Vacation Time? Yes?

Well this week has been a stressful week due to many circumstances, but the main one must be planning for my spring break.

Yes. Spring break = stress.

I have been trying to plan the best spring break of my life, especially since last year was such a crappy spring break. So to make this year a better year for me, I decided I wanted to go somewhere. Anywhere that gets me out of Florida.

Being a student, however, makes my life so much more complicating. Struggling with loans, paying bills, trying to find a decent job, trying to budget life itself...this is life as I know it. So to find something within my budget out of Florida is impossible. IMPOSSIBLE.

Especially on Spring break.

I kept looking through all possibilities, typing in "Cheap cruises" on Google search, but that didn't even help. For a few weeks I kept trying to find the cheapest things to do on Spring break, one suggestion was to go to Miami (my hometown). As I have mentioned before in past posts, I loathe Miami.

As perfect as Miami is for Spring break, I have done everything there is to do in Miami. Besides I loathe how rude the people can be, and there are other factors that would ruin my Spring break. Did I mention that one of those factors was my ex-boyfriend completely ruining last Spring break for me?

Last year, I was in Miami...waiting. I was waiting for my ex-boyfriend to invite me to hang out with him; he never did. He had come to terms that he would use Spring break as our "break" from each other, and as I waited like a damn door mat, he was out having the time of his life.

This is how that need to get out of Florida developed. I was not going to be the same damn door mat waiting for someone to say "hey, lets do something."

As I have learned through experiences, if you want something, you have to do it yourself. So this time I prepared myself. I kept looking through cruises, hotels, flights etc...I even went as far as looking through bus services to New York. Imagine a bus ride for at least 16 hours...

Yeah, it wouldn't have been pretty at all...

I thought I would never find something, but then out of nowhere, as if in a dream, I found a vacation package within my budget! Not only that, it was within my friends budget too, which made everything perfect.

What better way to rest from studying and exams than a trip to the Bahamas!

That's right! I am going to the Bahamas!! for 5 days/4 nights. Airfare and hotel. I finally made the reservation and now I can finally relax.

Though It will not be for my whole Spring break (and I will have to go to Miami), I am just happy I found something outside of Florida.

I just need to do a few more things for my trip, but other than that I feel as if a weight has been lifted. I just hope I can find my passport.

Hanny the Coffee Bean

Uh-Oh...

I have a job interview on Monday. ZOMG.


I've just realized that I do not have interview-appropriate clothes that fit me. The clothes I used to wear are far too large and I do not want to look like a clown in my old trousers.

I am in France, and I can't find pants in my size.

I have only this week-end to find something, anything, that would make me look presentable and hireable. I need a classy tailleur that fits me. Pencil skirts are not body-compliant either.


HELP.

Barb the (panicking) French Bean

...And for some reason, my internet source is being detected as coming from near Paris! As far as I know, I'm still in Dijon, Bourgogne. :-P

Can I Disappear Now?

Well I made it past Valentines day, but there is one single day that kills me every year...


My Birthday.


Though my birthday is special, I do not appreciate the fact that I have to turn a year older. Especially, when it is not a leap year. For those who may not know, a leap year is when you see February. 29th, on the calender. It is that one day that makes 365 days become 366 days every four years.

Yes, my exact birthday comes every four years.


So in actuality I would only be five years old (if I counted just the leap year days). The last time I celebrated a leap year was when I was 20 years old and during the times that there is no Feb. 29th, I end up celebrating it on March 1st (even if some do celebrate it Feb. 28th).

At first, I thought it was amazing that i would get to celebrate it for a whole week (everyone gets so confused around that time, that I would end up with presents for a week). Now I just wish to disappear for that day, especially since I do not want to turn another year older.

Even so, day or no day I would still turn a year older and though that is unavoidable, I still would like to disappear. My reason for this is because Facebook does not like my birthday.

A month ago I had a chat about my birthday with a few friends and this was enough proof that Facebook does not like my birthday...



How does February 29th, turn into December 31st?? and I didn't get any Happy Birthday wishes, which is bizarre...

The very fact that I might not see birthday wishes on my fb wall taunts me...Year round I see everyone getting hundreds of birthday wishes and I? well I get 5 people who actually remember without FB telling them (I am very thankful, btw!), but the thought of going around without anyone knowing my special day...well it is daunting.

My last birthday, I only got about 8 friends posting on my wall or texting me (again I am very thankful!), but from all 200 friends I have on fb...and I only get 8 is kind of sad...then again it shows who my real friends are. On top of that, my ex-boyfriend ruined my birthday by making me cry on the day of my birthday. Luckily, it wasn't Feb. 29th, I would have killed him. I do, however, appreciate the fact that my roommates remembered and bought me my favorite...Frozen yogurt!! followed by balloons.

This year I do not know what to expect. All I know is that I would like to disappear for that one day or at least go to Vegas.

Eventually, when the day comes, I'll blog about it and when I do I hope it has to do with Vegas.

On another note, I would like to give a special thanks to my partner in crime, Barb. She has remembered each birthday since the age of 16!! So she has actually gotten to experience 2 of my leap year birthdays. Now that has got me feeling old, but I am very thankful for such great friends, such as Barb. So go show her some love!

Hanny the coffee 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 Loveless Bean

Cupid's response to my letter
_____________________________

Dear Loveless Bean,

Congratulations! Your lack of intelligence and vocabulary became a great hit at my house gathering yesterday. I will not apologize for your loveless life, but rather for even interfering in it. Are you not aware of how many arrows I have shot for you? I want to say I shot at least 100 arrows, but alas, my arrows are not as powerful to cover the charm that you unfortunately have not been blessed with. My arrows can cause both men and women to fall blindly in love with the first person they see. Unfortunately, as many a times I hit your crush with my arrows, he still has no desire for you.

The men that I have shot and have fallen for you was absolutely a miracle, so rather than being an unappreciative little shit face, you should be thankful. Besides how would you know if the men interested are not for you? Is it because you are not getting the men you want? Well listen carefully, my sweet little fuck face, life is not fair deal with it. Sometimes in life we have to make sacrifices, so deal with the men that do want the pleasure of your company. At least that is what everyone getting married or in a relationship do.

Sweet ignorant bean, I the god of love do not need to attend a "fairy" school. I am not the one lacking in knowledge, but you should know that by now. After all you accuse me of something I cannot control, like Walmart, Target, Walgreens and the whole world celebrating the day of love. It is not I who makes the walls ooze in pink or make heart shaped chocolates, you imbecile.

Have you ever thought that those "maniac" girls might actually be serial killers trying to kill poor innocent men? or maybe they might just be horny... Your stupidity really overcrowds your head, especially when you think you could ever get away with killing me off.

Let me remind you of something...number 1: I am the god of love, I have the power to bestow love on others, therefore if you are not satisfied then screw you, number 2: You will not write another hate letter to me because I will use my bow to strangle you, number 3: You have once again showed your stupidity by assuming that I wear a "diaper." If you know anything about mythology, you would know I need not cover my beauty with clothes of any sort, number 4: With number 3 being said, you cannot give me any sort of wedgie, thus you fail once again, loveless bean.



Thus said...

I will not hold this against you, but do not expect a date for valentines day.


with all my love,

Cupid


_____________________________________________________

FML.

-Hanny the coffee bean

Monsoon Showers and the WTF Toilets (AKA Some More French Bathroom Humor)

(For the first bathroom-related post, click the link here.)

Allow me to start of this post with an obvious declaration of how French bathrooms are to the unsuspecting American:

They are weird.

No, seriously. French bathrooms are just weird.

I have been to quite a number of houses in which the bathroom in question will have the toilet built apart from the bathroom itself. In one room, you may have the sink, either a shower or a bathtub with detachable showerhead (more on that later) and, in a state of rarity, the notorious toilet-like bidet. Then, the actual contraption that flushes out natural impurities will be isolated in its own little room.

After having lived in France for a year, the shock of using separate facilities won't even make me bat an eye, but in the very beginning, I could not help but wonder what a strange country I had found myself in.

Seriously, who thought this up? I suppose that if you are living with other people, having the toilet apart from the shower and sink is a rather logical thing, especially in those crucial moments when one person desperately needs to go and simply can't because another person has locked himself to take a bath and thus resorts to doing the universal "I-gotta-pee" jig.

Yet I associate toilets with privacy. Bathrooms are private places. It is only logical to group the toilet with the bidet.

Oh, wait.

Privacy? In France? Ha, ha! That silly notion goes down the drain! Ever heard of the expression "the walls have ears?" I sincerely think that it originated from the fact that French bathrooms have very, very thin walls that echo every bump, grunt, sigh, smack and groan that are emitted by whoever is in it.

Oh yes. French bathrooms, unlike the well-thought-out, discreet soundproof American ones, are in-your-face. Even to this day, I admit that I feel rather uncomfortable when I hear a questionable noise that passes through the walls to my ears. Do you know how self-conscious I feel when I think about other people who can hear everything that I do when I use French facilities?

Whatever. I'm in France. I should be more open to the fact that the French are not embarrassed by natural bowel movements.

But I can't help it! It's simply not in my American nature.

During one lesson with my French high schoolers, I showed the differences between some British English and American English words. I decided to make the activity a game. I wrote down each word, had the students guess which word pertained to which country and then had them figure out the French equivalent. I inevitably talked about "bathroom" vs. "loo."

Ha, ha. Well, you're wrong, pal.

I then explained how in American English, "bathroom" is euphemism for "toilet."

Let's see. I've covered isolated toilets and thin walls. Now, about those detachable showerheads: how do you expect little ol' clumsy me to deftly maneuver my body in a 2x2 space as I clutch a spouting Niagara Falls in one hand and cup a wad of shampoo in the other? It simply can't be done. I can't take a shower without flooding the entire bathroom floor! I even had the habit of leaving a mop so I could soak up the water splattered all over the ground. I wish I were even kidding about this. I've gotten better with time at containing the water within the shower space. The lake that used to form has now shrunk to a puddle.

Despite all the oddities found in home bathrooms, I still am floored by the (rare) public toilets that one finds over here. I credit the topic of this post to the question an anonymous student asked my French BFF Mimi:

"What is the English for toilettes turques?"

Mimi couldn't give an answer, so she asked me. I couldn't give an answer because toilettes turques are simply non-existent in Miami. In fact, the very first time that I saw a toilettes turques was in 2008, in a small town in France.

I still remember that fateful day. Rather than being greeted by a white, porcelain throne, I unsuspectingly came face-to-face with what can be described as an ingenious invention: ceramic tiles decorating a hole in the ground. Since I hail from a First World country, my initial reaction to seeing such a starkly primitive device in an advanced nation was utter shock and dismay. How was I supposed to pee over this...this...THING? I remember that I my poor bladder was close to bursting and that I had no choice but to figure it out.

That intriguing moment had been safely stored in my recollections until Mimi brought up the question.

I honestly had no idea what the name for it in English is. I even tried to look it up and came across such obvious entries as "hole-in-the-ground toilet."

However, I prefer to christen the toilettes turques with a title they so clearly merit: a WTF toilet. When you see it, you ask "What the Fuck is this?!"

Our conversation about the lack of porcelain throne progressed.

"Do you know what the French for 'Outhouse' is?" Mimi asked. "Une cabane. Literally, a cabin. There is even a song written about this called La Cabane au Fond du Jardin, which means 'the cabin at the end of the garden.'"

What? There is a song written about this? At that point, I couldn't contain myself. I burst into laughter.

"Ah, that's what I love about the French language: it is just so damn poetic! Whereas in English, the word is quite plain: it is an out house. Why is it an outhouse? Because the toilet is at the exterior of the house!"

Mimi and I completely broke down into a fit of uncontrollable whoops.

Barb the French Bean

I Just Couldn't Resist!

I walked into a store yesterday and saw a couple of shirts that made me laugh. And I couldn't resist trying them on:

Cheesy. I know.

I was quite tempted to purchase them, but I had done enough shopping last month for dresses and thus swore to not buy any more clothes for quite some time. Or at least for this month...Knowing how my solid steel will is a flimsy as marshmallow, I just may crack and purchase them after all. :-P

Barb the French Bean

UPDATE:

I cracked. I knew I would. I went into town and bought the cute t-shirts. I also purchased 275 grams of dried fruit, a bag of Portuguese white corn flour along with gouda and parmesan cheese (which I will hopefully use to make arepas). I'm glad that I got out of the house, too. In the covered market, I witnessed une bouchère kiss one of her dearest clients on both cheeks and wish him a happy birthday. Only in France will I see that!

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...)

On Another Note...Or Two

I've updated my portion on the "About Us" tab. Mine used to read as:


"When I'm not blogging, I'm either sleeping, eating or working out to lose 40 kilos/88 pounds be hotter than Shakira!"

Now, it's slightly different...^.^

I also managed to take a picture near Miami on Saturday, and I didn't even have to leave France!

Yes. You read that correctly. I took a picture near Downtown Miami while in France.

"But...how is that possible, Barb? Miami is clearly in the United States!"

Here's how:

This glorious view is actually the window display of a tanning salon in the city of Mâcon. It is called...Miami Sun.

Yes. Cheesy. I know. But not all of Mâcon is cheesy! Just look at this mirror image reflected on the Saône river that I captured on my little ol' camera!

Mâcon, by the way, also has the oddest version of petit crème coffee that I have EVER seen: the expresso, rather than being served in a large cup with a sizeable amount of milk in a small pitcher, was presented in a shot form alongside a miniscule cup of steamed milk. I honestly couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it...

And I just like these pictures. 'Nuff said.

Barb the French Bean

It is Free!!

That's right, I said it. It. Is. Free.

What you may ask? Well joining our NEW Facebook Page is!

Now isn't it wonderful!!

Not only will you see our new posts appearing on your news feed, but you also get to see our random pictures, cartoons that we may not post up here, quick replies, and so much more!

come on now doesn't that sound great?

If that is not enough...depending on how many followers we get there may be a chance to win a giveaway and you can leave us pictures, videos, and all that lovely stuff =)

So if you want to join click here.

Thank you!

Hanny the coffee bean

Oh, Crêpe! (A.K.A. My Crêpe Day Turnout)

Like with any new recipe that I want to try out, I dutifully searched for a crêpe one online.


Specifically, this one.



I would substitute the vanilla sugar for vanilla extract and not add any melted butter. It should work just as well, right? I mean, I should be able to follow all the steps without anything bad occuring during the cooking process, right? AM I RIGHT?!



Ha. Ha.



What the recipe should have mentioned in its list of steps:

If you are a foreigner, first find a French person who knows how to make crêpes. It will spare you a lot of confusion about your failure.



(This is especially true since I had my unforgettable exploding container fiasco around Thanksgiving which proved that I can be a disaster in the kitchen.)



I went to the kitchen and searched for the ingredients in my cabinets. Not only was I able to find everything I needed (Score!) but, to my grand surprise, I found not one, not two but FIVE bags of flour.



Five entire bags of flour. I honestly don't know how I managed to accumulate so much farine in such little time or even what caused me to have a sudden flour amnesia when I went grocery shopping on five different occasions and thus caused me to amass a whole troup weight-inducing powder. I decided to use the farine de sarrasin, buckwheat flour.



The moment had finally arrived. I was going to make my very first batch of crêpes in France. The very first batch of crêpes of my life. I who have never even made pancakes from scratch (thanks Aunt Jemima for depriving my patriotism and valor as an American with your processed pancake mix goodness). I was going to attempt the impossible.



One American. One whisk. One bowl. One frying pan.



This is the army that I was up against:

BRING IT, BITCHES, I thought.



Not wanting to deviate from the required measurements to potentially jeopardize the batter, I asked my room mate if we had any measuring cups for grams and mL. Oops. We don't.



*piercing scream of horror*



I was suddenly one American trying to estimate how much 360 grams of flour and 750 mL of milk would look like to the naked eye. That's as difficult as creating rocket fuel in the dark while blindfolded with your hands tied behind your back!

Okay, maybe it isn't, but that is what dealing with the metric system is like sometimes to my imperial-system wired brain. I've actually gotten more perceptive with time about how much simpler the metric system is.



There was no time to panic! As I reasoned, if I poured out half of the 1 kilogram bag of sarrasin flour, then I had poured out too much. And my one liter box of milk should weigh as if it had only one cup left in it. I would just have to wing it with the sugar or, as the French say, au pif. Yes, the French tend to measure with their noses rather than their eyes.



I calculated and mixed the ingredients.



It resulted in a gloopy mixture.

Gloopy-gloop-gloop



I know for a fact that crêpe batter needs to be considerably fluid. Essentially, I needed to have a diluted pancake mixture. So, I added more milk.



Hm, that looks better...



I then let the batter sit in the fridge from 30 to 90 minutes. Since I have the patience of a little kid jacked up on sugar on a 4-hour roadtrip, I waited just the 30 minutes.




I heated the Gleaming Red Element of Doom and swirled some oil into the pan. My room mates told me that crêpes are practically impossible to ruin. It is just one of the most basic French recipes that only a complete idiot would not get it right.



There's no way I can mess this up? Hell, yeah! Only a complete idiot can screw it up? Well, I'm no dummy. That's the sort of encouragement I need. I couldn't wait to make my very first fail-proof crêpe!!!





Uh. Erm. Hmm.



Maybe it will look better on the other side.

Huh. Nope.


This was obviously a fluke. Crêpe #2 will have a better result.

Ah! So far so good! Let's see what happens when I try to flip it over...









Oh, Good Lord. I'll never be French if I can't even concoct the simplest of French recipes. Let me just take a moment to release my pent-up frustration: CRAPPY-CRÊPE-CRÊPE!!! Something told me this was going to be a loooooooong night for me...



I decided to slather Crêpe #1 with apricot jam and Crêpe #2 with dark chocolate. I couldn't help but notice that the consistency was quite spongy, much like the American morning counterpart.



I realized something. I hadn't made crêpes. I had succeeded in making sugary buckwheat pancakes. So, yay for me?



Thankfully, my room mate stepped in to save my feeble inexperienced crêpe-making behind the day and gave me an impromptu French culinary lesson.



"The batter is too thick. You need to water it down. When you are cooking the crêpes, you must wait until the edges start to brown a bit and lift; that's when you will know that it is the moment to flip them. Also, farine de sarrasin is used mostly for salty galettes. Next time, use the white flour for sweet crêpes. And the actual pancake taste is pas mal. "



She said pas mal! She said my pancake taste was pas mal! ZOMG!


The French aren't as ready as Americans to hand out compliments, so pas mal, which means "not bad," is pretty much the highest honor that can be bestowed upon my pseudo-French culinary skill. Anyway, with those little tidbits of French wisdom, I soon created a foolproof batter and I became the quintessential Crêpe-Making Queen of Dijon!

YES! SUCCESS!

YEAH! Now that's what I'm talkin' about! WHOOOO!!!



I was so tempted to gobble down my treat, but I decided that my two hefty pancakes would be all that I was going to eat for the evening. After all, a girl has to watch her figure to attain Shakira-hotness.

After an hour, I produced a tantalizing vanilla-scented golden mountain of thin wafery goodness. I could feel my mouth salivating at the sight of it, but I swore that I would no longer eat any more crêpes for that evening...



Ah, who am I kidding? Who could possibly resist eating a warm, freshly-made crêpe with apricot jam from Provence?

OM NOM NOM...

Happiness is a post-crêpe jam-splattered plate.

I now have 14 crêpes at my disposal, and I am not planning to eat them all. I'm gonna need some of my friends to come over, stat!

Barb the French Bean

Oh, Crap!

I totally forgot what today was!


No, not Groundhog day. That concept does not exist in France.

Today is la Chandeleur! ACK!


This is a day that, religiously, marks the day Jesus was presented to the Temple (something like that). It takes place 40 days after Christmas. But in today's secular France, you are supposed to eat crêpes at 8:00 p.m.


Huh. Damn. Now I've been suddenly struck with a desperate urge to eat crêpes with apricot jam and chocolate. But I've never, EVER made them before. Hell, I can't even make pancakes properly, and crêpes are like a wafer-thin pancake. Eek.

What say you, folks? Shall I try to foolishly make crêpes without knowing how the heck it's done? Eh, I can answer my own question. Screw the plateau!

*runs to the kitchen to prepare crêpe batter*

Barb the French Bean

Shakira-Hotness Seems Lightyears Away for Me...

Yeah. I've pretty much been having the same argument with my scale for nearly three months now. I really, really, REALLY despise, abhor, HATE this plateau. It actually has got me rather depressed.

Today, I got the brilliant idea to ask my colleague, the school's gym teacher, if she could offer me any tips so I can get back to losing weight.

"Just keep exercising more and reduce your portion sizes."

Uh. Um. Yeah.

If I reduce my portion sizes anymore, I'll probably vanish into thin air. But I will start running because walking for at least one hour each day clearly isn't cutting it anymore. --.--"

So, is anyone else down about their weight loss struggles? This misery could really enjoy some company...or else I might just go even more insane than I already am.

Barb the French Bean