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About Me Official Beta Tester Novelist Jessica Paige, Esq.Female/Canada Recent Activity Deviant for 2 Years
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j'ai une prof de français; elle est mal!

Thu Feb 4, 2010, 10:50 PM
I HAVE THE FRENCH TEACHER FROM HELL.

In grade eight, I had Mrs Russmann. In grade nine, I had Mrs Russmann. In grade ten, I had Mrs Russmann. In grade eleven, I was SUPPOSED to have Mrs Russmann, until they fucked my life and gave me MADAME PAQUETTE.

With a name like that, you'd think she'd be good at French.

She fucking spoke French as a first language, for Christ's sake; she had to LEARN how to speak English!

First week of semester two is done, and all she's taught us is pronunciation of a few letter combinations. On the double block day, we watched grade ten French review videos - not even the lessons from the videos, just the horrible cut scenes of corny gayness.

She gave us three pages of homework.

I don't understand any of it, because we haven't learned SHIT.

Now, I ADORE the French language; I'm Canadian, therefore I should be fluent in it as well as English, and I want to be, but I'm beginning to DETEST the woman who teaches it to me, and I've had her for one week.

I'm going to find Mrs Russmann and cry on her shoulder. I hate Madame Paquette. She doesn't know shit about French, the stupid frog (don't judge me for that, I'm venting).

You'd think that the natural-speaking French woman with years of experience would be a better French teacher than the less-than-thirty-year-old English woman with German background.

Holy shit, I want to find Mrs Russmann and beg her to let me in her class. I'm not accustomed to change of this calibre; I thought I'd have her all through my years of high school French.

EVIDENTLY MR VARDABASSO THINKS DIFFERENTLY.

GARRGGHHH.


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“She is all I have ever loved, and all I have ever lost. She is something I try to forget.”

“If you love her,” Caitlyn ventured carefully, “you shouldn’t forget her. You should cherish her memory.”

He looked disgusted. “Her memory is a shade haunting the grounds of Bran Castle,” he growled softly. “You have lived for eighteen years. I am over four hundred years old than you. I believe I have more experience than you in dealing with memories.”

“Fine.” Caitlyn stood and gave him a long look. “If you’re still hung up on her after, what, nearly two hundred years, then don’t let me get in your way. It’s just a little pathetic, Fane, that you’re pining over a girl who was devoted to God, not a vampire.”

He seemed unperturbed by her harsh words. Eyeing her beneath partially lowered lids, he asked quietly, “And where do you stand?”

She shook her head and opened the door. “I don’t want to be your next Verity.”

It was only after she left his room and rejoined her friends in the ballroom that she realized exactly what he said.


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purity | immortal misconception | blessed aetherius | myriad stars | facebook | a baguette fight | clublings

a little girl and a monster, | and the genesis.

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  • Mood: Pissed Off
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  • Reading: sense & sensibility & sea monsters: jane a

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obnoxious teen ♥ tree hugger ♥ vampie writer ♥ occasional poet ♥ sci-fi nerd ♥ artsy kid ♥ metalhead ♥ female gamer ♥ full-blood european ♥ arachnophobic ♥ aquaphobic ♥ welsh celt ♥ obsessive-compulsive ♥ bear-wrestler ♥ canadian eh?

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  • Current Residence: next-door neighbour to the Ogopogo.
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