French shoes

This is what happens when you wear French shoes. Or this is what happens when I wear them anyway. The woman got tired of my ass-kicking steel toed Doc Martens and bought me these a couple months ago. I haven't worn them since this happened

Everyday goings ons

So, I dropped a €20 on medication today. What a bitch. That's like two weeks of groceries or... let me calculate this...5.7 kebabs. Highway robbery! I got a receipt so I can give it to my insurance company that I signed up for here, but that doesn't give me money now. I may try to take it by the insurance place later today and if the man accepts it I will then buy a kebab to set things right with the universe.

Insurance here costs something like €5 a month, but even after signing the papers I'm not sure what I get out of it. Oh well-- I had to have it for residency anyway. And I guess it'll be useful if I get hit by one of the many speeding cars around here. European drivers scare me, really. The roads are most often one-way through the cities, since they're such cramped areas, but instead of having the 15MPH speed limit like back home, it is easily double that or more. There aren't any speed limit signs, actually Most of the cars are stick shift to keep the cost down and they are all of course, very small, but that doesn't mean they can't haul ass. And the way you're supposed to walk around the city is this: if there is a crosswalk sign on the pavement, walk into the middle of the road without looking and the driver of the Peugot hurdling at you at 50KM will then hopefully put on his brakes ever so gently and let you cross without issue. Me? I just wait until there's a break in traffic and then I go. Euro drivers may be better than US drivers but I'd rather not get in the habit of crossing the street with a car speeding at me. I'm incapable of that sort of trust.

I've got an English class to give tomorrow, we'll see how that works out. The hard part is coming up with subjects to talk about. If you hate awkward silence and have no clue about how to fill it, then teaching English is probably not the job for you. Essentially you're just having a conversation with someone and you are to correct them when possible and help them in any specific areas that they need help with. But it's pretty much up to you to be able to carry the conversation and I'm no Oprah Winfrey. Money is money, though, and it is something to do. I'll try and print out some worksheets tonight or something ... I hated school and am not really the teacher type so this is all new territory. Combine that with the fact that I really don't give a shit and, well, god help my student. The cool thing is, they phone me, come to my apartment, pay me and leave, all because I was raised to speak English and it was naturally one of my better subjects in school. I think I'll milk that golden cow for as long as possible.

I miss football

And Olive Garden. And Outback Steakhouse. I know those aren't exactly sophisticated eating places but I feel like eating a plate 4 serving sizes too big and watching some pigskin. Oh well.. thems be the trade offs.

I've noticed that learning a new language seems to make you reflect a bit more on your own. The other day I was thinking about strange slang words in English. For instance, there's Bullshit or Chickenshit, which are often shortened and mutated into weirder things like "That's Bull!" or "That's Bullbird..." the latter being a strange concoction formed from the two. Try understanding that when you're just starting to learn English, it doesn't make much sense. When I'm asked questions about stuff like that I end up confusing myself as well. "Well I don't know why all of our phrases shouted in anger are religious in nature. Jesus Fuckin Christ, gimme a break." Not a lot of expressions really do make sense, and the same thing is happening to me with French. "Shit on the whore" just sounds odd to me. My favorite, however, is "BORDEL DE MERDE", or "BROTHEL OF SHIT". It just sounds so depraved. So I tried to think of the most offensive set of words I could think of in English and I came up with bloodfart and cumbomb. Both really kind of make me feel uneasy, especially when used in the same sentence. I don't know why but I wanted to share that.

Speaking of-- just in time for winter I managed to get all sickly. The fever I had going was a real ball buster, too. Hot, cold, sweaty... along with not being able to sleep because every swallow was a stab. We all know that old game. Try to fall asleep some time without swallowing, it's harder than it sounds. The degree of pain I was going through convinced me I had the dreaded swine flu but who knows.

You really don't cherish good health quite the way you should until you fall ill. That's just how life works, you need a little reminder now and then. As I started to hobble my way to the toilet one day I wondered to myself, is being old like having the flu all the time? I don't want to go anywhere, do anything. My body aches and I'm cold all the time. I'm grumpy and can't eat the stuff I like or it hurts. I need someone else to bring me things just so I don't lose my balance due to lack of strength and slam into the wall. Spending all of my time huddled beneath a blanket sipping on hot tea or complaining about how unreasonably cold it is. If that's old, I don't wanna get old. Fortunately, I don't think I have to worry about that too much as the ol' sweet breads in me ain't what they used to be. It's a rock and roll lifestyle I lead, man.

Feeling like a bag of smashed assholes did not stop me from traveling, though! It was the mother in law's birthday, so back to France we went for the weekend for a party. It wasn't so bad in the end, except the train ride made me dizzy and the wind she was a-frigid. And when we got there I couldn't enjoy the food or booze as much as usual. I say as much as usual because there was no way I was going pass up free food and booze -- luxuries that they are. So I had a glass of a punch that made my throat feel like it was being torn to shreds by some sort of fiery magic sword, and I followed it up with a sugar coated, fruit filled doughnut like object. My gluttony was satisfied but my poor throat was not. Nothing like coating your wounds in sugar and alcohol.

On the way back we used a car-pool website because it was cheaper than a train. We found a girl on a website, contacted her, and ended up getting a ride from her. Turns out she goes to the same school as the wife and studies theater and works in a shop that sells tarts and things down the street from where we live here in Brussels. Who woulda thought. "I stare at her pastries through the window all the time!" I exclaimed, proudly. My wife gave me a puzzled look over that one, but otherwise nobody felt creepy and it was a nice ride. No hitch hiker murder stuff and everybody got what they wanted. Better than the train, really.

She had a funny story about her acting classes: Apparently they put the students through the ropes and thin them down to only a handful. One guy made it through the process thanks to his intensity, but he seemed a little odd to all of the other students. Later, they would find out that the reason he was such a one dimensional character was because he was a little... well, mentally retarded. That part alone had me cracking up, because if you've ever known a pretentious art student or theater actor, the idea that a mentally handicapped individual was mistaken for one of their own is fucking hilarious. I would cherish the moment I could use that fact against someone. " You don't understand how difficult it is to act and bare your soul! Someone like you wouldn't understand!" Ah yes, but a 39 year old retard might.

They had to kick this particular fellow out because he kept harassing some of the younger guys in the class with text messages, telling them he wanted to "fill up their little butts". Now he's trying to sue the school because he insists he was kicked out for being gay. I really wish I could be in the court room to hear those proceedings.