The dance decor

Bonsoir, tout le monde!
As of this afternoon, I am officially on the decorations committee for the end-of-school dance. Normally, I would never partake in such an activity, but Lilly convinced me that it would be fun. I think decorating for a school dance would be fun- don't get me wrong. It has nothing to do with that and more to do with the fact my mom is an interior decorator, and she drives me crazy. I don't need an activity that is supposed to be fun to also remind me of my overbearing mother! Still, I am such a good friend and can't tell Lilly "no". It's definitely a fun thing to do with friends, and I'm sure I'll end up having a great time. I have many good decorating tips and techniques that I learned from my mom, so maybe I can be useful in that essence, too. Imagine how proud Mère would be of me...a decorator in training!

I'm definitely not an expert decorator like she is, but I feel that with a little help, I can do a fairly decent job. Correction: I'll need a lot of help. My jaw probably dropped to the floor when I saw the main decoration!

I should have known. After all, the winning theme was "An Evening in Paris". Of course this theme would win! The other ones did not stand a chance, especially with the girls at my school! The other themes were "Holiday in the Sun" (which was like a beach party theme) and "Country Western". While I wanted the Paris theme to win, I couldn't help but cringe a tiny bit. Obviously, it's going to be a bit stereotypical and cliche. It's a school dance; it's understandable. However, I definitely blame the cringing and slight embarrassment on being French. Still, I find it interesting to see America's take on all things French. I just had to get that off my chest, and with that aside, I can now obsess over how HUGE that pink Eiffel Tower is! This place definitely makes sure all the decor is the best!

Nobody was looking, and I couldn't resist the temptation much
...I climbed it! I kind-of wish Lilly witnessed my climbing it because climbing is nothing I normally do. I'm usually afraid of heights (even if things aren't too high) and falling (because I have no coordination whatsoever).

I did not stay on the tower long, though, because I didn't want to cause any damage to it. Lilly, the other members on the committee, and I are working on decorating this weekend, so I'm sure you'll see a post then.


...and that means goodbye...?

After taking it easy for a couple of days, I realized that it was time for me to start dancing again. In the mid-afternoon, I crept into the studio as quietly as I could- I didn't want to disturb the contemporary class that was going on. I sat my ballet bag in the dressing room, and then I made my way to the large windows where a note on the ground caught my attention.

I picked it up, mainly because I was curious. It looked harmless, so I thought, "Why not?" Sadly, I did not have an issue with poking my noise in other people's business. As wrong as it was, I never felt entirely guilty about it, but I never felt guilty about most things. It wasn't like I would tell the person or anything. It would be my dirty little secret, and if Ophélie were still here, it would be hers, too. I'd see to it.

Then, I further inspected the note. The name on the front was unmistakably mine, and it was written in Ophélie's handwriting. I could obviously tell, considering her love aside from dance was handwriting. She spent much of her free time working on her penmanship because she thought handwriting told strangers stories about the writer. She also believed that one was judged by their handwriting, so it better be beautiful.

I had twenty minutes to spare until I had to change into my ballet gear, so I took a seat and unfolded what I later discovered to be a goodbye letter. Ophélie did not begin her letter with a formal greeting; instead, she scrawled out my name, and her first sentence declared, "J'ai quitté." The letter was quite brief, but even in its brevity, it told me what happened. I didn't need many details to realize that Ophélie did something...well, how would you say this in English? Unforgivable? She repeated that she had to leave at least three times, and that wasn't a good sign.

My heart sank as much as it possibly could (for me, that is), and I hurriedly wadded up the letter.

I glared at the crushed piece of paper, and took a moment to think. She left without saying "goodbye", and while such behavior was usually an attempt to act dramatic, it most likely wasn't this time. She did something that required her to stealthily disappear, and it most likely put herself or others in danger.

I threw the paper ball on the ground, and I headed towards the changing room when something rather important popped into my head. I was hoping ballet would get my mind off this, but I was also worried that it might make me think of the situation even more.

...I know why Ophélie left...and it is almost unimaginable. Unbelievable. Unforgivable.


Je change comme je rime

Bonsoir, tous ceux qui lit ce blog!
Yesterday, something happened. Something terrible happened. This terrible even is what landed me in the hospital for the evening, nonetheless. Remember the dance-off that my friends were going to have? That took place yesterday, and that started everything. One second I was cheering on Malorie, and the next my world turned pitch black. My head spun, and I literally saw stars. My head hurt, and something stung the inside of my left eye.
I, however, don't remember what happened. Like I said, my memory begins before the accident and picks up with me waking up this afternoon. The incident is merely a black hole. I guess the less I know, the better. I feel great, having slept for twelve straight hours. That was all that mattered to be before the hospital ward of the dorms began letting in visitors for me!

Oui. Des visiteurs. I had specifically asked for NO VISITORS. I wanted to recover in peace. Obviously, I would speak to people when I was ready. This afternoon, I definitely wasn't ready...especially for the first set of visitors.

"Salut, ma jolie jumelle!" One very familiar voice echoed in my head. It sounded freakishly similar to mine. I panicked for a moment. Was I hearing voices? I better not have been! If I were hearing things, something would have been terribly wrong.
"Bon...however you say it in French!" Another voice entered the picture. This one did not sound similar to mine; the accent was definitely American. It was rather high-pitched, and I knew I heard it before because the same voice bugged me once.
I slowly and groggily sat up, and I opened my eyes. My vision wasn't steady; in fact, things looked a bit blurred! I was startled, especially since I hadn't taken my contacts out...or at least I don't think I did. I tried not to panic, especially since my vision could be acting up since I hadn't opened my eyes for twelve hours.

The similar voice began to speak again. "Des fleurs pour toi, ma sœur! Bon rétablissement!" It paused for a moment. "AH! MON DIEU! Tes yeux! Ils sont pas verts! Tu ne portes pas des lentilles de contact!"
Then, it hit me. My vision may have been acting crazy because of the accident, but it may have been acting weird because my eyes were adjusting to seeing without contacts.
I panicked for a moment, and then I remembered. The memory of the doctor telling me that he was going to have to remove my contacts came back. Apparently, one lens was severely damaged during the accident. It was irritating one of my eyes, so both the lenses were removed.
This whole thing was strange for me. I first arrived in the United States in April of 2008. That is when I first began wearing colored contacts. I had glasses prior to then, but I never wore them. I didn't like the way they looked on me. Yeah, school was a little difficult because of that. It wasn't like I wanted to sit in the front of the class or anything, so I just copied my friends' notes. I began wearing regular, clear contacts...until I came to America, like I said. My friend Ophélie wrote me a good-bye letter, and included in the envelope was a small package containing green colored contacts. She told me that I should try them and that they would give me a fresh start in America. She was right. When I first tried them on, I felt different. I didn't feel like the girl who almost tore apart her family. I liked how unique they were. I somehow convinced my parents (namely my dad) to buy more green colored contacts for me, and they did. They made me feel so beautiful...
My thoughts were soon interrupted by the voice. "Des fleurs! Accepte-les!
I then realized whose voice that was. It was Sabine's. That meant that the other voice HAD to be Lilly's. Not exactly what I wanted to wake up to.

Lilly didn't say anything. She plopped down on the floor and began playing with her new, beloved iPad 2. She immediately turned on some music, and I did not know the song that was playing. It was certainly awful, I can say that. It wasn't anything I wanted to listen to.

"What is this crap?" I asked, trying to sound calm instead of abrasive.
"Oh, it's the Dixie Chicks," Lilly responded. 
A confused look lit up my face. "Who are the Pixie Sticks?"
"The DIXIE CHICKS! Get it straight! They are only like the best female country group ever. They were, like, part of my childhood!" Lilly said happily.
"Yeah, well, this song is terrible," I groaned.
"LEAVE THE ROOM!" Lilly said jokingly, though I wasn't in the mood to be teased. "I have other songs on here, in all honesty. I have some Shania Twain, old Britney, and some soundtracks to the old Disney Chanel movies. You know, the ones that were actually good."
I rolled my eyes. "Lilly, you are aware that there is music after 1995, right?"
"I have some present day music, too! I just happen to have the good old stuff, which, just so you know, is mostly late '90s and early 2000s," Lilly informed me.
"Lilly, why don't you leave the room?" I said bitterly. I tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came out harsher than I wanted it to.
In response, Lilly said, "Yeah, you're right. Actually, I'm getting kind-of perturbed. Sabine said this visit wouldn't take very long. I mean, there is one package of Oreos left in the vending machine, and I called dibs! I need to get my butt out there and buy it before somebody else takes what is rightfully mine!"

After Lilly left, Sabine was STILL in my presence and STILL harassing me about those darn flowers that she bought for me. "Il faut que je te donne des fleurs!"
Angrily and unable to control my temper, I shouted. "JE NE LES VEUX PAS! JE M'EN FOUS! Casse-toi, Sabine Aurore Bouchard! Zut alors!"

Sabine frowned. "Bien. Je m'en vais. A tout à l'heure." She walked away and threw the flowers at the bed. 

I felt a bit rotten. What she did was so kind- so thoughtful- and I was acting horrible. This was my main problem. I could not help acting like that. I didn't want to act that way, nor do I intend to. It just happens, whether I want it to or not. I haven't seen my psychologist since I left France. Last month marked my four-year anniversary in the States...and four-year anniversary without seeing my psychologist. I told my parents that I was going to one, but that was a lie. I honestly did mean to look for one, but my first friends in the US, Kira and Nichole, convinced me that I was perfectly fine. Maybe that was true for the first month. Now, I certainly wish I hadn't listen to them. What is it going to take for me to find a new psychologist? Am I really going to have to reach my breaking point again? What if my breaking point was worse this time? The thought of it made me want to cry...if only I could cry. 

I pushed my thoughts into the back of my mind when Chrissa and Malorie entered the room to see me. I still wasn't in the mood for visitors, but I felt that I needed them to tell me what landed me in the hospital ward to begin with. After all, they both were there when things went down. They asked me how I was feeling, and I said better...physically.

"You look gorgeous with brown eyes," Chrissa complimented me. "I can't believe you wanted to hide them with those nasty witch-green contacts! You are a natural beauty without them!"
I don't want to sound vain, but I do agree with Chrissa. She made a good point. Those contacts were unattractive, and I wondered why I was so dependent on them. I was beautiful without them; I didn't need to enhance my appearance.
"Merci, Chrissa," I said weakly.
"Anytime! You took a hard fall, and I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were okay," Chrissa said fearfully.

Chrissa began to sob, so I turned to Malorie. "Mal, what happened? Who won the dance-off?"
Malorie looked nervously at me in return. Her voice quavered. "Sandrine, there was no dance-off. Remember? Ophélie called it off. You really need to stay away from Ophélie, by the way. She's dangerous!"

The room fell silent, and I wanted it to stay that way. I needed to find out what happened to me, to the dance-off. I had a feeling that it would only lead me down a path of trouble...


Des films que j'aime!

Bonjour, tous ceux qui lit ce blog!!! Today, I’m going to talk about my favorite movies. I have many, many favorites, so it is hard to choose only three. I’ll try.

Up first is Tout ce qui brille (2010)!
This film stars Géraldine Nakache as Ely and Leïla Bekhti as Lila. The two girls are best friends who yearn to live the fabulous lives of wealthy Parisians. Tired of always being ten minutes away from Paris, the girls spend their evenings in the city meeting boys, tricking cab drivers, and dancing at exclusive clubs and parties. Soon, Lila hooks up with one boy who is merely using her, and she become more focused on him than she does on her friendship with Ely. Their friendship is tested, and they later discover that friendship is more important than “all that glitters”.

Hors de Prix (2006)
Clearly, I like glittery movies, and this one is no exception. This film takes place on the French Riveria, one of my favorite places in the world!  Irène (Audrey Tautou) is celebrating her birthday alongside the older man she mooches off, and she meets a bartender named Jean (Gad Elmaleh). She believes he is wealthy, so she uses him to rent out one of the most expensive suite for the evening. Although he cannot afford all that Irène wants, he continues to provide for her. Later, he meets an older woman and learns Irène’s game of “golddigging”. At the end, Irène and Jean drive to Italy on a moped.

La Danse (2009)
This is a documentary about the ballet de l’Opéra National de Paris, which I would love to dance for someday. It gives viewers a behind-the-scenes look at what it is like to put on a performance and what the dancers go through.