I feel like it's the first day of school tomorrow. I've been running around the apartment getting my paperwork and supplies ready, my bag packed and picking out an outfit for what will be my first day of work in nearly two years. And I am SO excited!

To backtrack a bit, I had a really successful interview with that French speaking recruiter a couple of weeks ago. She sent me on to interview with the company she was recruiting for that same week. It was a terrifying experience.

By this time, I had been sick with what was probably laryngitis or strep-throat for more than a week and my sexy-phone-operator voice and coughing fits did not make it any easier to interview in a language I'm still struggling to speak. I met with the human resources director for the company and found myself having an incredibly hard time understanding her. At one point, my focus during the interview seemed to shift from highlighting my qualifications to stifling my persistent coughs. As I sat in her corner office with a perfectly centered view of the world's most famous radio tower, I realized that this was my chance to get my foot in the door, and I was scared I was letting it get away because of a stupid cough. A few minutes into what was becoming a train wreck of an interview, she excused herself from the conversation to read through what the recruiter had sent her detailing my qualifications and requirements. I used those precious few minutes to gather my thoughts and come up with a way to get back on track with the interview.

When she returned to continue the Q&A with me, I did everything I could to assure her that I was well qualified for the job, that I was ready to continue my career, and that I would be a great fit with the company. She seemed mostly pleased with what I had to say and eventually asked me to sit down with the person whose position I was interviewing for to get more details about the job. This time it was in English, and I have to say that I felt rather confident when she said she'd be in touch, which is why it was so surprising to me when a week passed by and I hadn't heard a thing. Not a "yes" or a "no" or a "we're still thinking it over" - rien.

I thought back about what could've gone wrong; about my qualifications and French speaking skills; about my fumbled interview with the HR director. And, I convinced myself that I was just not cut out for the job.

Then, the next day, someone calls me late in the evening from the same company but from an entirely different department. She explains that her boss received my CV from HR and wanted to see me the next day for a job in their department. I was baffled about who this person was, why they wanted to see me so soon and what type of position they were recruiting for. Up until this point, I'd been dealing entirely with the recruiter and I started wondering if this phone call was even legit. Despite not having much time to prepare for the interview - especially for one that's for a mystery job in a mystery department - I got myself up the next morning, put on my suit and heels, and made my way to the fanciest street in Paris to see what was going on.

It turns out that the job is quite different from the one to which I previously applied, but it's slightly more intriguing. I met with the entire team that same day, and I was really surprised at how perfectly matched I seemed to be for the opening in their team. They must've been equally surprised because they offered me the job less than two hours after I bounced out of their office with a grin on my face.

I still don't know why my CV was passed along or what became of the other job, but I'm chocking it all up to fate. It amazes me how all of the pieces just fell into place, and I'm so astonished at how incredibly well my new job suits me (despite the fact that it's mostly in French, bien sûr). Tomorrow's my first day, and I might end up hating or loving my time there, but I've got to say that I've always put my faith in fate and it would seem that it has yet to ever steer me wrong.

So, I cut my hair. FINALLY. I'd been talking about getting my hair cut since I got to France nearly a year ago, but finding someone willing and able to work with my thick mane hasn't been an easy task. After a bad experience with an inexperienced stylist last summer, I was a little worried that I'd be unsatisfied once again with the hair salons of France. But, I got a good recommendation from a trusted source, and found myself feeling a few pounds lighter and a bit more stylish after a relatively short visit with a very talented stylist in 5eme arrondissement.




I really love it! It's still pretty long, too, but it seriously feels like over half of my hair is missing - which, for me, is a really good thing. It's a really practical cut for wearing bulky winter scarves and chunky knit hats, which is a must for all the trekking around Paris I've been doing recently. I haven't been doing anything too exciting, but I've managed to get out and about and check out a few shops and landmarks that I've been setting aside for later.

I've also been trying to regain my sense of domesticity lately. For a while there, I hadn't been in any sort of mood to cook, blog or create anything really. I even came down with a sort of "knitter's block" after finishing up my first cable project. Now, I'm slowly recovering and reacquiring my appetite for creativity - I'm catching up on the hoard of backlogged new items in my reader, searching for yummy things to bake and cook for dinner this week, and knitting more projects that I've been queuing up on Ravelry. This week, I've been invited to check out a choir to see if joining the group will be the right opportunity to focus on another long-lost "hobby" of mine - singing. I'm no Mariah Carey, but I've inherited my mom's love of singing to every song, every jingle that comes to my mind. I was in choir up until high school, and I remember being a relatively strong singer - even having the opportunity to sing backups at a SXSW show - but I never kept up with it. Hopefully, this will be a chance to rediscover my love of singing and share it with others who feel the same way about music.

So, things should be getting a little more interesting around here. Besides cooking, knitting, blogging and singing, I'll be working pretty soon, too. Next week, I'll start my first job in Paris at L'Oisive Thé, the tea salon owned by my friend Aimee. I'll only be working about 20-25 hours a week, but I'm really stoked about having a "day-job." The coolest thing about my new employment is that I'll be able to spend some of my days hanging out with Aimee - there's no doubt there will be lots of knit-talk and baking during the day, but I'm also banking on improving my French a bit. It couldn't come at a better time, either. I'm ready to have a regularly-scheduled gig to keep me occupied during the week, and spending it at a tea salon in the lovely Buttes aux Cailles just doesn't get any better, if you ask me.

Friday was my last day of French school. It's weird to think that it's already over, that I've been seriously studying this blasted language for over four months. I have mixed feelings about the last day. Part of me thinks that I've learned enough French to put into practice, but another part of me feels like I've only minimally progressed. I couldn't have been better instructed; in fact, my professor surpassed all of my expectations. I'll definitely recommend the courses to someone looking for professional French instruction, and I now understand why the school was so highly recommended to me. Still, I'm happy that it's over, and I'm looking forward to what comes next for me in Paris.

In other news, I've made progress on the health-coverage front. Today, I received my carte vitale, which means I can now get reimbursed for my medical visits [practically] right away instead of having to turn in paperwork and wait for the money to show up in my bank account. On top of that, today I picked up my new contacts and glasses from l'opticien, and I couldn't be happier. I was able to get two pairs of glasses - a light-weight titanium pair that I'll wear at home or when I'm looking for a lighter feel, and another more trendy pair of plastic frames that I'll wear when I don't feel like doing contacts. They also supplied me with a year-and-a-half's worth of disposable contact lenses and six bottles of contact solution. The last two bottles of regular, ol' contact solution I bought in Paris were 20 and 22€ each! Gui has a great insurance plan that will reimburse 100% of our costs, so I'm feeling really lucky about my new eyes. It's still a strange feeling for me to know that when I need to get glasses or contacts, I can just go and get 'em without having to call my health insurance and plan in advance how I'm going to pay for the eye-doctor's visit, frames, lenses and contacts. Next up is a trip to the dentist to see what's going on with this aching tooth I've noticed of late. After having good experiences with the eye doctor and opticien, and now that I have a nifty new carte vitale in my possession, getting my health shiz together is warranting more attention and less procrastination.

I haven't been much of a blogger these days, have I? Well, there's no real explanation except for maybe that I'm spending my blog time doing other things or that I haven't been all that inspired to write lately. Maybe it's winter in Paris. I just don't really like the cold. Or the gloom. And, there's been a lot of both around here lately. Talking to a girl in my phonetics class the other day, we decided that the reason why we feel like Paris is Russia right now is because we don't have a car in a relatively warm garage to walk to in the mornings. We have a metro station a 5-10 minute walk away from home as our destination at 7:45 AM, when it's recently been at or below freezing. It just ain't fun.

I'm still taking my classes at La Sorbonne, which are coming to an end rather soon now. We have two weeks off for the holidays and then only one week of class in January before our big exams start around the 15th. Scary! Progress is slowly being made, I think, but I still have those days when my voice and tongue completely fail to work in any language. I am, however, finding that practice does make perfect, and the more I try to speak, the more I progress. Novel concept, I know. I had to go to our wedding photographer's shop today and as confident as I was about speaking to her before I got there, I felt like I stumbled over every other word once I was faced with actually speaking. Thankfully, she's incredibly sweet and patient (and hardworking, too - I heard her tell someone she'd be there on Saturday despite having family in town), so she indulged my choppy sentence structure with a smile and never once patronized me with corrections or funny looks. She also remembered my name right away, and reminded me how much she "adored" our wedding portraits. I remember when she was showing us the pictures for the first time, she kept remarking at how much the camera and light loved us. Flattery makes for good customers, I suppose, but she always seems sincere.

Besides my unceasing French lessons, we've been having quite the busy social lives of late. It seems that every weekend we've got things planned and even during the week, I find it necessary to check my calendar to be sure we're not "double booking" things. It's kind of strange. I think it's the upcoming holidays that have us so busy; since Thanksgiving and up until we head to the States for the holidays, it's a whirlwind of cocktails, friends, dinners and fêtes. Last weekend was completely filled with enjoying American food and drinks with new friends. We were celebrating the 200th episode of the Katia & Kyliemac podcast, which is frankly, quite a genius broadcast that these two creative geniuses host twice a week. (By the way, if you haven't checked it out and you're interested in expat life in France, you should give it a download.) They've got an amazing following of listeners who turned out from near and far to check out a live broadcasting of the historic episode, and we got to meet some really fantastic people and indulge in some really delicious fare in the process. Lucky us.

I've also (since last week) picked up a new hobby, which has been keeping me busy and often confused. It's knitting. My friend, Aimee has a beautiful tea salon in the 13th arrondissement of Paris where she hosts a weekly knitting group. She's a knitter (an amazing one, actually), and she offered to teach me and another friend to knit during the meet-up last week, and she did just that! I remember knitting and crocheting when I was younger - my grandma was always an inspiration for my creative side and she showed me once how to do it, but I didn't keep up with it as a hobby. Over the past couple of years, I've wanted to get more seriously into knitting - I've bought needles, yarn and a couple of books, and all I was lacking was a knowledgeable and patient teacher. Well, thank goodness that's exactly who Aimee is, and in between serving tea and soup, she gave me the introductory skill-set I needed to get started on my first project - a scarf. Since then I've been working almost daily on the piece, but every few rows I run into some kind of stitch-glitch and have to "frog," as they say, most of the work I've already completed. Still, it's been a rewarding and really fun hobby so far, and there's still so much I have to learn.

These next couple of weeks (THIRTEEN days!) are going to be pretty busy while we prepare for our trip to the US (and Gui's first American Christmas), but I plan on finding some time to blog. Christmas shopping is underway, and braving the cold is getting tougher and tougher for me. I just can't do it. All I can think of as I walk from my class to the metro is "home, heater, coffee; home, heater, coffee." We're trying to do some of our shopping online this year, though. Since we'll be arriving in Texas so late on the 23rd, we have to get most, if not all, of our gifts in Paris, which I'm not so happy about; besides having to brave frigid Paris temps, that also means that we'll be buying in euros and not dollars. I'm just hoping that the malls and Target will be open on Christmas Eve long enough for us to pick up any last-minute goodies. I seriously cannot wait!

Today, I woke up early without hesitation for the first time in a long time. Not enough can be said about the great things a good night's sleep can do for the body and mind. I felt rested and not rushed, and I was even in a chipper enough mood to check emails and make some toast for myself and Gui before heading out the door on time.

We live about two bus-stops away from the metro, and I try to catch the bus if I see it approaching since it usually shaves about five minutes off of my commute time. This morning, I saw the bus approaching the stop and since I hadn't yet made it in front of the stop, I sprinted across the street, waving my hand knowing the bus driver had seen me since I was literally running in front of the bus. The bus jerked, stopped, and I slowed down, smiled and pulled out my Navigo as I approached the now-closed doors. Then, the bus pulled away. I waved my arms thinking the driver must have thought I was running for some other reason, but the woman commanding the wheel pretended not to see me, glanced away from the doors and drove off. What. A. B*tch! There is NO possible way that she could have not seen me - I was dashing across the street, in PLAIN view of the bus' gargantuan windshield, running up to the front doors of the bus when she turned her head to drive off. The bus was still stopped when I arrived at the doors. Only a jerk would have driven off.

Luckily, the bus comes about every five minutes, so I decided to cool down and wait for the next one instead of walking to the metro. I don't know why, but I was really furious. Maybe it's because I always see bus drivers give others a break and pick people up who are nowhere even near the bus stop. Maybe it's because after how great my day had begun, I was just expecting the world to be a better place this morning. Maybe it's because the driver was a woman and, though I've never met a woman who lived up to the "French woman" reputation, I suddenly felt like the stereotype now held some validity. But, I didn't want it to, and it pissed me off that this stupid bus driver had to be the one to question my otherwise disbelief in the cruelty and coldness of an entire female citizenry.

I jumped on the next bus, still questioning the motives of the mean driver who didn't stop. I tried not to over-analyze the situation, but the whole thing put me in a reflective and doubtful mood. Then, while changing metro lines, I saw this:


...and I suddenly had my happy morning back.

So, yesterday I completed my registration to start language classes at La Sorbonne. My good friend Sam told me how successful her classes were there when she first arrived on French soil without a lick of the native language under her belt. So, when I decided to shift my focus from job-searching to French-learning, I took her recommendation (as a now-fluent French-speaker) and enrolled in a part-time course. The place was buzzing with students when I arrived and found the line I was supposed to stand in to get my class assignment. I'd recently spent an entire day going between the school's two buildings near the Pantheon to interview, pick out my course, get my student ID and pay, so I was hoping this trip would be short and sweet. Finding that I was only the fifth person in line to get my registration card (which is unusual for "S-Z" names) gave me hope, but not for very long. When the guy handed me my card, I saw that the class time they chose for me was just not going to work - I mean, seriously who wants to go to class right, smack-dab in the middle of the lunch-hour from 12 to 2pm? I knew if I ended up in that class, I'd put off my first daily meal until afterwards and would be counting the seconds before class was dismissed to grab some grub.

So, despite the 20-person line to change schedules (and my slight fear of being told no and having to argue in French with someone), I stuck it out for 45 minutes, got to the counter, and made up a lie. I knew that wanting to change my class time because I didn't want to be hungry all day was just not going to fly with this French government employee behind the counter; I mean, that'd be like taking aim at an antelope without any ammunition loaded - totally for naught. After explaining that my [imaginary] job requires me to pick up kids from school at 2pm everyday and asking to be placed in the 10am-12pm class, she shook her head, looked at me with raised eyebrows and said it wouldn't be possible, then offered me the 8-10am class. Ugh. I had totally seen that coming, but I wasn't ready to accept a 6:30 am alarm clock just yet, so I decided to push her to at least make a phone call (because that's what I saw everyone else was doing to squeeze students into "full" classes). She called, looked at me and shook her head (bad news), then asked me if I was an au pair. I told her I wasn't, but she still offered me a special class for au pairs that meets for three hours a day, Monday through Friday, except Wednesday (since au pairs usually work all day Wednesday). I told her no, made up another lie (that I can't recall right now - yeah, the lies were starting to snowball) and kept pushing her to find me a spot in a 10 am class. A few minutes later, she hung up the phone, scribbled something on a card and told me she was able to find one spot in a 10 am class to put me in. Score! I was elated, proud and a little smug at what I had just pulled off in French. It dawned on me that all of the practice I've had with persistence at the prefecture was totally paying off, and a little twinge of acceptance came over me as I strolled down the street past the Pantheon.

Besides getting the class time I wanted, I found out today - my first day of class - that my French teacher is the bomb! I was a little happy to see that the younger French teacher for the earlier class wasn't also going to be our teacher, and instead the much older French woman was going to be giving us our lessons. I don't know, but there's something about an older, wiser-looking, French woman teaching me French that makes me feel like I'm getting a more authentic learning experience. From the beginning to the end of class, my attention was kept (except for a few times when I got distracted by and wanted to throw my pen at the loudmouth girl in the front row who kept blurting out answers even when the teacher was calling on someone else) and I could almost feel the wrinkles being formed in my brain. It was about the time that she asked us to repeat "On est à Paris pour ameliorer le français, pas pour apprendre!" ("We're in Paris to improve our French, not to learn it!") that I realized changing my class was the most shrewd and constructive move I've made since arriving in Paris. (In fact, I'm thinking of running for president with my keen sense of foresight.)

I had fun picking out school supplies and buying books after class with a girl from California, and I'm excited (yes, because I'm nerdy) about going to my biweekly pronunciation labs. I think this school thing is definitely going to kick my stagnation in the arse, I just need to learn how to suppress those all too familiar feelings of procrastination when it comes to doing my homework.

Friday marked the last day of my first French class in Paris. It was a little bittersweet because many of the people I'd come to know in the class had been there with me since the first day, and some were heading back to their respective countries, realistically never to be seen or heard from again. Our teacher organized a picnic after a short tour of the neighborhood around our school. We had decided ahead of time that we'd get the food for the picnic after class, which seriously annoyed the poor young guy at the check-out counter when twelve different people were trying to organize payment for 92Euros of groceries in at least four different languages. Thank goodness I had the foresight to do my shopping separately and paid on my own.

When we got to Paris Plages (the summer beach area in Paris), there weren't any tables left, so we set up shop on a park bench and watched as teenagers with idiots for parents jumped into the toxic river just for kicks. We all loaded up on tabbouleh, chips, salad, hummus, olives, cheese, bread and saucisson. I didn't make it home until after 6pm, which means that our picnic lasted at least four hours. Before everyone left, the Spanish students (there were four and they outnumbered all the other nationalities) made plans to meet up on Saturday night and invited everyone to come for some dancing. The plan, as far as I heard it was to meet at a metro stop at 8pm, then head over to the Fleche d'Or for a live band or DJ. I was stoked because really, we don't go "out" much as far as going to bars or clubs, and from what I hear, lots of Parisians prefer to host parties than get lost in a touristy club where drinks cost as much as a few bottles of wine at the supermarket. Generally, that's the same train of thought I tend to follow, but mostly because I prefer the comfort of being in a controlled environment where I don't have to worry about sometimes creepy strangers trying to grab my butt.







We ended our Friday with dinner with an old friend from Austin who may or may not be moving back to Paris, and with Ber and Ben who joined us for drinks and the usual witty banter and mindless chatter. On Saturday afternoon, Gui and I met up with friends at Cité International University where I killed myself by participating in a game of Ultimate Frisbee. I wish I had taken pictures because really, folks, seeing me running around catching and launching a frisbee with a bunch of French dudes is a hysterical moment that won't occur often (if ever again). It turned out to be so much fun, though and despite my out-of-shapeness and the immense pain still radiating through my hips, butt and arms, I'm looking forward to the next game (where maybe I'll score more than the awesome three points I scored last time). I just wish I hadn't opted out of phys-ed in high school to do that co-op thing.



We rested a little after the exhausting game, and then headed out to the Fleche d'Or around 8:40. I was under the impression my old classmates would be hanging out in the bar all night, or at least for most of the night after meeting up at 8pm. Apparently, I was mistaken, and because I failed to be responsible and take the contact number, we hung out at the bar for a little over an hour and decided to give up on tracking them down. I was pissed - at myself for not bringing the number and at the group for not being where they'd told me they'd be. It was a shame, too because the bands we heard were quite good and the place reminded us of an Austin-style venue, with a big outdoor terrace and bar. I'll definitely go back.

We came back home because, frankly, I was upset that the plans fell through and I couldn't be bothered to go to this other party we'd been invited to because I was in such a pissy mood. I decided, now that I had the number, to call and let the group know that I came and missed them and would keep in touch through email, etc. Well, when I called, they said there was a big change of plans because someone showed up an hour late, and they ended up going to another bar and the original plan was to meet at Fleche d'Or at 10pm...wtf? The only possible explanation for my misunderstanding the plan is that they mentioned that part to me in Spanish and I completely disregarded it. Possible and probable. They had pretty much just started their night and were going to grab a bite and then a few drinks before going out for the music. I told them I wasn't sure about going all the way back out there, and truly in my mind I was annoyed and frustrated. But, Gui, being the inhumanly human that he is, convinced me to get over it and go meet up with them like I'd planned to all along. I think he probably regretted his effort to convince me to go back out because the rest of the night pretty much sucked.

We met them for pizza then headed towards the bar, but only five of us ever really made it in. The rest of the group (about five others) were waiting for someone else to show up, and then they decided to pick up some beer to drink before going into the bar, which pissed off the bouncer dude enough to deny them entry. At this point, it was starting to rain, so we stayed in the club for a bit and enjoyed some music from the DJ before Gui and I decided we had enough of the drama and bounced (that's Gui's word, and I'm stealing it for this post). I'm glad I got to see some of them for the last time and I'm really happy to have discovered a rather decent bar/club in Paris, but I still feel like I wasted a little bit of my life going back to meet them a second time. Ah well.




I spent all day Sunday recovering from the murderous pains that erupted throughout my body each time I walked, stood, sat, coughed or breathed. How am I this out of shape?? I walk at least a couple of kilometers a day and I've been known to occasionally break a sweat, so why do I feel like ripping my muscles out of my body after a measly couple of hours of frisbee?? Maybe I'll stretch first next time. Besides loading up on a delicious beans and toast lunch, making a quiche and being an extra couch cushion, I also made it out of the house and down the street to watch the Tour de France ride into Paris. Unfortunately, my memory card ran out of memory just as the riders were making their way in front of me, so I only caught a few seconds of the front of the group. I did manage to catch the yellow jersey, though and a few pics of them riding across the bridge. It was pretty neato even if Gui thought we were joining the beaufs (French rednecks) in watching Le Tour. I never said I wasn't a redneck...

I've been learning a lot more than just the French language in my daily French classes. This week, a few new nationalities were added to the mix of students, including two peeps from Turkey, one from China, one from Korea and two from Japan. So, today we got to talking about where one could access the internet should one need to while staying in Paris. Let's see, there are cybercafes (pronounced see-bare cah-fay), internet cafes, taxi-phones and several bars around the city that provide internet access for a fee. I also suggested the public parks in town that provide WiFi for free, which was followed by a raised eyebrow and accompanying frown from my French teacher who said she'd be scared to have her laptop stolen if she used it at the park. Then, I thought to myself, "oooh, so that's why people have been looking at me funny - they think I'm the local snob showing off my electronic goods instead of keeping them safely stored at home who might get what's coming to me if I keep parading my laptop around in public." Good to know.

So, then the topic of discussion turned to French libraries. It's a sad truth that I've never stepped foot in a library in France. Not that I don't have any desire to, but it never seemed to serve much purpose for me as a non-French-speaking/reading resident. I imagine I'll make my way to a library once I've mastered the French language (or get more curious), but can't be sure that will be anytime soon. But, back to phobias. So, our teacher starts to tell us all the great things we can do at the library - like check out books for free, listen to music, and even use the internet...maybe. That's when she tells us that many libraries in France no longer allow WiFi throughout the building because librarians were complaining of headaches. "From the sound of people typing," I curiously ask. No, from the waves emitted by the WiFi. To which I respond with an unsavory and inappropriate snicker. (It totally slipped out.) Needless to say my teacher wasn't laughing with me, and her face had a dead serious look on it when I finally looked up. "Mais, c'est vrais!" I didn't want to be rude, but I had to voice my opinion, so I just told her that maybe it was true, but it's just très français. I know I'm going to sound like a generalist here, but it's just to make clear my thoughts on why something like this is "very French." Since I've been living here (the entire time with a Frenchie), I've learned a lot about French folks - about their habits, their traditions, their prejudices and even about their phobias. What I find most interesting for sure are their phobias. Even Gui comes up with the strangest explanations for certain ailments or complications that usually invoke a similar snicker from me. So, here are a few of the common phobias I've come across:

Fans: Having a fan on - especially at night while you're sleeping - is very bad for your health and causes respiratory problems.

Air Conditioners: A/Cs promote too much change in your body's temperature during the summertime, which can cause you to get sick. Also, A/Cs push dust into the air and cause respiratory problems.

Ice: Ice is too cold for your stomach to digest properly, thus shouldn't be consumed often or in large quantities.

(*edit) S'mores: The black carbon (?) from roasted marshmallows, if eaten, causes cancer.

They all have some kind of valid reasoning behind them, but as a foreigner, I find them a bit strange (I guess just as foreigner to Texas might find it odd or revolting that we keep the A/C on even in winter and drink 44 ounces of liquid submerged in ice while driving). There's really no way for me to know if they're right or not, and that's not really the point anyway. I figure they've been feeling this way and doing what they do much longer than me, so maybe they're onto something. I don't know. Perhaps a lot of it, too, is just phobic hand-me-downs that have been around forever like ghost stories or fairy tales. If there is any truth behind their reasoning, though (especially for the WiFi waves), I'm afraid there are going to be a lot of heads aching in Mountain View, CA.

A friend of ours linked me to this YouTube video and now I'm addicted to it (and the other episodes). It's hilarious, and educational all at once. Thanks, Guillaume.

I don't know what's gotten into me, but I've been a little obsessed with baking these days. I think maybe I inhaled too much flour from my fairly successful first attempt at banana bread, or something. Last week when we were at [where else but] Ikea, I finally scooped up a loaf pan and Gui suggested I make a cake in it. For me, cakes aren't made in loaf pans - they're made in round, flat cake pans, perhaps layered and generously frosted with icing. But when Gui says cake or gateau he's pretty much referring to anything that's cake-y or cake-like, but not necessarily round nor iced. So, I thought, why not give it a try? Luckily I stalk one of the greatest recipe websites that always has the answers to my what-should-I-make dilemmas and found an easily adaptable recipe for apple coffee cake. It sounded heavenly and was exactly the kind of cake I was hoping to test out my new loaf pan with. I added some freshly ground nutmeg, used half cassonade (free-flowing brown sugar) and half regular white sugar, upped the cinnamon by a teaspoon, and did everything by hand (I have a hand mixer, but wanted to see if I could do it the old-school way). The hardest part was converting all of the amounts to liters and grams, which took nearly an hour to figure out. It turned out pretty well, and thought that the apple made it appropriate to serve at the 4th of July party we hosted. It was finished off, and the day after the party, one of our guests commented that she dreamt about my cake. I think I'll convert the recipe to metric units and make it again soon...maybe for Bastille Day.

Besides the fact that I didn't get my outfit ready the night before, today felt just how the first day of school always feels - I was excited, nervous, anxious and tired all at once. I was a little worried that I went to bed a little too late last night and thought I might fall asleep to the melodic sound of French during class, but nothing of the sort happened. From the moment our teacher came in, it was go, go, go and all very interesting, too. There's only one guy in our class of nine and besides the two Brazilians, no one is from the same country. Let's see, there's someone from Columbia, Mexico, Austria, Spain, Russia and Serbia. Oh, and me of course from where else? Texas!

I didn't even realize the time flying by and before we knew it three of our four hours had passed and we hadn't taken a break. So, all the kids (us students who range in age from 18 to at least 27) grabbed some coffee at a little boulangerie where the topic turned to, what else? Politics - American politics to be exact. Everyone was so interested to know what a Texan thought of Obama's chances of winning the election and what could possibly be done with the election of a new president. I learned a bit, too. The Spanish girl told me that to some Europeans, it doesn't really matter who's in the White House because Americans always take the same stance on international politics. Wha? I think I missed something in the choppy English translation, but I thought that was an interesting bit of information to digest. When we returned from our coffee break, we got a little chastised for speaking English until I explained that we were discussing politics, which, to my surprise and content, our teacher quickly agreed was a necessarily English-only topic.

I'm really happy about this class so far. I've already learned so much, but know I have more to learn, still. One of the things that surprised our teacher was that more than half of us weren't very familiar with the past-tense, which kind of worried me at first. I remember learning the passe composee, but that was years ago and I don't remember all of the verb conjugations or past participles. It's something she's going to work with us on next time. It's amazing how much more efficient one can speak a language just by learning the past tense. I think I'll practice a little with Gui tonight - he's actually a really good teacher if I could just get past the idea that he's my husband and all.

I've never baked a bread before, so I've always been impressed when while staying with Melynda and Brian, there was already a loaf of banana nut bread baking away in the oven by the time I was ready to start the day. Brian always said it was easy to make, so I decided to give it a shot when I started getting sick of looking at my black bananas on the shelf.

As my first bread baking endeavor ever, I was a little worried about how it would turn out. I had all the ingredients I needed on hand except for baking soda. I knew from an earlier baking experience that I'd need to look for tiny pink packets when I went to the grocery store, but I somehow forget exactly how to say baking soda in French. I knew it was something, something chimique. So, when after searching high and low at least three or four times around every single aisle in the store, I still couldn't find what I needed, I asked someone. French folk don't really seem to be approachable, but I've figured out that all it takes is being really nice and smiling to get a positive and friendly reaction out of them. (I know I'm generalizing, but I've yet to find an exception to that generalization, so when I do, I'll be sure to let everyone know. It's pretty much the same idea with everyone, everywhere, except that in places like the US and Italy, people in general seem more approachable.)

So, I asked in my best French where I could find the soudre? chimique...je ne sais pas...le poudre pour faire le pain, mais pas le farine [in english: soudre (non-existent French word) chemical...I don't know...the powder to make bread, but not flour].

He responds, farine de mais? (Me, not really understanding) oh oui, oui, je pense oui. [Yes, yes, I think yes.]

(He motions toward the corn meal.) OH, desolé, pas ça. Il est un poudre chimique. [OH, sorry, not that. It's a chemical powder.]

(He's looking more and more confused.) Pas le farine? [Not flour?]

(Me, giving up.) Non, mais c'est pas grave. Merci beaucoup. [No, but it's OK. Thanks a lot.]

(Him, relieved that I'm going to leave him alone so he can get back to work) De rien. [You're welcome.]

I decide to take one last look at the disproportionately small section where the flour is to make sure I didn't miss anything. Sure enough, tucked waaaay back behind an empty box was an entire tray of levure chimique Alsacienne. I gave a little chuckle and snapped a photo so I could prove that the little pink packets were hiding in the back of the shelf for no one to find (except my memory card wasn't in my camera and I don't know where my cable is to connect my camera to the computer, so sorry, can't post the pic).

When it was finally time to make the bread, I realized I didn't have a loaf pan to bake it in, so I improvised and used the smallest ceramic baking dish I have. It was interesting to convert everything into grams. I used a hybrid of two recipes, and I know you're not supposed to in baking, but I tweaked the recipes a bit and even added a spoonful of Nutella just because. The end result was decent - Gui loved it , but next time I'm going to chop the walnuts up a bit more and definitely use a loaf pan - it makes a difference. And I might use a bit less sugar next time since the Nutella is so sweet. Overall, it was a success and the perfect breakfast this morning with a cup of pressed coffee.

I've been a hermit. While Gui runs off to work each day, I usually do some form of organizing that we've been putting off, and do laundry (gosh, I've never done so much laundry in my life!), and clean and organize and clean. It seems like the quest to furnish and organize our apartment is never-ending. I feel like there's so much to do.

As much as I'd like to say that the cause of my hibernation is that there's so much to do at our apartment, I know that it isn't. There's a part of me that's becoming a little intimidated. The feeling of being a foreigner is starting to set in for me, and that feeling has been keeping me at home everyday, away from the strange world that I'm now calling home. I'm just now realizing that I'm no longer that young college student, eager to put myself out there and dive into a foreign place and culture without hesitation. I reflect on my summer abroad in Rome and remember how brave and resourceful I was. It never crossed my mind that I should be worried about what people with think of me, of my accent or my appearance. I was so ready to submerge myself into a new culture and become one of them. The same goes for my time in England. Now, I question more, I think more, and I do less.

If I was my therapist, I'd probably tell myself that I've been feeling the need to nest as a way to make my own comfort zone in what I feel is an uncomfortable place. I'd diagnose myself with STDS (no, not that kind of STD, but the "Scared To Do Shiz" kind) and prescribe as a treatment, a day outside of my comfort zone in an effort to expand it.

So, I took that prescription on Monday and shortly after Gui left for work, I walked to the metro stop, boarded line 9 and headed toward the opposite side of town. I've been meaning to sign up for my French class, and I decided that there was no time like the present to get off my arse and do it. It takes an hour to get to the school, but I only have to change lines once, which for me is what matters most (for some reason Guillaume always looks for the shortest distance even if there are a gazillion stops, which in theory maybe saves 5 minutes if you're lucky and get a metro right away on the next line, but in practice, I'd rather save my legs some walking and leave 5 minutes earlier).

The metro is a great place to people watch, and I spent enough time on the metro to remind myself how attractive Parisians really are. Sure, Paris has its fair share of ugly folk, but it doesn't take much effort to find a really good-looking Frenchie around these parts...not that I'm looking or anything!

So, after getting off the metro and searching a few minutes around the neighborhood, I found the school (score! it happens to be 100 meters from Paris Plage) and after a little waiting, I signed up for my summer French class, and I did it all in French! It was really easy to understand the lady at reception, and everything she asked me I actually knew how to respond to in French. I think being in an environment where it's OK to sound like a jackass definitely makes me more confident in my skills. It took about an hour to get all signed up, and after that, I headed back home, across town. I made a much needed pit-stop at the post-office (I'm still a little intimidated about going there to send something other than a letter stateside because then I actually have to talk to a person, not a machine), and came back to my little comfort zone.

I'll have to find a few good reads to keep me occupied on the metro - as much fun as it was looking at the pretty people, I can only check out someone's fab 'do or swanky shoes so many times before I want to stick a heel in my eye. (In the words of my adorable nephew,) mmmmm...BORRRING. I'm taking suggestions for books to order on Amazon or to search for in the few English bookstores around town. I'm hoping to catch up on some classics that I've missed (Catcher in the Rye, War and Peace, Jane Eyre, The Prince) or philosophy (Plato, Camus, Aristotle), but I'd be interested to see what else is getting readers' attention these days.

My classes start June 30th (20-hrs/week, yo!), so for three weeks, my hibernation will cease to exist. I'm hoping to meet some new people (from what I gather, there aren't many Americans/Brits/Aussies enrolled at this school, and it has a high population of students from Eastern Europe, Asia and South America...sweet!) and I seriously can't wait to have the confidence to be out on my own in the city without such a large language barrier. Je suis très content!