The story of how I almost became a serial killer and the first day of Honeymooon

Holy poodles. After going for a much needed run, I feel fabulous! When I say fabulous, you should know that translates to a mental image of me clutching at my chest, heaving and swallowing oxygen with lungs on the verge of implosion, because I've been lazy, my feet are ridden with scar tissue and metal surgical implements, and it's been way too rudely cold to go for a proper run. Today though, today would have been the day when I'd have had a mental breakdown and probably would've become a serial killer due to extreme stress. My mind would have gone all nuke-tastic and I probably would have shanked the guy next to me on the tram with my over-grown fingernails, when he just would have wanted to know today's date.

First, I must say that when I counted all of the individual tests I have been taking this week, and will take next week, the total is monumental. Let's just say that if tests were measured in eggs, I would need a normal, American sized carton of eggs and then I would borrow two from our deranged, 19- year-old-cat-lady-in-the-making neighbor. Yes, that is 14. Exams. The ones that are all official and taken in an auditorium and where it's obligatory to put your bag on the stage down in front and you have to sign a paper/show your poodling passport and student card to prove that you are you.

If I could convey emotions through this screen, you would wonder why I haven't jumped off a bridge yet, scouted Craigslist for cyanide pills, or admitted myself to a lovely hospital with padded walls. All in all, I have gone just a little batty this week. I have never felt so unprepared for anything in my life. Test anxiety is the accumulation of all my childhood fears and nightmares rolled into a wheel that has been chasing me down a hill. Not only does it chase after me, but when it catches me and flattens my face into a cement of subjunctive conjugations and relative pronouns, and I finally stand back up and believe that I might still be able to graduate on time and not have to repeat the semester, it sends its bigger cousin after me.

Furthermore, to illustrate my deteriorating mental state, the little muscle outside/under my left eye keeps twitching on its own. Like I said, crazy person here. I'm waiting for my shoulder to join in the twitching and then maybe my whole side will convulse in sync and in addition to padded walls, I'll get the perk of a Thorazine drip. Not even the ripely blooming honeysuckle bush on my host parents' fence was enough for me to calm down and be happy that I am halfway through the carton+2 eggs.

I decided on the tram ride home that the yoga capris and tennis shoes were coming out of the closet and assisting me in not becoming a serial killer. Anger, frustration, homesickness, stress, lack of Almost Husband and rec center crashed over me, and after grabbing my keys and ipod, I took off at a dead sprint out of our gate. Oh boy. It was awesome until I got halfway around the block (you can't say "block" in France, because there are so many weirdly shaped streets that most "blocks" are actually triangles and pentagons and curly-cuing shapes, but I say "block" for simplicity's sake) and the cold/allergies/I don't know why my sinuses have been angry at me for the last few weeks, caused an over production of mucus in my system and whatever has been in my chest since the honeymoon (I'll get to that later) has still not vacated, all of this freaked out my system and plunged me into waves of discomfort.

I began coughing incessantly, but kept on at my sprinting pace. I was that pissed off. I rounded back to the house weezing and coughing like an asthma patient with what seemed to be an inability to sweat. Apparently, Normandie and her cold weather has morphed my body into a heat-trapping machine and refuses to perspire. Thinking that I might die, I considered going back in my room to stretch, but then shook myself out of my wimpy-ness. What the hell is wrong with me? Since when does Ashley say "no" to physical strain on account of pain? NEVER!!!!

With that sudden surge of over-reaching pride I took off at a sprint again, which I confess, was soon humbled to a snail-worthy jog. Still weezing. Still lung-imploding pain. Still snot threatening to cover my face. "It's all good," I coached myself, "if you can survive years of gymnastics training, broken bones, stitches, three surgeries and a blown lumbar disc, this is gravy." That was definitely NOT my body's sentiment, but then again I can't blame it, considering it was in fairly decent shape until I got here and completely halted my exercise regimen. Oops.

On to more romantic news.

Shad's plane left the States on a Friday and I arrived in Paris on said Friday. I learned the ins and outs of the owner's place and had a really hard time sleeping on account of seeing my man the next morning. I crawled out of bed at 7ish to go hunt him down at the airport. I had to jump two metro lines, and then take an RER train to Charles de Gaulle. Longest. Ride. Ever. I finally arrived at terminal 3 and took the little inter-terminal shuttle to terminal 1, after seeing that his flight had landed on time-an hour ago. Oops again.  

I jumped out of the shuttle and immediately called his phone, as the airport was packed and I was really, REALLY hoping he didn't try to Jason Bourne this shit and figure out Parisian transit alone. (For this reason, I purposefully told him nothing about how to do any of it before his arrival) Reading the signs, the "arrivals" seemed to be pointing everywhere, but I made my way to the second floor and figured that the terminal was a circle, so if I walk around long enough and quickly enough, I was bound to catch a glimpse of that gorgeous head of hair, that would be sticking up a foot taller than everyone else's.

Rounding about half-way around, scanning the crowds like a ninja, a pair of broad shoulders and a giant camo bag, in which I can fit, looked to be making their way onto an elevator. I began to run up behind him and grab him, but my sudden scary movements (in hindsight, running for an exit in an airport was potentially a panic inducing action, but I was overtaken by a wash of love-y hormones that would have gotten me to him whether I was conscious or not) must have gotten other people's attention and in following their gazes, he turned around and his eyes met mine. (I could have yelled his name, I'm not sure, overwhelming joy sometimes triggers lapses in memory for me :)

Flying into the air, I was enveloped by his muscular arms and intoxicating scent. We left the airport, Almost Husband wide-eyed the whole time. "How did you do this all by yourself?" Hehe. Thank God, I'm marrying someone as intrigued by architecture, food, and new experiences as I am. After dropping his stuff at the apartment, we made our way to Notre Dame, as we needed to keep moving so that his jet-lag wouldn't be too horrid. We were sidetracked by a pizza place on the way there.

Fiancé: "Oh, I have to eat this with a knife and fork, don't I?"

Me: "Yep."

Fiancé: "Mm, calzone"

Me: "Tell him that you want it without eggs."

Fiancé: "Why?"

Me: "Trust me."

We then exited the restaurant and began walking in no particular direction. Seeing a sign later, though, that directed us to Notre Dame we figured where we were, but yet again, we became sidetracked.

Me: "Hey, let's go that way."

Fiancé: "Why?"

Me: "There's a big gate and a fence, it's probably something important."

Fiancé: "Okay."

This is how we stumbled onto le jardin du Luxembourg.

Fiancé's favorite part.



Me hunting



Fiancé being noble?



I wanted to get the pretty, gigantic building in the background, but taking self-portraits doomed most of our background to consist of walkway.

So after running around like deranged playground children, snapping pictures and saying "OH MY GOODNESS COME LOOK AT THIS" every 2 minutes, we finally left and made our way to Notre Dame.



Upon arriving, there was a mile long line, half-mile thick line leading into the church.



Me: "Ugh, wanna look at the outside and come back tomorrow?"



Fiancé: "Yeah."

We walked around taking pictures, it was at the high point of the day and had become rather warm in the middle of the city, so I suggested that we go get ice cream, as the smaller island of St. Louis is known for amazing ice cream stands. We made our way across a bridge, but oh boy...more lines. Eff.



Fiancé: "Can we just go back to the apartment? I'm tired."

Me: "I'm good with that."

As I too, had begun to succumb to my lack of sleep on account of being so freakin' excited that he had come to see me. After he took a much needed nap and we had some late lunch, we decided to walk to the Eiffel Tower. It was the closest monument to the apartment and we wanted to save some metro tickets.

We set out on a forty-five minute trek to the Eiffel Tower and saw some some pretty buildings and perfect examples of French mentality.

Exhibit A:



Exhibit B:



When we arrived at the tower, there were random vendors everywhere, peddling miniature Eiffel Towers and random touristy things, until that is, cops showed up and they all scattered like rats. Funny stuff.

We had a thought to climb it, but after seeing the immense quantities of people and horrendously long lines, we decided to just plop down in the garden close to it, and wait for the light show.

There was a group of people by us who came all prepared with blankets, wine, and a picnic basket. They were obviously intoxicated, and after a while, there were two people rolling around wrestling and they almost rolled right over us!



Waiting for the light show.

While lying there, I ran my hand over my stomach and realized that it was way too smooth. The top of my belly-button ring had come unscrewed, and after a few futile minutes of searching, I just came to terms with having to remove it until I return to the States.

Seemingly as consolation, the tower suddenly lit up in happy twinkles and I suddenly felt all warm and gooey inside. It looked like it was out of a Disney movie and at any moment the tower would disappear and leave behind nothing but a a shimmering shower of glitter.



The picture obviously doesn't do the event justice.

If you want to see a better example, watch The Devil Wears Prada. There is a bird's eye shot of Paris and it's sparkling in the shot :)

After that, we retreated to the apartment and passed out, ready to traverse the city early the next day.