Bumbling Americain!

Yesterday was not my finest day as a frenchie. I am ashamed to say that I did not eat delicious bread, cheese, wine, or pastries, no I ate three bags of Bugles de Fromage (yes they have them here too, only they have added cheese) and six, yes six, brownies. And they weren't even fresh brownies from the boulangerie down the street. I ate six brownies from the vending machine. In my defense I am sick with a horrible cold. And the brownies come in packs of three and though they tried, I was never able to truly take the teachings of will power--that Frog and Toad taught me--to heart. Oh wait. I almost forgot the best food aspect of yesterday. I got into a can of pineapple. Without a can opener. I personally have never had a moment where I was filled with such pride. It was just my bare hands, the can, and a butter knife that will never be the same. I have giant purple welt on my wrist from when I finally got through and my unmatchable force sent my arm smashing into the side of the can. Canned pineapple has never, and probably will never again, taste so sweet. That was the most excitement of Sunday. I watched Julie & Julia while I ate my pineapple because my need for cooking is slightly overwhelming and our kitchen smells like someone died in it...last semester. Saturday night was much more fun. I will just say we went to a bar (my first time ever being able to drink in a bar) and I went a little crazy. I mean one whole drink to myself, Paris has clearly turned me into some sort of hooligan. A side note. I am glad I am tall. No I am glad I am smart and choose to wear comfortable boots out instead of every other girl I was with who wore heels. One set literally had spikes coming out of the heels that she impaled her feet on multiple times. When will girls my age learn. Comfort is far better than holes in your feet.
Another side note. When they warn of all the things not to do here, such as not to get in random cars, not to go home with someone you don't know, not to split up, not to walk around by yourself at 4 in the morning when you are a girl, not talk to some guy on the street, etc. I always think that people don't understand that we've all watched Taken. That we are adults, you trust us to live in Paris, you must know that we have better judgment than that you don't have to tell us this over and over and give us a three hour lecture on it for the love of God! Well apparently I am wrong in every way. They DO need to go over these things, though even when they do it seems pointless. Five girls went out together. One ended up losing her friends while trying to get them a taxi, going home alone and buying a new key for her room only to find she had left hers in the door. Another ended up walking around Paris by herself until the trains started running again at 5:30. And I believe three ended up separating from each other and all going home with random guys to their hotels. Not even to do anything just to go there to sleep because they didn't want to walk. Dear God I hope no one from this program finds this blog. They are all fine. I just would think common sense would stop you from getting into any of those situations.
Today, still sick, I decided to take a walk by myself and explore. I just stayed in the 14th, but walked for two hours. Sadly this was not on purpose, but because I forgot that I am supposed to buy a new metro pass because the week pass ended Sunday night. Consequently the tram car doors closed on my head. I got so flustered by its rejection of my card that, though I could have stayed on it and probably would not have been caught, I tried to step off of it backwards and didn't realize the doors were closing and got one on each of my temples. It was painful. More because everyone on the tram watched me as I sulked away down the sidewalk. But I'm glad this embarrassment took place because it made me walk. I loved the fresh air and it did make everything feel better, my head and oddly my cold. I found a big grocery store and mostly just looked around but got a mug for me tea, which I was drinking out of a bowl that was much to shallow to do any real good. When I checked out a went down the wrong line, had to climb over a little metal divider, dropped my stuff in the process (luckily I didn't break the mug) got stuck in between the metal divider and a stroller for long enough that it got awkward, dropped my key, and couldn't bag my stuff before the man who was next in line had already sent his stuff through, mixing the two together. Hence the title of this post. I stopped at my little old lady boulangerie. She is sweet. There is a really fancy one across the street that everyone goes to and the people speak some English, but I go to the one with the better bread that no one goes to and the woman is so sweet, and speaks not a word of English, but we have a nice little relationship. It was only my second time there but she remembered me. She's very patient with my french and speaks slow enough for me to understand and gestures a lot if I don't. She also claps and smiles whenever I say something new in french. I'm going to go to her every time. On my way back my temples were throbbing, my ears were stingy from the cold, I could no longer successfully bend my fingers, it felt like someone was resting a two ton freezer on my lungs, and my knees were starting to do that thing they do in the cold, but I still kept smiling to myself, which I'm sure just furthered the now city wide suspicion that I am daft.
That's all for now. Who reads things this long anymore anywho? 

Je suis une noix de coco, pas une pêche!

So I wrote a very long, very brilliant blog yesterday but pressed the wrong damn button and now you will never have the honor of reading the gems I call my thoughts. You would have laughed, you would have cried, let us just say it would have truly changed your life. But alas...it won't.

So the lesson of the day is, or was since this was the topic of yesterday:
Americans=Peaches
Parisians=Coconuts
In order to understand the cultural differences between us Americans and the frenchies we were given two examples.
One: When children are playing on the jungle gym and they fall down and get hurt American parents pick them up, wipe their tears, tell them they are going to be okay and that they should try again. Parisian parents say one thing, "Tu n'ecoutez jamais!" "You never listen!"
Two: Americans are very outgoing. They have a soft shell, they talk to the people next to them in line for their coffee and get easily hurt (or bruised like a peach) when people are mean to them in any way. Plus we all smile. Americans are loud and seem to have nothing to hide. Parisians are like coconuts. They have a hard shell. They let no one in, they keep their thoughts to themselves. They don't smile. They bump heads, but it does not get under their skin. But once you get to know them they have a sweet and watery center that tastes much better if you add some sugar and toast them until they are a beautiful golden brown. Oh wait no that can't be right. That must be actual coconuts. It's true up until the sweet in the center part. I have decided that I am not a Parisian, but I am a hell of a lot more of a coconut than a peach.
The second part of yesterday was a three hour bus tour of Paris. Needles to say it was gorgeous, but of course I still have no way of getting my pictures up. One day you will all (all being the 3 of you that there are) see the beauty that I see. One day I will have the connecty cord. There is not much to say about it without the pictures, but it felt like I was in Paris more then it has before.
This morning I felt very proud when a man was watching the five girls I was with on the train, sizing them up, or more likely sizing up what might be in their pockets. He didn't even look at me. My coconut attitude was totally paying off. But then one of the girls asked me a question and of course I answered in English. My cover was blown. I saw him gesture to a man right behind me who started "accidentally" poking me in the ribs to feel if I had any good loot. Right before his stop he reached into my pocket to grab whatever he could. Yup. He reached right in and took my stuff. Luckily I have been taught how to act on the train and had everything in my bag with the exception of a business card I was meaning to throw away anyways. So thank you Mr. Pickpocket man. I hope he recycled it.

The rest of the day I learned about the Sorbonne, took a french placement test, lost my feet when they fell off after refusing to walk any further, and cooked myself the poor man's Turkish Lentil Soup. Only three ingredients. I ate it with a baguette. A delicious french baguette.

Now before I get tooo boring I will tell you one last thing. I have done something wonderful. I have signed up for something on March 17th that I believe will be a most fantastic day in Paris. Hopefully I will still be writing this blog by then so you can find out what it is.

Les Filous et Les Fleurs

I think today was the day that I realized I am in Paris. In case any of you were wondering where I had gone. It was another day of orientation. The first half of the day we learned about crime in Paris. So that was super fun. When we went out for lunch I was completely paranoid and thought that everything was going to be stolen from me, myself included. But it was not the case. The case was in fact I know more french than I expected. I successfully ordered my lunch and an orange juice all by myself. I know whoever is reading this right now is just gushing with pride. My french professor from UMass, Katelyn, is simply a miracle worker. I could hear her voice in my head when I got my food and told the women on the street that I did not want to sign their forms. Though I think I told them I didn't want to sign their posters, but they got the point and left me alone. We got an hour and half for lunch so after getting my Pizza fromage et jus d'orange I went, along with five others, to Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris. It was awesome. I mean that in the truest sense of the word. I stole my friend's iphone and took a few pictures so that I could upload them today (still have to wait a week for my connecting cord). Now if I could only figure out what I had to do to put them up that would be magnifique! All around Notre Dame were women selling beautiful flowers. I wish I had taken a picture of that. 

After lunch we went back to the gorgeous CEA campus for a fair of sorts. I got a cell phone which is oh so exciting. And we were able to rent almost everything we need from the CEA campus. I got a sharp knife, a tiny pot, a frying pan, a bowl, plate, fork, spoon, and glass. All of the other girls signed up for blow-dryers and hair straighteners. Only slightly different priorities. Mine, of course, is food as it always is.

I walked for hours today so I am slightly exhausted. Also because I am still not used to sleeping and I continued to wake up in the middle of the night, look at my watch, and try to convert the time to Paris. Only problem with that is that my watch is set to Paris time...I don't think very well when I am half asleep and trying to think in a different language ;) But today was fantastic. I have met some really cool people, one of which is staying with a host family, speaks fluent french, and is totally my kind of person. Wine and Nutella for dinner on the terrace. What could be better than that. 

Okay, now let's see if I can get les photos onto this damn blog.

A small part of the door to the outside of the CEA courtyard. 

The boulangerie I had lunch at. 

Yes that is a vial of honey slowly draining into the center of the pastry.

This is where the mayors office is. Where there was a 75 year-old man ice skating with a helmet on.

You have to love Paris when you see things like that.

And those are the only pictures I can figure out how to post. 

Nothing but sheep was already taken.

So my plan was not to write a blog...clearly that didn't happen. Then my plan was to have the title of my blog go off of Devin's, but I was going to have mine be bread and be half French half English. "Nothing But Pain" but that doesn't really describe the situation I am in. In fact it is the opposite! More importantly that title was already taken from emo user258.
So I am in Paris! I am loving Paris! I am writing a blog! What does this all mean? Well it means that all the instructions for writing said blog are in french, a language that I can confidently say two sentences in without looking them up. "Je suis un petit pamplemousse!" and "Je ne veux pas manger le vilo ou le stylo!" Meaning "I am a tiny grapefruit!" and "I do not want to eat bikes or pens!" neither of which come in very handy for figuring out how to blog. However both are extremely helpful to me in the streets of Paris. So this blog will not be nearly as witty or intellectually stimulating as my dear brother Devin's is. And let's face it it won't always be grammatically correct. But it will be me. Or as much of me as I can fit onto this page that I think is where I am supposed to type my first post. I may just be giving myself a very, very long name.
P.s. Until I can find a cord to get my pictures from my camera to my computer.