Airport Security 1, Dan 0

Dan made it to Paris! Sadly my peanut butter did not. Confiscated at security. For future reference, peanut butter is considered to be a "paste".

A Fashionable Assault

I had the most wonderful Parisian weekend. My sister, Kim, came to visit! It was a short but very sweet trip and so amazing to have a little piece of home with me here in Paris. I have to admit that she is an absolutely terrible influence when it comes to all things food and shopping, but we were able to justify our caloric intake and credit card damage by walking a lot and hoping that I will have a job again someday. Each and every purchase was very worth it! Plus we made a pact that we will return to Paris together annually to stock up on Parisian goodies. Who’s coming with us?!?!

So I am convinced that I am one of those people that just attracts total crazies and unnecessary drama. You really can’t write this stuff and yet I am going to. I had quite a traumatic experience the other day. I was innocently walking home from the metro and all of the sudden this homeless man, with dog in tow, starts screaming at me that I bumped into him. He makes a total scene. He starts shouting a lot of four letter words and calls me a “rude American” over and over again. I am like wide eyed in shock and hesitate not sure what to do, but then keep walking. He is obviously drunk and in desperate need of a good scrubbing. I would have felt sorry for him if he weren’t for what happened next. He proceeded to follow me down the street, and when I stopped at the traffic light, he PUNCHED me in the back of the head. OH MY GOD! Did that really just happen??!?! WTF!??! And to top it all off, the bastard, after calling ME “rude”, SPIT S ON MY PRETTY LONGCHAMP BAG!!! Dude, it is one thing to assault my head. It is another thing to assault my handbag. I believe that this was the moment when the four letter words started to fly out of my mouth including a threat to have him arrested. But seriously who am I kidding; I am sure he would have loved to spend the night in a cozy prison cell. It would have been an upgrade. The most baffling part to me about this entire situation is that NOT ONE person on the busy street stopped to ask if I was ok. Not one. I can look back and laugh at the situation now, but at the time I was really shaken up. I’d hate for this incident to cast a cloud over my experience, but it has definitely made me appreciate the security that I feel at home. More than anything, it made me feel very vulnerable, alone, and helpless. I am fine now and still loving Paris and my experience here. I treated myself to a box of Parisian cookies as a reward for surviving the attack.

My fiancé, Dan, arrives tomorrow morning and we are heading to Spain for a week. I cannot wait to see him... and desperately hope that he is able to get through security with my jar of peanut butter!

Say Fromage

Brrr it is another chilly, but beautiful, Parisian day! I finally made it to the Musee de Louvre last week. I got up early to be there right when it opened. It took almost a month, but I have finally found a place to get a café lait to go. Apparently that is actually pronounced café ole. I have been pronouncing it café latte for the last week. This morning one of the other customers commented “Café latte, how cute” when I ordered. The woman behind the counter goes “Are you from Spain or Italy?” Well at least I am now passing for a European…just not a French one. C'est la vie...

I stepped out of the Louvre metro station, climbed up the stairs, and was transformed into another world. Columns, marble, and gardens as far as the eye could see. It is beyond magnificent and something that every single person should have the opportunity to see in their lifetime. The grandeur of the architecture makes you forget that you can’t speak the language and the subways are crowded. The outside of the building alone is a magnificent work of art. Secretly it made me want to watch The Da Vinci Code real bad.

I bought my ticket and paid 6 Euros for a headset. Best 6 Euros I have spent yet. I decided to spend my first Louvre visit in the Richelieu wing of the museum – there are three wings of this gigantic museum. The Richelieu wing houses the work of French artists and has all of the artifacts from Napoleon’s palace. Before entering the wing, I did something bad. It is uber-touristy and embarrassing to admit. I ran…literally ran…to see the Mona Lisa in the Sully wing. Not forgetting my manners, I did take the time to apologize profusely to the Asian tour group that I pushed out of the way on my quest to reach the famous painting. Really, you don’t need a picture of the water fountain in the Louvre. It is not memorable and no one back home really wants to see it. I was warned ahead of time that the painting is small and that I wouldn’t be able to get particularly close. I was intrigued by all of the security guarding her. I kept thinking what it must be like to say to your friends “Yeah so I guard the Mona Lisa…no biggie.” I wonder if they are in need of an intern. The more I stood staring at this woman and all of the questions that still remain regarding who she really is, the less real the painting looked to me. After seeing her face for so many years on tv and in books, it was surreal to be there standing there in front of what arguably could be the most famous piece of art in the world.

The other night one of my classmates organized a cheese and wine tasting. So fun! In the words of Rachel Ray, “Yuuuum-o”. We arrived at this woman’s apartment to find the most beautiful spread of cheese platters, wine, baguettes, and strawberries. It almost looked too pretty to eat. We tasted 12 different types of cheeses and learned all about each one. I think that we might have learned a little too much though…there are some things that you just don’t need to know about cheese and how it is made. Especially when are about to put it in your mouth. It turns out that this woman was born and raised in Connecticut. Her favorite aunt lived in Paris and she had a desire to visit all her life. At the age of 50 she finally made it. Having fallen in love with the city, when her children were finally grown, she decided to move here. I am always so inspired by those brave individuals who pick up and follow their dreams no matter how scary they are. I strive to be that courageous.

She told one funny story that stuck with me as I came to Paris in hopes of returning to the states with the perfect platter to use when hosting swanky wine and cheese parties. Apparently she did the same. She went from store to store in search of this French cheese platter. Finally she asked someone in a department store where she could find them. The woman looked at her very confused and said “I don’t understand what you are asking.” She replied, “You know, a plate to present cheese on.” The sales woman goes “Well, madam, just put the cheese on any damn plate you want.” Sadly, the cheese platter was apparently invented by a sneaky Pottery Barn equivalent determined to get newly engaged couples to add more crap to their registry. Needless to say my dreams were crushed a little that evening.

On the job search front, I still don’t have one! I came to Paris with high hopes of landing a fabulous job in the luxury industry…and I will. While I am just getting started with this process, I have hit a few snags and have had a few “Negative Nancy” moments. I have spent a lot of time in the last week researching, networking, and revising my resume. The job search is to blame for my lack of blogging and the empty Simply Sleep box next to my bed. I promise I will make a concerted effort to write more often. Hope everyone on the east coast is enjoying the snow days!

Charades with the Plumber

I have received such amazing and thoughtful emails from family, friends, and even complete strangers (wild, I know!) raving about my blog. The downside to this is that my readers are so devoted that I literally get hate mail when the blog is not updated quickly enough. I wish I could give the excuse that I my computer contracted a virus when I downloaded a program to watch American television but I know that is not the issue here. I do blame the download for the influx of spam to my email inbox. No, nothing needs enlarging. Thanks.

Aaahhh Paris… what can I say? As with any travel experience, especially over a three month stretch of time, there are bound to be good days and bad. I know that you all probably don’t want to hear this, my mother especially, but this past week has been particularly rough. No nothing catastrophic… just the minor day to day freak outs that seem important in my tiny American world. Delayed trains, long lines, smokers, people bumping into me on the street…this in addition to not feeling well all weekend. Not speaking the language is hard and starting to wear on me a bit. I smile A LOT hoping that that compensates for my cluelessness. This seems to work better on the men…some trends are universal. My lack of French has also allowed me to perfect my Charade skills. Resume building every day.

I had an epiphany the other night while lying in bed. Paris is full of contradictions. The more time I spend here, the more I question what is/should be considered normal. No one would dare walk around with a cup of coffee in Paris, yet here it is totally normal to eat your ham and cheese (and butter) sammy on the go. The architecture is exquisite, yet the risk of a fire is immense due to the smoking taking place right beneath it. The less showers one takes, the more comfortable they feel invading your personal space. The women’s thighs don’t even come close to touching, yet butter flows like water. Everyone wants to practice their English with me…except for my landlord, the waiters, the transit crew, the cafeteria workers, the sales ladies, the plumber, and everyone around me when I am lost. Go figure…

Speaking of the plumber, I am sitting in my cozy apartment anxiously awaiting his arrival. I would be complaining if it weren’t for the wedge of brie and grapes keeping me company…quickly getting smaller and smaller. After two bottles of a Drain-o like equivalent, I have concluded that the Parisian drains are just not equipped to deal with my shedding issue and twice (sometimes three) times a day shower habit. In other hair news, don’t save-the-date for our wedding yet as my fiancé is bound to call it off when he sees that my eyebrows have overtaken my forehead and are getting dangerously close to blending in with my hairline.

I am off to the Louvre tomorrow morning early. I am going to rent the headset so that I am forced to soak up every single cultural nugget. I will have a lot to report back on tomorrow. OOHH and in case you are wondering… Spring fashion has started to arrive! Stripes and navy and boat necks, oh my! I am digging the nautical-ness and even donned a popped collar at school the other day in celebration! I was so born to be Parisian.

Winter Soldes

Friday again! Ok while it is only really Wednesday, my class schedule says it is Friday. It is also laundry day which I absolutely loathe. I literally packed enough pairs of Hanky Pankies to last three months without doing laundry, but I am very proud to report that I am out of gym clothes!! While our perfect Parisian apartment came complete with the scariest washing machine ever, I am going to attempt to brave the laundry mat down the street. Our washing machine is located right next to our mini shower in the bathroom and looks like it could do some major damage to my expensive American jeans. In addition, using this washer would require me to either air dry everything I own by hanging it all over the apartment or use the microwave Uncle Buck style. I have been gearing up for laundry day for a week now…I know it will require serious enthusiasm which I currently lack. I stopped by the laundry place a few days ago to soak up the clean clothes vibe hoping it would motivate me and all I got was a big fat whiff of cigarette smoke. I looked over and there was a guy puffing away right there amongst the dryers. Um…ew. In addition, the laundry directions are in French so I will be dropping my Euros into the machine and saying a little prayer that everything comes out in one piece. There is a small part of me hoping that everything comes out pink and shrunken as that will mean SHOPPING!!

January marks the happiest time of year in Paris… the winter soldes (sales). People flock from near and far to take part in this religious experience. Everywhere your eyes look there are 30%, 50%, 70% off signs. It’s like they are begging me to buy and I would hate to disappoint! I have made a wish list that includes a pair of over the knee black stiletto boots, a Vanessa Bruno tote, and a furry hat circa Dr. Zhivago. I saw an impeccably posh mademoiselle wearing this exact outfit at the Metro station yesterday. I swear if she was not a double zero I would have asked to buy the outfit right off of her chain smoking little frame. I have done my research on these so called sales and my strategy is as follows:

(1) Shop early and often. The best merchandise goes quickly, but prices are slashed daily. So really I need to shop every single day to get the best bang for my buck.

(2) Dress lightly. There is absolutely nothing wrong with stripping down in the entranceway of Burberry…if the shirt is 80% off. January is the only time of year where this behavior is appropriate and encouraged.

(3) Don’t carry too many bags as you might need free hands to fight off other shoppers. Just because you saw the strappy Manolos first does not mean they are yours. You must dive for those suckers! If you insist on bringing your oversized Birkin, consider carrying some mace.

(4) Make 100% sure that you want to buy. Lets be honest, my French sucks. I don’t know how to say “I would like to return xyz”. My personal mantra: “All sales are final”.

Our plan is to head to either Bordeaux or the French Riviera this weekend. Something tells me that Cannes will not be as glamorous as I had imagined in my down coat and sneaks. I might have to vote for Bordeaux as wine is always fashionable regardless of the weather! Oooohhh la la… such difficult decisions for this American girl!

Menage a Trois

Happy birthday to my roommate, Lindsey! We had a fabulous night out on the town to celebrate. I donned my most Parisian outfit… a black mini dress, leggings, and stiletto boots. I know what you are thinking right now, but I swear I felt like I was wearing too much fabric. We met up with a bunch of our fellow exchange classmates at a café for dinner and then went to a club. I was delighted to find that this particular café had omelets on the menu. I love the ones with jambon and fromage! They have quickly become a staple in my diet although often times restaurants only serve them early in the day. My French is too pathetic at this stage to negotiate for an omelet after 7pm. After two weeks I am still trying to figure out how to say “without butter please”, but I am starting to think that this phrase does not exist anywhere in the French language.

We went to an uber-trendy club called Kong after dinner. It was in the series finale of Sex and the City, so obviously it must be tres chic and SJP worthy. In order to get a table, you must be willing to pony up for bottle service which runs around 150 Euros per bottle…and a 3 bottle minimum. Considering my poor student, no job status, I stood. Standing also gave everyone who was anyone the opportunity to admire my new suede boots! As a big haired, black eye lined, sequin clad Parisian twirty, I could tell that this was the club to see and be seen. Perfect spot to snag a Black Amex carrying sugar daddy. I think I even witnessed a deal being sealed firsthand as an older man and much younger woman grinded up against my leg to the Black Eyed Peas. Looking back now, this may have just been their attempt at a menage a trois and I was just playing hard to get. Sorry folks, I am not that French …yet. The DJ played every song on the “Wedding Shedding” mix on my Ipod. I went into ugly American mode when they played Jay-Z’s “Empire State of Mind”. It is probably not cool in France to jump up and down, pumping your fist Jersey style, and yelling “IN NEW YOOOORK… these streets will make you feel brand new…big lights will inspire you!” As if that wasn’t bad enough, then I started yelling “THAT’S MY CITY! MYYYYY CITY!” I might have been over served by the bartender last night.

Sundays in France are a bit like a day long siesta in Spain. Everything is closed. Now I know why so many people were stockpiling baguettes yesterday. Regardless this American girl had a very touristy day out. I finally stood under the Tour Eiffel, walked around the glass pyramid at the Louvre, and took a boat ride down the Seine. My new boots are worn in and my legs are exhausted. I will sleep well tonight. Sweet dreams to all of my American followers…

The Little Palace

Thursdays mark the beginning of my weekend! I very strategically planned my class schedule around (1) commuting and (2) European travel plans… and I wonder why I don’t have a job lined up. I am proud to report that I was able to jam five classes into three days. Efficiency. See I am hireable. I considered taking Advanced Excel for Managers on Tuesdays from 6pm-9pm just to have a five day weekend, but took one look at the text book and accompanying CD-ROM (yawn) and dropped that immediately.

Yesterday was my first Managing Diversity class. The teacher (who is a German hottie with Fabio-esqe flowing locks and another person to add to the list of people who are appalled at my disinterest in learning French… it grows daily) started the class by saying “We all have prejudices. Even me. Yesterday I was driving and there was some idiot next to me on the road. I looked over and it was a woman. Typical.” I was about to go all Women’s Business Association on his ass when my roommate reminded me that we were in Paris and to sit back and calm down. I am lucky to have her here with me. She also saved me from getting dragged by the Metro yesterday morning when I got stuck in the door. Not my finest Parisian moment.

I spent this morning strolling the majestic halls of Le Petit Palais. If this is the little palace, then I would love to see the big one. I was trying to find Napoleon’s Tomb and ended up here instead. There are so many palaces, tombs, museums, and towers in the same neighborhood! Ok there is only one tower. I really didn’t know what building I was walking into until I got the full body cavity search at security. Also not a fine Parisian moment. It is a beautiful building with grand architecture so I figured that it had to be worthy of a walk thru. There was the cutest kindergarten class on a field trip. I kept wondering if they knew how lucky they were to be in such an amazing city with so much culture and history. I am guessing no as they were behaving like the west wing of the little palace was Chuck E. Cheese. I couldn’t help but fixate on one particularly hefty little boy who was struggling to loosen the tight grip that his teacher had on him. He had “I want to break something” written all over his chubby little face. I secretly wanted to see it happen. Those guards in the red blazers were looking a little too comfortable.

And so the sun sets on another perfect Parisian day. I am one sleepy American girl. Bonne nuit, mon amour!