Arabic to her family and even a toddler excitedly jibbering to her veiled mother in what I assume was Urdu. Admist this group of foreigners, I felt quite lonely.

"Numéro 512," called the lady. She didn't even have a loudspeaker to amplify her voice!

I looked down at my own number again. 538. Yep. I had a wait of 26 people ahead of me...

Nearly two hours later, I heard the heavenly call of my turn. I quickly explained my situation and the lady robotically handed me a sheet of paper listing what I had to do, a.k.a., all the photocopies I needed to make.

The itemized shopping list documents requested are as follows:

-A valid passport (a photocopy and the real one)

-Photocopy of the current visa

-Photocopy of the OFII sticker

-Photocopy of my birth certificate (translated into French)

-3 passport-sized photos

-A self-addressed, stamped envelope

-A photocopy of my housing contract

-A photocopy of my landlord's utilities' bill

-A photocopy of my landlord's identification card

-Photocopies of my last three pay stubs

-A photocopy of my work contract or a "promesse de travail"

That last document was the only one pending. I rushed back to company to report the news and to see if they would finally sign a contract. They only dropped a bomb: "We hesitate to sign a contract because we want to have a guarantee that you will still remain in France for a longer period of time."

Uh, seriously? You expect me to try to stay longer in France when I don't have the paperwork to do so? Why do you think I just came from la Préfecture with this information? Couldn't you even sign a "promesse de travail" in which you will offer me a real contract once the Préfecture has granted me a titre de séjour?

They must have sense my discouragement and shock because they immediately made a photocopy of my paper (how typically French) and then asked me to check up with them the following Tuesday.

I looked down at my list again. It wasn't clear whether the 3 bulletins de salaire were for my current job or the one I was currently seeking. The following Monday, I returned to la Préfecture with my French friend Janine. We decided to meet up at 9 to avoid any large lines; that only proved futile because the waiting room was just as packed as the day I had gone. Luckily, the woman next to us couldn't wait any longer and she gave us her ticket. Janine handled the situation like a pro! She asked all the questions that I could only incorrectly conjugate in my head! She was even able to pry out the information that I couldn't get out! April 15th wasn't the "official" last day so I apparently still had more time to sort out the paperwork information.

Lesson learned: get a French friend to go with you for government purposes. Who better to deal with French paperwork than the natives themselves?

Once I got to my job, I sent an e-mail to the company saying how I would pass by Tuesday morning. They only told me to come in on Friday because they would be quite busy this week. I had a little moment of panic. Why were they prolonging this for me? Perhaps they just wanted to see if I would find another job in the meantime so I could leave them alone?

To make a long, boring story short: I didn't get the contract and I didn't get the job that I had interviewed for this Friday. I have been feeling so heartbroken these days due to how my brief moment of hope was taken from me.

And this rollercoaster story, my friends, is why I haven't blogged in almost two months with a proper set of brand-new cartoons. I have honestly been far too occupied and worried about what will happen next in my life. I don't want to leave France.

-Barb the French Bean

Video Rants

On my spare time, I like to watch youtube videos. Sometimes, I'll watch them just to see what everyone else is complaining about.

about a month ago, I came across a video everyone on the internet kept complaining about. I didn't think it would be as bad as I thought, but I was wrong. When I first heard this video, my ears were bleeding from the bad singing and my mind went into the most bizarre rants I have ever had.

Rebecca Black- It's Friday

Not only do the kids in the car look young to be driving, but she looks too young to even be going out. For someone who is singing about Friday, she doesn't seem too excited, especially when she mentions partying. Of course she's not wearing anything slutty (I'll give her props for that), but she looks too emo to be going out. Why are the other girls dressed in color and she's in black? and is it just me or does it seem that every time they do a close up of her, she's on the toilet with a bad case of diarrhea? No one in this video looks like they are having fun...."We So Excited"...who is we?? all the other kids look terrified that they might get whipped or thrown in the torture chamber.

Who is that guy in the car? and why is he in the video? were they trying to make this a rap video? Who is he supposed to be? Is there a point to the video? They just randomly added a guy driving to who knows where and she's just looking more psychotic in every shot. They should have just put a phony Santa Claus on the toilet, I rather see that then children screaming help on the inside.


The next video that I just have to talk about is called the Apple Store Dance.



The kid must be like 10 years old, but he has moves. Where the hell did he learn to move like that?? He obviously has no shame since he has other videos in the Apple store dancing to different music. What's up with the girl in the furry hat? They let animals in the Apple store now? If you pause the video in 0:00, the girl on the left is making the scariest face...kind of looks demonic.

Pause it at 1:34...shouldn't that move be Rated R for someone his age? I can't imagine what he will be like when he is an adult...

Kids...they are so creative.

This next video left me saying WTF...seriously this world is so messed up.

Das Beer Boot Music



What the crap does cheese have to do with beer? I know they are talking about the boot glass, but really? cheese?? and how about that energy drink...5 hours crap...he's basically stating it will kill you if you overdose on it, learn from the beer boot man people, but wait what is this?! he is alive?! Only to go over dose on pancakes, chocolate, and some other stuff you can fit in the beer boot glass....why did he have to be German? Why not Russian? Russians drink too...

Pause at 1:02, that is so nasty his wiener in butter?! did he say butter?? eww. This guy is really excited about his damn boot glass (though it makes me want to get one...).

Last but not least, this video is just too funny! I couldn't help laughing at this video.

My Drunk Kitchen



I'm not sure if she is drunk, but its hilarious what can happen in the kitchen. I wouldn't recommend cooking drunk...especially if you might end up blacking out leaving the stove on. "This is a show about friendship" - I thought it was about cooking, this girl seems to be forgetting what she is doing. She's making grilled cheese sandwiches, but she has no cheese...Pause at 2:26, I think she almost smoked the place.

While cooking, lets talk about toilet seats! because instead of making food, she wants to talk about toilet seats. I like her rules, its always amazing to see what drunk people come up with.
You gotta love the fact that she only ended up eating bread...this goes to show drunk people can't cook. Obviously.


That's all for my video rants.

Hanny the coffee bean

Since I Lost My Sense of Humor...

I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life and may I just add that life is indeed too short. As the years pass, the older I am getting; the older I am getting, the less I want to be in school.


I never thought of the importance of school, never really cared much for it. Sure in high school, I was an honor roll student with honor classes, college courses, and a yearbook editor. I had so much promise for my future, but once I got into college, I didn't know where I was headed. It was always clear to me that I wanted to major in Psychology. I dreamt with the idea of helping others with their problems; I wasn't doing it for the money, but for love of people.


This ardure to help others was what kept me motivated to reach my goals, which at the time was to become a psychologist. I did, however, have other passions in life, but one of them stood out the most. The very thing I wanted to do since the age of 10 and that was to be in broadway. As a child I would spend my time making up songs and putting acts in front of the adults and this passion of mine stayed with me until the beginning of college.


I had taken acting classes, singing classes, guitar classes and dance classes, I was for sure in love with the idea of being in broadway. Then when I started my first year in college, that dream fell apart. I had taken acting classes in college, only to get critized about my weak performance...when all this time I thought I was good at what I did.


From then on I concentrated on my general studies, but I would also take other courses that had nothing to do with my major. Well fast forward to three years later and I finally finished what should have been my two year degree. Of course in my mind that didn't matter much, as long as I was moving away and was going to finally finish my other two years....So I thought.


I haven't finished yet, which has made me feel old in all possible ways. Yes, there are others who have not finished like me, but I've always been so determined with life. I always had an idea that by age 24, I would have my masters and yet that will not be happening. Everything I had ever planned for me changed and to make things worse, I want to be a magazine editor.


How on earth can I, if my commas and semicolons are in all the wrong places.... How can I, if my sentences are all jumbled up and my sense of humor and creativity have left me? I see everyone around me accomplishing things that I have so wanted in my life and yet here I am writing in a blog that most don't even read anyways.


Though, I try to keep positive about my success, it makes me wonder how others have reached that success.


So my fellow readers, how on earth did you get to the place you are in now? how did you reach your goals? What challenges did you have to face to get to the place you are in now?


Sorry for the lack of pictures and humor, I promise I'll have something better up....eventually.


Hanny the coffee bean

Wanted: My Humor

WANTED


Name: Humor Jones
Owner: Coffee Bean
Height: 2 ft. 1 in.
Weight: 2 lbs
Hair Color: He has no hair
Eye Color: He has no eyes
Date last seen: 01/01/11
This humor is quite dangerous! He was last seen wearing a 'I'm Da Bitch' shirt and riding a unicorn. He may be distinguished by the Harry Potter scar on his forehead. He may try to disguise himself as a coffee bean...So coffee drinkers please be careful! If you happen to see him, do not catch him, call my assistant, shitpoo . If caught, you may be in danger of peeing your pants, the use of vulgarity, a highly disturbing way of thinking, laughing by yourself making you seem crazy to other people, the "weirdo" status, and seeming "high." There will be a generous reward for who ever finds him.

If you still have no idea of what my humor is capable of, please click here.
If that still doesn't seem twisted enough, click here.

Please, bring him alive!!

Hanny the coffee bean

Happy Boithday, Mugsy

Welp, this is it. I am officially greeting the first day of the 24th year of my life.

And what better way to do this than to have a job interview this afternoon and then go out for drinks with some of my friends?

(Short post, I know, but I'm way too nervous to think of something to write this morning. I really need a job.)

Barb the French Bean

A Short Message from a Stinky April Fish

Last Friday was Poisson d'avril, a.k.a. April Fool's day. As a dumb joke, I changed my Facebook status to "engaged." I thought that all of my French and American friends would see past the scheme and play along with it.

And they did.

However, my non-April-fool-celebrating Colombian cousin thought I was actually engaged.

Oops. Next year, I'll tape a paper fish to someone's back.

Barb the French Bean