All the news about the economic crisis, mortgage woes, and dwindling jobs has got me thinking about my economic future. It's hard for me to admit and accept that at 27, I'm unemployed with little to no prospect of finding a serious job anytime soon. It just crossed my mind today that this will be the first year since I was 17 that I won't have to file taxes since I haven't and won't receive a paycheck for an entire tax year. I don't want to sound like Debbie Downer, but that's a really hard pill for me to swallow. I realize how lucky I am to be in my situation, living in a fantastic city with the love of my life, where finding a job isn't currently a pressing issue. I've got it pretty good. But, I've never been a stagnant creature; if I'm not being challenged, pressured or educated, I'm not being fulfilled. For the past ten years, I was either working full-time or going to school full-time and working part-time. I might have been exhausted every night and cursing the day I decided to take 18 hours of school, work for 20 hours per week while interning for 10 hours a week , but I was accomplishing so much! I felt so great after finishing that crazy semester, relieved, too, but mostly successful. Nowadays, my success is (self-)measured by how good dinner tastes or how many shirts I iron in a day. It's really hard for me to believe how much my lifestyle and ambitions have changed.

Like most kids, when I was young, I wanted to be everything - a teacher, a designer, a CEO, an ambassador, a surgeon, a lawyer, a politician - and I somehow never grew out of that phase. I still find myself wondering what in the world I'm going to make of myself. There are so many ideas I have floating about in my head about what direction I should take in my career, but nothing stands out as the one path to follow, and of course, none of my options seem attainable given my current circumstances as an unemployed, non-French speaking housewife. I'd really love to go back to school, to get my master's, but even deciding on what to get it in and which schools to apply to is just as daunting as anything else.

I know I'm not doomed to be a stay-at-home wife forever, and I'm sure brighter days are ahead. Perhaps it would serve me well to just pick something from my superfluous list of things I want to do and do it. What makes me so uninspired, though, are the what-ifs that I like to torment myself with: what if we were back in the States...what if I had never left my last job...what if I could speak French fluently...what if I don't get accepted to grad school...what if my French doesn't improve...what if I'm 40 and still in the same boat...? Maybe I should stop wasting my energy on all these rhetorical questions and get started on something. But, what if I can't choose what to start on?

...And, now I'm off to get some Camembert for this whine.

Since arriving in Paris for the first time nearly a year ago, I've struggled with identifying myself as a resident rather than a tourist or visitor. For me, home has always been defined as a place where I can navigate myself around without challenge; someplace wherein lies a support system of people who I can turn to for just about anything - for comfort in times of crisis or to share a good laugh with.

My first few months in Paris were riddled with jet-lag, over-sleeping, meet-ups and parties with Gui's friends and family and occasional headaches from trying to communicate between languages. I rarely left the house without someone else in tow to show me where to go and how to get there, and the few times I did venture out on my own, it was only to familiar spots or after two hours of preparation and mapping on the internet. I guess I was living like a tourist then. Now, I'm noticing myself growing braver about finding my way around the city. I'm at the point where I'm confident enough to trek through town with an address and arrondissement in my head and capably find where I need to go. Perhaps my bravery comes from carrying my trusty Indispensible or my wireless connected phone that can search Google maps for me, but even so, my new home is starting to feel more familiar everyday.

And, I suppose it helps that recently I've had a lovely group of anglophone ladies enticing me with invites to fun places around town. It's unbelievable how much of an impact having friends can have on an etranger's life (well, at least on mine). To be surrounded by impossibly friendly folks who've often gone through (or are going through) similar circumstances as mine, who are looking for like-minded friends to enjoy this amazing city with, who miss the same things I miss, who still pull out their cameras to take a picture of the Eiffel Tower for the zillionth time, who aren't afraid of a little rhum-rhum (or beer, or vodka/orange) and who don't mind occasionally shelling out 20€ on a glass of champagne and a plate of macarons just to check out the latest fancy bar on the Champs-Elysées is, more than anything, what makes living in this great city so much more like being at home. I never imagined my life with friends here. I guess I always figured I'd live my life here, meeting French people from work or school but spending my free time with Guillaume and his friends. Envisioning a large group of intelligent, adorable and generous (English-speaking) women available for happy-hour, house parties, movies and lunching, was never even in my periphery. I feel like I've hit the jackpot in the friend department!

But, beyond my newfound social life, I'm still trying to get into a routine with my "professional" life. After mulling it over in my head and soliciting advice from my well-informed friends and my practical-minded husband, I've decided to put my career ambitions aside for these next few months while I focus on conquering the ever-frightening French language. I've been on a few interviews for really decent job positions, but each time my lacking French skills were what kept me from getting the offer (or so they told me, anyway - maybe they didn't like my shoes or haircut - I wouldn't blame them, I'm in serious need of both). And, when I eventually found myself applying for a really great job teaching business English, I felt a twinge of relief and excitement that I'd finally found something to challenge me, get me back to work and help me gain some experience. But, even though it would have ideally been a perfect solution to my unemployment problem, in the end, I decided that taking on 20 hours of French courses a week was enough to keep me busy without the added distraction of a challenging part-time job. I guess a lot of other factors weighed in there, too, but I know keeping French classes at the top of my priority list is the best route for me to take for now, and so I'm taking it.

Still, I'm managing to keep myself occupied these days as a volunteer for an English-speaking non-profit organization in Paris, and above all it's been a really great place to keep my normally sharpened computer skills from getting too rusty. I'm getting a good idea of what it would be like to work with French folks, too, and on more than one occasion I've found myself on the receiving end of a phone inquiry in French, in which case my limited skills are definitely being tested. I don't mind that. And, it makes me feel quite good when I can get a point across or at least tell the person to hang on long enough to fetch someone who can understand them.

Summer's come and gone (in a blink, it seems), and there are a lot of changes going on in Paris and in my little life. It's getting colder, streets are full of people, shops are donning knee-high boots, wool coats and chunky sweaters (yay!) and I'm starting to get a taste of what it's really like to make a life here. I'm finding my groove, setting up a routine, and making myself at home. And, it's actually rather nice.

So, I've been sending my CV off for various job postings that I've found mostly on the lifesaving Fusac website and magazine. I'd say that I've applied to about five different places, and I've received three calls back, which isn't as bad as I expected. Despite the fact that the information about my basic French skills is clearly stated in English on my CV, the first two people who called me only spoke French and told me that I would need to have a good grasp of French for the job. I've been really upfront about my skills (or what I perceived as being upfront), but apparently that's of no consequence to some folks. Thankfully, I've been getting great advice from seasoned transplants who've gone through the ropes of job-searching and interviewing with French companies, and it's really been invaluable. Now, I know a little more about what's expected of me, what "basic French" means to prospective employers and how to handle myself a bit more on the phone. (Thanks Sam and Emily!)

There aren't many jobs around here that don't involve at least a good grasp of French, so my choices have been pretty limited. Even if a job posting says that the work will be done completely in English, it usually involves working with other francophones and having the ability to casually converse with others (which is the type of job I'm hoping to land). So, I was a little relieved and surprised when I received a call back from someone speaking perfect American English, requesting a phone interview with me. When I called back, I realized that the American voice was just a proxy to the real interviewer and I had the daunting task of speaking French for the first half of the phone interview. After a rough start, I was finally and thankfully asked to switch to English to be better understood (yikes!). Despite my acknowledged basic French skills, my prospective employer seemed to like me and asked me to come in to see her for a face-to-face interview.

My interview was scheduled for this afternoon, and knowing that I'd be interviewing in the 1ère arrondissement I was a little intimidated. Even though I spend my days in and around Paris, buying baguettes and drinking wine, I'm no vraie Parisenne and am always very conscious about my position as an outsider. The 1ère is the physical epicenter of Paris, the heart, the point from which the entire city radiates from. And, it's home to the Louvre, Palais Royal, the Ritz and Les Halles. It may not be the most popular or populated district in Paris, but to me it's where Paris begins. I had no idea what to expect, how to prepare and I was especially distraught with how to dress.

After raiding my shabby closet, I finally threw together a modest ensemble, slipped on a pair of the second-tallest heels I own, grabbed my passport and hit the cobblestone. I quickly realized why my heels had been tucked in a shoe box at the back of the closet since I brought them here in April. And now I know that only vraie Parisian women should wear heels higher than two inches when walking around the city.

I made it to my rendezvous with time to spare, but was quickly let into a first floor converted office. The woman who was to conduct the interview was apparently busier than she'd expected to be and kept me waiting a long time before seeing me. When we finally got to talking, I felt a little more comfortable about the job description and understood the basic daily operations of the business. Then, just when I thought the interview had come to an end, she asks me to do some on-the-spot writing samples for her. Writing? Ok, cool. I can do this - I write all the time, and I've written countless business letters on a multitude of topics, so I've got this. But, oh no. She wants me to write a mock business letter and then translate it into French. Even after I laughed, asked if she was serious and gave her a you-obviously-don't-understand-what-not-knowing-French-means look, she said she wanted to see a French translation. Fine. But, knowing that translating practically word for word is a big no-no, I did it anyway (seriously, I had no other option) and had my told-you-so face ready when she finished reading the first sentence, responing with pas de tout and what I swear was the phrase c'est nul under her breath.

But, apparently that wasn't enough to persuade her to end the interview because she then asked me for one more writing piece. This time, she wanted me to write her a letter, to tell her why I should be hired and what I can bring to the position (in English, thank goodness). In an attempt to redeem myself, I wrote a pretty decent cover-letter-type letter to her, which she read right in front of me. (Awkward.) I was worried that maybe I didn't mention enough specifics or provide enough information, but then she responded by saying that she was rather impressed that I was able to compose such a letter in a few moments. And then I breathed a sigh of relief and felt a little redemption. 'Guess those standardized writing tests in high school really paid off.

Two hours and three letters later, I walked out of the office still not knowing if I'd be offered the job, but feeling rather satisfied with my first French interview. I'm not putting much pressure on myself to find a job quickly, and I still have a few options, like continuing language classes full-time and doing volunteer work until I have the skill set I need to work in a French environment. But, I'm taking every opportunity seriously even if as nothing more than a learning experience. It feels really strange to have nearly 10 years of working experience yet feel like an entry-level candidate. There's a big part of me that's dying to get back to work and willing to take whatever I can get. But, I've still got a little pride to knock out of the way before I can feel comfortable starting at the bottom again. Right now, it seems my options are to take what I can get now and hope to advance my French skills while on the job, or dedicate my time to mastering the language until I'm comfortable to apply for a more agreeable bilingual job (which could take at least 6 months of full-time studies). I'm hoping the answer comes to me soon, but in the mean time I'll be preparing for more writing exams and 2-hour interviews.

Sorry for not posting this week; I'm sure everyone's wondering what I've been up to...or not.
Actually, I haven't had anything of much interest to write about. After finishing my French classes and a week of preparing for and worrying about my carte de sejour, I've been stuck in a rut over what I should do with my free time. The obvious answer is to get with the job-hunting, but August is by far the worst month to try to contact businesses in Paris. There's even an advertisement all around Paris that's asking where all the Parisians have gone. I saw someone else put up a photo of the advert on their blog, but I can't remember who (I think it's official that I stalk entirely too many blogs). According to Gui it's a play on a football chant that gets shouted when the Paris team is sucking - kind of like "Where are y'all at now, Paris?" I think it's a really clever advertisement (although I can't remember the website it's promoting at the moment), and I still find it so amusing that people just up and leave this city for nearly an entire thirty days for a little respite from the norm. Our apartment is surrounded by lots of businesses and a few office buildings, so lately the neighborhood's been eerily quiet and parking spaces have been unusually superfluous.

So, expecting to find a job this month is really an absurd fantasy that I'm quickly finding myself getting over. Now that I have all this extra time on my hands, I'm trying to think of ways to discover Paris without feeling like a tourist. Monday was a completely wasted day spent indoors, cleaning, blog-stalking, cleaning and cleaning. But, on Tuesday, I took myself to Muji, which I'd heard is like a Japanese Ikea or something like that. I wanted to see what they had and maybe pick up some things that I still need in the kitchen - mainly cooking utensils. Well, I wasn't exactly blown away when I found my way to the little shop tucked behind the marché Saint Germain, but I scooped up a couple of low-priced items and decided to take a trip to my tried and true utensil shop down at Les Halles. There I found exactly what I needed and headed back home feeling successful after a quick frapuccino pit-stop at Stealmybucks. It's an indulgence I don't have often, so I don't feel guilty about throwing down 5 euros for a grande fruit-tea smoothie.

I came home rather early and hung around with Gui after work before I headed out for my first evening in Paris sans Gui. Emily is as lovely as a Georgia peach who, as we discovered over a couple of overpriced cocktails in the 16eme, has a lot in common with this misplaced Texan, including being married to a fabulous, grade A, slightly paranoid, americanized Frenchie. Girl talk in English is so much fun - we spent over three hours dishing about our lives, our history, our woes, our often unreasonable expectations of the fabled Paris life, and our rather happy existences. Our rendez-vous was loads of fun and a much appreciated breath of fresh air from my looming boredom. Thank God she appreciates alcohol-inspired French sign language.

And wouldn't you know that after making my trip to the marché this afternoon for some produce and such, I got an email from a girlfriend of Gui's friend inviting me to the piscine? So, this afternoon she swung by and picked me up in her car (quelle chance) and we headed in search of my neighborhood pool. Man, I never in my life knew there were so many rules for going to a freakin' swimming pool! And, man I never knew how popular pools were in Paris [banlieue] during the summer - geesh, don't people work? We got cut off in the line by a big, yellow tape barrier because apparently they were approaching their maximum occupancy of 700 people - yes SEVEN. HUNDRED. Luckily, we got in only minutes later and set off to go through the regular routine of taking off the shoes, finding and paying for a locker and showering before spotting a patch of grass for some seriously appreciated sunbathing. A ton of sun, a few dips in the pool, a few topless women, speedoed men, and another episode of showering (this time with soap and shampoo - yeah, that's weird to me) ensued before we called it a (great) day.

I'm still working on my CV and trying to keep up my French by talking with Gui and watching French TV, but I figure if everyone else can take August off, there's no reason I shouldn't also. I'm learning that boredom isn't so bad after all, so long as you've got a lot to do.

This is my last week of French classes, for now at least. I was supposed to be finished last week, but I decided to enroll in another week to round it up to a four-week lesson. Reflecting on how much I've learned in four weeks, I really feel like I've come a long way. I've still got SO much further to go, but I'm more confident in a few of my skills, and I think I've increased the overall versatility of my speech. But, as I said before, I've got a long ways to go.

I still can't fully express myself in French - or even mostly express myself. I find I'm constantly asking how to say something or another in French and repeating the same words or phrases over and over. Many times, midway through a thought that I can't quite get across, I stop and decide to cut myself off for fear of saying the wrong thing or sounding stupid. I know it's all part of the learning process, but it's an exhausting feeling to be defeated each and every day by a language that makes no sense. I found some consolation today in class when a girl who has command of Portuguese, Spanish and English told me of her frustrations with learning the French language. Those seated next to us were also in agreement that the language is so complex and completely taxing. I mentioned that when I was living in Italy, I would find myself dreaming in Italian, thinking in Italian and feeling the language; conversely, it's never been like that for me with French. Sure, I studied Italian for a few semesters, but I never practiced, never listened to Italian radio or watched Italian TV on a daily basis, and I don't ever remember thinking of it as such a laborious subject. What I do recall is feeling like I was meant to speak the language, like it was somewhere in me all along, just waiting to be brought to life. I don't have that same feeling with French.

After class today, I found myself dreaming about moving away from France to Italy or Spain. I don't think that's something Gui and I would ever really do without a really good reason, but it was nice to think of how much easier life might be if I could live in a foreign country and be able to speak the language with comfort and confidence, working and enjoying my life as an "insider" rather than someone trying to figure it out. Then, I could really start my life there - do real work instead of going to school to learn how to read and write and talk; I could do so many things that I dream of doing here, like volunteering and taking music lessons, but instead I find there's always that black cloud of non-fluency looming over, reminding me of my below-par skill set.

I really hope (and plan) to one day master the language enough to get a job and converse freely with friends and family, but I don't imagine that will be anytime soon. A week from Friday, we have my carte de sejour meeting at the prefecture where I believe they'll assess my skill level (or send me somewhere to do that) to determine if language classes will be needed and if so, how much. It's part of this new integration contract they're implementing throughout France. I'm all for getting 200-400 hours of free language classes, and I want nothing more than to find my passion for French like I found for Italian. Yet, some part of me still yearns for the easy way, for a way to bypass months ( if not years) of language classes just to get to the point that I was at eight months ago (geesh! I've been jobless for eight months, who in the world is going to hire me?!). Sometimes I feel like I'm going backwards or not going at all, and it worries me to ponder where my professional life and personal ambitions will be in a year. All I hope is that I'm not still sitting in a class with the same folks trying to figure out how to politely say, "may I please have a baguette and a chocolate eclair?"