first: i apologize that again it is not monday.
second: french keyboards are absolutely ridiculous.
third: i continue my tour report from where i left off . . .
day thirteen: conversational exchange of the day:
me: is there a mormon church around?
host family member: no. there are no mormons in france so there are no mormon churches.
me: (after an awkard silence) oh . . . uh . . . so how is the weather in france anyway?
day fourteen: let me here outline the threefold mission of these here international folk dance festivals (listed in order of importance).
1. to get drunk as much as possible.
2. to meet, flirt with, and make out with as many foreigners of the opposite gender as possible (or same gender depending on preference).
3. to appreciate dances from other cultures.
day fifteen: my new nickname is skinvous
day sixteen: we, the frenchies, the irish, and the quebeckers did a whole choreography together. i dominated until we actually had to perform, then i buckled. maybe it should've been chokevous instead of skinvous.
day seventeen: a tour is not a tour without a crush. know what i'm saying.
day eighteen: you should have seen me. there i was in a small french town on the mediterranean, all dressed up in my cowboy getup, sitting at a bar, drinking water out of a heiniken cup. sweet.
day nineteen: i went boating on the sabbath. i am ashamed. but at least now i can consider myself a full blooded paysonite.
day twenty: we went to marseille today. i spent most of my time sitting on a park bench reading persuasion while listening to old french men ramble on as they smoked their cigarettes. very entertaining.