Sorry for not posting this week; I'm sure everyone's wondering what I've been up to...or not.
Actually, I haven't had anything of much interest to write about. After finishing my French classes and a week of preparing for and worrying about my carte de sejour, I've been stuck in a rut over what I should do with my free time. The obvious answer is to get with the job-hunting, but August is by far the worst month to try to contact businesses in Paris. There's even an advertisement all around Paris that's asking where all the Parisians have gone. I saw someone else put up a photo of the advert on their blog, but I can't remember who (I think it's official that I stalk entirely too many blogs). According to Gui it's a play on a football chant that gets shouted when the Paris team is sucking - kind of like "Where are y'all at now, Paris?" I think it's a really clever advertisement (although I can't remember the website it's promoting at the moment), and I still find it so amusing that people just up and leave this city for nearly an entire thirty days for a little respite from the norm. Our apartment is surrounded by lots of businesses and a few office buildings, so lately the neighborhood's been eerily quiet and parking spaces have been unusually superfluous.

So, expecting to find a job this month is really an absurd fantasy that I'm quickly finding myself getting over. Now that I have all this extra time on my hands, I'm trying to think of ways to discover Paris without feeling like a tourist. Monday was a completely wasted day spent indoors, cleaning, blog-stalking, cleaning and cleaning. But, on Tuesday, I took myself to Muji, which I'd heard is like a Japanese Ikea or something like that. I wanted to see what they had and maybe pick up some things that I still need in the kitchen - mainly cooking utensils. Well, I wasn't exactly blown away when I found my way to the little shop tucked behind the marché Saint Germain, but I scooped up a couple of low-priced items and decided to take a trip to my tried and true utensil shop down at Les Halles. There I found exactly what I needed and headed back home feeling successful after a quick frapuccino pit-stop at Stealmybucks. It's an indulgence I don't have often, so I don't feel guilty about throwing down 5 euros for a grande fruit-tea smoothie.

I came home rather early and hung around with Gui after work before I headed out for my first evening in Paris sans Gui. Emily is as lovely as a Georgia peach who, as we discovered over a couple of overpriced cocktails in the 16eme, has a lot in common with this misplaced Texan, including being married to a fabulous, grade A, slightly paranoid, americanized Frenchie. Girl talk in English is so much fun - we spent over three hours dishing about our lives, our history, our woes, our often unreasonable expectations of the fabled Paris life, and our rather happy existences. Our rendez-vous was loads of fun and a much appreciated breath of fresh air from my looming boredom. Thank God she appreciates alcohol-inspired French sign language.

And wouldn't you know that after making my trip to the marché this afternoon for some produce and such, I got an email from a girlfriend of Gui's friend inviting me to the piscine? So, this afternoon she swung by and picked me up in her car (quelle chance) and we headed in search of my neighborhood pool. Man, I never in my life knew there were so many rules for going to a freakin' swimming pool! And, man I never knew how popular pools were in Paris [banlieue] during the summer - geesh, don't people work? We got cut off in the line by a big, yellow tape barrier because apparently they were approaching their maximum occupancy of 700 people - yes SEVEN. HUNDRED. Luckily, we got in only minutes later and set off to go through the regular routine of taking off the shoes, finding and paying for a locker and showering before spotting a patch of grass for some seriously appreciated sunbathing. A ton of sun, a few dips in the pool, a few topless women, speedoed men, and another episode of showering (this time with soap and shampoo - yeah, that's weird to me) ensued before we called it a (great) day.

I'm still working on my CV and trying to keep up my French by talking with Gui and watching French TV, but I figure if everyone else can take August off, there's no reason I shouldn't also. I'm learning that boredom isn't so bad after all, so long as you've got a lot to do.

Now (besides my lower than generally acceptable French skill level), I have no excuse for being jobless anymore. After a patience-testing wait at the prefecture late this afternoon, I was handed a half-sheet of paper that's proof of my application for residency, and that I will use as evidence of my right to work in France until my actual card arrives - hopefully within the next three months (we'll see how that goes). It's funny because we actually had an appointment with the same woman who set the appointment in the first place, whose awful people skills and overwhelming rudeness we both were blown away with last time. She seemed fifty times happier this time and even made a few jokes and got us in and out within 30 minutes of our appointment time. We think it had something to do with her imminent three-plus weeks of vacation.

We asked a few questions, most of which were answered with "we don't do that here," but the most important question was the one about my eligibility to work. At first, we were told that I couldn't work with just a récépissé (which is just a receipt that shows I've applied for the residency permit), but after inquiring a bit, she told us that, in fact, I could work with it and that my eligibility would be printed on the document. Man, I wonder if I'd have the same eligibility if we hadn't been brave enough to ask?

All in all, it went pretty smoothly. We only had to wait a couple of minutes after our appointment to be seen, and would you believe it if I told you (speaking to those of you who've gone through this before) that we actually had everything they required for the application EXCEPT a copy of the stamp indicating my entry into France with my visa? Would you also believe that that was the only thing not mentioned on the list of required documents to bring? Luckily, we caught our guichetiere on a good day and she was kind enough to make copies for us without much hassle.

Now, I'm just waiting to get the information for the infamous medical exam. If I'm lucky, I might just get my actual cds a few months before I have to reapply for the next one. Ah, the French.

Geez, it's been a hot week! Yesterday, I went to a few Korean shops to buy some spices I've been searching for (with no luck), and had to help a dear old lady find her away around an arrondissement I'm not familiar with. Her face was beaded with sweat and she had to pull me into the shade while I searched my pocket map for the street she was looking for. We chatted a bit (she praised my French skills - yeehaw!) and I pointed her in the direction of her destination (I got the feeling she was reluctant to go wherever she was heading, but man, who wouldn't be reluctant to walk in 9,000-degree weather?). I realized, after talking with her, how much I enjoy practicing my French. Sure, it sucks when I don't have the right words to say, but it feels good to hear my progression and practice the phrases and words I've become familiar with.

So, I didn't stay out very long because, frankly, I was melting in the streets, and the stench of B.O. in the stuffy metro was making me gag. I came home, peeled off my sweaty clothes, threw on what's become my summer house-dress (an old, light, jersey dress) and hung out in front of the fan for the rest of the day. It was too hot to cook, so Gui and I had some tasty cold sandwiches for dinner.


Today was another scorcher and it took so much energy to motivate myself to get some pictures taken that I need for my carte de sejour appointment tomorrow. I also wanted to check into getting a haircut while I was out, but I couldn't stand the heat any longer than necessary and I headed straight back to the shade of our apartment and the coolness of our fans after snapping a sweaty, smile-less pic. It didn't get any cooler and there was no way I was turning on the oven tonight, so we spent a lovely evening in Le Marais enjoying a delicious fallafel and cold Corona in an air-conditioned resto. We wrapped up the evening with cold gelato at the Pozzetto counter where I enjoyed a refreshing watermelon sorbet cone (that I'll be going back for soon) and Gui scarfed down their famous hazelnut chocolate gianduia.






Tomorrow, Gui is taking a half-day to come with me to the prefecture for my carte de sejour appointment. With luck, I'll be receiving my récépissé that (ideally) allows me to work until I receive my actual carte de sejour. I'm not holding my breath that anything will go smoothly because, let's face it, that's my new reality and I'm fine with taking the bad with the good...for now. I'm just hoping they have working air-conditioning in their office because then if everything goes wrong, at least I'll have gotten a satisfying respite from this unrelenting heat...

Note: Sorry for all the food posts lately...it's what's been keeping me busy!

So, I've discovered that my favorite cake to bake is chocolate cake. After receiving an intimidatingly simple recipe from my MIL, I gave it a shot and ended up with a delicious, soft and fluffy chocolate cake. I've never made a chocolate cake before - not even the boxed kind, not brownies, not cupcakes, and now that I have this trusty recipe, it's going to be a regular around here. I only had three eggs on hand, so I just reduced everything a smidge (except for the chocolate) and it turned out perfectly. Since there weren't any instructions on baking the cake, I took the advice of one of my favorite food bloggers and figured it was ready when it was ready.

I can't wait to try it as a moelleux au chocolat next time, and I'm totally going to look for a recipe for crème anglaise to dress it up a bit, too (as both were so kindly suggested). This time around, it's been a delicious dessert and the perfect accompaniment to café au lait in the morning.

I find myself noticing more and more ways that I'm becoming like my mom. For instance, I often scoop up a box of Frosties (Kellogg's Frosted Flakes) when I'm craving a bowl and rarely eat them after I've gotten my fix. There's something about those sugary flakes with milk that reminds me of hanging at home with mom. As I start to open up to the world of baking, I notice that it brings about a sort of reflective nostalgia to be in the kitchen baking a cake for no reason at all. My mom used to (and still does) always do that.

"Why are you making cookies, mom?"
"Oh, just because. I felt like having some oatmeal raisin cookies."

I can't wait to get my hands on some oats to try my hand at her soft and gooey oatmeal cookies! A lot of my mom's cooking comes from improvising with what's on hand. I'm not really good at that yet, and I haven't been cooking long enough to know what to sub if I'm missing an ingredient for a recipe or something. Last week, I really wanted to make some rice with the drumsticks I bought for baking. My mom often makes baked chicken rubbed simply with a bit of salt, pepper and flour and serves it with freshly steamed rice and corn or some other vegetable. Even though it's a meal she probably threw together one day out of what she found in the fridge and pantry, it's one of my favorite and most nostalgic meals. As I was preparing to make the rice, I noticed there were still a couple of delicious sun-dried tomatoes swimming in their jar and I decided they needed to be rescued from their loneliness. Trying to recall how my mom makes her famous Spanish rice, I attempted my own version of rice by adding the oil from the tomatoes, the tomatoes chopped and some purple onion along with a few spices. As the smells started to mingle and the pan sizzled, a wave of memory hit me and I was transported to my mom's kitchen, sniffing the air, humming an "mmmmmm" and telling her how good her rice always smells.

The meal turned out perfectly and I know my mom would have loved the rice - it was really amazing. Still, being the ever-so-impatient lid-lifter, I couldn't make the rice cook fast enough! I giggled to myself as I thought of her telling me to "quit lifting the lid because it's almost ready!"

While Gui's cousins are on vacation for a few weeks, we're keeping their cute cat, Mephisto at our place. He's really a lovely cat, but I think he's finding it a little hard to adjust to his new, temporary home. Unfortunately for him, Gui and I live on the sixth floor (5eme en français), and since we don't have a balcony or a proper sitting area outside (like he does at home), he doesn't get to hang out much in the outside world. I feel really bad for him. Every time he goes to an open window, we have to scare him away for fear he might attempt an accidental suicide. And, it's far too hot these days to keep the windows closed during the day.

I don't generally have good luck with pet-sitting cats, having had one die under my watch (the cat had complications from a previous ailment that I didn't know still persisted...it was a devastating experience for me), and my temperament around kids and animals tends to be hyper-sensitive to any possible dangerous scenarios - I let my fears become theirs, so, taking care of a homesick cat is seriously stressful for me.

During the first few nights, he'd sometimes start meowing sadly and loudly which would keep me up for a while trying to figure out what to do to make him better. Gui could see my frustration and suggested a change of scenery. At 5AM the best we could do was show him the stairwell, which actually suited him just fine. The meowing stopped and he's been in slightly better spirits since.

Now, we're taking him out to the stairwell for some regular change of scenery. I've also made a few adjustments to our furniture arrangements and added a mosquito screen to the window rails to prevent any accidental base-jumping, but I'm still paranoid as ever over his whereabouts during the day and his safety while we're away. Too bad it's so impossible to comfortably have a dog in Paris because now more than ever I'm sure we won't be having a cat.

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...

This is my last week of French classes, for now at least. I was supposed to be finished last week, but I decided to enroll in another week to round it up to a four-week lesson. Reflecting on how much I've learned in four weeks, I really feel like I've come a long way. I've still got SO much further to go, but I'm more confident in a few of my skills, and I think I've increased the overall versatility of my speech. But, as I said before, I've got a long ways to go.

I still can't fully express myself in French - or even mostly express myself. I find I'm constantly asking how to say something or another in French and repeating the same words or phrases over and over. Many times, midway through a thought that I can't quite get across, I stop and decide to cut myself off for fear of saying the wrong thing or sounding stupid. I know it's all part of the learning process, but it's an exhausting feeling to be defeated each and every day by a language that makes no sense. I found some consolation today in class when a girl who has command of Portuguese, Spanish and English told me of her frustrations with learning the French language. Those seated next to us were also in agreement that the language is so complex and completely taxing. I mentioned that when I was living in Italy, I would find myself dreaming in Italian, thinking in Italian and feeling the language; conversely, it's never been like that for me with French. Sure, I studied Italian for a few semesters, but I never practiced, never listened to Italian radio or watched Italian TV on a daily basis, and I don't ever remember thinking of it as such a laborious subject. What I do recall is feeling like I was meant to speak the language, like it was somewhere in me all along, just waiting to be brought to life. I don't have that same feeling with French.

After class today, I found myself dreaming about moving away from France to Italy or Spain. I don't think that's something Gui and I would ever really do without a really good reason, but it was nice to think of how much easier life might be if I could live in a foreign country and be able to speak the language with comfort and confidence, working and enjoying my life as an "insider" rather than someone trying to figure it out. Then, I could really start my life there - do real work instead of going to school to learn how to read and write and talk; I could do so many things that I dream of doing here, like volunteering and taking music lessons, but instead I find there's always that black cloud of non-fluency looming over, reminding me of my below-par skill set.

I really hope (and plan) to one day master the language enough to get a job and converse freely with friends and family, but I don't imagine that will be anytime soon. A week from Friday, we have my carte de sejour meeting at the prefecture where I believe they'll assess my skill level (or send me somewhere to do that) to determine if language classes will be needed and if so, how much. It's part of this new integration contract they're implementing throughout France. I'm all for getting 200-400 hours of free language classes, and I want nothing more than to find my passion for French like I found for Italian. Yet, some part of me still yearns for the easy way, for a way to bypass months ( if not years) of language classes just to get to the point that I was at eight months ago (geesh! I've been jobless for eight months, who in the world is going to hire me?!). Sometimes I feel like I'm going backwards or not going at all, and it worries me to ponder where my professional life and personal ambitions will be in a year. All I hope is that I'm not still sitting in a class with the same folks trying to figure out how to politely say, "may I please have a baguette and a chocolate eclair?"