I have been brushing up my French. And throughout my French 1 and French 2 tapes, I have relearned quite a bit about the French. Consider this: 3 of the first five lessons were about meeting members of the opposite sex and arranging to have drinks or a meal at one place or another. In one great exchange, a man and woman (because what else is interesting, really?) went back and forth about a lunch date, each naming a time an hour later than the other, until they agreed to have lunch at 11 at night. (onze heures chez moi). It was sortof like a cross between a booty call and my last relationship: we're not entirely clear what we are agreeing on. At least, if you're French, there will be food.
This weekend I voyager a Montreal. At least, I'm pretty sure I'm keeping my engagement to myself and having a working vacation. There is still a glimmer of doubt, as a friend is attending services this weekend for her father. It is a sad time in the great San Francisco Bay Area. And, as I am a femme libre, I can always fly another time.
So we'll see. Until I decide, there are all the pesky things of life to do: laundry, smog checks, cleaning, and a critique of a short story for a writing group member. Ah, the life of a (semi) creative (semi) professional.
Last week I underwent professional training. I learned Successful Communiation Strategies. Translate: how to get what you want using jedi mind tricks that won't offend anyone, unless they discover what you're doing. A fellow classmate tried out the "reflection" technique on his wife and she immediately yelled at him to stop it. You have to be subtle, especially if using empathy for the first time.
OK, I'm tired. Yesterday I swam in the Pacific, and evidently made a commitment to swim in the bay at the Dolphin Club early in the morning, which is great fun, if very very cold. At least there is a sauna.
Sleepytime.
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