What a Wonderland

Y'alrighty, it's September, which means it's time for a new entry, so let's get crackin'.

I am, as of August 28, in Montréal!  Because I like to be a detailed little thing, this will probably be a long entry.  So beware.

The Louisville airport is 4.5 hours away from my mom and sister's apartment in Elkhorn City, Kentucky and my flight was at 10am, so we left at 4am.  Ew.  It's always a pain trying to buy plane tickets since I have to pick one that a) leaves at  a decent time and b) arrives at a decent time, and I can't always get those two points to coincide.  It was either leaving extremely early in the morning or arriving in MTL at like midnight.  Which would not be good.

The flights themselves were fine - cramped, but fine.  I had a three-hour layover in Detroit and had to endure said three hours listening to two middle aged women talking a lot.  Not that I mind being around other people, but there was no silence.  At all.  Gah.  Both planes were extremely small, but on the first I ended up on the side with only one seat, so I got to sit by myself.  On the second plane, I also had a window seat, and for a long while it looked like I would get to be by myself again, but at the last minute an older gentleman got on.  He wasn't the smallest of dudes, so it was pretty uncomfortable, but hey, c'est la vie.  (He also smelled strongly of Italian food, which I thought was interesting.)

To get up to MTL, we had to fly over a couple of the great lakes, so it was a bit startling when I rolled up the shade and was all of a sudden looking down upon an expanse of blue.  I've never actually flown over a large body of water, so that was a bit disconcerting for a minute.  I had also noticed that, while the flight attendants were doing their spiel at the beginning, they didn't say what they usually say about "In the unlikely event of a water landing..." and instead just said "In case of a water landing..."  Great.  Luckily we didn't crash and drown.

We arrived at the airport right on time, but as I was walking down the long corridor toward Customs, I was surprised by a long line extending down from there.  A lot of people were walking on the (stopped) moving walkway and cutting in front of everyone, but most were at a standstill.  Finally, when I got up far enough, I was absolutely floored to look down at the room below.  It was literally filled with people, winding lines stretching from one end of the room to the other.  Last time, when I came in through YUL (the MTL airport), it was in the evening, and there'd been no one else there.  This was something completely different.  It took a while just to get to the escalator, at which point I joined the long line for Canadian and American citizens; citizens of other countries had a completely different line.  It moved relatively quickly, but the entire process of just getting my declaration card processed took about an hour.  When I got to the front, the Customs Agent told me to go to the glass-enclosed room to the left marked Immigration 1.

I walked in to the front desk and handed the guy my passport and declaration card.  He gave me a slip of paper with the number 467 and told me to take a seat.  When I did, I saw that they were currently on number 424.  Joy.  Now, while on the plane, they had told us that we weren't to use our cell phones until we got through Customs, but I knew I needed to contact David and Deb, who were waiting for me in the Arrivals area.  So after about thirty minutes, when they got to number 432, I finally went and asked if it was okay if I used my phone, and he was like, "Uh... yeah."  So I texted Deb to let them know where I was and hunkered down to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally,   After a good long while, my number was called.  I handed him my documents and passport, and he told me to sit back down and he would call me when it was ready.  Joy.  So I waited some more, terrified all the while that it would be rejected and I would have to go home.  After about ten agonizing minutes, he called my name.

"Here are your papers," he said.

I gaped a bit.  "I got them?"

The man looked a bit confused.  "Yeah.  You seem very happy about it."

I explained that I had been wanting to come to and live in Québec for a long, long time, and he smiled.

"Well, you have all the paperwork and everything was fine, so..."

He then explained where I needed to go to pay for me new permit as well as where to get my checked luggage, but it was all sort of muddled.  Literally right after, Deb called, so I told her I would be down in a few minutes.  First things first, I went to get my luggage.  I arrived at the carousels and went up to the Delta desk.

"Hi," I said.  "I arrived 3 hours ago from Detroit aaaand I was wondering where my luggage was."

The guy was a bit surprised.  "It took you 3 hours to get through Customs?"

"Yeah," I replied, "well, it was mainly Immigration."

The man told me that my suitcase was on Carousel 7, so I went to go wait there.  After ten minutes of seeing nothing, I looked to the side and saw it all by its lonesome.  Sigh.  The man at the Delta desk told me I could pay for my permit around the other side, in front of Carousel 10, so I went there.  They told me that I paid for it outside.  So I got in line to get through the last step of Customs, but as I handed the woman my declaration card, she asked, "Did you pay for this yet?"  She then told me to go into a room marked Secondary Inspection.

I waited about forty-five minutes in line with a bunch of other grumpy people whose bags had to be painstakingly looked through.  When I finally got through, the man looked rather apologetic and said, "Well, for... well, not future reference, I guess, but you should have just gone to the Cashier Window over there."  ARRRRGHHHHGHHGGHGHFTJOLFKH:K.  Anyway.  So I did so and shelled out the $150 for the permit.  I then proceeded to the Arrivals area, met David and Deb, and drove to their hotel/apartment/thing in Vieux-Montréal and promptly crashed upon the couch.  Before that, however, we went to an awesome Polish restaurant a few blocks away to hear Anthony Cooperwood, a friend of David's and Deb's and a Truman alumnus, play the piano and get drinks.  (A Québécoise woman who worked in Cirque du Soleil said my French is great and to keep speaking it.  Wee!)  So then, after camaraderie, dinner, and drinks, I crashed.

The next morning was MY BIRTHDAY YAY.  It was also move-in day.  David and Deb were kind enough to get me a shirt with the Titanic on it, despite the fact that they already gave me a freaking iPad for my birthday.  After a spot of breakfast, we went to Concordia's Loyola campus about 6km from there where I signed a lease, got my photo taken, and had a bunch of big, strong football players move all my stuff up to the fifth floor.  Sweet.

David and Deb were (are) positively awesome.  We went to a store that's kind of like a smaller version of Wal-Mart but with fewer Wal-Marty things.  I realize now that it's called Loblaws, but I kept forgetting, so I just called it Lobotomy.  Anyway.  We bought a bunch of stuff like plates, bowls, cups, utensils, cleaning supplies, etc. - stuff we kind of forgot I needed.  That evening, we headed to a restaurant near the Notre-Dame basilica for dinner.  I got a piece of delicious cake with "Bonne Fête" written in chocolate on the plate and a sparkler stuck in the top.  It was awesome.  After dinner, I took the metro to a café near McGill University to get coffee with my wonderful friend, Ekaterina, and her husband and son.  They got me a Montréal water bottle for my birthday and I felt ever so fuzzy and special!  Then I headed back to the apartment, at which point David and Deb dropped me back off at my dorm for the night.

Sunday is a tiny bit of a blur for some reason.  I got my permanent access card to the dorm buildings and we went to my favorite restaurant, m:brgr for an early dinner.  I got poutine.  It was incredible.  Since David and Deb were leaving early the next morning, we said goodbye once they dropped me off at my dorm, and then I was on my own.  I'm so incredibly grateful for everything they've done for me, not only while they were here, but over the past five years.  I don't know where I'd be without them, Lauren, and Kat.

Over the past week, I've been getting everything squared away, and it's not been overly fun.  Things like orientations, getting my student ID, going to the International Student Office, figuring budget stuff out, etc.  I don't enjoy it and it definitely induces a large amount of anxiety, but Lauren is confident that once that stuff is all settled, I'll be able to relax and focus on actually being in grad school and being in Montréal.  Tonight is the first football (American football, that is) game of the season, and everyone living in the dorms gets to get in for free.  I'm not a big football person, but the cafeteria is closed due to the corresponding barbecue, so I think I'll go regardless.  The players were nice enough to help everyone move in, after all.  Tomorrow I'm heading back downtown and on Sunday it's off to La Ronde (the local Six Flags park) for an extremely discounted price!  Yay!  Monday is Labor Day and Tuesday is... dun dun DUNNNN... my first class!  AHHH!!

Also, bit of explanation if you've noticed that off to the side it says "Ashlee (aka Rose)."  The reason for that is I've started going by Rose, rather than Ashlee here.  It's not that I don't like my name, it's just easier to pronounce and spell, regardless of language since it's a name in both French and English.  No one can spell my name, so I've given up.  I'm not about to ask people who already know me to call me Rose, but I've been introducing myself as Rose, and so far it's working! ;)

Oops!... I lied.

I know I said at the end of my last entry that it would most likely be the last post I made while in the U.S. for quite a while, but... I lied.  I realized that all I did was babble about the process of getting my CAQ which was, admittedly, pretty cathartic, but I'm aware that that's not in the least bit interesting to anyone but me.  (Granted, that's probably the case for my entire blog, but that's beside the point.)  Since the whole point of this blog is to keep my friends and family up-to-date about my life since I'm so far from most of them and will soon be even farther, I should probably have an entry that's actually about that, right?  Right.

JBA ended in early August.  I can honestly say that it was an amazing session filled with amazing kids and staff.  I feel so lucky to have been able to get to know all of them.  Those three weeks are filled with great memories that I wouldn't change for anything - the lip sync competition, being "in charge" of Team 10 a.k.a. Danalicious with Nixi, Beach Ottumwa, two crazy Wal-Mart trips, a knee injury (yaaay), having the best housing group in the history of housing groups, being gifted an adorable T. rex named Roger from said amazing housing group, having a super crazy class with a super crazy professor filled with super crazy kids, three dances, lots of chilli... it was awesome.  It makes me sad to know that it was most likely my last session.  I was told that I could technically do it one more year, but I don't know what I'll be doing next summer - working, taking classes... no idea.  But it was an awesome way to go out!

But yeah... about my knee.  On the second day of staff training, we were at Thousand Hills (the local state park) for a barbecue, games, and more training.  We were playing a game called Stick in which one person competed against another person by spinning rapidly in a circle, staring up at a plastic baseball bat that we were holding.  We had to spin ten times and then try to drop the bat onto the ground and jump over it.  I found myself against the formidable Austin.  I was actually winning until, somehow, my foot remained planted while the rest of my turned, and I was suddenly on the ground.  It hurt.  A lot.  I was helped over to the picnic tables, got some ice and ibuprofen, and thought I was fine.  Indeed, I was able to walk around with no problems for a while.  Then, as I stood up to go swing, my knee suddenly gave out and I found myself down on the cement.  Ow.  The preceptors and staff took good care of me, helping me ice it some more and wrap it up, but I was mainly annoyed since I'd never really been injured before, and I don't like having to be taken care of.  It got better and I was able to hobble around for the next few days, though I wore a wrap for the rest of training.  I stopped wearing after a while when it seemed to get better, but then it started to twinge a bit, so I went to Wal-Greens to buy one that was more heavy duty.  (Mainly so I could play dodgeball that evening.  I love dodgeball.)  Admittedly, playing dodgeball was not a good idea.  However, it was also my moment of glory.

I hadn't been playing that hard, so when we got to the second-to-last game, I told myself that I was actually going to throw the ball and really try since it was almost over.  I wasn't exerting myself too much, making sure not to really pivot or turn my left knee too much.  Suddenly I realized that it was three against three.  Then three against two.  And three against one with me being that little one.  Oh dear.  Now, you might think that it's easy for a twenty-three-year-old to throw a ball at three fourteen-year-olds, but it's not.  Those kids are fast and much more agile than I am.  However, since I was the last one standing, I had the ability to go anywhere in the court while they stayed on their half.  In an attempt to get me out, they threw all the balls at me, meaning I had all of them on my side where they couldn't get to them.  I had all the power.  Muwahaha.  So I took one ball and ran to the other side and got one girl out, then another.  Then it was just me and one another girl, who now also had the ability to go anywhere in the court.  Having a lot of kids in my class and in my housing group on the sidelines, I heard a group of people chanting my name, which is definitely not something that's ever happened, and it certainly made me feel quite fuzzy!  As I was running, I'm not quite sure what happened, but my knee gave out, and I crashed to the floor.  Ow.  Everyone went dead silent as Dan and Cory came over to help me up.  I was far too aware of eighty people watching me as they helped me up, cheering when I was on my feet.  I found myself able to walk, so I asked Dan, "Can I keep playing?"  He looked surprised, but replied, "If you want."  More cheers.  (Yay!)  So my opponent and I went back to our sides and we started again.  I took the offensive again, wanting to get it over with and knowing I couldn't run worth a damn.  I threw the ball and it hit her in the ankle.  And I won!  Yay!  I got lots of hugs and high fives. It was the greatest moment of my life, and not even getting married or having kids will top it.  Teehee.

So yeah, long story short, I hurt myself again.  So I took it easy over the next week and thought it would be okay for me to play dodgeball again the following Saturday.  Well, I'm stupid.  It was actually the second-to-last game again when I was walking backwards, quite calmly, and my knee gave out.  I managed to scoot to the sidelines to get out of the way, but I was furious with the whole situation and myself.  Luckily a couple other preceptors and some girls from my housing group took care of me.

That night, I had trouble getting the swelling to go down, so when I called my mom the next day, she ordered me to go to the doctor.  I did, and he said he thought I had torn my meniscus ligament and had me go to the hospital to get an x-ray done and gave me an anti-inflammation prescription.  However, at my followup, I was told that I had not torn a ligament and that it was just sprained.  Cool.  Either way, I spent all of JBA hobbling around.  Oh well.

So now I'm in Kentucky with my mom, aunt, and sister.  I've been here for a week-and-a-half and I'll be here for another two weeks until we drive back to Louisville for me to fly up to Montréal!  Exciting stuff!

Enfin, c'est toi, enfin

Happy very belated birthday to my blog!  This little guy, who's changed names more than I can count, and who's changed his face even more times than that, turned four this past June, but I was in too much of a tizzy to really notice.  Oops.  Seriously, it's a huge accomplishment for me to have stuck to writing in this thing after four years.  Not only that, but writing in it at least once a month consistently for four years is also impressive by my standards; usually I start a blog and give up on it a couple weeks later.  But this thing has seen me through my entire career at Truman, study abroad, applying for grad school, the horrid waiting on responses, the other horrid waiting on news about my visa, and now it will see me through grad school itself!  Pretty nifty, I think.

Speaking of horrid waiting, that finally came to an end the other day.  I was actually more open about the process of applying for my CAQ and Canadian Study Permit than I usually am about such things, posting about it a couple months ago when my head was about ready to explode.  However, things have shifted since then, I was mistaken about some things, etc.  So let's explain the whole process!

I applied to the different grad schools in January.  Because I submitted my applications very late, it was natural that I didn't receive responses for quite a while.  Truman gave a timeframe of three weeks when I applied, but neither Concordia, McGill, or Laval had one.  TAPIF was the only one who said when they would be sending responses: the first week of April.  By the time that first week of April arrived, I hadn't received any response from any of the three schools.  I was, however, accepted for TAPIF, and I managed to convince myself that, even if I was accepted to one of the schools, I would defer my admission and go to France for seven months.  My rejection from McGill solidified this idea.  By this point, I realized that something had gone wrong in my application for Laval and that it had never been properly submitted.  This really solidified the plan to forgo any grad school admission since Concordia was my only option left and, even though it was my top choice in schools, I really did not expect to be admitted.  So I began telling people when they asked that I planned on going to France, specifically to the Lille area in the north.

Then it happened.  On April 28, I received my acceptance letter from Concordia.  As I wrote earlier, I had a big decision to make, and most of you knew that I would always choose Concordia.  Living and studying in Québec has been my dream for nearly seven years.  I've never felt more at home anywhere than I do there.  As much as I would love to visit France one day, I couldn't postpone my dream of living in Québec any longer.

Unfortunately, it was as easy as saying yes to the dress.  (What?)  The first step was applying for my CAQ, which stands for "Certificat d'acceptation du Québec," which is, essentially, a visa to allow me to study in Québec specifically.  Once I had that, I needed to apply for, basically, the same thing except it was to study in Canada as a whole.  I couldn't apply for the latter without having the former.

Now, you all know I'm poor.  Obviously I need financial aid of some sort.  And luckily for me, the U.S. government does provide financial aid to American grad students who want to attend an international school.  However, the system isn't as automatic when it's an international school; while the FAFSA automatically sent my info to Truman every year, I had to do this myself.  I had to apply for the FAFSA and then send a boat load of paperwork to Concordia for them to process.  This process, I was told, would take about three to four weeks.  This was in early June.

Simultaneously, my application for a CAQ (which also required a boat load of paperwork) was halted because I had not provided an official letter from Concordia saying how much financial aid I would receive, not just an estimate.  They gave me until August 3 to send it to them which, I thought, was plenty of time.

However, I was worried because even if the financial aid office at Concordia took a minimal amount of time to process my application, I wasn't entirely sure how long it would take to have my CAQ awarded.  If that took too long, I wasn't sure how I was going to apply for my Canadian Study Permit right after since that process, apparently, takes a lot longer.  In a panic, I emailed the International Student Office at Concordia, who has been extremely helpful throughout this whole process, and it was explained to me that, as an American citizen I was able to bypass the entire application process for the Canadian Study Permit, that I was able to apply for it upon arriving in the Montréal airport.  This was a huge lift from my shoulders, as that was one less monumental thing for me to do.  Now I just had to wait for my financial aid to be processed.

Heh.

After the four weeks passed, I emailed the woman at the financial aid office, with whom I'd been corresponding.  I asked what the deal was.  I had to send the email twice because she didn't respond after a week.  She said that, due to technical difficulties, they'd been unable to process it yet but that they were hoping to have the issues resolved soon.

So I waited.

By the end of July, I still hadn't received anything.  Remember: I was told to have this information sent by August 3.  So, now panicking, I called the office and spoke directly to the woman I had been emailing.  She told me that she was planning on processing my file that day and would then express mail it to me.  I explained about my deadline, adding that absolutely none of this was my fault, that I had been waiting on them, and that if I didn't get the paperwork in by the deadline, then I wouldn't be able to go to Concordia.  (This was all with the utmost politeness, I must add.)  She then agreed to get the paper stamped by all these official offices and scan it, allowing me to print it and mail it to the Ministère while waiting for the official copy in the mail.  I agreed and thanked her.

From what I understand, though both letters to the Ministère were postmarked by the end of July, they didn't arrive there until August 4.  Hence my terror that they wouldn't be accepted.  So even though I had gotten them in, I was still befret with worry that they were either too late or that the application would simply be rejected.  It had been over two months since I began the process and I was terrified that it would all be for naught.

Then, finally, finally, I received the email saying that I had awarded a CAQ.  On August 11, over two months after I started the process, it was finally over.  I could at last say officially that I would be studying in Montréal, that I was preparing to go there in two weeks.

Which I am!  This will most likely be the last blog post I write in the U.S. for a while.  As of August 28, I'll be in Québec!  EEEEE!!!

"July, I gotta tell you..."

So the seventh month is a upon us, as are many other changes.  Tomorrow I start my second (and last) time as a preceptor for JBA.  Training begins tomorrow (Wednesday) with the kids arriving on Saturday.  'Twill be interesting to see how things are different this time around with different preceptors (in some cases) and different kids (in some cases).  I'm looking forward to it.  But what's been the big task of the past few weeks has been packing up everything I own, separating things from what I want to be stored for two years and what I want to take to Montréal.  It's not hard, I just hate it.  I hate packing.  I'm not an organized enough person to really be good at this.  Oh, well.  I'm almost done.  Now it's mainly just a matter of getting everything into the van.  The reason why I have to get everything done by tomorrow is because JBA doesn't end until August 3 and our lease ends on July 31.  On one hand, it's lucky that most of the furniture and appliances belong to Kat; on the other hand, I feel immensely guilty that I won't be here for the bulk of the packing.

As an early birthday present, David and Deb bought me a mini iPad.  Since November (when I went to Montréal to visit campuses), they have been letting me borrow their older, slightly malfunctional one, but now I have one of my very own!  It's even inscribed on the back.  It's encased in a tank-like Otterbox case.  Though it was $70, it's definitely necessary, since I seem to have slippery hands.  I treat things like their the most precious things on the planet, but they like to jump, I swear.

In other news, Lauren has purchased plane tickets to come see me in Montréal in October!  We picked a specific weekend based on when Bruno Pelletier will be performing in town.  We figured, hey, why not arrange her visit around one of his performances?  It makes sense and that way we didn't have to be like?  "This weekend?  No, this weekend.  This one?"  She bought her plane tickets and I bought our concert tickets, so we're all set!  We'll be seeing Bruno perform at the Maison de la culture Maisonneuve in Montréal on October 16 for Musique et cinéma tour with Guy St-Onge.  Incidentally, October 16, 2015 is actually the sixth anniversary of the first time I ever saw Bruno perform and met him after his show, which was back in 2009 for his Microphonium tour.  I was eighteen.  Dang.

I don't really have much else to report.  But I'm insistent about writing at least one entry a month, and I doubt I'll have time to write one during JBA.  So.... here I am.  Packing and procrastinating have become the entirety of my life.  Also Harry Potter.  I've been re-reading the Harry Potter series, which is oodles of fun.  Other than that... I got nothin'.  Other than the fact that I'm tired.  So tired.

Oh wait, I just remembered something else that happened.  Hurr.  Five days after I posted my last blog entry, I was able to participate in a Skype call with Bruno during his show!  What this means is I was called via Skype on an iPad, which was given to Bruno.  He placed the iPad on a music stand, sang Calling You from Bagdad Café, before introducing me to the audience and explaining how throughout his tour he has Skyped fans from all over the world.  He also complimented my French.  Teehee. :3

Panic! At The Apartment

I hadn't really intended on writing an entry until later... at least not until I had some sort of news, but when do my intentions ever actually play out?  The title, you ask?  I'll get to that in a bit.

What's been going on in the almost-month that I've been a college graduate?  Nothing, really?  The highlight of the past month was Kathy and I driving seven or eight hours north to visit our dear Lauren in Wisconsin, where we spent Memorial Day weekend.  The trip up was great and flawless - perfect weather, little traffic, no navigational errors, etc.  On the way back, we went through at least two hours of torrential rain, bottleneck traffic outside of Des Moines, more rain, and one slight navigational error on my part.  But hey, it was fine and fun.

The other thing that's been occupying my mind has been grad school or, on a greater scale, actually getting into Québec and Canada themselves.  See, unfortunately, it's not as easy as getting accepted into a school.  Not only do I need to get a student visa into Canada, which is to be expected, but also the same sort of thing for Québec, called a CAQ.  That's the first step: get the CAQ and then, if you're accepted for that, you apply for the Canadian visa.  And it's not automatic, either: I've heard/read of people getting their CAQ and then not a visa.  Why?  Not sure.

My main concern is financial since the Québécois and Canadian governments want people to be able to support themselves and, as such, want them to have a certain amount of money to prove that they're not going to move to Québec and/or Canada just to become homeless or to bum off of the government or some individual.  Understandable, obviously, but we all know I'm not the richest person in the world.  Everything I've done has been totally relying on government and other aid.

And that, kids, is where the title of the blog comes in.  I'm sure most of you have realized it's a positively hilarious play on the name of the band, Panic! At The Disco.  Ha, ha, ha.  But yeah.  I'm absolutely petrified that I'm going to get denied for either the CAQ or, worse, be accepted for that and then have my request for a Canadian visa denied.  I've been assured by multiple people, including my "financial advisers" (aka Lauren's wonderful parents) that I'm going to be fine, that we've gone over the numbers and that everything will be okay, but I'm still terrified.  What if I don't get enough loans?  What if, for some reason, I'm just denied?  What if, what if, what if?  I know I've always said "this is the worst period of waiting I've ever had to face," whether it's waiting to hear back if I've been accepted to Truman, or for study abroad, or if I've gotten a job, or if I've been accepted to TAPIF or grad school, but now this really takes the cake.

I've dealt with anxiety my whole life, but it's been at an elevated level as of late, now with anxiety attacks nearly every single day.  I'm not talking severe panic attacks with hyperventilation and the like, but it's enough to send me spiraling into misery and depression, worrying if everything's going to come crashing down around me soon.  And the only reprieve is when I manage to distract myself.  (And, of course, Obama hates me, so I can't get insurance yet and get meds for this sort of thing.)  I go through periods where I am absolutely convinced that I will be rejected for either the CAQ or the visa, and then brief moments where I think, "Hey, this might work for me.  We've done the numbers.  It'll be okay!"  And then that fades away.  It's not like I have a backup plan anymore.  If I get rejected for either the CAQ or the Canadian visa, it'll be too late to get a French visa and go to France for TAPIF.  There's no Plan B anymore.

This isn't a cry for attention or anything like that.  I guess I just need a place to vent and I didn't want to draw attention to it any more than a regular blog post.  I don't know how many of my friends read this, or which ones, but odds are you know it's not like me to ask what I'm about to.  If you're of the faithful variety (that sounds weird, don't it?), or the type who believes in good vibes, or good thoughts, I would very, very much appreciate your prayers, vibes, and thoughts.  Whether they're actually for all this to work out or just to ease my anxiety, I would be very grateful.  Sometimes, whether or not we believe in a higher power, God or otherwise, we need to ask for a little help.  (And asking for this type of help is definitely not something I'm accustomed to.

Muchos merci, mes amis.

Betwixt et now what?

For a long time, the title of this blog was "Utterly Betwixt."  Originally I chose that title because I love the word 'betwixt.'  (Seriously, it's an awesome word.)  But then I realized that it works pretty well to define my constant state of being: between.  For a long time, I always felt like I was in a state of limbo between what I was and what I was going to be.  I started the blog to chronicle my life at Truman, but now I've graduated college and Truman is a part of my past, not my present.  (Unless you count working there for JBA this summer.)  In a way, I'm still between; that is, I'm between graduation and waiting to move to Montréal and start grad school.  Yet that seems like a whole other chapter of my life, like I'm not between anything anymore.  I'm starting the sequel.  Then the title became "Betwixt et après" ("...and after," in English), and I think I chose that because it was intended to work for after I graduated.  However, the other day, I was doing something (no idea what), thinking about all the places I've lived (six states) and the schools I've attended (two elementary schools, one middle school, three high schools, and one university), and I thought something along the lines of "Me and my nomad life."  Thus, the Powerpuff Girls were born!

No, wait, that's not where that was going.

Anyway.  So the name of the blog has been changed.  As you can see.  And, as you can see, there is a new banner proudly displayed at the top!  It was a collaboration of sorts with Lauren, and when I say collaboration, I mean she did 98% of the work.  The 2% I did consists of the banner itself, i.e. resizing the little mini me and giving it thought balloons.  Lauren drew the me.  Isn't she WONDERFUL?  (Lauren, not the me.  Although the me is awesome!)

So as you might have guessed by now, I've graduated from Truman State University!  It was a pretty crazy weekend, let me just say.  The majority of the people who read my blog were actually here, but that's okay - I'm gonna talk about it anyway!

So my only final exam was on Monday of that last week.  I still had some assignments to do - two papers and finishing up my Capstone - but I knew I could get it done.  I got my biggest paper done on Sunday (and it wasn't due 'til Tuesday - holy crap), and then turned in the rough draft of my French paper on Wednesday night and then got the corrections for it turned in later that week.  So there wasn't too much on the school front that needed to be done.

On Thursday morning, at 10:15, David and I drove to Kansas City to pick up my mom, aunt, and sister from the airport.  I had fretted for a long time about being able to afford to fly them out, but with my grandparents' very generous help and the fact that one of their tickets was paid for by them, it worked out!  Rather than putting them up in a hotel, they all stayed with Kat and me in our apartment.  (It was a tight squeeze, but we managed.)  I must say, it was awesome to be able to finally show them around Kirksville.  Though I've been here for four years, none of them had ever been able to visit, so I was able to show them places like Walmart (ooooh!), Hastings, and Thousand Hills.  We didn't explore as much of Truman as I wanted to, but oh well.

On Friday, a few awesome things happened.  First, Kat and I were able to see our beloved Lauren!  She was able to come down to Kirksville for a few days to see our graduation, and though she arrived late Thursday (or early Friday, rather), we weren't able to see her 'til lunchtime.  It was as if no time had passed.  'Twas awesome.  At 3, my wonderful grandparents arrived from Michigan!  Again, so lucky and blessed that they were able (and willing) to make the trip down.  That evening, we went on campus to attend the Outstanding Honors Award "Banquet" or whatever it was called, where I was given a plaque/certificate of sorts for being chosen as the Outstanding Student in French.  Teehee.  Then it was off to the Nichols' place with the whole motley crue - me, my mom, sister, and aunt, my grandparents, Lauren, and Kat and her mom - for a shindig dedication to whom?  ME!  It was not good for the size of my head.  But it was a lovely, touching evening.

Saturday brought dun, dun, dun . . . graduation.  Kat and I were at Baldwin Hall at about 11:30 because we thought we had to be there super early (they said they'd close the ranks at 12:30 and no one would be allowed in after that, but the ranks weren't closed until about 1:00).  Because of this, however, we had about first pick of seats, so we weren't stuck in the huge throng of people milling about in the aisles.  My feet were already hurting by this point, which was not a good omen for the rest of the day.  At about 2pm or so, they started leading the graduates out.  No one had told me, however, that the walk wasn't just from Baldwin to Stokes Stadium, which is a good distance in and of itself.  No, we were led down to Kirk Memorial, past the fire fountain, then down the quad again to MO Hall (where we were applauded by Residence Life people), and then up the bricks to BNB where we turned right down the brick pathway between the sunken gardens and the Health Center before turning left at Magruder and the library and continued down across the street (which was blocked off by police) past Pershing and into the stadium.

There's our route.  My feet were killing me by the time we arrived at the stadium.  Yeah, it was kind of cool being able to walk around campus which was, for a lot of people, the last time, but still.  Ow.  The moment the bleachers came into view, Kat and I were kind of in awe at how massive the masses were.  As we walked down through the tunnel of professors, shaking hands with the ones who knew us, we found Lauren and her parents fairly easily.  Kat spotted our own families much more easily than I did.  She found them clustered together high up to our left, but for some reason, I couldn't see them.  Finally, however, I caught sight of my grandfather's yellow baseball cap.  Thank God for that, eh?

The ceremony itself was long, as is expected.  It was made even longer by the fact that Missouri's governor himself, Jay Nixon, was there.  He said a few (okay, more than a few) words, mostly about President McCain, one of Truman's presidents who died very recently, and a little bit about us graduates.  The speaker, though, an Vatican astronomer from Detroit, was awesome.  He talked about Harry Potter, so clearly he knew how to get us right where we lived.

Kat's and my group was Group One, which is everyone but the Bachelor of Science students and the grad students.  It didn't seem like we were waiting long 'til it was our turn to line up.  So I slipped my shoes back on and stumbled behind the dude beside me with Kat behind me.  We managed to get seats on the left side of the field, which was exactly what I'd been hoping for, as that was the side Dr. Burton was on, as well as Dr. Paino, Truman's president, so I'd get to see both of them and shake the latter's hand.  Even more luckily, that was also the side Truman's registrar, whom I adore, was on, so I got to give her a hug before I climbed onto the stage.  And the luckiest of all: my name was pronounced perfectly!  Apparently my family cheered for me, but I heard nothing.

Originally the plan was for me to go what's called the Mall, which is the fountain area in front of the SUB (the student union) and a long, brick pathway that connects the fountain and SUB McClain Hall, running between the administrator parking lot and the back of the library.  There was a reception being held there, and I had planned to meet up with two of my French professors, Dr. Lobert and Professor Manning, to see them and say goodbye, as neither of them walked in the ceremony.  However, given the extreme agony of my feet and the need to take my family back to the apartment, I elected to change my plans, not even sure if the professors would even be there.  Unfortunately, they were there waiting for me.  Luckily, Lauren went there and told them about the change of plans, which they were fine with, and invited them to the shindig at the apartment.  Though neither were able to come, I contacted them both and apologized and said I'd be in K-ville all summer and that we should get together at some point.  So yeah, that happened.

The shindig in question was meticulously arranged by Kat's mom, Connie, and featured her family in addition to mine, including Lauren's dad and stepmom.  So our apartment was quite literally full, but it was awesome!  People started filtering out around six, at which point I drove Lauren back to her place.

The next day, Mothers' Day, was a great deal calmer.  (Although Lauren left that day, so that was depressing.)  Mostly we just kind of loafed around until around four when my grandparents came over and took us out to Ruby Tuesdays.  And when I say "took," I mean Emily rode with them and I took my mom and aunt in the van.  They were already sooo proficient in navigating around Kirksville that they didn't need my help.  Humph.  But they DID treat us, which was incredibly generous and kind.  Have I mentioned they rock?  Because they do.  After dinner, we all hung out at my apartment for a while, laughing and recounting old, embarrassing stories of when Emily and I were young, before it was time to say goodbye, as my grandparents were heading back to Michigan early the next morning.

On Monday, we went to Thousand Hills again, this time armed with cameras.  It was a bit colder than before, and a hell of a lot windier, but it was still fun.  The four of us went down to a boat docking area and fooled around, being goofs and whatnot.  After that we dropped my mom and aunt back off at the apartment and Emily and I went to Hastings, a place she had been dying to visit since I first told her about it.  For those who don't know, Hastings is a nerd's paradise: it's got books, movies, games, toys, trading cards, board games, TV shows, comic books, music, electronics, gaming systems, posters... everything you can imagine except food, really.  So you can imagine why she was anxious to go there.  After spending an ungodly amount of time there (teehee), we headed back to the apartment to get the old people and go to dinner at Nurachi, the local Mongolian BBQ.  When we got home, Emily, Kat, and I played video games in which we slaughtered each other, and then all of us played The Game of Life (classic board game style).  I won.  By far.  Teehee.  I had four kids, although one was an extreme idiot.  Aunt Carol also drowned her partner in a pool on accident.  Mom was a teacher and then suddenly became a doctor.  They didn't like my banking skills.  Emily said her husband's name was Djali.  Pretty sure Kat was the most normal.

We left for Kansas City at about 5am the next morning with David.  The drive was quick (three hours, rather) and painless, and luckily the airport is small.  We got them checked in for their flight with minimal problems and then, unfortunately, it was time to say goodbye.  Despite the fact that I know I'll see them in about three months, it still sucked saying goodbye.  Sigh.

Anyway, this post has been insanely long.  For those who just skipped to the bottom, here's what you missed: a large portion of my family came to visit; as did Lauren; laughs were had; I graduated college.  So, yeah, I have a Bachelor of Arts degree in French now.  And I got all As this semester.  Ashlee is rather happy, kids.

As always: sail on, little toaster.  Sail on.

France or Québec?

Most (if not all) of you reading this will know that a big decision has fallen onto my lap over the past month.  It started earlier this month, around April 10th or so, that I learned I had been accepted into the program TAPIF (Teaching Assistant Program in France), which is program (wow, I say 'program' a lot) for American university students to teach English in France (or a French territory) for seven months.  Along with several of my friends here at Truman, I was accepted.  They placed me in Lille (not necessarily the city itself, but somewhere around there), which is the extreme north of France, just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the Belgian border.

After receiving a rejection from one of the grad schools I applied to, TAPIF became more and more the way to go.  I started saying I was 95% sure that I was going, even if one of the other two schools I applied to accepted me, because I could most likely defer my admission and go later.

Then it actually happened.  On April 28, nearly three months after I submitted my application, I received an offer of admission into Concordia University's Master of Arts program (specifically in Littératures francophones et résonances médiatiques).  Concordia was my top choice in schools ever since I visited it last November and has always been on my "list."  I simply couldn't believe it when I was accepted.  Everyone around me told me that they believed I would get into grad school, but I couldn't believe them.  Then I did.

But it wasn't that simple.  TAPIF was still an option.  So was Concordia.  I had the biggest decision of my life to make and no one could make it for me.  I talked to different people, some biased, some un-biased, to get their opinions, but in the end, it was I who had to make the call.  I weighed the different pros and cons for both places.  I thought about it seriously, intently, and with my head and not my heart.  I wanted to make the right decision for me.  That's the keyword here: for me.  Both are amazing, irreplaceable opportunities, both in which I would be lucky to participate.  Yet I can't do both.  At least not at once.  They both start and end around the same time, so, obviously, I can't do both at once.

So I made my decision.

And I am proud to announce that this Fall, I will be a first year graduate student at Concordia University.

I know there will be people who are surprised and who think I'm making the wrong decision.  But I know this is the right decision for me.  I've been told that there are places out there other than Québec, and this is true; but there are also places other than France.  And I'd like to visit them all, but Québec is where I truly want to be.  I have waited six years for this.  Plus, it IS possible that I can do TAPIF later on.

Let me just say, I didn't know it was possible to be this happy.  I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.  Thanks so much to everyone for their support, advice, and kindness.