Sometimes I just need to type, so me make sure I don't completely forgets all mon anglais. So here are a couple of updates, if for nothing less to remind myself that I am living in a foreign country, with a foreign language, where sometimes, things just dont seem to translate....word for word...or contents of ones refrigerator for the contents of ones frigo. Just read on...
So, my apartment situation is beginning turning out to be more perfect every day. First, my roomies are awesome. We get along well despite the franglais that I attempt to speak. Yes, the girls might speak so fast that even a Parisian auctionier has reason to feel tense about his job security. BUT, they do have a house in Brittany, which I will hopefully soon visit, and they DO come back from their weekend trips with fresh tomates, courgettes (zuchinni), and freshly preserved compotes compliments of their garden. Since they basically told me “mon frigo (fridge) est ton frigo”, I invited a friend for dinner the other night and this basically left us the responsibility of picking up a baguette and cheese for our meal. So I begin to rummage through the bags in the frigo and viola! What could this be...hmmm feels smooth...a cabbage maybe?...hmmm a little pointy...yes! Its definitely an artichoke...I just know it. Three full minutes of hysterical screaming later...I calm down enough to tell my friend Katheryn that I have just bee stroking a talon of a dead f-in bird wrapped ever so discreetly next to the courgettes and the cheese. Just another ordinary day in the life a frigo a Paris.
Did I mention my roomies sport of choice? Hunting. And I thought their eyes got big when I told them I was a part time vegetarian because the French like their meat more than they like strikes, cigarettes, and stripes combined. Nope, its because they store dead animals with their apendages still attached in innocent looking newspaper. Go figure.
Third day at school today. I am still getting all of the same questions about boyfriends, Obama, and why the heck I am where I am....all things hard enough to explain in English, let alone French. Between a little bratty teenager telling me that my hair is ugly short and young boys winking at me throughout classes, Im not sure how I feel. Actually, I freaking love every second.
Just had a 10 minute conversation with my roommate that should have lasted two seconds because of my pronunciation of 22 (veint deux)....she thought I was saying vendu (bought). Yes, indeed, my sister is visiting the apartement on the bought of October. Urghhh....language barrier!
I touched a talon. I touched an f-in talon. God Dammit.
I officially congratulate whoever made the executive decision that articles in English need not have masculine and feminine forms. Would someone remind me of the purpose of this please? Les, de, du, le, la, blah, blah....
#765 we got wrong and the French got right: Apparently you cant get kicked out of your own house. Foreclosures? The French dont grasp this idea because alas! If you are on the street guess who takes over the monetary responsibility? You got it, the good old government. Their idea: We take care of you before we have to. Think about it.
#766 the French got wrong and Trader Joes got right: Peanut Butter. And democratic at that: Smooth, Crunchy, Salted, Unsalted. The multiple party system at its best.
The strangest people I have met so far are indeed not French, they are British.
I have given up temporarily on practicing my french, because I have learned they really dont say much other than Donc (which means nothing), ughhh (which means less), and ahhhh (ditto), and just talk with their hands and kiss each other. Okay....much easier than I thought. Ahhh, now if it were actually this simple....life would just not be as fun and hilarious.
First Parisian dinner party last night. Hmmm....very interesting. I stumbled in at about 11'o clock, welcomed by about 20 young Parisians. No English? Its freakin almost midnight and my brain is fried! Three glasses of wine later it turned out to be a great night.....but they could use some New Yorker advice about how to get things a little crazier. Ill break em down. O! Interesting slang usage. To be a la mode (in the know, fashionable....not with ice cream, dad) you sometimes take a phrase and inverse it. Example: C'est fou (Its crazy) becomes C'est uof! (pro: say-oof) Ces Francais sont uofs!
Thanks for listening guys! Its great hearing from all of yous.