Since Gui and I travel at least once a year to the States, we try to track the movements of the Euro against the US Dollar so we can capitalize on the best exchange rates for our trips.  We've usually been pretty good about exchanging our currencies at really favorable rates, which lets us spend a bit more when we're visiting and going out in The Land of Plenty.  Back in November, we talked about exchanging our fancy European money while it was towering over the dollar at about $1.50.  But my overly-confident optimism kept our Euros in the bank and our American bank account stagnant.  Since then, it's all been literally downhill for the Euro, and we'll likely be forced to deal with a relatively even, Dollar-for-Euro exchange rate while we're visiting next month.  Which sucks.

While I'm clearly no expert on the subject, it wouldn't surprise me to see the Euro pan out flat against the Dollar in the coming months.  With all the uncertainties surrounding the Greek and Spanish economies (and the French one, for that matter), the Euro seems to be holding less and less water these days.  Luckily for Gui and I, we don't have a problem subsisting on 79¢ tacos and $1 Lone Star.  America The Great, indeed!

We got a call on Monday from our bank's anti-fraud department asking if we'd authorized a transaction at an ATM in Brazil. Uh, no. We still don't really know how our card information was stolen, but it was and it's really disturbing. I always hear and read about things like this happening to people - some high-tech thief installs a copying device at ATM machines and steals the card information from unsuspecting folks trying to take cash out, etc., etc. But, until now, I'd never been personally affected by such a scheme. We were really lucky that it wasn't a high-dollar transaction and that our bank alerted us and canceled the card before more damage could be done, but it still makes me feel absolutely violated. It also makes me rethink how we spend money and our dependence on our bankcard - I know that I'll be much more cautious and aware of who handles my card now and where we use it, even if I've always felt I was being cautious enough.

But, as if dealing with stolen credit cards isn't enough for a Monday, not long after hearing from the anti-fraud department, I found myself witness to what I've now come to understand was the SECOND robbery of an apartment in my building in a month. It was the middle of the day and a thunderous banging sounded in the stairwell just below my apartment. At first, I thought the neighbors were doing travaux again, but when the floorboards and walls of our apartment started shaking with each blow, I opened the front door to see what the heck was going on. Just as my door swung open, a woman was running up the stairs for the elevator; I know I startled her, but she nervously said bonjour and told me they were looking for someone as she let herself into the elevator and descended. I really didn't know what to think at this point, but I knew she wasn't alone because I had heard someone else running down the stairs. What's ridiculous is that I had no clue if this woman was one of our neighbors or just some strange person running through our building. It's just not common here to get to know your neighbors, to know when they're in our out and to look after things while they're gone like you do back in suburban America.

Still, the sound I had heard and the frantic demeanor of the woman made me uneasy, so I went downstairs to see if there was anything amiss. I saw bits of wood on the floor as I turned the corner of the staircase, and realized soon after that the door to the apartment below had been completely broken into. I'm not sure if a tool was used or someone kicked it in, but however they did it, they found their way past a big, heavy French-style door and into the empty apartment of an unsuspecting neighbor. I immediately called Gui to find out what I should do, but both of us were still really confused with the scenario. Perhaps it was a lover's quarrel, or maybe someone forgot their keys and was mad. Maybe that lady was our neighbor and she was off looking for whoever had damaged her door. We just didn't know what to think. I knocked on the door of the only neighbor I do know to get some advice, but she didn't answer. A couple of hours later, as more people returned from work and noticed the broken door, I went downstairs to give my account of what happened. Another neighbor had seen a man running downstairs the same time I saw the woman, but he didn't do anything, either because, like me, he had no idea what was going on.

What really disturbs me about this whole situation, though, is what I discovered today. I came home to find a sign on our building's front door warning us that someone in our building was not only burglarized this past Monday, but three Mondays ago as well (a different neighbor), yet no one bothered to tell us about the first incident until now. I know for a fact that if I had been informed of the previous burglary when I heard the sound coming from below my apartment, I would not have hesitated to call the police or even try to catch someone in the act. Not that I would have gone all "Texas-neighborhood-watch" on them (at least not in France), but maybe I could have done something! All I know is that I hope that whoever's making their robbery rounds in our building has gotten what they came for and won't be coming back again. I've never hesitated to defend myself and property and I don't imagine I'd pause to reflect should someone come and try to bang down my door.

Anyone living in Paris will tell you that the métro is not just a mode of transportation, but an important destination in its own right, especially if you're into watching strange events unfold, listening to lovers suck face two inches from your ear and observing an area full of fifty-plus people staring into space in complete and utter silence. It's funny how small the world becomes when you find yourself riding the same line on a regular basis.

On the way back from seeing a mind-reader perform the other night, Gui and I found ourselves on the metro with a group of drunk and stupid teenagers who thought that writing on the doors and walls of the metro car with a bright green marker would make their parents proud. Too bad for them, they picked the first car to showcase their penmanship and found themselves the embarrassed recipients of a stern, public lecture by the observant driver. Today, while heading back home from school, I happened to jump on the exact same metro car to find that none of their graffiti had been removed. I was thinking that had the same incident played itself out in Texas, those kids would have been crying to their parents that evening while explaining why they got questioned and held by the local police. Then, they'd be spending their next Saturday scrubbing all the metro cars clean as punishment.

One of the worst things for me about taking the metro is dealing with daily solicitation of money from beggars, homeless people and buskers. I don't mind handing over a few centimes to someone when I have it, but what irks me the most are the people who repeatedly work the metros with perfectly polished nails, wearing shoes in better condition than mine. My mom taught me long ago that what a person does with their money is of no concern to you once you've made the decision to give it to them. Which I totally agree with and I guess explains why I avoid giving those people money in the first place.

Today, I found myself witness to the most amazing conversation I've ever heard between a serial-beggar and a woman riding the metro. The woman begging for money is obviously a pro. She's definitely one of those with nice jewelry and fancy shoes, and I see her on my line every. single. day. What I hate the most about her begging is how she asks for money - she carries a stack of at at least fifty small, yellow cards that have a perfectly-typed message on them, asking for money to feed her homeless family. Occasionally, she brings a small child with her, but I haven't seen her with him since the summer. She goes around and hands these cards to unsuspecting passengers, leaving them on empty seats next to people who've refused them. I've fallen victim to her sneaky, little card trick once, but never again after that.

When I first saw her little plan unfold, I thought she must be crazy to think people would give someone so young, capable and literate some of their hard-earned money in such a place that makes it rather difficult for one to truly starve. And, it's true, most everyone felt like they'd been had when she came around to take the cards back and ask for the money they'd promised her by default. But, there were still a few who dug into their pockets, not sure if they were now obliged to do so, and handed her a few coins along with her little yellow card.

Today, though, was funny. After she'd made her rounds and just as the train was entering a station, a boisterous, straight-talking woman (who'd perhaps felt like she'd been had) asked the begging woman if she was capable of speaking. The beggar bashfully answered her (in a very audible voice) in French - "Pas bien...euh..uh...je parle..." The woman (my new hero) replied by telling her that (and I have to paraphrase some of this because although I could completely understand the conversation [thank God], there's no way I could rewrite all the words in French) "bon, si tu peux ecrire et passer les petits papiers comme ça, tu peux travailler! [well, if you can write and pass these little papers around, then you can work!]" The beggar smiled like the woman was telling her a joke, and a guy standing up to get off at his stop let out a loud laugh which only provoked my hero more and made everyone else chuckle. The metro came to a stop, but the woman continued by telling her, "Don't go around asking these people for money on a piece of paper if you can talk. If you want money, go work like everyone else." The great thing about how she told her all of this is that it wasn't in a condescending sort of way, but like one of your friends telling you to stop being lazy, get off your arse and get a job. I love that. I could hear her still trying to convince her to stop her begging ways as she walked off the metro and the doors closed. It's rare to find someone who'll speak their mind so openly here (especially on the metro), so I'm just glad it happened on my line.

All the news about the economic crisis, mortgage woes, and dwindling jobs has got me thinking about my economic future. It's hard for me to admit and accept that at 27, I'm unemployed with little to no prospect of finding a serious job anytime soon. It just crossed my mind today that this will be the first year since I was 17 that I won't have to file taxes since I haven't and won't receive a paycheck for an entire tax year. I don't want to sound like Debbie Downer, but that's a really hard pill for me to swallow. I realize how lucky I am to be in my situation, living in a fantastic city with the love of my life, where finding a job isn't currently a pressing issue. I've got it pretty good. But, I've never been a stagnant creature; if I'm not being challenged, pressured or educated, I'm not being fulfilled. For the past ten years, I was either working full-time or going to school full-time and working part-time. I might have been exhausted every night and cursing the day I decided to take 18 hours of school, work for 20 hours per week while interning for 10 hours a week , but I was accomplishing so much! I felt so great after finishing that crazy semester, relieved, too, but mostly successful. Nowadays, my success is (self-)measured by how good dinner tastes or how many shirts I iron in a day. It's really hard for me to believe how much my lifestyle and ambitions have changed.

Like most kids, when I was young, I wanted to be everything - a teacher, a designer, a CEO, an ambassador, a surgeon, a lawyer, a politician - and I somehow never grew out of that phase. I still find myself wondering what in the world I'm going to make of myself. There are so many ideas I have floating about in my head about what direction I should take in my career, but nothing stands out as the one path to follow, and of course, none of my options seem attainable given my current circumstances as an unemployed, non-French speaking housewife. I'd really love to go back to school, to get my master's, but even deciding on what to get it in and which schools to apply to is just as daunting as anything else.

I know I'm not doomed to be a stay-at-home wife forever, and I'm sure brighter days are ahead. Perhaps it would serve me well to just pick something from my superfluous list of things I want to do and do it. What makes me so uninspired, though, are the what-ifs that I like to torment myself with: what if we were back in the States...what if I had never left my last job...what if I could speak French fluently...what if I don't get accepted to grad school...what if my French doesn't improve...what if I'm 40 and still in the same boat...? Maybe I should stop wasting my energy on all these rhetorical questions and get started on something. But, what if I can't choose what to start on?

...And, now I'm off to get some Camembert for this whine.

Maybe it doesn't take a lot to make me happy, but for the past few days I've been finding myself quite content with a lot of things. We had dinner with Gui's dad the evening we got into town from La Rochelle. We were pretty pooped from the long drive and eventful weekend, but his dad insisted that we stop by for a quick dinner. We knew he had something up his sleeve, and shortly after we arrived, he handed us a box in a bag that contained these gorgeous knives.




He even had them engraved with our names on the blade, so we wouldn't have to share. Thank goodness, because you wouldn't believe how much dirtier Gui's knife is after eating than mine! They're absolutely beautiful and so sophisticated. We won't be eating with them daily - you're not supposed to wash the handle and they're just too fancy for the regular ol' meals we have around here. But, we'll be bringing them out for special occasions, for sure.

The Sunday chili I made had me all in smiles, too. We ended up eating it all throughout the day, polishing it off with a crisp cider while watching the Olympic games. I love chili, and this time I made it extra spicy which was so comforting on a gloomy Sunday.


I also finally whipped up some coleslaw, which I've been craving for weeks now. I couldn't believe how easy it was, nor how great it tasted!! Gui fell in love with coleslaw while living a summer in Texas and even he raved about it. I was happy to indulge, but much happier that I found another go-to recipe (I nixed the vegetable oil and added a little milk) to add to my personal repertoire.


I both smiled and grunted when I got this in the mailbox.

98% of our apartment is Ikea furniture, and our kitchen would be completely dysfunctional without the genius that is behind Ikea. We can never leave the store without a full basket of goodies for the house. Still, it makes me cringe that I didn't come up with the whole "build your own furniture" idea first.

My happy streak continued at the grocery store today, first when I spotted these:


And, then when I spotted this:

I've seen these corn tortillas before somewhere, but they must have been outrageously priced for me to have passed them up. Not this time! Now, enchiladas are on the menu for this week, so stay tuned!

And that strange cylindrical box is sodium bicarbonate, otherwise known as baking soda, which has been pretty hard to come by around these parts. I randomly walked by the salt section and saw this bright yellow thing reflected by the fluorescent lights and realized it was the golden ticket to the oatmeal cookies I've been wanting to try my hand at. I really hope it's the right stuff because I can't really understand any of the writing, which is in half Dutch, half French. If it is, it'll be more cause to keep smiling.

It's a well-known phenomenon that while riding the metro you will almost certainly come in contact with some bizarre, odd, or otherwise foreign person. This happens daily. Usually, it's a smelly guy in a suit who's late to work, or a couple talking in a language I've never heard before, or a dude who gets off at every stop and yells some indiscernible chant at his fellow-riders as they descend the metal tube.

Today, I sat next to two very normal-looking guys who were transporting a few bags of market produce. I opened up my book, preparing for the long and dull ride to my stop and kept about my business as usual. Just as I was starting to get back into the juicy bits of the story, a loud clucking noise sounded from just next to me and the plastic bags at the feet of my fellow passengers started moving violently about on their own. Everyone, including me, cocked our heads in the direction of my two neighbors who started wrestling with the bags. A few seconds later, a beak and red-colored head peeped out from the bag and let out a loud "Cluck!" Apparently, these guys had picked up more than bananas from the market and were taking some chickens (or maybe they were hens) home (presumably) for dinner tonight. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, and when they saw that I found it amusing, they began laughing with me. I couldn't decipher what they were talking about before or after that because they weren't speaking French (like that would make a difference anyway) or English or any other recognizable language, but I asked them in French if I could take a picture of their fowl, and they happily obliged. Not wanting to impose too much, I snapped two very quick shots and ended up with these:



We laughed a little more at the incident and carried on with what were doing before the distraction - they continued their conversation and I dove back into my book. Then, something happened that is also a well-known reality of metro-riding. A woman came by to beg for money - I, being engrossed in a book, was all but ignored by the woman, but when she spotted the fresh goods being transported by my poultry-carrying friends, she asked them if she could help herself to a banana. One of the guys had already given her a few coins, but the other guy leaned over and pulled off a banana for her. She thanked him a few times and stood by the doors awaiting her stop. A few seconds later, still conversing with each other, the two guys filled an empty sack with a bunch of bananas and a few mangoes and handed it to the woman. She, nor I, nor the girl opposite me could believe the kind gesture we'd just witnessed.

Here, especially, I find myself on an eternal quest to suppress my over-active, highly-sensitive emotions, and it took everything in me to allow only a single tear to fall. It probably sounds silly, trite even, to become teary-eyed over such a natural and daily encounter. But I find more and more that kindness like this is rarely depicted in the streets (or metros) of Paris. My thoughts are that this has something to do with tradition, and even I have become less sympathetic after hearing people (my husband included) paint a malicious and deceitful, mafia-like picture of the poor and homeless population in Paris. It isn't easy for me to say no to someone when I have the means to say yes, but I feel like it's what's expected of me here. After today, though, it seems clearer than ever that I can still fit in as a Parisian without abandoning my humanity.

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 hate to admit it, but I'm captivated by this.

hehe...Kanye says "rubbish."

I left London with a few coins (which, in the UK could mean anything from 2 pennies to 20 pounds) in my pocket, but not because I wanted to. Typically, I try to spend all my pounds before leaving England so I don't wind up with a jar full of change that I'll eventually forget about. I think I had about 3 pounds (read: over 6 bucks) of loose change that I had every intention of offering to the first peddler/beggar/homeless dude or dudess that I crossed on my way to Heathrow. But, for some reason, I never crossed one. How, in a city of over 7 million peeps can it be that in the last 24 hours not one person stopped to ask me for change - not in front of a grocery store, not on the street, not even on any of the tube stops!?

So, here I am, back in Paris with a pocket full of useless change (that I'll probably forget to bring back with me when I visit next), when who should I cross on the train to Paris at my first stop? Yep, a peddler - a violinist, actually, and get this, his SON (or some adorable little kid pretending to be his son) walks through the train, begs everyone for some coins, and what can I give him when he puts that paper cup in my face? Nada. Rien. Niente. I guess I could have opened up my pocket, pulled out a fist-full of pounds and pence and filled his cup with coins he's probably never seen before, but how rude would that be? I mean, I'd totally be pissed if I went to buy some groceries, paid with a $20 bill and was given change back in Euros. What in the hell am I supposed to do with that? So, I guess what this boils down to is if, upon leaving England, I have extra change to give away, I should convert it from Pounds to Euros before leaving the UK because, let's be honest, all the poor people live in Paris. That sucks.

I had an inkling that the forces that be would come crashing in on me without pause for expecting a simple short engagement and planning a wedding overseas in 2 months. What was I thinking?

It's already a little sad that, besides my mom, my family won't be able to attend the ceremony on such short notice. Now that we've mistakenly relied on UPS to actually do their job by delivering extremely vital documents to a person (not a patio), my mom may not be able to attend either. Not to mention, because of the nature of the documents (not just my mom's, but mine as well), we may run into issues of fraud and identity theft in the future that, with my luck, will be seriously detrimental to my or my mom's life or well-being.

What sort of company allows a delivery driver to provide this information about delivering goods: "left at patio, signed by Sarah?" Does this make any sense to anyone else living a slightly educated life? Didn't think so. Je tu déteste, UPS.

So, Gui and I checked out the Transformers movie today after hearing Melynda rave about it, and we were suprisingly surprised at how good it was! Of course it has its cheesy parts, but how can you possibly make a movie from an 80's-inspired action figure without a little cheesiness? There was more violence than I would normally like to see, but it all suited the movie well, and kept my full attention the entire time. The violence, however, would be a little much (in my opinion) for a kid under 7 or 8, but the effects are really cool. The storyline's not bad either, and it always helps to have a little comedy with so much action going on. So, my final review is 4 out of 4 stars for the movie!