Don't follow people who cross on a red man.

I literally typed this into my phone on my way to the metro after nearly becoming windshield splatter on someone's car yesterday morning. There's a blind-spot on one of the crosswalks that I pass on my way across the peripherique to the metro station. Since the person on the other end of the crosswalk has a full view of the oncoming traffic, I (as well as the rest of the confident travelers on my side of the crosswalk) generally tend to think that once they've realized no cars are coming and start walking across the pavement, it's safe for our side to forge ahead (even when the little crosswalk man is red). This has been failsafe until yesterday morning, when someone didn't get the memo and decided it'd be ok to walk into oncoming traffic whilst totally disregarding the Peugeot and Volkswagen that were racing to make the green light. Oh, merde! I and two other half-asleep Parisians, needless to say, picked up the pace after realizing we were in the path of a few honk-happy commuters who were probably still half asleep and likely willing to rid the city of a few pedestrians if they could make it through the stale vert light.

That's not the only note I'm writing to myself these days. Note number two: Steps are deadly, try to avoid walking on them in public at all costs.

Yesterday, while walking up the measly four steps to my school building, instead of putting one foot on one step and the other foot on the next step, I decided to forget a step altogether and fell nearly flat on my face just in front of two students (or maybe teachers), spilling my piping hot espresso all over the marble floor and my pants. Not knowing what language I spoke, one of them asked if I was ok in about three different languages and then proceeded to ask me in French if I needed to go to the hospital. I didn't really know how to react - I just said, no...shrugged...gave an awkward smile and brushed myself off. I'm still cringing from that.

Still, not comprehending this very new invention called stairs, I found myself once again conversing with the marble, but this time in front of everyone and their mom at one of Paris' busiest places - Les Halles. I was carelessly strolling through the square, on my way to the magasin when out of nowhere two downward steps appear and send me flying onto my arse in between two innocent folks trying to have a chill moment. "Whoops!!" This time around there was more laughter, a hearty attention, madame! from one of those folks, and a brisk, ça va! from me.

I'm so not looking forward to tomorrow, it's supposed to rain and who knows how my balance will fare on slick Parisian steps. Maybe I should look into taking walking or stair-climbing lessons after my French class.

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.

Besides the fact that I was 3,000 miles away from the country whose independence is celebrated on the 4th of July, the evening was spent like nearly every other American spent it - hot dogs, chips, beer, potato salad, poker and whiskey. With the exception of a crowded fireworks display, it was just like being home. We invited some friends over to enjoy the traditional fare and man, was it a hit! First, let me just say that it was my first time ever making potato salad - how could I have gone so long in my adult life without making this southern staple? Well, at every event that commands potato salad, my mom or Aunt Mary are in attendance to make their specialty, and I'm usually just fine with that. I made mine with what I had on hand - potatoes, shallots, boiled eggs, dill, yellow mustard, mayonnaise and relish. I was a little worried about how our purely French guests would like it, but I was content to eat the leftovers should there be any. There weren't, and I ended up sharing my recipe with everyone. I also served up for dessert an apple coffee cake, which was raved about. But, the biggest hit of the night was not the French's mustard or relish that we smuggled back from Texas (although I will be needing replenishments soon), but it was the ranch dip that I served with cucumber that everyone was hootin' and hollerin' over. I even gave one of them a packet to take home because he couldn't stop talking about how good it was. In the end, I was happy that I was able to share a little of my culture and even happier that they enjoyed it.

Last Thursday was a real treat. We met up with some friends of ours who we met back in Austin where they were living for a year until this summer. Just last month, they came back to France and we've been waiting for a chance to catch up with them. Luckily, their favorite band was making a stop in Paris, so they took a train from their neck of the woods and we had the pleasure of spending an evening catching up with old friends and listening to really great music.

I was surprised at how good the band actually was. We'd listened to bits and pieces of their music from YouTube clips and such, but hearing them live was totally different. Besides the giant, man-like biatch that elbowed her way in front of me and Pascal, the concert was blast! Afterwards, we ate like Americans at Indiana Cafe, praised the show, and reminisced about our time together in Texas. We're hoping to make a trip to visit our friends for Bastille Day - a day I'm looking forward to celebrating here.

I had forgotten what it feels like to wake up with a hangover until this morning. We had too much fun playing poker, eating hot-dogs (with French's mustard), potato salad and ranch dip that I lost count of the number of whiskey & cokes I poured myself after those couple of glasses of wine. Gui was a trooper and had to be up early (as in before noon) to prepare for another night of debauchery for his friend's bachelor party tonight. I got up with him, but never made it past the couch and I've been stalking blogs and randomly interneting all day. My plans to see Sex in the City were easily forgotten after it became physically impossible to change positions on the couch. Thankfully, I had enough strength to get up a few hours later and grab some pho and nems (soup and eggrolls) from the delightful restaurant down the street. It's 9pm, and I'm going to eat, finish my blog stalking, and end the evening curled up in bed with my new favorite book. I expect to be in a much better state of mind tomorrow to recall details of our Independence Day fête.

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.

Wine is sacred in France. When I first ordered a kir, I was astounded (and a little delighted) to learn that it was actually common in France to mix wine with something other than air. Don't get me wrong, I love wine on its own, too - I'm not a connoisseur or anything, but I'm happy to drink a glass daily. Now that summer's here, rosé is the wine of choice around these parts, and this afternoon I discovered a completely neglected and forgotten bottle of rosé at the very bottom of our fridge. I'm not sure how it came to be so discarded, but I decided it needed to be finished off. While pouring the last few drops into my glass, it became evident that it wasn't going to be easy to drink. So, with a dash of soda, my old rosé turned into a sweet wine spritzer. Yes, I said it. I drank a wine spritzer in Paris. I know it's not the classiest drink, but it was good and it made me happy after just running from the metro in the rain.

Another thing that made me happy after my sprint through the rain was the package I found in my mailbox. Jen has the most perfect timing of anyone I know - I swear she can read my mind. The lovely books she sent came just as I finished my back-up book today (one that I've read at least four times). I was scared I'd have to start reading the ads in the metro on the way to school everyday! I think I'll still need to take a trip to an anglophone bookstore in the near future because I have a feeling these books are going to be hard to put down. Thanks again, Jen!!