Rules for dramatic girls

My friend Ana and I love to complain about one special thing: GIRLS! Not only girls though: we like to complain about cliché American girls acting their lives.

My question: Girls, why do you need to be so dramatic?

Girls, here are some things I’ve been dying to tell you:

• There is no need to talk about who would play your character if your life was a series: your life is and won’t be a series.

• There is no need to laugh so loudly. It won’t make things funnier. It won’t make people love you more. It might make you uglier. People will look at you, yes. Not for the reasons you imagine. If a loud laugh is your real laugh, that’s cool. Just don’t pretend, when you laugh for real, nobody understand what’s happening.

• Please, do not scream for every occasion. Yeah, you got a letter. Yeah, you are allowed to take an audition. Oops, you’ve been refused, too late, you screamed / facebooked it to the whole world. Yeah, you see your friend that you haven’t seen in like, two days! Please. No need to scream.

• Talking about friends… no, you don’t have to jump / scream / hug every time you see your friends. Or your roommate. Seriously. This is really annoying.

• When you have a bad day, know that it’s always “the worst day of your life”. Yeah, I understand, you broke your nail AND he didn’t answer your text. We can talk about it. Not for two straight hours. Your next worst day is in three days, you’ll get over it.

• When you have a good day, know that it’s always “the best day of your life”. Yeah, you got a A-, he looked at you and your hair is so beautiful today. You don’t need to throw a party to celebrate: tomorrow will be the worst day of your life.

• Don’t cry in front of people you don’t know because you’re having the worst day of your life. It’s really embarrassing and makes the person in front of you feel really ill-at-ease. Especially if (s)he has an appointment and wants to leave. Or just, wants to leave. Or just, doesn’t care.

Remember: STOP.SCREAMING!

Oh, and if you could also avoid saying OHGOSH ten times a day… thanks!

Tip, I hate you.

I went back to France for a while and it was wonderful. Everything was wonderful, of course, it was home. I got to eat food without cinnamon, take the bus, be strong and not use the bathroom for a whole day… “Bref”, I was back home!

And then, I realized that something gets me really mad in the US: tips.

When I go out, I don’t want to be thinking about the fact that the person serving me might not be able to pay his / her rent if I leave a poor tip. Which actually makes me a good tipper. I’d always go with 20 percent, it’s safe and easy to calculate.

But because of this tip-thing, waiters have an attitude that I really dislike: I feel like I’m a brat on her sweet sixteen’s. They’ll come to you thinking that you’ll be the one paying them, so they’ll answer all your desires, though they’re thinking how much they hate you. There’s something wrong about that. Clients get to think that they can do anything and behave badly. Don’t say thanks. Don’t be nice. Be direct and expect to be served right away.

When I’m back home, I know exactly what the waiters are thinking about me, they don’t pretend. So if I get a smile, I know they mean it. Because anyway, they can be rude, they’ll still be paid. I’m sorry, but I love rude waiters. I love knowing that we are on the same level. When I’m in the US, I feel like I should act like I’m better than the waiters. That they are worthless. I don’t, but I see a lot of people acting like that. Just because you tip doesn’t give you the right to be a bastard. At the same time, I also wish I could tell the American waiters “wait, I’ll tip you, stop behaving like that!” and maybe I should – as a lot of people – start to have my own list and grade the waiters /20, every mistake making you lose one percent of your tip. Ready?

If you:

• smile too much: -3
• laugh too loud: -3
• ask me how my food is before I even started: -4
• ask me how my food is more than twice (if it was good two minutes ago believe me, it’s still good): -4
• ask me how I’m doing when it’s NOT your concern: -3
• ask me about my accent: -3
• tell me it’s a cute accent: -19

Well, I might end up being paid for eating out!

They don’t do dreadlocks

Sometimes, you go to the hairdresser and you tell me “do what you want, I trust you Joe” (because he’s called Joe) Sometimes it’s nice, you’re glad. Some other times, you just hate Joe, you could killed him simply with the amount of hair he cut. Well, you know what? Relax! We’re talking about a haircut here. Taking risks can be fun, for you and, pretty often, even more for your friends (except dreadlocks. dreadlocks are forbidden)

But by taking risks, I mean, when you can fix them.

As soon as I arrived here I saw some irreparable horrible mistakes on almost everyone I met: tattoos.

For almost all the people I met before coming here, a tattoo means a decision thought for maybe several years.

After moving to one of the most-tattooed city in the US, I realized that a tattoo could also be a “I’m bored” decision. When they get bored, some people go to the gym (oh yes!), others cook, read, paint etc. Some go get a tattoo. If it’s the reflection of their day, I cannot even imagine…

Anyway. I’ve met several people who could not tell me how many tattoo they had. I’ve met people who told me they would never ever have a tattoo and got one a few months after.

I’ve always been scared of getting a tattoo. I don’t want to ink my skin now and realize in a few years that I grew up and don’t like it anymore. Plus, I might faint. But after being here, I realize that some people don’t give a damn and think they won’t grow up anymore (and for some of them, let’s face it, I basically agree)

These people are my favorite people in the world.

I love being in class and seeing two dolphins jumping in front of a sunset. I love walking and seeing skins inked with the Chiefs logo (seriously, the Chiefs?). I love seeing people trying to write things in French “because it’s romantic” and read what they actually wrote. Yes, I love these people.

They don’t do dreadlocks, but they do tattoos…

(found the image on google)

Leslie McCalloway

It took me 23 years but I finally did it: I went to the gym.
It took me steps, too:
First, laughing at your friends for going to the gym and being SO American.
Then, admitting that yes, it is American and totally stupid but maybe, MAYBE there is a good thing hidden somewhere.
Talking with some American friends who lived in France and listen to them saying how they were shocked that nobody works out in France.
Subscribing.
Listening to your American friends who lived in France slowly laughing at you with the evil laugh of victory.
Listening to your family telling you that “Pffff, seriously, why did you even spend money for that, that’s pure bullshit!”.

The thing is, the US makes you feel like you have to go to the gym. Streets are full of people running, whether it’s 20° or 110°. And then, it makes you feel guilty about not working out. I don’t know how, but that works, and every French person that I know here and who at first refused to work out has now subscribed to a gym because they felt guilty.

So, I finally subscribed. I still couldn’t get in because of some mistakes during the process. I thought it was a sign. I waited another week.

I went back, expecting to find an almost empty place. And then… I found a loud crowded place. And everybody looked so concentrated, so into it, just this first look was worth the pain!

I won’t talk about my boyfriend training me, pushing me and trying to “encourage” me. I still hate him too much for that to even mention him.
I won’t talk about the people there being so funny.
I won’t talk about the really nice and artistic music .
I won’t even talk about the fact that there are TVs all around.

Instead, I’ll just make a small recap of this more-than-a-year personal dilemma:
moving in the US – laughing – debating with yourself – feeling guilty – subscribing – feeling the weight of Destiny above your shoulders – being amazed / amused / shocked – suffering.

That’ll be the only thing I’ll remember: suffering. Putain…

French women don’t pee. It’s called survival instinct.

When you’re a girl and you have to spend the day outside of your comfy home, there is always a moment when you’ll need a bathroom. Not that guys don’t pee, just that it’s easier to pee outside when you’re a guy than when you’re a girl.
And here is a wonderful thing about the USA: their public restrooms. Not that France does not have some no. It’s just not the same kind.

When I arrived to the US, I would never use a restaurant’s bathroom. I had this conviction that it would be disgusting. But I don’t know how they do that but peeing in a public bathroom in the US is like peeing on gold. Seriously.

For those of you who want to visit France… well, France isn’t exactly the same way. Walking to a public restroom can become an adventure. Of course, some restrooms are great. We have one clean public bathroom in Lyon. We’re proud of that. For the rest, there are some things you need to go before going to France.

First, you don’t use a restroom if you’re not a client. No, you can’t enter a Starbucks in France, or any café / restaurant just to use their restroom. They want your money first. Depending on where you go, you might even need a code. Now, I’m thinking about Mc Donald’s, but I’m sure it’s true for some other places too. I told you, they want your money, so the code is on your receipt. It even happened to me that I got checked by some security guy. In case of an out of law pee.

Second, don’t wear open shoes. I told you, going to the bathroom in France can be an adventure. I was not joking. The floor is really muddy. It seems like it rained / snowed in this little room. It also seems that this little room used to be a mountain path. Don’t forget. Wear hiking shoes.

Third, don’t sit. Seriously, don’t sit. That’s how French girls work out. You do not know what was on this toilet seat. Though, you can guess just by looking at it. Avoid any skin contact.

Fourth, bring your money. Not everywhere, but in some places, you’ll find some pee ladies. They’re not really made out of pee, that’s just a name. But sometimes yes, you’ll have someone seated in front of the restroom and asking for your money. You can’t pee if you don’t pay.

So, as you can guess, fifth, pee before leaving for your day. French women learn not to pee during their childhood – schools’ bathrooms ain’t any better. You can do it too, but it requires that you don’t forget to use your bathroom before leaving. Or you’re screwed.

So, next time you go to a public bathroom in the US, enjoy, take pictures of the place, have a little party there. Because you won’t be able to do that in France.