My lips are sealed.
Say something once, why say it again?
Psycho killer, qu'est-ce que c'est?
~The Talking Heads
I don't know what to talk about. I feel pretty settled in, and somehow I just can't justify writing about things that are "normal." Good for me, bad for the blog.
So, um, questions?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
Sadique
I recently learned the word sadique, which (semi-obviously) means sadistic, and I'm pleased to have an opportunity to use it.
Here's the background info:
1. There are a lot of kids in my school who finish at the same time I do.
2. Of those kids, it seems like at least half of them have to take the same bus I do.
3. There is not enough space in the bus to stand comfortably and I always wind up with the ticket machine jamming into my kidney and someone's backpack in my face, or some such position, and that's if I manage to get in the bus. (It's cold and so no, waiting for the next one is not an option.)
Today I had the pleasure of standing near the driver (and nearly crushing an old lady, which I felt bad about until she started pushing me to make more space for herself [and she already had plenty], but anyway). As we lurched along the road, I swear to you the driver was grinning. He took the turns faster than necessary and sped up on the downhill parts, and I and my kidney did NOT appreciate it. But I'm in France, and so it's not all bad. A learning experience about what happens when you mix little medieval roads with big modern buses.
...So that's the story of the conducteur sadique. A little anticlimactic, I know, but I got to say sadique. I like that word.
It was a good day.
Here's the background info:
1. There are a lot of kids in my school who finish at the same time I do.
2. Of those kids, it seems like at least half of them have to take the same bus I do.
3. There is not enough space in the bus to stand comfortably and I always wind up with the ticket machine jamming into my kidney and someone's backpack in my face, or some such position, and that's if I manage to get in the bus. (It's cold and so no, waiting for the next one is not an option.)
Today I had the pleasure of standing near the driver (and nearly crushing an old lady, which I felt bad about until she started pushing me to make more space for herself [and she already had plenty], but anyway). As we lurched along the road, I swear to you the driver was grinning. He took the turns faster than necessary and sped up on the downhill parts, and I and my kidney did NOT appreciate it. But I'm in France, and so it's not all bad. A learning experience about what happens when you mix little medieval roads with big modern buses.
...So that's the story of the conducteur sadique. A little anticlimactic, I know, but I got to say sadique. I like that word.
It was a good day.
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