(no subject)

[phthalombrage]

d'acccc.
no accent marks; I'm a weasel

so I skipped schleif thursday (work went till 10.5)
studied, packed my bags and took a gov test
ate nachos with Taylor after seeing Mista Lahgo (almost forgot his daughta's name)
bought gum, Tabasco sauce (the last, jesus personally stuck it there) and a lucky banana (soon smooshed and replaced by Thomas') at the shell station near PV
practiced the piece... Zach Morris watched it... I wish Nina and Melody and Raluca's French class could have seen it instead. They're niftier than he.
third period we collected our biens and loaded up the autobus
henry's mom packed him an entiresoccerteamoflittleboys cooler full of snacks. I asked if he played soccer and he was surprised that I could tell. his mom has a large influence on his life.
a destination du doubletree. The last year for that hotel:

Our Dear Friends of Congres,
I am writing to explain just a few details of recent events that caused the delay you have experienced this year in receiving your materials and which have precipitated a few new things for Congres 2007. In the days before hurricanes, FCAT, hotel contracts and vacation dates, Congres hosted upwards of 100 schools. We hosted 68 in 2005, 64 last year and we have this year, as of now, 56. Factors affecting registration numbers include the inability to anticipate school vacation dates for every county far in advance, the reduction of French programs statewide, and the weather. What this reduction in registration means realistically is an inability to fulfill the requirements of the contract signed with our current host hotel.
Hotel contracts are signed in advance to assure space for Congres as we take up so many rooms, both sleeping and conference. Our current contract was created in 2005. The hotel never makes much money on us because there is no alcohol at the meals and no rental of audiovisual equipment (two major ways a hotel makes money from a group.) Hotels can also be reluctant to accommodate large groups of teenagers in general. Therefore, when we find a nice hotel, we sign contracts in advance. If every school who has registered this year brings 20 students, we would fill 560 rooms. Our contract is for 750 rooms.
The monetary penalties charged to Congres for not fulfilling our contracted number of rooms are as follows:
700-749 - $8,000
650-699 - $12,000
0-649 - $30,000
Cancellation - $123,000

We made every attempt to explain our situation to the hotel; we are a non-profit organization, we do this for the students, etc. etc., but they are unable to bend on the contractual obligations.
All of this to say, we need your cooperation this year. We have to raise the individual registration fee to $50 per person. We also have changed the rules to allow all schools to register 25 students if they so desire. This means twenty students compete individually and five can come to do group competition.We are waiving all late registration fees, so please invite any colleagues to return to Congres this year or to attend for the very first time!
Working out a solution has taken a little time so we apologize for the delay. Thank you for your consistent support of Congres and your assistance in saving this marvelous experience for all. You will find attached all of the forms for the second mailing.

(For Posterity)
I need to keep these things... I forget the strange hands/ pants thing with Tay's gloves at congres last year...

This year's congres was visibly poor and disorganized.

We got there hella early... I guess I-4 must be clearing up or sommat.

We haven't got there yet but I need to take a break from typing... will finish in a few whenevers


and we're back, after a word from our sponsors:
Mme Black: Don't take it personally... I take everything personally... (Tay looks at me, I mouth, "we KNOW") OOOH that cat looks like Lili!
Mme Barylski: Il y a, pour chaque civilisation, sa hausse et sa baisse... Maintenant, les Etats-Unis... sont en descente.

Badge picture = terrible. White, red-eyed, gaunt.

We see Eastside as soon as we get in. We're early. Mme Black hands us our key cards and tells us that she's in Rm. 1418, which I recognize as my initials. We kind of cringe because we foresee going up 13 flights of stairs (yes, 13, because although there is no 13th floor in a hotel, the "M" service floor is located one flight up from the first floor and one flight down from the second floor. 14 floors means 13 flights) at least a couple of times during our stay.

The mesdames host the meeting in their room in which they distribute badges, event schedules (the AP kids arrive early and highlight ours before everyone else can) and hotel oatmeal cookies (encore tiedes). Mme Black asks if she can tie Kiefer's shoes and seriously considers letting him use the pool like the kids from every other school do because he does not risk promiscuous exposure and has so much spare energy. He doesn't get to go, but she considered it. A first. There are four big bottles of Perrier on the table... they try so hard to be French.

We eat $5.some bagel-size cold cheese pizza (Taylor, a $7.some sandwich) and drink $2 water and $2.93 Minute Maid 20 oz. lemonade. Tay's is pink, mine yellow, and I go to the ice machine to water some of the sweetness down in the room.

Sergeant at arms meeting is ridiculous. The chapelin is this young guy who reminds us of a young Schleifer, if only because he's so sarcastic. He also said oy vey. He applauded late arrivals, made bad jokes (to which hanna responded with that's what she said jokes), and generally wielded his power over us. A cross-eyed kid with holey jeans (we're not supposed to wear those... the mesdames won't even let us wear regular jeans) had, Hanna noted, his fly down. Approximately 50% of sergeants at arms were unregistered and approximately 50% were new to Congres. We found out we were all scheduled for patrol during our piece. Taylor, Hanna and I were all cracking up, however, when we went up to tell the chapelin, because this boy, Fernando, had horrible breath. Tay was upwind somehow and had no idea what was funny. The chapelin said he'd get it taken care of.

In the elevator up, some girl shouted "Down! I'm going down!" and I replied "That's what she said." A girl in the corner of the elevator (Level IV) goes... "Wait... did she just make a that's what she said joke?" Hanna tells her we've been making them all day. Dumb girl "How do you say that in French?" Taylor "c'est ce qu'elle a dit" and then has to repeat it about three times to an amazed audience of people all Niveau III or higher.

By the way, we got the couch room! So we enjoy our parking lot view and discuss childhood miniature motorcars, kids with ADD, split ends, artichoke/spinach dip's superiority to just-plain-spinach dip, and cabbages and kings. Tay eats fig newtons.

Then we become men. Tay wears one of Devon Baker's shirts tucked into a pair of manly Karlypants. Taylor wears black pants, brown loafers (which she constantly makes me tie until I double knot them), and a girly shirt with pearl buttons she hides with her father's long, brown, bad swirly tie (Tu n'as aucune connaissance dans ce domaine, donc comment peux-tu affirmer que tel objet, obeissant a des lois que tu ignores, est une MERDE?). She tied it herself (h4x, because Ms. Abrams had to tie a little boy's tie that morning whle we waited for Mr. Largo because his teacher had sent him to the principal to tie his tie). I looked like this shit:



with these on my feet



Kristen is wearing shoes identical to those of Mme Barylski for the scenette, which we miss waiting for our piece.

We see crosseyes holding a fake plant. EVERYONE does moliere. Tay says it's cos he's famous and cos his stuff rhymes. I am disgusted.

We see the chapelin, and he tells us to do 15 minutes of Sergeant at arms duty. We only get one sergeant ribbon between the four of us. We ride the elevator up to the 17th floor, check the 16th, and check the 2nd, and return to the chapelin station feeling accomplished. Then it's precisely time for the piece. Taylor isn't a finalist for the scholarship scheduled at the same time, so that ended that conflict.

Even though Mme Carrell probably couldn't hear all the words, we got Felicitations du Jury later. Kiefer taped it and is supposed to be emailing it sometime.

I chill with the level fours before curfew.

Tay, Hanna and I study with Hanna because vocab is random. I worry.

---

I arrive ready for my event at like 7:30. It says I'm tenth in a group of three-minute speeches that start at 8. Should take a little over a hal-hour, right? NO. So I hang with Raluca and she talks about why she's here (Pine View), breaking at intervals to check the door down the hall for the name list for the Winthrop-King bourse. By the time there are three names left before mine, the list is still not up and it's 9 something.

This red-dress 6 foot tall amazon girl with long blonde hair (April, from the Academy of Holy Names in Tampa) speaks of her many talents, one of which is clearly not speaking French. "I have, like a photographic memory... I'm a visual person... People talk to me and I say... I don't care, I have no idea what you just said... I'm visual. Now I don't know if you are capable of visualizing this, but... You look like Drew Barrymore. people always say people look like celebrities, but I can tell them which one and everyone else says they see it too and are amazed. So this piece of legislation at Girl's State... the girl quoted Fiddy Cent. I quoted Machiavelli... So how do you say "to learn" in French?"

Iris comes over in fuschia and tells us about how her discours was about how she's Albanian and how her grandparents egorgent un chevre in her honor whenever she visits them. Raluca and I are finally called in around ten...

I get the only topic I actually wrote a discours for. I have better vocab ideas in my head, but they don't matter, because most of them don't come out and I use "je trouve que" four times. One judge doesn't talk to me or seem to be filling out her score sheet with her own opinion (she looks over at the other judge's sheet) and the other judge asks me how to solve the problems I just described and cuts me off before I can finish the sentences. My voice is shaking and I am nervous because I have no social skills and the judges don't seem very sympathique. I get a 9.5. My score sheet says "un bel accent. quelques problemes de vocabulaire." If I screwed up anything, I'd think it would be grammar lapses like incorrect verb tenses or idiomatic preposition use! The other one is blank because that judge probably doesn't even speak French.

Last year I had cool judges. Raluca has the man this year... he gets coffee twice in the two hours before Raluca goes in. She wins the plastic trophy! Raluca has soft cheeks.

I come out and Tay tells me how she basically just won the Susanne Carrell bourse because she was the only kid who knew that the woman who founded Congres (six kids, 1952) was sitting right in front of her. Now my bourse list is up, but the judge is gone. Nobody knows where she went. Mme Carrell tells me to stand outside, where I end up talking to the Mesdames forever. A nice man tells me he'll sort things out. Mlle Odden gets Mme Bertot, who growls and barks almost noselessly about how nobody cares. Mlle Odden tells Mme Barylski to give her my cell number. My cell is in my car (with 14 missed calls when I get back), so we find Taylor in front of the elevators and get her number. she says she's studying for Casse Tete. I get the number to Mlle Odden and Tay and I go back to the room. Taylor and Hanna are lying in bed together wearing bras and panties. Good job studying for casse tete! I eat goldfish. The midget show is on TV.

Tay and I look around for the judge. Nice man says the judges are eating lunch. We don't see her, but he says he'll tell her what is up. Tay and I eat lunch with Raluca, Nina and Kelcey, in the restaurant this time.

We look at the albums. Eastside's is scratchy watercolor. It sucks that we got the same score, because ours was much better. The Prix du Jury went to a photoshopped one that was only about 20 pages...

Tay, Kelcey, Raluca and I are the only people who go in to see Stacey. She's cute but quite odd. She's been hitting on Henry... ew. Her cotton candy pink dress has a hole in it. We talk about Rob's many gaffes in the prep room to calm her down. Her eyes are like eyes in Bambi. Her poem is good... we can see her hands clasping behind her back. She wins the trophy. Everyone else watches Christen.

I missed like every other poem because of my waiting stuff... Hanna complained on the phone about vocab, but later got a blue ribbon. Taylor and Hanna were on their phones a lot.

Casse Tete begins, but they FINALLY know where the judge is. I go into the singing dancing little children room. The judge is busy. Mme Barylski leaves me with a man who initially creeps me out, but it turns out he's very nice. He pulls a handful of markers and pens and pencils out of his pocket... he teaches kids a partir de 5 ans... he's very enthusiastic. He asks me how long I've taken French, since I can understand him. I explain, and he says he baisses his chapeau to people who learn French in the United States... his wife did, being douee, but he spent time in France. They're trying to raise their propres enfants bilingues, which is cute like Perrier, considering they're both American. His accent is about as good as Mme Black's... good enough. So he tells me to take a seat until the kids finish, and I fall into the ranks of parents, grandparents, siblings, and other relatives of the children.

They're pretty much adorable. They're not even off key. It's disgusting... they're holding flowers... they run a few circuits of the room and then give the flowers to their families. They're so happy and carefree... such a contrast to the morning... waiting for competition, competing for a ten. The mesdames were surprised that I felt the bourse interview was supposed to more relaxed than my actual event... because I had so much pressure to get a ten. I almost cried... twice. All this is just pageantry for the parents (the audience is a sea of digital videocameras), but the kids are so cute. My first Congres, I cried because I missed my two (three?) assisting classes of little kids on Saturday... I may be a cynical bitch, but I have a heart (Mme Bertot cried as they announced her retirement at the banquet... we were making "heart" jokes this weekend too...).

Lady is nice. Nicole Flesvig of FSU. Interview goes smoothly.

I go upstairs to use the facilities and change and chill out a bit. I watch two rounds of Casse tete... and that is all. Even though cute little Honorary Grandpa man totally loves us, Eastside's sex-offender moustached Jonathan Faubert and Co. are faster on the buzzers. Taylor cries because she knew all the answers but wasn't fast enough. Henry says...well you lost, but at least you looked good. (They matched: white shirt, black skirt, black hose.). we came in third, but nobody is thrilled. Some girl is singing "My Immortal" a few rooms away as a kid plays it on the hotel piano... who does that in public? Somebody says the tabasco was unlucky. I say the resistance in the wires on the left was greater than the resistance in the wires on the right, because both teams seemed to buzz at the same time. BLAME PHYSICS! Blame raptors! Merlins!

Tay and I go to the Level Four room, where we talk until Kelcey spills all kinds of beans and describes her relationship with that drummer boy. It's about time for the banquet...
Tay tells me to shower, but I get ready while she's in the shower.

We tell Christen how she looks like Chandler, but nice. The Mesdames put it "her personality is different... you can see it by looking at her." Tasha is cool and tall and wearing green.

We hear a snap and a scream. The elevator opens. Was that you? yes, we dropped two floors. Doors close. Another snap and scream. The alarm sounds. We decide to take the stairs.

Banquet is WEEEIRD. Dessert is on the table right next to the salad. The stripes have preactically melted off the mousse balls by the end of the meal. Dressing already on the salad. Fewer pats of butter, nine stale white rolls. As soon as we are seated, entrees start coming around. Nobody collects the tickets...

Raluca feels sick. I take the service elevator alone with a greasy white hotel employee in a trucker hat and an eastside sponsor up to our floor. I get my purse... remember I forgot the medicine halfway downstairs... run up 7 flights past the bloodvomit... get the medicine and run all the way down past both bloodvomit and shitstain. Exhausted, I deliver pills. Mesdames are confused. The chapelin, least likely guy of all, gives a shoutout to Jesus... praying for our food and such. People clink silverware. Two pivotal people are retiring. Tay and I win scholarships. Tay gets.. a check. A real one. Mme Flesvig also has soft cheeks, and nice man helps me up the two steps. I didn't really need his help, but it was a chivalrous gesture. I wish I knew his name so I wouldn't have to call him nice man. some guy sings an African song... really want to see the shots of the Mesdames... heh heh heh. Some other guy speaks forever before announcing his scholarship winners. Then a teacher screams and runs over to her student when she wins. But the singing sucks, as usual, which is relieving. The piano kid plays the song we used for pointe two years ago. We all climb the 13 flights back up.

After more chilling in the mostly Niveau IV room, we go back to our room only to have other Niveau III and IV kids come in while we're changing for the dance.

The dance... is always crazy. They always play the same music. Most kids there have been acting like crazy kids the whole time there, and for them, this is just one more party. More the people, less the making sense. PV kids... decompress. Hanna and Taylor "pretended" to make out... and it was convincing. Jessica was the only one who maintained her reserve, excpet possibly Devon and Thomas, who did not attend, and Stacey, who left early. Tay ended up grinding with some random guy... someone got a blackmail photo. Rebecca Cohen... aroused... the guy dancing with her. Hanna's stalker from last year followed her around the dance floor, but Mallory's new stalker followed her up to her room. He actually knocked on Kelcey's door right before curfew... IBar popped out and shot him down. "This is my school's floor and these are girls' rooms." Kiefer hopped up and down out of synch with the music, and did a front tuck and a back tuck, but was impressed by my aerials. I danced alone like the black kids and made some blond girl laugh. Iris and Raluca danced Europeanly (closely) together and some guy was like "OOOH I like that I want that". Henry danced how I would imagine Henry to dance.

But here's the weird thing.
right after we establish a place on the dance floor, this kid makes eye contact with me. Hmm okay, maybe it's a mistake. I'm not really dancing very committedly. He soon comes over and asks me if I want to dance. His hand curls over mine, which is in the air about six inches from my face. I was like WHAT? I'm like... okay, it's a dance. Hanna and Taylor look like they're having fun. why didn't he ask them? It's so early. As usual, I'm not feeling social. I do NOT want to grind and am not assertive enough to say that. I've only danced "with" boys twice before in my life, and both times were kind of awkward, to slow music. It made me feel kind of pretty because my hair wasn't even clean, but apart from that I was shocked and defensive. I said not really in a "nice" voice and laughed. He leaned in and repeated his question. I repeated my response. He walked away.

Then I felt kind of bad. I kept dancing, and dancing was easier and more fun as it does as you get used to a dance... and I felt like I should have said "maybe later" instead because he had eyes that looked like he was a decent, innocuous guy, like he wouldn't stick his crotch places it wasn't welcome. But he had probably found some other chick by now because he'd asked me so early, right?

Kind of forgot about him until the end of the dance. Kelcey and Taylor go "Hey, it's that creepy-looking kid who's dressed oddly." Then I see him again... teal collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the same eyes, the same brown hair, now sweaty. Oh, that kid. I didn't think he was that creepy, but I'm me. I don't know whether to go over and tell him it was nothing personal or just run away. But he has some chick, a short, cute, dark-haired one... and whaddayaknow... they're NOT grinding. So I kind of regain my faith in men, despite the actions of the Rebecca guy, the Raluca/Iris guy and the Hanna guy. (Didn't know how insane Mallory guy was yet.) But THEN the last song ends. Kelcey Taylor and I watch them pull apart slightly... and he kisses her. Her head is all the way back because he's so much taller than she. He then proceeds to deliver the dementor's kiss, sucking out her soul, the embodiment of rape. Her arms are by her sides, motionless. It's so long... we don't stick around to watch it finish. It's completely horrifying, and prompts pterodactyl noises from Kelcey. I'm really glad I didn't dance with him.

When we get back to the room I open my bourse bag (HUGE dictionary, Amelie, Kyo CD) and we all wonder why we're there. I'm kind of terrified, but I sleep all right.

Awards
Computers were broken, so school names were randomly missing from some events.
Their raffle prize was lost.
They ran out of blue ribbons, then red. They're mailing them.
The plastic trophies were separate. They forgot two of ours.
FDJ: Christen, Stacey, Iris, Piece,
Album deserved it. Taylor broke her streak.
Red: Jessica, Lindsey, Mallory.
Blue: everything else.
Ten tens.
Jessica and Lindsey cried.
1st in division, 2nd in state.
We don't know how much we lost by...
but on the highway when we got back our crap, we discovered that jessica's vocab test was misgraded. she should have gotten a superieur.
We MAY have won! Come on, lucky banana!

As we were leaving and taking photos, the lady on the podium sang Ce n'est qu'un au revoir.

We sang La Marseillaise as a stab to the Eastside vainqueurs who did not know its opening lines for Casse Tete, in their final match

bennigans. Kiefer's a fish-eating vegetarian. Henry's a spaz.

Scattergories on the bus ended right when i became undepressed enough to want to play.

And back! to take photos more at the tiny alliance storefront across the street from Hungry Howie's.

Left with memories of confusion, pauvrete, talking to strangers who don't want to be such and aren't really that strange...
Finally catching a glimpse of how the whole tangled web is woven
only to rever return
unless... I go back next year. Pilgrimage. With "Album" on my nametag. Muhaha.
Hopefully I'l be better equipped for that sort of thing. I've basically been an adult since I was maybe 11... I should have some sort of resistance by now.


je suis le bonhomme de neige. tee hee. (grr I missed the scenettes....)