No Turning Back

Almost a year ago, I boarded a plane for China. 7 months ago, on December 12th, I returned home to NJ, only to leave again less than 3 weeks after my arrival.

It is now 12:07 am on July 12th. In 10 hours, I will be on a place bounds towards home and my year-abroad will be over.

I never thought my year-abroad would have been as amazing as it has been. I have lived a truly wonderful year, and I am happy I was able to share it with you. Thank you for encouraging my stories and leaving comments that sometimes made me laugh so hard, I would cry. This blog (and my China one) will stay on-line, but will no longer be updated. Who knows where the next adventure will take me - but all I know is that this ride is just getting started.

A Metaphor, in the shape of a Melon

In 50 years I will remember my host family. I am sure of that. I'm not sure if I'll remember that Madame only wears blue mascara or that Priscilla isn't allowed to go out on Friday nights...but I am confident to say that I will always remember that they eat fruit with a knife and fork.

When people ask me what I got out of this semester I say that I can now peal a pear with a fork and knife. It's a life-skill, you know, though I feel like if I do that at home, my parents would take the pear away from me. Heck, even if it did that at a dinner party, people would stare. And then probably take the pear away from me.

With 2 days left, I look back at my time here and try to figure out what I've accomplished. Paris 7 was on strike; Madame said my French is better, but hey...it was never THAT BAD; I now have an obession with fur vests. It's not as clear this semester all that I have accomplished, unlike last semester.

The only "new skill" I picked up is eating fruit with a fork and knife.

I'll take it.

Last night I had a little good-bye dinner at the apartment. Just me, Monsieur and Madame 'cause Priscilla is in London, the sons had a dinner party and Lara had wedding preparations. It was going fine until Madame put a melon down in front of me.

At home, I'd just pick it up. Here...not so much. And because the conversation was focusing on "their friends, the Rothschilds", I figured I shouldn't dribble melon juice on my dress. So while I pathetically stabbed at the melon, Monsieur and Madame were cutting their with ease and elegance. Madame got up to get the next course, and in a moment of benevolence, Monsieur took the melon and cut it for me.

"I know you can do this yourself...but it'll be easier if I just do it for you"
"...thanks..."
"No, really, you've come a long way, think of what would've happened if we gave you a melon on the first night"

And it's true.

I have come a long way.

Not now Chief, I'm in the fuckin' zone

When people ask me if I'm ready to go home, the answer is YES (in all caps), then me saying "AMERICA, FUCK YEAHHH!" (also in caps), then followed by a fist pump (I am from NJ after all).

And it's true. I am ready to go home, I do love America, and I love NJ more and more by the day.

Will I be sad to leave Paris? DUH. But it's time.

Some things I am looking forward to seeing (in order the pictures loaded):
My caahhhh!

RILLLEEEEYYYY!!! (...maybe, just maybe, Heather et al too...)
My parents/home/taxidermy monkey

...a few things on the list...

LESS THAN A WEEK!

ps - 10 points to whomever can tell me where the blog post title comes from....

Be a Good American!

So this morning I picked up Caralie from the airport, bright and early.

Caralie got to experience the joy of a metro strike (TRIPLED!! the time it took to get home), had her first bites of Japanese food, did a 3 hour walk and went to dinner with all of my friends this evening (she came in from Boston at 7 am, btw)...none of those things, however, is as exciting as something else she got to do:

SHE WITNESSED ME DOING A GOOD DEED.

I know, shocking.

When we got on the monorail at CDG, there was an American lady on it with us, who started to ask a whole bunch of questions: Where are you going, what side of the bank are you on, etc etc. I finally got annoyed and was just like, I live here.

Her eyes lit up.

Oh shit.

Basically, the problem was that she had her friend's eurail pass, but was going on to Krakow in 3 hours (and couldn't get into Paris) and was unable to pass it along. So she asked me to go to their hotel and drop it off.

I was a nice person (and because it's the 4th of July); I decided to help out another American.

The kicker however was her repeating:
"Just be a good American, ok?" "Just bring it to the hotel" "I'm trusting you" "Just be a good American."

Yo, lady, I get it. If you don't trust me, don't give me the damn pass!!!

I smiled politely and offered her my cell number, as a peace of mind and told her I would glady HAUL MY ASS ACROSS TOWN and drop off the pass.

Which I did, after dropping Caralie off at the apartment.

So, dear readers, I have done my one good deed for the year. That's it. Next time I see all of you I am going to be mean, 'cause this one good thing will cancel out every other bad thing I might do.

HA. GOOD KARMA FOR MICHIIIEEEE!!!!!!!!

In other news, I have spent three 4th of July's in France. Aka, over 10% of my lifetime's 4th of July's.

In other, other news, 8 days!!

Moommmyyyy, Do you Looooove meeeee??

I enjoy placing the blame on other people.

Michelle!
What?
Did you eat just the caramel out of the ice cream???
NOOO. Dad did it!!!

Michelle!
Yeaaaa?
Did you eat the rest of the portugese pastries?
Nope, definitely Mom.

Of course, I like placing the blame on people even when it doesn't involve food, too.

Which I why today I am blaming 3 different parties: Eva Levy, my carte bleue and my parents. In that order.

Eva, who has the best taste of anyone I know (even if it is a bit questionable at times), really likes (liked?) the designer Erotokritos. Several years ago, she came bearing a skirt from that line for me, as a gift. I liked the skirt but didn't think anything of it.

Here is where the problem lies:
Wednesday started the first day of sales, here in Paris. Sales are a BIG THING. It is the only time (well, twice during the year) that stores are allowed to unload stuff at near-loss prices. This obviously is my favorite time of the year.

Prior to the sales starting, I could count the amount of material things I purchased on 2 hands:
2 Petit Bateau Shirts
A pair of Espadrilles
Louis Vuitton Bag
Dior wallet (passport wallet)
Leather wallet (everyday)
A pair of gladiator sandals
H&M skirt

(and I also purchased a pair of jeans and a winter coat in Cologne).

THAT'S IT!

So when the sales started on Wednesday, I just thought I'd go to look.

FAIL.

I was at Galleries Lafayette, just to see what was going on. And I happened to past the Erotokritos line. And I tried on a dress. And fell in love.

Amusingly enough, I hate shopping. Mainly because I am a) really self-conscious about how I look (in general) and b) everything I like normally costs 800 euros.

So, when I tried on this dress, the starts aligned and I LOVED IT (and looked good in it too, obvi). I decided right there to purchase it. For those who know me, I don't shell out big money on anything. (Minus foie gras.) Now, the dress was way over 300 euros full price. Thanks to the sales, I bought it for around 150.

It's just been a slippery slope from there...I spent the last 2 hours at Le Bon Marche, looking at more Erotokristos dresses. Luckily, I held out and decided not to purchase another dress (not today, anyway), but came out of there with a brand new pair of Joe's Jeans for 40 euro! They'd be that much 2nd hand at home! Lots of exclamation points!

Part I: I blame Eva for introducing me to Erotokritos.

Part II: I blame my debit card for letting me make these purchases. Prior to the debit card, I just carried around cash. And because I don't carry around a ton of cash, I never made big purchases.

Part III: I blame my parents for not footing my shopping habit.

Part IV: Shameless plug: Go to Disco Noir, Eva's handbag line.

Part V: 13 more days!

Stuffed Animals!

The list of things I love is not too extensive, and can be broken into 3 categories: food, animals, and people. Yes, that's in the right order.

The animal category has 2 sub-sections: alive and dead.

My confession? I love taxidermy.

It goes beyond that though: I really, really love taxidermy.

Tell your friends, if anyone has extra taxidermy they no longer want, I'll be more than happy to take my truck and pick it up. Priorities go to people who no longer want their full size animals. It's an obsession, and an expensive one at that.

This love of mine can be directly traced to my mother. For someone reason, the lady who really dislikes the outdoors has a soft-spot for taxidermied animals.

Our collection started at St. Ouen, the main flea market in Paris. I think I was around 15 at the time and my mother made me bargain (in French!) for the animal who is now known as "Richard".

Sadly, I don't have any pictures of Richard on my computer, but for those of you who have not had the pleasure of using our downstairs bathroom, Richard is the (taxidermy) monkey who holds the toilet paper. He is small (no larger than 2 feet tall), and is just at the right height to make men feel self-conscious. Please, where else would you put a taxidermy monkey?

Later, Carlos (the deer) joined Richard, as well as the fake cat (not taxidermy, but more than plush). Our cleaning ladies love us.

Every weekend, I go to the St. Ouen flea market. I look for vintage handbags, fur vests and taxidermy. I succeed weekly in finding all of these things, but only seem to come home with handbags. Fitting a full cougar in my luggage and not declaring it is just asking for trouble, I know.

But today, today was going to be different. After my weekly call to my parents (the "Hey, Mom, Guess where I am?!" phone-call), I found the perfect taxidermy turtle: the size of a small puppy, with the most beautiful glass eyes. He was going to be a gift to my mother, but I'd re-claim him for my first appartment. Sadly, Mr. Turtle was not held together too well...while my love for taxidermy still stays strong, my love of formadehylde has started to waver...

ICK.

"Remplir"

Today I used the word "remplir" in a sentence. I've never used this word before in my life, but while I was talking to the ladies in the Communication Department, it just came out of my mouth. It was the right word, not like I used "bitchass" for "network", but at the end of the conversation I was just like, "Hmm...maybe I'm getting it."

One of the Communication ladies wears this amazing perfume; I just want to stand next to her and breathe deeply. Good thing I'm not that awkward (yet).

The salad bar at work is awesome (grounds to move, H).

Other than that, excitement comes in the form of sushi dinners (thanks again, Ann!!) and finding Madame locked outside of the house. I guess it's a trait in that family; the amount of times I've let someone in because they forgot their keys is insane. Take the following conversation that happened about 2 months ago:

(11 pm, weekday)
*I'm sitting at my desk and hear the interphone ring and try to ignore it, as I thought other people were home. After 5 minutes of constant ringing, I decide I should pick it up*
Me: Allo?
Monsieur: 5 minutes, Michelle? Vraiment?
Me: Uhhh...*buzzes him in*

Monsieur: (in English) Can I borrow your keys?
Me: Uhhh...
Monsieur: (still in English) you see, I am very forgetful sometimes. Just like my wife.
Me: 'k.
Monsieur: (even more English) I'll be back soon!

(12.45 am)
Monsieur: Merciii! *gives me my keys*
Me: Uhhh....

There are times when you just don't ask questions. This was one of those times. And yes, sometimes Monsieur just likes to break out the English. It's indiscriminatory, but when he's on a roll, good luck stopping him.

(...3 weeks and counting...)

And You Never Once Repeated an Outfit...Or Gave Me a Detention

When I started blogging this year I did it for one main reason: to keep in touch with everyone who I thought might be interested in my goings-on. It was also a hell of a lot easier to update a blog bi-weekly than to write a whole bunch of emails.

With that in mind, I sent out my first link to my Beijing Blog to a variety of people: friends, family, people-who-might-as-well-be-family, and even a few teachers from the Millburn district who I have kept in touch with over the years.

While I will still be blogging up to my departure (less than a month and counting!), I will be down one reader in a matter of days. And I can't let this reader slip away un-thanked...

So this entry is dedicated to Dr. Schaeffler, my 7th grade French teacher, whose advice and (at times, daily) banter got me through 2 continents, a language plateau, sticky situations at the homestay, and (most importantly) is the reason why I continue to study French.

Gold Star for Dr. Schaeffler!

Just Look for the one with the Peach Drapes

Being that none of you really know where I live in Paris, this is the street:

(I have black'd out all the important bits...aka, the actual number of the house...and my e-mail/skype address..)

It is the equivalent of Park Avenue, in New York City. I could’ve done a lot worse, I know.

Take 1:

Last weekend when Amberle was here, we played a game called “Chase Obama”. It was frustrating, if not fun, because I had to go to the bathroom for an hour of that game. Public toilets in Paris are a no go, trust me on that. So, during this game, we chased President Obama’s motorcade across Paris…as in, hanging out at the Hotel Crillon for an hour to see if we could get a view of him (which we didn’t). Eventually, I gave up and my need to get back to the apartment was great, so Amberle and I headed back home. As we headed back home, we saw a whole bunch of blocked off streets – one of which being the street on where I live.

Right here, at the intersection, was a whole bunch of people. We knew Obama was close because there was a huge American flag. And a whole bunch of people were saying “Obama”. I might have my moments, but I can put 2 and 2 together.

So I gave Amberle my keys so I can use the facilites above and she can stalk him out on the street. Eventually, I manage to get back down to the street, where we wait an additional 15 minutes in this spot.

All of a sudden we hear the roar of the crowd and a motorcade advances, then stops. Then, like lightening, we hear the swoosh of cars going 80 miles an hour in the opposite direction. As in, exactly where our back were turned. We were actually staring at the decoy cars – not the actual Presidential motorcade. FML.

But anyway, this was big ‘cause it meant that we were, as I liked to say, in shooting distance of Obama (joke! Joke! Joke!), but also, because I live on a really well-traffic’d street. At midnight it wasn’t a big deal, but it’s kinda like closing down Millburn Avenue in the middle of the day – not impossible to circumambulate but it’s a pain in the ass.

Take 2:

Friday morning I put on high heels to go to work, something that I never, ever do. I left the apartment a bit later than normal, in order to pick up my debit card at the bank, which opens at 9. (Yes, dear reader, I have my own French bank account – an experience I will detail in a future post.) I leave the apartment and realize that my street, which ALWAYS has cars on it during rush hour, is mysteriously quiet. I cross the street, to get on the side with the bank, and all of a sudden, I hear someone screaming at me in French, “Get Back!” This someone happened to be a military man with a gun the size of 10 baguettes strapped across his chest. OK, I can listen to directions.

All of a sudden a whole bunch of policemen surround me.

“What are you doing here?”

“How did you get on this street?”

I managed to stammer out “I live here” and then promptly get REALLY nervous because I don’t actually have proper residency cards and have no proof that I actually live where I do, minus my set of keys.

They nod, and I go to the bank (without asking why my street was cordoned off). I get my debit card (woo-hoooo!) and head back to the apartment to change my shoes. (I promptly realized that high heels were just not going to fly, being that I had to walk to the bus stop at the end of the street, instead of the one that’s right next to the bank.) All the while, I’m thinking that maybe Obama is still in Paris and maybe he is just purposely trying to ruin my everyday life. (Yes, the world DOES revolve around me.)

So I head back to my building…to be stopped again by the police officer telling me that I can’t get into my building…Great. This is when I started to whine: “Mais, J’haaaabiiittteeee iciiiiiiiiii.”

If there is one way to accentuate my American accent, it is to whine, as I found out. Note to self: stop whining.

However, I did manage to find out that there is a film being shot on this street for the next week.

Cool.

Moral of the story: Filling out housing questionaries really, really specifically is a good idea.

Best Card Ever

...excuse me while I grab some more Kleenex...

Number Game

7.5 hours 'til I wake up for work

1 month, 3 days 'til I'm back in America

5 months since I was on American soil (minus those 3 days)

15 hours since I said bye to Amberle

4 days since I saw Madame

15 hours since I saw Monsieur

9 days since I saw Lara

7 days since I saw Priscilla

72 hours since I saw Obama ("saw" is used loosely, btw, more like "sped past me")

21 years on Earth.

(Happy Birthday to meeeeeeeeee)

Just a Wall...

Just moved. And even though I will see the homestay fam every now and then...I am officially "on my own". (Or as on my own as I can be...I closed the door that leads into the apt, and Madame re-opened it and handed me 2 rolls of TP, reminding me that I didn't have any in my new bathroom). My new digs are directly connected to the apt...but only they can get in to my room...I can't get into the apt.

It's weird and sad and I will miss them more than I ever thought I would. And it hasn't even been 5 minutes yet...

:(

I got confused between Nottingham and Knotting Hill. Is that bad?

This is where I was on Wednesday.

Note: Actually, I was there, on Wednesday morning and then at night. But if you look to the left of the picture, you'll get a clue to where I was.

Give up? Loser. The answer: London!

Why London, you might ask? Well, the reason is simple:

EEEEMMMMIIILLLLYYYYYYYY!!!!!

That's right, I got to see a Emily last week! YAYAYAYAY! (For those whose memories don't go that far back, Emily and I were in Beijing together.)

The first thing we did was go to Harrod's. That's right, we have our priorities straight. Aren't the puppies so cute?!

We also went to Buckingham Palace.

Trafalgar Square.

Big Ben

Westminster Abbey.

But mainly, the object of the trip was to eat. Let's be real, it's us you are talking about...so we had Wagamama for lunch, ice cream as a mid-day snack, and then sushi (from a conveyor-belt place, of course!) for dinner.

And the winning picture of the day...

Us with our ridiculously expensive, but delicious ice creams at Harrod's ice cream bar. Aren't we so good-looking?!?!

(Actually, there is a story behind that: Both Emily and I don't take the most amazing of pictures...so we give the camera to the ice cream bar guy and he takes the photo and kinda goes "wow". And I'm already like, oh shit, I probably have 10 chins and Emily's eyes are probably closed, too. So when we saw the photo we were happily surprised. I mean, if we weren't sitting infront of him, he'd probably think we were attractive! :)

You Guys...I Think She Licked My Eyeball...

That is Twiggy

Once again, there is a long post in the works, but I'm too lazy to do a real update right now. Therefore, I will give you a picture taken today of me and Twiggy, the directrice of SB's dog. She is a 3.5 month, slightly neurotic Jack Russel terrier. She also peed on the floor in the computer room, and tried to lick me from head to toe. It was love at first sight, obviously.

(Don't worry, Riley, you are still my favorite dog ever though. (Sorry Lucy...))

Nom Nom Nom

So the joke that I say when I'm taking photographs (that really isn't a joke...) is that in 10 years when I look back at my photo's I'll remember what I ate, but not who I was with...

Minus the mussel photo, the rest have been taken at the "final" meals I've been having over the past week. Because literally everyone is leaving (minus Willie), we've been doing LOTS of meals together. Awww. The first photos are from Cafe du Marche, the second group from Berganmot (?).

Mussels! This was an amazing lunch (with Sharon, Leo and Trevor) where we had 2 huge bowls of mussels, fries and a beer for 12 euros! We might not have made it into class after that....

Molten Chocolate cake, that I split with Nick.
I think this was Hannah's truffle pasta.
Janet's roast chicken
Brian's Duck Confit
Kendall's steak
Trevor's artichoke app. He was actually posing to be in the photo...and Sarah was like, "Don't be dumb, Michelle won't take pictures of you, only your food."
My duck magret. Amazing.
My Shrimp app.

Basically, I'm always really satisfied with my food from Cafe du Marche (mine from that night wasn't pictured - steak tartare - but it's an amazing CHEAP! cafe, around the corner from me). The second place was nice as well, and had a higher quality of food (and price). I do however really need to watch what I'm eating again...because I've been going whole hog for the last couple of days...and I WILL come back 50 lbs heavier if I don't watch it...

The Younger Sister I Never Wanted...

There are times when everyone goes out to do other cool things and leaves me and Priscilla by ourselves for dinner.

Normally, this is on a school night, and there's no real issue. We finish dinner, put away the stuff, then go into our respective corners of the house. Amusingly, this means that Priscilla watches 4 hours of television TV/goes on Facebook instead of doing her homework. I am doing the same thing, except that because I am the older, more mature "sibling", I sometimes leave for a couple of hours to "prendre une verre" with my friends.

A couple of months ago, the following conversation occurred on a Wednesday night:

Priscilla: What are you doing tonight?
Me: I'm going out. Why?
Priscilla: Uh...well...I'm gonna go out for a couple of hours too.
Me: (gives her a look) Do your parents know?
Priscilla: Ehh...Have I told you that you are my favorite person who has ever stayed with us?
Me: OK! Have a good time! Don't get killed! Byeee!!!

Well, the last part didn't exactly go like that, but I told her I was leaving and that she should make the right life choice.

I came back later that night around 1 am and saw that her bedroom door was closed, and I assumed she made it in safely.

The following day, I was talking to Priscilla (we were walking behind Madame and Monsieur, en route to the car) and I asked, "How was last night?"

Madame, with ears of a bat and the intuition of a mother who has had 5 children goes, "What did I hear? What did you do last night Priscilla? I thought you were doing your homework?"

Priscilla looks at me with deer in the headlight eyes, so I pause, then respond:

"Well, when I left last night, she was watching Gossip Girls in English, without the subtitles, and I know how hard that is for her."

And Madame goes, "Well, I wish you were doing your homework Priscilla, but at least you were being semi-productive and trying to improve your English."

If I was not Priscilla's favorite foreign student before that moment, trust me, I am now.

Anyway, where I'm going with this is that 10 minutes ago, Priscilla goes, "What are you doing tonight?"

Friday nights for Priscilla are "supposed" to be work nights, and then she is allowed to go out on Saturday nights (until 2 am! What the hell! I NEVER stayed out that late when I was in high school, and even now I'm normally in by 2! And I'm almost 21!).

My response: "Well...I came in really late last night, so probably something low-key, or I'll just stay-in..."

Her answer: "You know I think of you as a sister right...?"

Me: "I should've had you write my French essays for me this past week, in exchange for all I do for you...."

...I think when I leave the apt, she will be the person I miss the most...!!!

Things I've Learned (Part Deux)

...another list with things I've learned since the first posting of "Things I've Learned"...

1. You don't always have to read the assigned reading.
2. Don't watch your host mother cook - because when you see that THERE IS CREME FRAICHE IN EVERY SINGLE THING WE EAT.
3. The best days are days you can eat outside
4. Streaming shows on the internet are the best time killer.
5. Don't admit to your hosts that you have literally slept the whole day away.
6. Don't admit that you are only able to recognize where you live by the key pad outside the front door. And then, don't admit that you walked past where you live 3 times because they updated the key pad and you didn't know any other landmarks...
7. When the illegal immigrant at the sandwich shop corrects your French, smile and accept the correction. Remember that you speak English better than he ever will.
8. The same goes with being corrected by an 8 year old.
9. 10 euro steak tartare does not equal food poisoning. It equals DELICIOUSNESS
10. Blog posts are the best form of procrastination.

Summer Plans

As many of you have noticed, I have stated several times that I will be staying in Paris until mid-July. It's not because I am trying to leave American permanently (if anything, this year has made me realize how much I love the USA), but because I have found an internship here for 6 weeks. (When I say "I found" I really mean, "Thank you Mike & Heather".)

I will be working full time from June 1 to July 11, then coming home July 13. If you are in the area, please let me know! I already know I have 2 visitor for sure, plus Caty (...you better be coming Rooommmmiiieeee) so at least I'll be occupied during the weekends.

Where does this leave me with Sweet Briar? Well, tomorrow starts Finals Week (damn, that went quickly!) and then I'll be done with everything on Wednesday. A week from then, the 27th, I will be in London for the day seeing Emily (from Beijing) and then I'll be a working girl for the rest of the summer (insert joke here).

Don't worry, the blog WILL continue (though I won't be blogging on work) until the end of my time here so there is an additional 6 weeks for entertainment for all!

...and now I should probably study...

Umm...coupez mes chevaux? oops..mes cheveux?

I know, it's hard to be as attractive as me. (Prior to haircut)
Yep, still really, really attractive! (After haircut)

If you get a Skype account, you too can see all my attractive facial expressions!

So 2 weeks ago I decided to get my haircut. And when I say "I", I mean my mother suggested it, my friends suggested it...and then I stopped brushing my hair 'cause I didn't have enough patience to get out all of the knots. And it was 2 days after that, that I decided I REALLY needed to get a haircut.

Back story:

My hair has almost always been at the length that it is right now (after cut). But while I was in China, I let it get long and it looked REALLY REALLY good. Mainly because there's almost no humidity there so I was tricked into believing that I can have long hair. LIES. I came home in December, got my hair cut right before I left in January - but didn't cut it short, I kept it long-ish. WELL - France isn't the same as Beijing and my hair started to get crazy long (and puffy)! But, I actually got some compliments on it too, which is why I kept letting it get longer and longer. (Heather's comment at the time (March): it looks luxurious!)

But the days went by and it started to triangle out...and my roots started showing. I'll admit it, I've been dying my hair since 8th grade. And then once I decided to stay here in Paris until mid-July, I knew I couldn't wait that long for a touch-up. So my decision was easy:

Me: EVAAA!!! I need a place to cut my hair.
Eva: Ok.
Me: Where do I gooooooooooooo?
(10 minutes later)
Eva: Thierry Lothmann. Use Mendi.
Me: Well that was easy...

2 days later:
(on the phone, at the Sweet Briar Office)
*Bring Bring*
Lady: Allo?
Me: Umm...est-ce que je peux faire une rendez-vous pour une coupe et les meches?
Lady: Oui.
Me: OK. Le nom c'est Jay. G-A-Y.
Lady:...Ok....
(give details, hang up)
Sarah: You never learned the alphabet, did you?
Me: Ummm maybe? Once?
Sarah: Do you realize you spelled your name "G-A-Y"?
Me: Fuck my life.

(The letters "g" and "j" are switched in French, Sarah assured me it's a common mistake. As did Jenny, who on the first day of SB spelled her name: Genny Kanj...)

2 days after that:
Went to the salon, got my hair did, and am actually pretty pleased with it! My hair was getting too long (Mother commented: It was starting to look a bit like Alice in Wonderland), so I'm glad I did it now instead of waiting for July, back at home.

YAAAAAAAAY for using French in real life! YAAAAAAAAAAY!

How was YOUR weekend?!?!

So when I was invited to the "country house", I really didn't know what to expect, except that Madame promised me that there would be animals there. I mean, give me animals and I will travel.

We set out on a Thursday night, 5 of us (Monsieur, Madame, Priscilla, Camille - Lara's best friend - and me) in the back of the car. Lara and Grandma were going to join us later that evening at the house.

En route, Madame turns around with a wicked grin and says: "Oh, I forgot to tell you Michelle, the drive takes 6 hours."

Priscilla then chimes in, "Well, we are at the Bois du Boulogne...you can just jump out now and make some money on the side." (The bois is where all the hookers hang out.)

If there was any re-affirmation that I was placed in the right homestay, this would be further proof.

But I digress.

2.5 hours later...we pulled up here:

I kid you not. This is the "country house".

Even more proof I was put in the right family. I love me some taxidermy!

Does your country house have a name? Oh wait, you don't have a chateau as a 2nd property!

So actually, the point of the trip was to go to the church where Lara is getting married in the summer. Camille and Olivier (another one of Lara's friends who will be playing the organ at the wedding) were there as well, in order to do a dry run through.

Church!

Priscilla (front) and Camille start singing!

Me and Manon

We took the care-taker's daughter to the Church, too. (All chateau's need year-round, live-in help, as I was told.) It became evident to all that she was going to glue herself on to me (why are kids like cats?! Cats ALWAYS attach themselves to me because they know I am NOT a cat person. Kids apparently are the same deal too...) and I played baby-sitter for a very, very long 3 hours.

Once back at the ranch, we had engaged in other fun activities such as:

Cluedo!

(That's "Clue" in French. DUHHH) I did better in Cluedo than in Trival Pursuit, in which I was dead-weight.

And then we got to do the one thing I set out to do:
Ride horses!!!!

Hey Eros. Sorry you were such a spaz-face.

So Lara and I decided to ride, which would have been good, minus that the horses hadn't been ridden in months, Lara hadn't ridden in 10 years, and I was wearing a hunt cap. ("Wait...this isn't a real helmet?! - Lara)

After it became clear that Eros was not having this "Michelle gets on and rides game", I decided to ride Jason, instead:

Ignore the crappy leg, forward position.

Why yes, we DO ride in front of the chateau, thanks for asking. Don't YOU?! It was nice to finally get back on a horse, even if it was for a short time. (I also rode Eros in the end, because I couldn't let him get away with being a jerk. Good thing I had my hunt cap to protect me...)

We also took a long walk in nature, ate leg of baby deer, and celebrated Grandma's 80th birthday. I have great video of that, but it's not going up here...

A succesful week-end was had by all...

And then we loaded up the car (complete with Cookie), Monsieur put Madame's hat on his head, and we drove off back to Paris.

Yet the question remains...What did YOU do this weekend?!?!

LOOK! LOOK!

So I will admit it, I'm a pretty blase person. Except when I'm not. So this morning, I was en route to one of my favorite places in Paris (St. Ouen flea market) with Sharon when the following conversation took place:

Sharon (randomly, to some English guy): Excuse me, do you know you look a lot like Jim Broadbent.
Random Guy: Uhmm.
Sharon: Wait, ARE you Jim Broadbent?!?!
Random Guy: Uhh....(1/2 nods and gives Sharon a "Please go away look")
Sharon: COOL! HIIIIIIIIIIIII! I'm Sharon.
Me: (head in hands) I can't take you anywhere....and who the hell is this guy?
Sharon: He was in Bridget Jones's Diary and Moulin Rouge AND he's Professor Slughorn in the new Harry Potter.
Me: OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!

On further research, he is also an Oscar winner. I was so excited for one of my first celebrity spotting in ages ('cause Anne Hathaway doesn't count when it's just around town).

5 hours later:

Lara and I were en route to the bus, when we walk in the path of some people getting filmed on Velibs (the free public bikes in Paris). I decided to do a double glance to see who exactly where on the bikes when...

Me: OH MY GOD!! IT'S DITA VON TEESE
Lara: Qui!?! (Who?)
Me: OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG. OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG.
Lara: Ummm....
Me: I need to call Sarah. OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

I know that now all of you are going to Google Dita von Teese. But I was sooo excited esp. 'cause I wanted to see her at Crazy Horse but the tickets were too expensive. But I was totally like, bugging out 'cause I saw 2 celebrities in 1 day. AHHH!!

(Real update tomorrow, I promise.)

RIP "fIphone" 2008-2009

Today marks the 6th month anniversary of my iPhone, belovedly called, "fiphone" (pronounced, fie (rhymes with pie) phone).

He had a good life; he traveled from China to America, and had many voyages throughout Europe as well. He even got to work in Morocco, too. He withstood multiple injuries: falling out of my purse, falling downstairs, being accidentally stepped on. He was a super-trooper.

His favorite things were being confused with the "real" iPhones and his pink carrying case (which sadly broke 3 weeks ago). He also liked it when I wiped him down with sanitizer.

He was to be passed on to Priscilla at the end of my stay here, but that was not to be.

Today, at about 1.20 pm Paris time, I sat down on my fIphone, and the screen cracked. (Before you start the fat jokes...it was at a weird angle AND I've lost 5 pounds while being here, thank's very much!!)

Luckily, to my foresight that the fIphone might crap out, I brought mr. Motorola (my first phone in China, pictured to the left in the photo) along for the ride as well. He is willing to accept the call of duty in a new country, and has already been employed several times in the last hour.

Good-bye, Mr. fIphone, I will miss you.

Morocco, Part I

Too lazy to write a new entry...sorry...but here are some photos! You can make your own captions if you want and leave them in the comment section...more in detail entry to come...

What I do every Wednesday night

I promise that I will do my Morocco update soon...but until then I will leave you with (another) video. It's a really short clip of what I do in my phonetics lab every Wednesday night, and the reason why I am so self-conscious speaking French...thanks Denise...

ps - yes, I got my haircut...more on that later

Cooking with Monsieur & Michelle!

So I am back from Morocco, but legit dying with some type of cold/allergy/whatever...and don't feel like doing a real post about Morocco. Therefore, I am leaving you with a video of Monsieur and me "Cooking", aka, Madame (and Lara and Priscilla - everyone who can cook) left us to go to the country house for 2 weeks, leaving him and me to fend for ourselves...

"At least her passport was full"

Romanian Flag!

So the Night before I left to go to Romania, I had dinner with Ann, Alain and Eva. During dinner, Ann turns to me and asks:

A: Michelle, what possessed you to want to go to Romania?
Me: ...'cause it's cheap...
A: Have you ever thought there might be a reason for it being so cheap?!?

Well, the moral of the story is, yes it's cheap in Romania and I never have to go back...ever, ever again.

The blog title is what I told Joe I wanted as my epitaph, if I died during the trip. (Joe stated that there was a 50/50 chance of one of us dying during the trip...I told him that it sure as hell wasn't going to be me, but just to be sure, I wanted my epitaph to be good...)

Joe and I started in Bucharest (sad, depressing) and went to Braslov (not as sad and depressing) to see Dracula's castle...and that was it. For real. We ate tons of Italian food (I don't know, all the restaurants were Italian/Romanian?!?) and managed to navigate the language barriers.Fake Hollywood-esque signHey! I'm standing in front of Dracula's castle! There is nothing else to do in this city!

From Brasov, we went to Rasnov (see a pattern with the names here?), where we hiked up to that fortress pictured above.The view from the top of the fortress

So it was a fine trip, nice to get out of the city for a couple of days, and nice to be in a REALLY REALLY cheap area. We leave for Morocco on Thursday....