Throw Your CousCous in the Air Like You Just Don`t Care

I knew coming here that I'd be exposed to a culture completely different from my own, but nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced last night.

Lance's mom, one of her friends, and one of his friends are in town visiting for a week and last night was their first night here. Last night was also the night Lamia, our crazy Moroccan neighbor/landlady, invited us over for couscous. Lance politely declined since his fam was here and all but I figured why not go check it out myself?

So off Morgan and I went down the stairs to Lamia's. I was instantly speechless. I was greeted by daughters and nieces and cousins and friends and husbands and babies and cats all of whom couldn't wait to grab my face and kiss it (which by now I'm completely used to since thats how they do it here in France). When Lamia's husband got home and he found out that I`m not French he came up to be and greeted me in Arabic. I guess since he knew I wasn`t French, the next logical thought would be that I`m Moroccan considering I was the only fair skinned, blonde haired, light eyed person in a room full of dark skin, dark haired, dark eyed Moroccans. At first I thought I just couldn`t understand his Moroccan accent until the entire room bursted out in laughter and they all took turns explaining to me what happened rephrasing their sentences because they thought I didn`t understand.

Which they were in the right to think. I could barely understand the Moroccan accented French they were all speaking. The only times I could make conversation was with Morgan my FRENCH friend, not Moroccan, the niece that spoke slowly to me in French, the daughter that spoke 7 words of English and 4 words of Spanish, or when I was directly addressed and was able to focus all my attention on what was being said to me. Other than that, I just sat there quietly with a big smile slapped on my face, nodding my head like I agreed with whatever was being said, and never turning away food.

And the food was unlike anything I have ever tasted before in my life. And not that it was necessarily the best food I had ever tasted, but it was definitely my first time trying authentic, home cooked Moroccan food and there`s nothing I could really compare it to. When we were finally all gathered around the table the only thing I recognized was chicken (and piles of it). Thank God everyone was serving for me cos otherwise I wouldn`t have had the slightest idea as to what to do first. My plate was full of couscous, the special sauce, vegetables, chicken, sausage (I think ?), some kind of pork (I think ?), big balls of something or other, little balls of chick pea looking things, something that I couldn`t describe even if I wanted to and bread. Eating a meal like this with a big Moroccan family was crazy. There was couscous flying everywhere, babies crawling all over me, French being screamed over each other`s conversations, mom and dad smoking cigarettes at the table . . . I was in awe admiring how different this culture was.

I was full after 5 bites. But not wanting to be rude I ate everything that was on my plate. Then when they saw I was finished they put more on my plate so I ate that too. After dinner they brought a big basket of fruit onto the table with a pot of room temperature water to wash the fruit in before eating it and an empty bowl to toss the rinds or stems or what have you. Me personally, I can never say no to French fruit. Their green grapes are twice the size as any grapes I`ve seen in the US and have 10 times more flavor. Everything about their fruit is better (except all grapes have seeds) because it is all completely natural. Nothing is added to it or changed about it at all. Fruit at it`s most primitive form, and it is to die for. The fruit was followed by some Moroccan tea. The best tea I had ever tasted. I think I drank at least 5 more cups than anyone else.

But anyway, my original plan was to go down there, eat some couscous, then come back up to my apartment and relax and read a little bit of Le Diable s'habille en Prada (The Devil Wears Prada in French). But clearly I had no idea what I was in for. The whole evening lasted for over three hours, I went down there at 8 and didn`t come back till close to midnight. Everyone was talking to everyone about everything and I was just a simple bystander. Of course, Lamia and her cousin were trying to barter for the clothes off my back and the ring I was wearing. I knew they weren`t completely serious but they were serious about buying them off me when I go back to the States. Of course I told them that I would never let them buy my clothes which they in turn took as I would give them my clothes before I leave. The poncho I was wearing maybe I`ll be willing to part with in a year and if that`s the case then I will be more than happy to give it to Lamia for all the work she does in our building. But the ring they wanted, my best friend Mackey gave to me so I`ll always remember her when I`m over here (mushy and corny I know but I kind of stole it from her more than she actually gave it to me so I guess I`m the corny one hehe) so that I will never part with.

I was there for hours longer than I wanted to be. But at the same time, I couldn`t get myself to stand up and take the ten steps it took to get to my apartment. One, because I didn`t know the proper, polite way to exit a dinner party like this and two, I was totally fascinated by everything. The decor, the mannerisms, the similarities, the differences. As tired as I was I couldn`t get enough. But once I finally decided it was time to make my exit, being home never felt so good. I have never peed longer, or slept on a fuller stomach in my life. And for that, I thank Morocco.

Finally some PICTUREZZ !!!

First ride EV on the Metro !!

Pretty little Streetz

Ross and I in front of the Pantheon (right before we got downpoured on !)

The campus I`ve been having my class in till real school starts !

Typical little French dinner at a cafe . . . wine, cheese and Ross !

The Seine River at night.

Out in the Marais with Lance (left, roommate) and Ross (right) . . . we got facepainted ! and I have no idea who the random is who jumped in the picture.

The Saint Sulpice.

Me and my roomie out to lunch :)

Le Jardin de Luxembourg . . . we got yelled at for sitting on that tree.

Le Jardin de Luxembourg . . . sooo pretty !

Le Jardin de Luxembourg again.

View of the Eiffel Tour from a boat on the Seine.

Pretty sunset <3

La Cimitière Père Lachaise

Encore

First cute little dinner we cooked in our apartment !

First dinner party with Lance's friends and Morgan's mom :)

Paul; Morgan; Me; Lance; Davide in the back : : : so cute !

I also posted a few pictures on one of my older blogs . . . but I decided it would just be easier and faster to make a new post of pictures instead of trying to scatter them throughout so go back and look at those ones too ! :)

Only in the Ghetto

The only hesitation I had when I decided to take this apartment was that the area isn`t exactly the best. My safety never feels compromised, but nonetheless, I do live in a shadier area of Paris. But in my few weeks here, I have slowly become enamored with my cute little ghetto. Every day I see people doing the strangest things that I have found I not only look for each day, but look forward to seeing.

Walking your dog seems like a normal task, people all over the world do it daily and there is absolutely nothing bizarre about it at all. But in my Ghetto people don`t just walk their dogs, I saw a man pulling his dog in a red wagon. And not just some simple, janky red wagon we all played with when we were kids, this dog had his own palace set up. The owner attached another handle to the back of the wagon to facilitate pulling his dog (which BTW was a big dog, a mutt no doubt but definitely bigger than KD), complete with cushions so the dog would be comfy and a blanket so he wouldn`t get cold. Doesn`t that completely defeat the purpose of walking your dog ? I thought the whole point was to give your dog exercise, not to put your dog`s bed on wheels.

I also once saw a man riding a tandem bicycle. It was cute actually, I`ve always wanted to ride one and riding a tandem bike in Paris just seems too cute and cliché to be real. But instead of having another person on his tandem bicycle, he was balancing a giant bag of flour. In Paris you don`t buy anything in bulk, so what was this man doing with such a vast amount of flour? Did he own a bakery ? Was he going to go home and bathe in it ? I have no idea, but nonetheless a man was riding a tandem bicycle with a bag of flour. Enough said.

My personal favorite I actually have the pleasure of seeing on a daily basis. Everyday on my way home from class when I leave the metro station I`m greeted by the wonderful aroma of freshly popped popcorn over an open fire. Only, there are no campfires in Paris, nor is anyone popping popcorn. But everyday a man stands outside the Barbès - Rouchechouart metro station barbecuing and I assume selling full ears of corn. And when I say barbecuing, I mean cooking ears of corn over an open flame in a shopping cart that he uses as a make-shift barbecue. It is the weirdest sight ever to see a man cooking corn on a street corner out of a shopping cart, but every day I can`t help but laugh to myself and think Ha, only in my ghetto.

Captivated

As if I needed to fall anymore in LOVE with Paris, today I absolutely did. In regards to my last post, I met up with Antoine today. Yes, I finally got the nerve to call him back. No, he did not answer so I wasted a bunch of time avoiding calling him. Yes, he did call me back. Yes, this time I - myself - did pick up. And, the conversation went rather smoothly if I do say so myself. Besides little errors like "where must we meet" instead of "where should we meet" but he knew what I was trying to say nonetheless.

Not gonna lie, up until this point I`ve worried a little bit that I`ll never become fluent. As much as I DO understand and as much as I CAN say already, there is still always that part of me that thinks it won`t ever happen. Mostly I feel that way because I don`t see that much improvement from day to day. It`s almost like I expect to just wake up each morning and be like, "ohmigosh, I speak French SO much better today than yesterday ! I can so totally tell !" But obvi that just won`t ever happen. I know I have to be patient. Anyway, a week from this upcoming Thursday (so the 24th) I`m taking a train out to the French countryside for a few days to visit Jonas (another exchange student I had) and I`ve been worried that I`ll get there and barely be able to communicate. Well, all those worries and negative thoughts are long and gone out the window after today.

Antoine and I met up at Chatelet - Les Halles which I might point out is not only the biggest metro station in Paris but the biggest metro station in the WORLD! I knew this when he suggested meeting there but not wanting to say anymore than what was absolutely necessary for progression of the conversation I said nothing and figured we`d just deal with it when we got there. So today I stepped out of the RER at exactly 13h00, which was the time we agreed to meet, and he called me at exactly 13h01 asking where I was. All confused and disoriented I mumbled some jibberish of having no idea where I was then the call dropped. How perfect. He called back right as I was stepping onto the street and he asked where I was and I was like, "umm. . .I`m by a foot locker . . .and a Gap. . .hmm Oh ! I`m on Rue de Rivoli !" And he knew where I was (and so did I - shocker) and he told me to wait there and he would arrive momentarily.

It`s funny, really. I had imagined myself waiting in a coffee shop someday expecting to see Jonas walk in but never did I think I`d see or hear from Antoine again. Jonas is really the only one of the exchange students we had that I kept in constant contact with. He has known I`d be moving to France in August of 2009 for years probably (well, definitely at least a year), but I found Antoine on FaceBook literally a week before I left and was pleasantly surprised to find out he lives IN Paris. In the moments leading up to me leaving for Paris I would imagine myself in situations where I`d be meeting Jonas again (or even Edouard) and it would throw me through a loop. They were the kind of thoughts that really made me realize that I was moving to another COUNTRY and how strange it was that I`d be seeing people I had only met once and not seen in four years at least.

So there I was, standing awkwardly on Rue de Rivoli across from the Gap not really knowing what to do with myself. Hmm . . . what is the least awkward way to stand . . . Hand on my hip ? No, I feel like I`m posing for somethang . . . legs crossed or uncrossed ? Should I hold my purse like I do on the metro or does that look too tense ? Hmm . . . which way will he be coming from ? Will I go walking towards him or just stand here smiling all creepily back at him till he gets to me ? Oh crap, how will we greet each other ? The standard American hug or the super cute French bise ? Is that him ? Oh no that`s some random old man . . . should I go sit on that wall ? No, my skirt might get dirty . . . and then in the midst of all my awkwardness I turn my head and Antoine is right there ! My instincts told me to be like, "OMG hey Antoine !" but my brain told me to be more composed and simply say, "Salut Antoine ! *bise, bise* ca va ?" Which I executed flawlessly. I`d have mistaken me for a Parisienne if I saw myself on the streets.

Anyway, we stood on the corner for a little bit just chatting. He mentioned that he realized after he talked to me that Chatelet was huge and probably not the best place for us to meet, and I agreed but said it wasn`t a big deal (ha! I knew I should have said somethang). He proceeded to ask me what I`ve already seen in Paris, and since I really haven`t seen anythang he proposed to go the Louvre and work our way from there. So there we were, walking along the streets of Paris (I can`t say that sentence enough . . . oh you know, just walking the streets of Paris, as always) and conversation just flowed! His French is beautiful, I could understand everythang he said flawlessly. My comprehension is better than my speaking skills, so sometimes I didn`t have much of a response to give which is totally expected, but nonetheless I even surprised myself at how much we were able to talk about.

We didn`t go inside the Louvre, but we walked along the big glass pyramids then through the garden that connects to it (totally forget what it`s called) and then we sat down at this cute little cafe in the garden and drank little coffees (which he paid for, so cute). And when I say little coffees, I mean LITTLE coffees. I felt like I was sipping coffee out of a shot glass, it was absurd. We proceeded to walk along the streets with all the big stores like Chanel and Gucci and Ralph Lauren (not on the Champs Elysees though . . . we hadn`t gotten there yet) and we stopped in this renowned French bakery and he bought me a bunch of different flavors of macaroons. He insisted that I taste a macaroon because Paris is known for them and that I had to have a bunch of flavors so I could find out which one is my favorite (including pistachio, his personal favorite).

Then, to my surprise, he had one of his friends pick us up in his car. Antoine figured that a car would be the best and most efficient way to show me Paris since a bus is stupid and for tourists and we wouldn`t cover enough ground walking. I didn`t think much of it, until his friend pulled up in what looked like a brand new convertible ! This car was beyond chic. It was the definition of class. It was a tiny little coupe convertible barely big enough for two people, let alone three. This guy had sugar daddy written all over him - Prada sunglasses, Armani belt, his car which was some French brand that I don`t remember, it started with a P. And off we went.

I never in a million years imagined that I`d be cruising through Paris riding shot gun in easily the nicest car I had ever been in with Antoine sitting in the back. It was surreal. I saw so much, learned so much, and spoke so much! I think that is probably one of the main reasons today was so amazing for me. Communicating was effortless. They laughed at my jokes, I laughed at theirs, they were amazed at how well I could speak and I cannot emphasize enough how good it makes me feel when French people tell me that I speak French well. It`s a compliment that I will never tire of hearing.

Cutting the story short, we drove around, went and got ice cream at this amazing little ice cream place behind the Notre Dame, walked around some more, drove some more, and eventually they dropped me off back home (I also didn`t even spend a penny . . . so spoiled). I will undoubtedly be spending more time with Antoine and I assume his friend too, whose name I can`t remember by the way . . . oops.

Today was the first day that I really truly in my heart feel that I am going to become a part of this culture, or rather, this culture will become a part of me . . . and there really are no words to describe how that feels. Paris, I am yours.

Umm . . . oopz ?

Learning to speak a second language has proved to be challenging, naturally. So, naturally, I make little faux pas that French people find hilarious/cute/charming etc. But I have found that even though speaking the language is difficult, other situations prove to be even more difficult. Case and point - setting up the voicemail on my new phone.

I was taking a little nap this afternoon and was woken up cos my phone was ringing. The caller ID said "Antoine" and I was so confused. I don`t know any Antoines. Did I meet any Antoine`s last night? I thought that one girl`s name was Jenny . . . could she have saved her number as Antoine ? So, not wanting to talk to this mysterious person I didn`t know, I let my phone go to voicemail. Then as soon as it stopped ringing a little lightbulb turned on in my head and HELLO LAURA !?!?! Antoine was your first foreign exchange student from five years ago doy ! I even sent him my new number in a facebook message last night so he could call me when he got back to Paris.

So, feeling my stupidest, I start to try and set up my voicemail so I can hear his message. Everythang was going fine, I could understand the little automated lady no problem but for whatever reason, I couldn`t figure out how to make my answering machine automated. I kept directing myself into recording my own greeting which is definitely not something I wanted to do. So I made my roommate figure it out for me :)

So, after finally hearing his voicemail and giggling like little girls, I try to listen to his message again to really hear and understand what he was saying. I thought I pushed the button to repeat the message . . . but the message wasn`t playing back. The automated lady just kept blabbering on about something or another then beeping and I had no idea what she wanted me to do. After a few frusterating moments I yell into the phone "PARLEZ ANGLAIS BIATCH!!!" ("speak english biatch") then hang up the phone.

Then Lance came back into the room and was like, "Did you just call him back ?" and I was like, "No, why?" And Lance was like, "I think you did . . ." then out of no where my phone starts ringing and low and behold it was Antoine.

Somehow in the midst of all the button pushing I managed to find my way into his voicemail box and left the message "PARLEZ ANGLAIS BIATCH" and hung up. Freaking out and totally embarrassed, I made Lance answer the phone and tell him I was sleeping and that I would call him back.

Phew, problem solved (I hope). So now I`m sitting here, staring at my phone, trying to get the courage to call him back so we can catch up and get drinks. It should be a simple task, but even the simplest tasks are intimidating when inevitable awkwardness and embarrassment are on the horizon. Zut.

Public Transportation . . . Sautéed

Every day there are 1.2 attempted suicides within the Paris metro system. And today was the first successful one since I`ve lived here. Lucky for me, I barely experienced all the chaos and re-routing that came with closing down part of the metro. I was leaving the bank on my way back home and was pleasantly surprised to find out the metro station I was at was also a stop for line B of the RER (the RER is an underground train similar to the metro only it`s faster, has fewer stops, and continues well beyond the borders of Paris) which is the line I try to take as much as possible because it`s so quick and efficient. However, I did in fact find out that line 4 of the metro was shut down somewhere along the route which normally is the line I take to get home if the RER isn`t most efficient (line B of the RER runs straight through the center of Paris and if I`m anywhere near the very center [Chatelet] I take the RER one stop to Gare du Nord [my stop] but if I`m not in the straight line of fire of the RER I simply take all the other metro lines making various stops and connections till I finally reach my destination God-knows-how-many-minutes later). But that`s all beside the point. The point is, someone jumped in front of one of the metros today and killed himself. The only way I was directly affected was I saw a sign indicating line A of the RER was being rerouted for one reason or another. However, many of my classmates informed me that it took them anywhere from 2 hours onwards to get somewhere that would normally only take 20 minutes. It`s an unfortunate situation, but I have seen so many creepy, drugged out wack jobs in the metro stations that I am not surprised in the slightest that one of them actually jumped. I will be surprised, however, if I find out drugs were not involved. Paris is so amazing, someone would have to be on some hardcore drugs not to love it here.

But anyway, glad I avoided it. And since I`m on the subject of transportation I might as well put in my two cents. For as much as I love the public transportation here because it is so easy and efficient, I absolutely HATE it. I`m sure my feelings towards the metro are a little biased right now 1) due to the suicide and 2) due to the fact that I had the most miserable metro experience of my life today . . . but France seriously needs to discover air conditioning like ASAP! When leaving the bank today I got totally lost trying to find the metro station because I got to the bank a different way than I was leaving and walked around the city for about 20 minutes before I finally saw the beautiful M that hovers above every stairwell to the metros (mind you it wasn`t even the metro station I originally was looking for). I decided to wear my Steve Madden boots today, which definitely was not the brightest idea seeing as the high was 86ºF today. But after walking around in the sun sweating for 20 minutes, then climbing up and down staircase after staircase, then sitting in a hot, stuffy, crowded metro before getting on an even hotter, stuffier, more crowded RER train, I was absolutely DRIPPING in sweat. Which is definitely never comfortable, but I was also wearing a thin white shirt today so by the time I FINALLY got home (not after getting lost AGAIN leaving Gare du Nord because I thought another good idea would be to leave the station a different way than usual to see where it spit me out . . . which was no where near my house and in the ghetto !) I looked like I had just finished competing in a wet tee-shirt contest . . . and lost. I don`t think I have ever jumped into a shower quicker than today in my entire life. I might have still been wearing clothes for all I remember. All I know is if I didn`t get into a pool of icy cold water PRONTO then I would have spontaneously combusted due to overheating.

And today is not an isolated experience, it simply was one of the worst because today was the hottest day I`ve experienced thus far. But I specifically do not wear certain outfits because I know there is a 90% chance that I will be sweating profusely on the metro and said outfits would not be very flattering with sweat marks all over them. But I do have a new sympathy for the French and their horrible B.O. It seems unavoidable at times especially like today (Okay, so I`m exaggerating just a LITTLE bit. I NEVER smell, and I RARELY have sweat stains, but that does not change the fact that I feel beads of sweat rolling down my stomach or back and constantly am flipping my hair from side to side to keep it from sticking to my hot sticky skin. But if I can figure out how not to smell, so can the French).

But there are in fact ways around the grueling metro rides. I`ve learned to always get in the back of the cars because the windows are almost always open so the further back in the train you are, the more of a draft you catch. I also investigate the cabs before the train stops and redirect my route to the less crowded cars if one is noticeably more full than the others. It`s also a little cooler if you stand opposed to sit, so if I am having a "hot day" I choose always to stand even if there are millions of places to sit. I purposely keep something in my purse or bag at all times that can be used as a fan (folded worksheets, Paris guide, my cell phone . . . ) in cases where fanning myself with my hands simply won`t suffice. And really at the end of the day, it becomes bearable. My first few days riding the metro I could never stop complaining about how hot and uncomfortable they were. But in more recent days I`ve learned to just accept it. I think knowing and anticipating what I`m about to be exposed to helps mentally prepare my body to keep cool.

All of this aside, the metro has its perks. France has this holiday called Every-Hot-Boy-In-Paris-Rides-The-Same-Metro-As-Me Day and it comes around every couple of days. And naturally, since France did cater the holiday to my taste, I seem to never be hot or uncomfortable when those days come around so I`m always looking my best ;). And of course it`s efficient, and cheap, and easy to figure out, and blah blah all the practical stuff. But I find that people watching is just so entertaining on the metro. Better than airports cos the metro attracts the crazy foreign weirdos and the crazy weird locals like gypsies with mustaches and unibrows.

I think one of my favorite metro rides so far was the other night I was on my way to my friend Ross' house before going out and there was a bachelor party in the same car as me. And bachelor parties in Paris are hilarious because all the boys dress up the groom in hideous outfits (I`ve seen one guy dressed head to toe in a full on full body tiger suit) that are really embarrassing and unflattering and they run around Paris making a scene . . . singing, dancing, laughing, raising havoc. And the sole purpose is to humiliate the bachelor and put him in uncomfortable situations. So the bachelor party I was "with" asked me what song I wanted them to sing and they would sing it - no exceptions. And me, not knowing a single French song I could tell them, told them I didn`t want them to sing I wanted them to dance. So the bachelor got all into it and started swinging around one of the poles that people use for balance and turned the metro car into a strip club. Entertaining to say the least. I think I`ll be sending my future husband-to-be to Paris for his bachelor party . . . as long as he promises not to jump.

So Glam . . . So Chic

This is me and my roommate Lance . . . just walking the streets of Paris in our cute little neighborhood. Looking so Diva and so Fab. This is so far the only picture I`m able to upload, but give me a few days and I`ll be sure to get pictures of my apartment, the places I`ve seen, the friends I`ve made, and the rest of what I`ve been doing !

Orange Meets French

One of the millions of things I love most about Paris is everything is ORANGE. It`s the orangeist country I`ve ever seen. There`s orange everywhere: orange fanta, orangina, orange in a can, orange in a box, orange metros, orange cars, orange lights, orange furniture, orange buildings, the big cell phone company is Orange . . . my name might as well be LORAnge ! ;D

But anyway . . . the stores here are impossible. And by impossible I mean completely out of control how-do-people-live-like-this kind of stores. For example, I went to a store today in the suburbs of Paris (my first time ever in zone 3 !) called Auchon. It was in a mall which at first I didn`t think too much about cos we were in fact going there to get linens, until I realized my roommate went to the same store yesterday to get groceries. Groceries in a mall? I guess I can get used to that. Kill all kinds of birds with one stone. But then I got to Auchon and Oh-Em-Gee let me tell you. This place had to be at least the size of four Costcos stacked on top of each other and then some. This store had EVERYTHING and by everything I mean it could fully stock and support an entire country for years. It was like your typical California grocery store meets Costco meets Super Target meets Home Depot meets Linens and Things meets Best Buy meets The Mall meets the Metro Station meets Super Sized. I don`t think I can ever go there alone. I wouldn`t know what to do with myself. I would get lost in my brain just trying to figure out what to do first before I`d even have time to get lost in the store. Note to self: bring Google Maps with you EVERY TIME you go near Auchon. NO Exceptions. Anyway, while I was looking at linens with some of my friends for their new place, this little girl came up to me and was like, "Excuse me Madame, do you know where I can find other socks like this?" (all in French of course) as she pointed to a pack of socks she had in her hand. It was the cutest thing ever. Not only was she adorable but her little French voice was adorable and the way she thought I not only had been to Auchon before but WORKED there was freaking adorable too. I just laughed to myself then told her I didn`t know because I don`t work there. We all thought it was pretty funny to say the least.

And for those of you who are worried about what I`m eating (ahem, Mother) don`t even worry about it. Before I moved into my place (two days ago) I was eating out at little cafes or going to the market and getting cheese and salami and crackers or 1€70 sandwiches. But since I`ve been in the apartment I haven`t eaten out at all. The first night Lance (my roommate), Ross (my best friend in the program) and I all cooked this cute little shrimp pasta dinner with a homemade white wine mushroom sauce with wine and cheese and a baguette (and by "we made" I mean Lance made). It was the cutest ever. And last night Morgan`s mom (Morgan is a friend of Lance`s) came over and cooked this super cute dinner for all of us (me, Lance, Morgan, David, and Paul . . . two other friends of Lance`s, all French of course). We had this cute little pizza appertizer with Malibu and this fabulous grape drink cocktails. Then salmon and rice with a sauce Morgan made with white wine. Then a plate of cheese and baguettes with red wine (only me and Morgan drank the red wine of course, we just couldn`t say no). Then chocolate souffleed rice crispies and yogurt and sugar for dessert with water. I`m sorry, was that you, Mom, who was worried about what I was going to eat ? I think I`m going to be okay . . . ;)

Well, they say Paris is the city of love. And I, for one, have DEFINITELY already fallen in love. With the city itself, its quirky little stores, and Nutella. Oooh Nutella, how did I live for 20 years without knowing your existence?