The true meaning of stress

Apologies for the super melodramatic title/post that is to follow.

Before filling you in on last week, I feel like it's important to touch on some events that I skipped over and want to be able to remember fondly when reminiscing over this blog 3 years from now.

Crepe day: Well, there's really not much to say here. We all got together and brought wine or some sort of crepe topping, so there was really no way it could not be the best night ever.

To clarify: stuff that look like vomit is not actually vomit
but delicious crushed up bueno bars

The Super Bowl: The party at Sean's house was a massive success. Highlights include:
1. Getting destroyed in beer pong by Sean's 17 year old host brother who had never even heard of the game before that night.
2. Not watching a second of football.
3. Waking up the next morning to the distraught stare of a Japanese exchange student who couldn't figure out why there were three Americans in her bed.

Now, on to this past week, which will forever be known as the week that I discovered the true meaning of stress. I knew that last week was going to be rough, given that I had two papers, two exams, a bunch of busy work, and an oral presentation. Since it is indeed my MO to get work done stupidly in advance, I decided to write one of the papers the weekend before stress week to try and lighten the load. This was the day of the Olympic open ceremonies, so I ended up writing part of it in a bar. Fast forward to the day before the paper is due: I open Word with the intention of doing some final edits, only to discover that the essay is no where to be found. I kind of just stared at the wall for five minutes, and then frantically used every tool in my limited technology arsenal to try and recover/find this paper. After an hour or so of searching, it became clear that it was a lost cause. This will forever be the greatest mystery of my life, but I guess it's what I get for writing a paper in a bar.

After adding all of this work to trying to sort out spring break plans and our director telling us that we were half way finished with the program, I was on the brink of a full-out existential crisis. Of course, everything worked out completely fine as things generally do. Really, this week put the idea of stress in perspective for me, and I expect that from now on I will be a much calmer person.

After my brain nearly exploding, the weekend was a much needed break. On Saturday some of us went out with a large group of Erasmus students, who pretty much all had an exotic nationality and spoke very good french. We introduced them to the games kings and up and down the river, and it was a solid bonding experience for all. Also, my biggest miscommunication thus far happened with an Italian student while discussing the difference between European and American guys, and that was pretty hilarious. 

The conversation:
Him: Les garçons américains sont plus timides, ouais?
Me: Ouais, en général.
Him: Donc, tu ne embrasses jamais tes amis?
Me: Ah non, je les embrasse tous les temps, ça c'est normal. 
Him: Ah, vraiment? Et je suis ton ami, non?
Me: Uh, ouais, je suppose. 

That I though was said:
Him: American guys are more reserved, right?
Me: In general, yeah.
Him: So you don't ever hug your guy friends?
Me: Oh, no I hug my guys friends all the time. That's pretty normal. 
Him: Oh really? And I'm your friend now, right?
Me: Yeah, I guess. 

What was actually said:
Him: American guys are more reserved, right?
Me: In general, yeah.
Him: **in retrospect with a joking tone** So you don't ever make out with your guy friends?
Me: Oh, no I make out with my guys friends. That's pretty normal.
Him: **in retrospect with a surprised tone** Oh really? And I'm your friend now, right?
Me: Yeah, I guess.

And that is the romantic story of my first kiss with a European man.

This week will certainly be more easygoing and I think we're doing some traveling this weekend. I'll be sure to try and start taking pictures again.