Hard Knock Lessons: Be Careful To Whom You Wish "Happy Valentine's Day"

Let this post serve as a personal note about how you learn something new everyday.

This week has been a cultural mélange of Mardi Gras and La Saint Valentin for me, and considering that I am well into my sixth month of teaching English and Spanish in France, I simply could not pass up the opportunity to share with my students some cultural points about each holiday and how they are celebrated back home.

While researching the information for Fat Tuesday, I came upon the happy surprise that, in New Orleans, there exists a special traditional dessert called the King Cake. Now, this cake is eaten from the 6th of January up until "Carnaval," or Mardi Gras, and as an added bonus, each cake contains a tiny plastic baby. The tradition follows that the person who receives the plastic baby in his slice will have the responsibility of hosting the next King Cake party.

Now, when I discovered this new information, my Francophile synapses went into a full-blown "EUREKA!" mode. In France, there is a very similar tradition of the Galette des Rois, which is essentially a pastry filled with almond custard (la frangipane). However, unlike the King Cake that is decorated in purple, green and gold, the Galette des Rois features a small porcelain figurine called "la fève" instead of a plastic baby.

When I told my students about the plastic baby, their eyes bulged out of their heads. "Quoi?! Il y a un bébé?!"

"Yes. And unlike the Galette des Rois, the person who gets the baby doesn't get a crown."

"Quoi?!"

"Nobody gets crowned as the King or Queen."

"Oh, c'est nul, ça." (Oh, that's lame.)

The kids also got a kick out of seeing me dressed up for Mardi Gras.

Yes, here are a couple of photos for your amusement:

I decided to paint the area behind the eye slots in black. It makes the eyes pop out more.

As you can see, it honestly doesn't take much for your make-up to go from looking like Batman...

...To the Joker. ("The plan is simple: I'll grade my students' tests.")

Things got interesting with the Valentine's Day lessons.

In France, Valentine's Day is strictly associated with couples who are in love. And I do mean strictly couples. Couples only. No singletons or friends allowed.

This, of course, is a complete 180 from all that I know about the traditions that I acquired growing up in the American educational system and having my mind pounded year after year of commercials hocking expensive jewelry. I had to explain to the kids the revolutionary idea that no, Valentine's Day isn't just a highly commercialized holiday for couples; it's also a chance to show off your friendship with other people. (Nevertheless, we 'Muricans can easily spend over $17,000,000,000 on flowers, jewelry and Bedazzled Darth Vaders from Target.)

I showed them pictures of Hello Kitty, Angry Birds, Batman and Spiderman Valentines. The students replied stating that they, as French, would rather save their money than give every kid in the class a card and a small candy.

I further went into detail that in case you have a crush on someone, you can use the day as an excuse to send that special someone an anonymous card or gift. They retorted saying that they would never do that because it's very embarrassing to give a present to someone you secretly like.

Things got even more eye-bulging when I started to discuss pet names with them.

"WHAT?! You call each other 'Honey,' 'Sugar' and 'Sweetie?' That's so weird!"

Well, in my defense, they like to refer their Sweethearts, Sweetiepies, Puddin'-Pops, and Honey-Bunnies as "mon petit lapin," "my little rabbit," "mon coeur," "my heart," "mon trésor," "my treasure" and "mon chou," "my cabbage."

Yes, cabbage. Now, that is weird.

For the record, I've never had a thing for vegetables. Or fruits, for that matter. I'll make half-human, half-chocolate babies any day, though.

Of course, following through with the American friendliness, I had absolutely no qualms wishing everyone I passed a Happy Valentine's Day. I said it to my students, my work colleagues, even the cashier at the LeClerc supermarket.

What I couldn't understand was why everyone gave me odd looks whenever I greeted them and bade them a Joyeux Saint Valentin. They reacted as if I had just uttered creepily that I knew what they like to do when no one is watching them. There was a missing puzzle piece.

 Fortunately, I found that piece in the midst of a special luncheon. My dear English-speaking colleague, the one who advised me adamantly to see a doctor when I became ill last year, became the link to further comprehending the minor differences that trip up a foreigner like me.

"In France," she explained, "you wish someone a 'Happy Valentine's Day' only when they are your partner or when you are interested in them romantically."

Oh.

Well, I've probably wished a Happy Valentine's Day to over a hundred people today, so--

*brain finally takes in the weight of the situation*


Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh...


OOPS.

I...suddenly feel quite dirty. And cheap.

At least that explains why my colleague, who laughed nervously, my students, who chortled uncomfortably, and the supermarket cashier, who did a double-take, thought that I was crazy.

Lesson Learned: When in France, be careful to whom you wish "Happy Valentine's Day." Unless you want to come off as mentally unstable.

Joyeux Saint Valentin from Barb the French Bean

I Think Cupid Jinxed Me

Last year, I wrote a post to cupid threatening his life for being such a bastard. Ever since then, it seems that cupid has been playing around with my love life and so once again, for like the second time, I am dateless for Valentine's day.

Yes. Dateless.

I didn't give Valentine's much thought, but with all the reminders around, it was hard to miss what "holiday" was around the corner.

At first, I went into a frenzy as I kept seeing the Kay Jeweler commercials and the grocery stores filled with flowers and chocolates. I wanted to jump every couple I saw holding hands and displaying some sort of affection.

Eventually, after seeing so many pink hearts around, I started to have nightmares of past lovers doing all the romantic things (the things I never got) for their special someone.

Then I slowly started to fall into some sort of depression I couldn't quite understand...

As Valentine's got closer, my emotions went into overdrive and it felt as though Cupid was somewhere around laughing at my expense. Even having such a busy schedule, the idea of having a date plagued my thoughts and as I observed my companions getting married, getting engaged, having babies, and getting into a relationship, my want to have someone to hold was still not happening.

Thus, I believe Cupid jinxed me to be loveless for the rest of my life, but then an idea occurred to me, what if I killed Cupid? Would the curse break? Would Valentine's end? Who knows, but I WILL find out.

For now, I will have to bare with the fact that I don't have a date this year and even if I tell myself maybe next year (which I said last year about this year...), I really shouldn't get my hopes up.

So for everyone who is in the same position as I am, I wish you a Happy let's kill cupid day and for those in a relationship, I say to enjoy your partner because not everyone is as lucky to have someone special in their life.

Hanny the coffee bean

Valentine's Day Commercialism at Its Most WTFness

Ever since I returned back to the United States, the thing that has been the most apparent to me is that this country's stores are the champions at premature marketing. The themed products are seen at the "wrong" time of the year, be it hocking Christmas decorations in October or, more recently, pink heart-shaped boxes of chocolate reminding of my current state of singlehood since January first.

(Just to be clear: I've been single since December, not January first.)

This is a stark contrast from what I have observed in France, meaning the French are quite normal and make an effort to limit each festivity within their designated months, and I must admit that I quite prefer the French way of commercialism; it's less annoying.

If I see one more sappy "Every Kiss Begins with Kay" jewelry ad showing a pair of actors emulating a happy, much-in-love couple, I'm gonna go ballistic on my TV, and I can't afford a new TV set these days.





Bitterness aside, I found myself on a trip to Target this past Saturday and I couldn't resist walking by the aisles (plural) that were dedicated to selling Valentine's Day trinkets. I saw the run-of-the-mill products: boxes of chocolates, stuffed animals, bags of chocolates, bottles of wine and champagne, bars of chocolate, candles, candies, party favors, paper plates, pencils, Valentine cards that elementary school kids pass out to their classmates bearing famous cartoon characters, and chocolate roses.

However, there was one item that caught me off guard and essentially touched me on levels that were wrong.


Oh.

So.

Very.

Very.

WRONG.

My friends, this year, why don't you say "I love you" to your significant other with a black heart sporting a bedazzled Darth Vader?

This is worth repeating: a black heart sporting a bedazzled Darth Vader.

Don't his brilliant sparkles strike absolute terror into your heart?

Some things are never supposed to be mixed. I can withstand seeing the pink hearts, but this honestly has gone way too far. In the name of all that is The Force, you CANNOT do this to Darth Vader.

Or Darth Maul, for that matter.

No. Just...no.

I expect Kay Jewelers will offer selling diamond-encrusted light sabers for Valentine's day next year, and they will glow neon pink when you turn them on. There is no doubt a market out there for them.

Barb the French Bean

This Is What I Do When I Am Bored

I tend to waste many, many hours of my precious life browsing the internet, but even that becomes tedious. The appeal of sitting in front of a lifeless computer screen eventually gets to me and I find myself searching for other means of passing the time.

If I do not make the crucial decision to actually change out of my pajamas and head out into the world, I will often limit my day to just taking photographs.

I captured this image while goofing off in front of the computer, ironically enough.

I am mesmerized with the fact that the staring wide-eyed girl with unkempt hair is actually me.

More often than not, I gaze upon my reflection in agony and scrutinize all of the imperfections that haunt my being. I do not have a flat stomach. My thighs have difficulty entering into most French trousers. I dislike my flabby upper arms and strategically hide them from sight with sleeves and cardigans.

The other day, I had an acquaintance ask me, with some surprise, "How is it possible that a very pretty girl such as yourself be single?"

All I could do was smile, shrug and say "I don't know."

But in my mind, I was very quick to criticize my body and place all the blame on it for being the reason as to why I am still single.

Yet I look back on my picture. For once, I regard my face and think that I actually do look nice. Dare I believe that I really am a pretty girl? I have to remember that the outer appearance is not all there is to me.

I am witty (if not a little sarcastic). I am caring. I love to read books. I love to take long walks in the park. I love going out for coffee with friends. I take pleasure in eating warm French bread with some butter on it. I love talking to others in a one-on-one scenario. I am quick to offer a sympathetic ear to a friend who needs one.

I love seeing rogue drops of rain glisten upon their leaf cradles after they have impishly fallen from the heavens. I love the miraculous imprint of a vanishing sunset.

When will I meet the man who can appreciate those aspects about me and will be more vividly alert to grasp all of the positive characteristics that I woefully neglect when blinded by my faults?

It certainly won't happen today. I am sure of that.

But it will happen. Someday. I just have to be patient and continue to grow and not be so self-critical.

So, the goldilocked flying diaper-boy can just stick his arrows up his behind. I'm off to work and I am facing a bus strike today. I've got other cats to whip, erm, bigger fish to fry!

Barb the French Bean

Dear Dumb Ass Cupid

Dear Dumb Ass Cupid,

Valentines day is coming soon and I still have no date. I know I said I hate Valentines day because I find it so commercialized and pink is just NOT my color, but how hard is it to get me a date? All you have to do is get one of your damn arrows and shoot it at some random cute guy (preferably my obsession crush). If that doesn't work then you should try shoving those damn arrows up...Wait!...I KNOW for a fact that they do work, but are you blind?! You shot the wrong guys, you moron!

I mean wasn't it enough with the three lame excuses I call ex's?? and now you dare leave me alone for Valentines day?! How is it that half of everyone is getting married or getting in a relationship, and yet I am still here waiting for some dumb ass to make a move already? I am aware some have already made a move, but you hit the wrong freaking guys with your DAMN arrows...

Did you miss? do you have to go back to fairy school or where ever you came from?? no? Then why Cupid torture me in this way? Isn't it enough that every time i enter Walmart, Walgreens, Target or any of those damned stores, I see the walls oozing in pink colors and big bulging hearts? How about all the times I have to see girls tackling their boyfriends like maniacs, while I just walk the lonely dark halls of a disgustingly valentines decorated campus? Don't forget the commercials of all those men that give those old hags ladies diamonds...Honestly cupid, where the hell is my cutie with my diamond and some heart shaped chocolates?? Hell I don't even need the diamond! give me the guy, the chocolates and I'll never complain about the guy I am with write another hate letter!

Now I hate to get rough with you Cupid, but I am giving you until Valentines day to send me a "date." If by that time I do not get a date...I will sabotage you. That's right...I will sabotage you. I will take that diaper blanket piece of sheet to hang you with whatever the hell you wear and give you a bad wedgie! It will be so bad that you will want to use your arrows for death and not love.




That said...




I am your biggest fan, Cupid. I really really really am! Die you piece of shit...die!


Hate Love you,
Hanny the coffee bean

(Stay tuned for Cupid's response...oh boy...)