French Word of the Day: occupé (ock-oo-pay)- busy

(That picture can be taken either as an expression of disbelief or as something I took because it reminded me of my mom.  Your choice.)

I forgot how busy Parisian life was until I got back.  For reference, Théo considers a Saturday night as only marginally busy if he has invitations to 4 different parties.  I consider having 2 or 3 parties extremely busy.  Of course, all 4 invitations must be accepted.  (Although I don’t think we’ve ever made it to 4 things in one night…  Usually the 4th party host gets an apology call.  I guess Parisian DO try to be overachievers in some areas.)

I made it through Thursday night dinner!  I’m at the point where I can understand parts of the conversation even if I’m not listening which was exciting for me.  I was convinced I was going to lose all my French over break and get placed in all beginner classes.  Thankfully no one asked me questions, so I didn’t have to be an active participant in the conversation.

A ton of people from the States were/are here, so by the end of Thursday, I had a full weekend schedule.

Friday, I met up with Emily, a friend from high school.  She’s here until she goes to study in Morocco, where she might possibly be sans toilet.  She also has to bring a wedding ring and picture of her husband or otherwise will risk the chance of everyone thinking she’s a prostitute.  Emily’s not married, so she had a contest on facebook amongst her male friends.

I think I much prefer Paris with its indoor plumbing and its not stoning unmarried females in the streets.

Emily probably could have waited for meeting some of Théo’s friends to get a (fake) marriage proposal.  They haven’t met her yet, but a few are very excited that I finally have a hot, single, American friend to introduce them to.

On Saturday, I met up with two of my professors from college.  They were here as part of the January term with several students from the college.  I was really excited to see them and talked their ears off until they had to leave.  One of them (my Literature advisor) informed me that she had started a pain au chocolat count during her time as well, but hers hadn’t quite reached my level yet.   Always a noble quest is pain au chocolat consumption.

Of course, for the second part of the night I was mostly silent.  We went to dinner with Théo’s cousins, and English was in short supply.  Dinner was awesome, but I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten that much in my life.  By the time the appetizers were done, I was thinking, “Alright, I’m full!  Now time to sleep.”  But I had 4 more courses to go through.  Luckily, the meal lasted until 12:30 am, so I had plenty of time to digest in between each course.  (Whoever tells you the French don’t eat that much is lying to you!)

Sunday, I saw Emily again, but this time added Sam, another friend from high school.  Sam’s teaching English here right now and informed me of a Lord of the Rings marathon at the end of January here in Paris.  Starts at 10 am and goes through all three movies, pausing for an hour between each one for food/ wine/ toilets/ cigarette breaks.

He’s already bought us the tickets.  Sadly, it’s in English with French subtitles so I won’t get to hear Gimli speak in French.  I assume I’ll appreciate this by the end of the 3rd movie.

Yesterday all the new people for the program came.  They’re still at the I’m-lost-and-confused point.  We got slammed with questions last night.  I had to bring something to the office today while they were all at orientation, and made the mistake of agreeing to stay for lunch.  I don’t believe I’ve ever been asked so many questions in one sitting.  When I got a chance, I took my sandwich and bolted.

I can sympathize with them as I remember that phase, but my brain can only answer so many questions at one time.  They all assume I have intimate knowledge of their foyers, and have been asking me about the rules and regulations.

No one lives in my current foyer, so I can’t really help them that much.

I also don’t know every bar and club in Paris.  I know this is going to shock people, but there are a significant number.

I don’t think I’m going to get as close with this group as I did with the fall people.  There are just too many of them.

Théo’s friends would probably like some of them.  Sorry, boys.  Maybe another time.

Pain au chocolat count: 43

French Word(s) of the Day: Il neige (ill neh-zh)- It’s snowing

Paris got snow on Wednesday, and it actually stuck.  Snow never sticks in Paris, so this led to widespread panic and buses being canceled.  Some people slept in their cars because they couldn’t make it home/ were too afraid to try.  (No, I’m not kidding.)

Based on that report, you would think that Paris had had a severe snowstorm, right?  I mean, that has to be several feet of snow right there.

4 inches.  It was gone by the next morning.  Although the remnants of several snowmen were scattered throughout the Luxembourg Gardens.

Which, by the way, still has flowers blooming in it.

The title of today’s post reflects the Parisian’s feelings towards snow.  First, they were excited to see it.  Then, they were upset and distressed when they realized it was staying.  Lastly, they ignored that it had ever existed and went about life as usual.

I assume they feel the same way about Johnny Depp.

Pain au chocolat count: 35

French Word of the Day: spectacles (speck-tack)- show

I’m currently writing this post in the dark, as all my lights have decided to go out AT THE SAME TIME.  Why are they not being fixed?  Apparently the guy who fixes them (only one person knows how, of course) decided to take today off.  He might be in tomorrow.  Maybe not.  We’ll see.  Or rather, I won’t see.  Because I don’t have lights.

This has not been my only problem with my lights.  This Friday at 6:45 pm, the fuses in my room all blew out at the same time.  Notice that I don’t say that I blew out the fuses, because I didn’t.   I was washing my hands in the sink- which is not connected to a fuse.

Of course, the direction for the foyer leaves at 7pm and doesn’t return until Monday.  This is when they told me that they would be able to fix the problem.  Luckily, I’m a resourceful girl who managed to fix the lights.  Unluckily, the fuse for the fridge (and the outlets and therefore the internet) did not work, so all my food rotted and my room smelled like I was housing a corpse… In other words, it smelled like a French fridge.

Naturally, I’m unhappy with them.  If no one comes to fix my lights tomorrow, I will give them a true American shout fest.  Thanks to my French business class, I know how to be a difficult customer.  AND DIFFICULT I SHALL BE.

You don’t make Meghan angry.  You wouldn’t like her when she’s angry.

Moving on…

Last Monday, Théo sent me a text that read, “Would you like to go to Disneyland on Saturday?”  I assumed this was a rhetorical question.  I knew what he really meant to ask was “Will you be doing anything that will render you unconscious and/or unable to move on Saturday?”

It was everyone’s birthday last week, so they all decided to go celebrate at Disneyland.  And now I know that French people all secretly like Disney.

It was negative something degrees Celsius, and yet half of Paris was at Disneyland.  The last time I went, it was about 50 degrees Fahrenheit and no one was there.  The French defy logic.  Either that or everyone thought, “No one will be as foolish as we are!  Who goes to Disneyland when it’s snowing?  Ha ha!  We have bested you all!”

French people are too fashionable to be warm in the winter.  They have stylish hats, coats, boots and scarves and stand there shivering.  This does not work well when you’re standing outside in line for 45-80 minutes.

Théo decided to be un-French, and wouldn’t let me leave for the train station until I was wearing at least 12 layers of clothing.  I couldn’t move, but at least I was warm.

Unlike the time I went with Molly, we did not have a plan of attack.  I was okay with that because of all the happiness and joy that surrounded me.  Mickey!  Goofy!  Christmas songs in English!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s also best if you go to Disney after a long night’s rest.  As most of the group had been celebrating birthdays in a pub until 2:30am, this was not the case.

I went to bed earlier than that, I would like to make it known.

Anyway, because everyone was dead/ hungover/ cold, we didn’t go on an incredible amount of rides.  But still, we got the all the big ones except for Splash Mountain, because no one goes on water rides in the cold.  Even me.  We saw many shows (or spectacles) because those were inside.  In the heat.

I saw many job opportunities.  Red-nosed Snow White, Mistletoe Minnie, not-really-Asian Mulan…  Naturally, I’m writing off this expedition as a business trip.  I might have to make several more business trips in the next few months, just to make sure it’s a good fit.  You can never be too sure.

Pain au chocolat count: 34

Word(s) of the Day: Vraiment?  Vous voulez que je retire mon soutien-gorge aussi? (vuh-ray-mon vous vou-lay kah jah ray-tear mawn sue-tawn gore-jah aw-see) – Really?  You want me to take off my bra too?

Jenna and I had our immigration appointment today.  (The words of the day should serve as a warning for the rest of the post.  Read at your own risk.)  We both agreed that everyone should be forced to have an immigration experience in a country that doesn’t speak their maternal language just to give them a better perspective.

It’s both nerve-wrecking and incredible boring.

First, we had to make sure we had all the proper documentation and had paid the fee to get the test.  Because if there’s anything the government always needs, it’s more of your money.  I’ve already paid three separate fees for my visa.

Next we waited in the room until they called us into another room, where we waited again.  We then went to three separate doctors, one to check our eyesight, one to take an x-ray, and one to interrogate us.  In between each separate section, you wait for long periods of time.

For the x-ray, a woman puts you in a room and says (in French), “Strip. Waist up.”  Now in America, they generally give you a paper robe so you can at least pretend you have dignity.  The French don’t believe in modesty, so you just have it all out there.

It’s this way at doctor’s appointments too.  When a doctor tells you to strip in America, they give you a paper robe and leave the room.  Sometimes they give you a blanket so you can cover up even further.  France wasn’t founded by Puritans, so the doctor just stays there and tells you to strip.  In a clinical manner, of course.

Jenna and I envisioned a scene of a Frenchwoman going to a doctor in the US.

Doctor: Okay, so I need you to take off your shirt and bra.  I will leave the roo… Not yet!  Wait until I leave!  *Turning to the nurse* Can I get sued for this?

After our chest x-rays had printed, we went to the interrogation doctor.  She had my take off my shirt again.  I assume this was partially to check my heart beat, but also partially as a mind game.  She demanded complete precision in the dates of every illness I’ve ever had.  She gave me a list of vaccines to receive and said that it was completely necessary that I get them in order to have my visa.  She then said, “Except you probably can’t get them with the medicine you’re currently on… So wait until you get off all your medicine.”  Which won’t occur until I leave France.  So no vaccinations then?

It doesn’t matter.  The French gave me my visa stamp anyway.  From what I know of French bureaucracy, no one will ever realize I never confirmed that I had the vaccinations.  They also probably don’t even care.  Jenna had the wrong address and spelling of her last name on all her documentation except for her passport, and they didn’t even notice.  Well one guy did, but he said the French equivalent of “Meh, whatever.”

Sometimes I think if I were never to even get a visa, I would still be fine.  The French probably wouldn’t even know I was here.  Not that I’m recommending going against the law.

I’ve met French people who have told me they are far less racist than Americans, but I think immigration today disproves that.  As we were informed from a source (not involved in the French government), “Don’t worry about the immigration appointment.  It’s not really for you.  It’s distinctly targeting people who have never been to a doctor before; people who come from poorer backgrounds.  They’re not interested in you, but they have to have everyone go through it so that it looks equal.”

I wonder if they would have cared about Jenna’s address if she came from an Arab or African background instead of American…

Although they might not.  If you’ve never been through French customs, that’s because no one ever goes through French customs.  You have to actively search for it in the airport.  I don’t know why anyone would ever declare anything.  I’m sure the immigration officers are in shock when someone comes into their office.

“What, sir?  You want to declare something?  I’ve never had anyone declare anything before!  Um… I don’t know if that’s legal here.  Pierre!  Are people allowed to bring cabbage into the country?  You don’t know either?  Meh, who cares.  I don’t want to fill out the paperwork.  Well sir, we shall clear you and your cabbage.  Bonne journée.”

Of course, this could be different from flights not coming from the United States/ an EU country.  Maybe they just assume we’ve weeded out all the weirdos?

They’re probably right.  American customs is like a reenactment of the interrogation scenes from Law and Order.

But at least you get to keep your shirt on!  Most of the time.  I suppose strip searches make that statement void.

The government wants us all naked!  There’s your thought for the day.

Jenna and I went to Starbucks afterward.  I never go to Starbucks here, but it was an over-priced coffee kind of morning.

Pain au chocolat: still 31 (but I’m sure I earned three today… so I’m gonna go get those right now)

French Word(s) of the Day: mal du pays (mal do pay-ee)- homesickness

To cure the major homesickness we have been experiencing this week, Jenna and I decided to have a proper Thanksgiving.

Théo’s parents have an oven (there are roughly 12 ovens throughout the entirety of Paris because apartments are the size of your standard oven) and so we cooked there.

Turkeys have to be booked in advance and cooked by the butchery (again, because no one has ovens).  This must be done before the end of October.  We decided that turkey wasn’t essential, because everyone knows that turkeys are really just over-sized chickens.

Besides, the mashed potatoes are the most important part of any Thanksgiving.  I hear my mom made way too much because she forgot that I wouldn’t be attending (my Thanksgiving plate is generally half mashed potatoes, half everything else).  Feel free to send the leftovers!

Back to France… Jenna and I decided on the menu and Arnaud, Théo, and Théo’s dad joined us.  We commenced with having everyone go around saying what they were thankful for this year.

Jenna and I had considered forcing everyone to wear either a Native American headdress or pilgrim hat (clearly what everyone wears for Thanksgiving in America…), but we couldn’t find construction paper.

Next time.

Everyone was extremely intrigued by the pumpkin pie filling and the stuffing we brought.  Both were brought over from the States by my parents.  They would stare at them curiously and then try a little as if it was a fine cheese before asking “What’s in this?”  At which point, I would have to hold out the stuffing box with its list of ingredients, because other than croutons, butter, and a ton of spices, I have no idea what goes into boxed stuffing.  Not a lot of things I can pronounce, it turns out.

The mashed potatoes, or “purée” as they were referred to, were a huge success as well.  There weren’t any left by the end of the meal.  This is possibly because Jenna and I let everyone serve themselves and then split the leftovers in half between the two of us.  So actually, no one even got a second helping.

Of course, it was a French Thanksgiving, so we had our chicken, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and green beans with wine, and then had a cheese course.

Neither Arnaud nor I participated in the cheese course.  Mainly because we both hate cheese (Arnaud is really American), and partially because I’m lactose intolerant.  Arnaud doesn’t really have an excuse.

French cheese is a thing of true pungency…  Théo’s father explained to Jenna that the best way to eat cheese is to buy it, and then let it sit for a week or so before you begin eating it.  This will make it stronger.

In other words, when you buy cheese, it doesn’t smell bad enough.  You must wait until it smells even worse to eat it.  This is why many French refrigerators smell like they are housing corpses instead of food.

Jenna is an avid lover of smelly cheese, and enjoyed her lesson on how to make it smellier.  We both declared French Thanksgiving a success, even without the pilgrim hats.

While we were eating dinner, one of the Frenchies (can’t remember which one… sorry guys) said, “In how many hours will your family be eating dinner?” and when we responded that they were already eating at that moment, he said, “Ah right, Americans eat really, really early.”

After Jenna and Arnaud left, I got to call my family in the States.  (Who were already done eating… oh those early-eating Americans.)  I talked to all 12 people at the house, which Théo found amusing.  He laughed everytime I would say, “Okay, bye [insert family member name].  Love you, too… Hi [insert another family member name].”  Apparently the French don’t pass around the phone when their family calls?  I don’t know how you talk to everyone.  Speakerphone?  I can’t hear 12 people at once.

I’m beginning to doubt the French call their families…

Jenna and I went to H&M on Friday because we wanted a proper Black Friday.  We got the shopping without the crazy lines, but also without the really awesome sales.

Close enough.

We then saw the 7th Harry Potter, which was AMAZING!  It came out later in France than it did in the US.  I was getting tired of seeing cryptic statuses like “OMG, Dobby” followed by 10 or 12 comments that all said things like, “I know… so sad” or “Feel your painnnnnn” or statuses of “RW+HG= giggles <3” that were then liked by 15 people.

Now I can be a person with cryptic Harry Potter statuses!!!!!

But seriously, this was best one yet.  Those kids have finally learned how to act, and Hermione has gotten cuter and Daniel Radcliffe has formed a uni-brow, which really isn’t the same thing at all.

Jenna and I both enjoyed that even though they were stuck in the woods for several months, they managed to have a change of clothes for every single day.  They even changed their winter coats.  I don’t think even Kim Kardashian has that many coats.

Being a witch sounds lucrative.  I must figure out how to become one.

Pain au chocolat count: 31