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…