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I'm not really totally sure why it's necessary or if I'll even use it, but I set up a twitter account. Befriend me if you'd like, though I can't promise too much action.

Now that I've had a couple of days at home with a nice large shower and a loving boyfriend to welcome me back I have had the space I've needed to digest my Parisian adventure. After being inundated with the "how was your trip" inquiry, I have a canned "it was awesome" answer. In truth, the reply is more complicated. It was awesome. And frustrating and lonely and empowering and eye-opening.

It was frustrating because I was not prepared for the trip. I was told by many people my lack of French would not be a problem. It was. I don't know if it's because I didn't extend the courtesy of learning their language, but it seemed that many in the service industry knew enough to let me ask my questions in English only to brow-beat me into shame by refusing to conversate back in English, only in French. I deserve it though, and know that if they were to come to the U.S. and only speak French they would most likely have the same treatment.

It was lonely because I couldn't speak to anyone. And because I walked around in a near permanent daze, I wouldn't have been much fun anyway. But it was odd to not run into any other Americans, outside the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower (and to be honest, I ignored those people anyway. I guess I'm a snob.). A hostel might've been the smarter way to go...

It was empowering because what little French I know was able to let me order food, find restrooms, and navigate the fabulous transportation system. I was able to defend myself against swarmy men. I was able to familiarize myself enough to not need a map most of the time. I was able to muster up the confidence to travel down unknown paths to find more interesting places to spend time. All while on my own.

It was eye-opening because it was the first time in my life I felt like a foreigner. I had people look down at me. I had people scoff when I told them I was American. I now know what it's like to experience a range of emotions and not have anyone to share that with. And most of all I can now testify to the wonderment within France's borders and can stand back from the experience and feel lucky and priveledged and humbled. And that was what I went for: an adventure. And my god, did I have one.

I've been bad about updating since my first day in Paris. Rather than bore you with my inane ramblings, I'll do this list style.

Places I've been:
Eglise Saint Severin
Reims - Cathedral Notre Dame
Jardin du Luxemborg
Napoleon's tomb
Pere Lachoise
Shakespeare & Co
Forum Les Halles
Gare de L'Est

Now a bit of observation. Myths I would like to go on record to debunk:
No, the streets are not covered in shit
The French are not mean people, though they do dislike Americans. I totally understand all their reasons why.
Not all metro stations smell of piss (though some do)

Myths that do exist:
There are not many overweight people. Not everyone is a waif, but they certainly don't follow the obesity trend.
Yes, many people smoke.
It does seem to be a burden to have so many tourists, so they aren't necessarily awesome towards them. But after witnessing the swarm, I can also understand why.
Surly waiters, but see above reason.
They do love their comic books (ah le B.D.!)
They do tend to be fashionable. If only men all over the world took the care to their appearance as they do...

So that is it, thus far. I leave Monday, so I probably won't update until I am home in Seattle and can completely digest the experience...

I'll spare the usual travel disaster stories (including soap dispensers that like to bruise thumbs in Houston, discovering that my deodorant was failing me into the 7th of 10 hours on my flight from Houston to Paris, my debit card not working at the train station, etc.)

After some hearty napping, a comically uncomfortable shower (it's built for gnomes, I swear), and psyching myself up, I decided to venture out. Psyching myself up was required because thus far no one speaks English and my French is elementary at best. It's intimidating and overwhelming to be in a city that I've spent years dreaming about only to feel totally inefficient and isolated.

However, once I ventured out the first thing I came across was a comic shop around the corner from the hotel. This I took as a good sign. I got fairly lost but managed to find a brasserie that served something other than steak tartar and beef soup and some beef mayonnaise (you'd think I'd be kidding but it appears that the French LOVE their beef). I sidestepped the restaurants that catered to the tourists (meaning English menus) and headed for the most smoky, scary place I could find. It worked - I found an authentic French eatery.

I had to had gesture and mistakingly pour some of my kir sauvignon into my water to truly prove to the fellow eaters that I am a dumb American, but I got to eat. After 24 hours of airport food I was stoked.

Afterwards I decided to wander around and somehow crossed the Seine and found myself at the foot of the Notre Dame. I'm glad I saw it in all it's lit glory rather than swarmed with tourists. Though I told myself beforehand I wouldn't be the tourist to take shots of all the predictable locations, I was moved to. I blame it on the chiming bells on my approach.

I think that my taking a photo was invitation enough for some swarmy Frenchman to approach me, tell me I was beautiful, and that we needed to have a drink. It took nice persistence, but I finally shook the strange man who tried to convince me my name in French is Sarah and that Seattle and Washington D.C. are really close to each other.

And now I will relax with my first bottle of cheap French wine bought in Paris and play some Final Fantasy III on my DS.

Oh, I don't know if I'll be able to blog again. The adapter I bought doesn't work. So long ipod, DS and laptop charging.

I realized I've been so caught up in my day-to-day that I haven't kept people posted on what is going on in my part of the universe.

So, to summarize:

• my eye tumor did come back as benign! There is more surgery to be done to remove more of the tumor, but that is a couple months away.
• I leave for Paris 3/20. Without Dylan. Stupid passport agencies being a month behind schedule.
  
• I got a promotion at work!
• I've signed back up at Myspace. Yes, I feel like a tool.
• I'm camera shopping. The Canon 350D or the Nikon D70?
  

Full from a brunch at Linda's and drunk from a delightful long soak thanks to the folks at Lush and their Westlake opening, I spent the last bit of this delightful afternoon watching the Criterion Collection of Beastie Boys videos.

A long-winded preface: I began my extended love affair with the Beastie Boys as a sophomore in high school when at a debate tournament at Rio Grande High School in Albuquerque someone forced me to listen to a song called "Paul Revere." And so the newfound appreciation soon begat idolatry. Fast forward to 1999. As a college sophomore in Illinois, I bought tickets to the Tibetan Freedom Festival. However, I was unable to afford the plane ticket back to see the show, so I still have an untorn ticket for the show that was to have been the highlight in the culmination of years of fangirling. Now, twelve years after I fatefully put on a pair of headphones, it appears as though I will see them as part of this years Sasquatch Festival. The mounting excitement has thrust me back into my fifteen year old world.

But back to the video collection. After watching this comprehensive video collection I can definitely proclaim "Sabotage" by Spike Jonze (see: Being John Malkovich) to be the best video, with "Hey Ladies" and "Body Movin" as tied seconds.

And with this retrospective in mind I present the first song I ever LOVED by the Beastie Boys.

I've been fidgety and spacey all day and couldn't figure out why. Then it suddenly dawned on me at lunch, while flipping through a tourist guide, that today is the start of my Paris countdown. Three weeks from today Dylan and I will be en route to Paris (Freckles will be staying at the Seattle Canine Club).

We are going with no agenda, other than checking in at our modest, but hopefully cool hotel in the Latin Quarter (Minerve Hotel). We have a running wish list of things we'd like to do, but we won't stress out if we can't get to everything. I'd like to check out the market on Rue Mouffetard, the Notre Dame, Pont Neuf bridge, and Montmatre. Dylan wants to go to Musee Rodin. Other than that we just want to sit at cafes and eat good food and enjoy the sights. I'm sure our 6 days/5 nights will go too fast, but I'm glad we have to opportunity to go, thanks to low airfare and visiting during a lull in the tourist season.

Since I've already started reincorporating cheese into my diet in preperation of the French cuisine, the only thing left for to us to do before leaving for Paris is to brush up on French through downloaded audio lessons and flip through a gigantic, intimidating beast of a book called The Big Blue Book of French Verbs.

Oh, we have to LOTS of film to buy too. Anyone have suggestions for traveling with film?

I would've posted yesterday but sedatives and painkillers don't mix well when it comes to forming coherent sentences.

I digress...

7:30am, Dylan drags my grumpy (since I had to wake up sans coffee) ass to the hospital. Once up in the correct floor I get whisked away to some procedure room by a young nurse named Cory. She allows me to gnaw her ear off about nursing school and her career choice while another doctor and another RN introduce themselves as participants in my case today. Dr. On finally arrives and promptly asks if I am a one or two martini person. Without hesitation I say two and ask that it be a little dirty and dry. I guess that means I am a drunk and need more sedation than normal people. So while they start the sedation drip, we wait. They ask me questions to gauge my sedativeness (is that a word?). After another dosage and another 45 minutes, they come to the conclusion that I am not responding to sedation but they have to do the procedure anyway. After I watch them administer a local anesthesia shot into my eye, the procedure begins. Since I can't really see what they are doing I can report: a good use of q-tips to clean up blood, some scissors to make incisions, talk of their next case, what their sleeping schedules are like, how mobile my tumor is, how far back behind my eye they think it starts, and how they won't be able to get a lot out. Fascinating, huh?

9:45ish, Dr. On tells me that my tumor is pretty fibrous and they weren't able to remove too much. He thinks it starts really far back and that there isn't much we can do. He told me that what they did remove they are sending to pathology for a biopsy and we should know more about the tumor for our follow up next Wednesday. After this, my sedation starts to kick in and I feel a bit drunk. After this, I remember very little. I remember Dylan coming in and getting discharge instructions.

10:30ish, I stumble out of the car. I notice I feel a bit nauseous and Dylan gets me ginger ale and saltines because he is the awesome.

12:30ish, I wake from my codeine stupor to a call from a florist. I stumble outside and start to snort from laughter because my friend Tracy and her family sent a beautiful bouquet with a card that says "Dear Eyeball - Looking good! Have you lost weight?"

The rest of my day is a blur between trying to play Animal Crossing (despite doctor orders of not watching TV or reading or anything to strain my eye - WTF am I supposed to do?) and sleeping.

If you saw my before photo and would like to see an after, here you go.

Thanks again for all the well wishes and flowers.

Thanks to everyone who sent me happy thoughts. They were received and cherished and probably molested a little bit. Perversity aside, the doctor brought me in at the last minute because apparently what I have is pretty rare for a young person so there is some risk that this tumor is on my actual eye rather than coming from behind it. If the tumor is actually on the eye then they won't remove it because they don't want to puncture my eye or interfere with muscles, which I appreciate. Otherwise, the procedure is still going forward with the intent of removing the fatty tumor from above my eye socket. I calm myself by thinking this is like liposuction for my eye. It's such a hefer.

And for those of you that are not squeamish and brave, here is a photo of my tumor. I am including this not because I am TMI girl but because a few of us are medi-nerds and are into this stuff....

So off I wander to painkiller and bloody eye land. This should be fun.

I have a eye tumor removal surgery scheduled for tomorrow. Bright and early and under anesthesia they will be extracting a tumor from above my eye and test it to make sure I don't have head cancer or something and they will push me towards the apartment where I have my new pink Nintendo DS lite and many movies to keep me company for the three or four days of recovery.

Or rather, that was the plan.

I received a call from the surgeon this morning, while at work, telling me that he thinks my case is more complicated and that he needs to see me today. He suspects there might be something more than fat in the tumor (?!) and that if this is the case we will most likely cancel the surgery.

Why he waited until the day before to review my case is beyond me. And why he is out to ruin my bloody eyed vacation is just cruel. Mean, mean doctor.

So I'm off at 2:30 to find out if I have surgery tomorrow or not. Wish me luck. Though I don't know what I'm wishing for at this point.