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!

Le Poop

I finally figured out today why people come to Paris in the winter - to protect their shoes from the dog poop. I walked out the door this morning and CRUNCH. Luckily no harm done to my trusty Nikes as everything in Paris is currently frozen and snow covered. But I can only imagine the sidewalks in the hot summer sun. I know…I just gagged a little too. I find it utterly ridiculous that a city that prides itself on such fabulous foot art has no laws for picking up after your pooch. I am preparing to launch a city wide campaign. I will call it Choo-p Le Poop after my boy Jimmy. Yes “poop” is one of the few words that does translate. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it is not a word commonly used when ordering dinner.

I spent this morning learning about the exciting world of Luxury Retail Management. Professor Morisset taught us all about the history of the Neiman Marcus brand. He has apparently been a consultant in the luxury world for over 25 years and his best friend is the CEO of Louis Vuitton. I will be attaching my resume to the first assignment. He ended the class by passing out a long list of delicious luxury brands – think Prada, Fendi, Van Cleef, Dior – and told that us that we had to pick one to study over the course of the semester. Is this school or a field trip to the Short Hills Mall? I’m not gonna lie, this sure beats the launch of Saxonville Sausage’s new Bratwurst which I was forced to study last semester.

For those of you who read the Twilight books, I think the best way to describe my current Parisian state is that of a newborn vampire. My senses are in overdrive. The smells are richer, the sights more spectacular, the sounds more clear. I feel like I am experiencing so much for the very first time and I am much more aware of my surroundings. I could chalk this up to the fear that my mother instilled in me with her threat to make me wear a money belt while I was here. Needless to say I regressed to my former thirteen year old self when this subject was broached…imagine lots of eye rolling and “But mooOOOOOoom”s. While I continue to do the most embarrassingly touristy things, I refuse to wear a money belt as I have a new Navigo pass (i.e. monthly train ticket) and therefore consider myself to be one of the locals. I am happy to report that no one has yet tried to slice open the bottom of my bag to steal my passport and Euros. I truly hope that the stealers have some consideration for fashion and just outright mug me if they really want these things…a bright red Longchamp tote would be a terrible thing to waste.

I digress… As I was saying, I seem to have a new found appreciation for the little things. I find myself studying the people, the way that they behave and interact. We all know that Paris is for lovers and oh so romantic, but what exactly does that mean? I think I figured it out today. I watched (read: stared at) a couple on the metro this afternoon. The train was relatively empty, yet they jammed themselves into a tiny corner between a pole and the door. They were both wildly attractive in a natural, artsy, no fuss way. They held each other close and whispered softly into each other’s ear. They had no inhibitions. I almost felt like I was invading their privacy by watching. And yet to them it was as if there was no one else around. Its remarkable...Parisians have the ability to make even the filthy metro look beautiful and romantic.

I am off to my International Luxury Distribution class. Fingers crossed that they hand out free samples!

I see London...I see France...

Happy weekend! It is my first “real” Saturday in Paris!! And by “real” I mean not living in a Holiday Inn-esqe hotel room. So much to report in just two short days…I feel like I am failing my loyal followers by not filling them in on the yummy details of my day!

I joined a gym in Paris! I know many of you are probably shaking your heads right now in judgment of my decision, but I am teetering on the buttery, flaky edge of a larger pant size. I walked past the entrance of Club Med a few times before making the decision to enter. It looks a bit like a trendy discotech from the outside – bright white lights, electric orange and lime green splashed all over the walls. When I finally walked in and feasted my eyes on the tasty snack behind the counter, I was sold. If anyone can transform me into The Biggest Loser, it is Jean Claude. It was pricey, but worth it. Just taking an hour out of my morning to run on the treadmill makes me feel like me again. It helps me to focus and feel normal. I don’t have to worry about metro stations and schoolwork and not knowing what anyone is saying. For that one hour, I am an American girl.

I warn you…this next paragraph is a little risqué and should probably be categorized as PG-13. But it is part of my Parisian adventure and therefore must be told. Let’s just put it this way… after walking into the locker room at Club Med, the song should be rewritten “I see London, I see France, no one is wearing underpants.” At first I was a little taken aback. I swiveled my head, frantically trying to find a corner or dressing room or exit! Then I stopped myself. I inhaled. I exhaled. No one knows me here. I don’t even speak the language. They can judge my butt, but that’s ok because they will only see it for the next three months. That is correct…this American girl took it ALL off in the Club Med locker room. And damn it felt good.

My roommate and I met up with some of our Essec classmates for lunch, rugby (watch, not play) and shopping today. My classmates are from all over the world – the U.S., Canada, Ireland, Japan, Mexico. While each person had a different goal in coming to Paris, we all share a common interest in travel and a desire to fall in love with the city. It is a smart, eclectic, and worldly group of students. We laughed and laughed about the quirky, but endearing Parisian way of life over lunch. Did you know that “Wha-La” is not just a term that magicians use when they pull a rabbit out of their hat? The French use it whenever they don’t have anything else to say. “Wha-La here is your check.” “Wha-La get out of my way.” “Stupid American Wha-La.” Apparently the American guys are all struggling with the double cheek kiss greeting…especially when confronted with another guy. There is a lot of concern surrounding this issue. What if he goes left and I go right and we touch lips?? Boys are ridiculous. Nudie Gym Jen has no sympathy for these guys and their issues. When in France…

This American girl is about to squeeze into her skinny jeans for a night out on the town. Keep your fingers crossed that it begins with too much wine and ends with some gooey, decadent chocolate dessert! WHA-LA for now!!