Le Bonheur dans L'Anglataire

Skipping out of order a bit, whilst the image of mon week-end sans les franciase dans l'anglatiare is still clear, and making sure all the wonderfulness did happen...even the ticket for no ticket on the metro.

Having little in terms of specific expectations for visiting Scott last weekend in Newscastle, England, I stopped my imagination from skipping ahead too far as it generally ruins what is to be. Planning little, and taking each moment as it came, gave me some of the best times Ive had in a while... and that's saying a lot, since I'm pretty much always having a good time.

1. After having a nice catch-up session with Scottay, we spent the night amongst his friends from his graduate program, eating bikinis (a grilled cheese like substance cut on the diagonal and borrowing its name from the tiny "triangulitas" that are reminiscent of bikini bottoms) dancing around some Barcelonians' apartment, and drinking this strange cider called "Gay-mers." Of course the boys couldn't stop enjoying the fact they were drinking something that started with "gay." I guess it was this idea that spurred them to continue on a hunt for the gay club later that night just screaming out the word "gay?" as we roamed the streets for this place we had no idea where to find. Zoot Alors.... boys will always be boys.

Durham, UK

2. We explored the nearby town of Durham, apparently housing a popular university for the rejects of Cambridge or Oxford (not so bad if you ask me) visiting centuries old churches, streets, and spending more time getting to know Scott's friends. I was blown away by their eagerness and openness to new people, new ideas, and their acceptance.... something that is a little less common on the streets of Paris and New York. Americans are often given a bad time over here for making quick friends and lacking in life long relationships. I have been thinking about this for a while, and have since come to a semi-conclusion (because alas, there hardly ever concrete conclusions in life) that, it is such a beautiful and accepting way of life to realize today is today and to be open to many possibilities of new friendships... whether they are for a weekend or for life. You just never know. But, to experience them all, for what they are, to keep your expectations low and to be surprised and slapped with smiles when you find that you have connections all around the world, with wonderful people, is truly magical.

Wondrous Indian Meal... Thanks Arun!

3. Possibly because we didn't do much planning for Saturday night, it ended being my favorite night so far. We joined Scott's roommates Arun and Phil for a great dinner, that we pretended to start cooking, and Arun graciously took over with his cupboard filled with Indian spices and family history of ideas. He showed us a new way to cook sauteed spinach with coconut and a variety of Indian spices and we munched on spicy fried potatoes and a scrambled egg-ish concoction. It was so delicious, but even better was Arun's ability to share with us his culture and tid bits about his family and life in India, through his cooking. Its so great when someone can share something seemingly so simple to them and it just floors others.... me in particular. It was great to watch and listen to someone else share their adventures in cooking and all the memories/culture that are tied to it. We sat around, drank, shared music, drank some more, and when the boys drug me downstairs for their second go around with the cigars, we decided to have a quick run around the block at about 4am. It just felt right.... so we did it. I must say, I think I won since my other 3 masculine counterparts either stopped at some point or cheated by taking a detour. Slow and steady fellows... wrapped up in a blanket practicing a variety on Lamaze breathing, I declare myself the winner.

4. So we didn't pay for our subway tickets. And then we got a ticket.... but that cost a lot more than 2 pounds. But the metro police were the nicest flipping people. We joked around and I laughed even though I didn't understand a word they were saying. Damn accent up there...

Our personal concert privee.

5. We toured the city, ate another beautiful meal of Indian cuisine at Vidya and her roommate's apartment, walked and danced the city, got lost, found ourselves accidentally on the correct bus, sat in on an orchestra's practice session at the local concert hall, drank tea, got mooned at a pub (something you practically see everyday in Paris), and quoted Madagascar 2 all the way home. Another Indian meal?? BRING IT ON. Ass wooping in Monopoly? Sure, why not.... I have other skills I'm proud of, ok?

There were too many favorites from the weekend to possibly recount them all... and even if I could I wouldn't. The past few days served as a reminder that as wonderful as language can be it is often inefficient in describing our situations and emotions. Sometimes, our thoughts and feelings from previous events need to be left as so, as private matter, that stays with you in ways that language cannot articulate, whether in English, French, or whatever slang/dialect/accent they speak with in Newcastle. But I can tell you, I'm smiling and thanks for a great weekend guys, c'etait MAN-NI-FIQUE.

The Week in Review

Salut Tout Le Monde....

So, Ive fallen behind, as the activities of the past week have been piling up and up, in the best way possible. Hence my week in review, which en fait, is more like 3 weeks ago in review... but still....what happened, what made me laugh, sniffle, smile, and just go, "Quoiiii?!"

Rundown:

I rode the Velib! For those of you who are unfamiliar with Paris' supreme answer to alternative means of transit, meet the velib. The velib system consists of about 1,450 bicycle stations, with a station about every 300 meters... or at least according to Wiki. (And who am I to argue?) You can either buy a year, week, or day subscription and check out a beautiful bike and ride it to your hearts content across beautiful, and right now, freezing Paris. So after enjoying a crepe on a sunny day with my friend Margo, she helped me set up my first day rental. We rode, our faces confronting the sun whenever possible, around town and then to the coop. So fun! And at just one euro for the day, I'm still stunned whenever Paris surprises me with a bonne marche ou good deal.

So, we had a party. It was a theme party. And I must say.... the French are strange, and I wouldn't have it any other way. We had about 100 people crammed into our apartment, with every single piece of furniture, tapestry, and writing utensil carefully piled in my room to make way for people to mostly eat and dance. It was quite the scene and I was rather impressed that they, for the most part, dressed up. My favorite costume of the night? Gilligan from Gilligan's Island. Did he know what his character was? Absolutely not. Did he put on Gilligan's floppy hat and sweatpants because he just wanted to be comfortable? O yes he did. I wish I had a photo of the mec at the party, but the resemblance was so dead on that I think a picture of Gilligan will suffice....

Chez Georges. My dear bro Alexis, as he likes to call himself ever since I explained that "bro" can sub for "dude". ....although his usage still needs some work, but that's another story, for another time. Well anywho I joined Bro and a couple friends to the most fabulous dive/bar/cave-like mania where we drank wine, danced, and just planned starred at all those little repressed Frenchies really let themselves loose. It was a great night, with seemingly little space to flail, although somehow we made due. I sense a repeat customer!

Le Pain Quotidien. Yes, I know its a chain. And yes, I know I can eat there in New York AND LA. But, the ones in Paris just have an extra little special place in my heart. Plus...I can actually order a decaf soy au lait, which in my book is a perfect way to spend an afternoon. So, I visited a new outpost at St. Honore Square by the Tuileries, justifying to myself that I deserve a nice coffee after spending two hours babysitting that little angel Maeyls. A coffee, my journal, and a couple hours just to relax and re-center so I could enjoy a beautiful Parisian night, just me my soy and I.

Valentines Day 2010. KK and I decided to celebrate this glorious hallmark holiday by eating veggies, drinking cafes, and doing what we always do as of late...talk about how flippin wonderful our lives are here. I think the closer it comes to la dernier minute en France, the heavier my soles become, and the more attached my heart is to this wonderful life here. It didn't hurt that we ate the best veggie burger I've ever had... and in Paris nonetheless. I love a good case of irony. Of course the French could marry two things they know nothing about (vegetarian, burgers) and make the best one Ive ever had. Arghhh... it really will be hard to leave. Anywho, if you are ever in Paris, starved for a good fill of food minus raw meat and overflowing avec plein des legumes... visit Potager du Marais. Its delightful.

Puppets on the subway. I thought I have seen it all, at least in the world of metro entertainment. New York has a strong stance with tap dance, and moving golden man statues, and dancers slash acrobats using the car poles to topsy turvy all over the place. Paris has accordions and singers with portable speakers. But, I have to give it to this man. His determined face steps on the metro, sets up a screen between two poles, starts his recording, and goes to town with this two muppets that were performing some sort of nonsense in a language I couldn't even pinpoint. One lady got up and moved trains. I laughed uncontrollably.

Movie. Valentines Day. Cheesy? Yes! Hilarious? You know it. I found myself laughing so hard I was almost rolling..... maybe because I have missed these o so dear brainless one-liners that think they are clever and high class celebrities basically making fun of themselves, but good god, I enjoyed every second of it.

1. Yoga....yes, je part toute suite...

Upcoming...

Vacation! Again?? I thought I just got back from that. Oh wait.... I did.

Schmoopie. Kimmmmm. Martha. Devin. Birthdays. Parties. Paris. Yay.

Paris Mosquee. Hamman. Double Yay.

Moi? Oui, Je suis une princess...

1st weekend, Fevrier 2010.

Destination: Brittany, France

Pilot: Carole

Co-Pilots: Diego, KK, Charles, et myself

1 tiny French car

2 French rifles

3 days of nobles

Away we go.....

I knew when I was told I couldn't wear my normal attire of leggings and a sweater that I was in for some upper crest action. So, I slid on my bright blue skinny jeans.

We arrived at the DeLegge Chateau, adequately dubbed "Bel-Air", late on Friday night, with a packed tiny car of Frenchies and 2 Americans not knowing the slightest of what to expect from a Breton chateau, and not knowing what to make of the hunting gear in the back. Of course, since from this point onward we skipped back to the 18th century, where the only lights to take a peek at the place once we reached our destination were from the moon. We stumbled into the a building that I could have guessed was Walt Disney's vision for the haunted mansion attraction. But this is bigger. and better. And way more on target when scaring the shit out of Americans. Oh yeah.....and this one is real...and someone's home.

The next morning KK et moi awoke around 11, feeling a bit disoriented as we looked out of our castle-like windows down onto the grounds where we could see the countryside of Brittany for miles and miles, fountains, a front courtyard that was shaped with grasses cut into perfect geographical mazes, and a gravel driveway looking as though it were awaiting armed knights on horseback leading some sort of royalty back home for teatime and biscuits. Well, holy shit, call me Marie Antoinette.... I'm just praying this place doesn't come complete with a guillotine, since vegetarians aren't the most popular in the country of steak tartare and horse meats. Eeek...mommy... help!

So beside from my astonishment from the grandeur of the house...ughh..chateau....ummm...castle... where I was staying, it was great to spend the weekend in my roomies shoes, as they spend many of their weekends in this beautiful place. Their mom was kind enough to make a four course Breton lunch for us, complete with Brittany's famous galettes (savoury crepes), an entree with plenty of veggies, and the regional tarte tatine. KK et moi sat at the table with Carole's mom and dad (not to mention a Senator) bundled in plenty of layers, topped off with a coat and scarf at the dining table. They, as many French do, leisurely walk around their freezing stone chateau in pants and a measly sweater, it seemingly not bothering them in the slightest. Must be all that iron in the horse meat. Just as I thought I was losing all my French, the four of us got on quite easily, discussing the region, the states, and the different varieties of plants that surround this little place they call home.

After lunch, we were given a tour of chateau, and Im sorry, but I lost count of the number of bedrooms, but can tell you that the entire basement floor was at one time solely for the personnel to eat, wash, and cook for the rest of the place. Oh, and at one point during the tour, Madame DeLegge pushed aside a floor to ceiling mirror to bring us to their very own chapel. And yes they hold masses there. Just thinking about it makes my head spin, and it was just enough to give me my first nightmare in about 10 years. I think the last one was after I stepped in a church as well... they scare me. Sorry Shaina.

We toured a nearby town and then met up with the rest of the younger clan who had just finished their hunting festivities. They killed some things, but I didn't really understand what until we returned home Sunday night and Carole pulled two HUGE beefy legs out of a sac. Huh, hello! Anywho...back to the present past. I thought we were going to a simple dinner just the 5 of us, at the local "dive bar" as Carole called it, but soon found that we were at another's house, teaming with young hunters. Charles promised us that we were simply stopping by a friend's and quote: "modest" house, for an aperitif. Huh. Yeah, so if you call the white house modest, then yes, I guess it was. We stood around the fire, drinking vin chaud and I was mostly starring at the hunting outfits of the room full of french men. Most of them donned blazers, knee highs with capri length trousers, and don't forget the ties! KK so rightly pointed out they all were sporting the same golden ring on their fingers. My first thoughts raced back to some type of movie reminiscent of blood brothers but I inquired about this at the dinner in the "dive bar" when one of the guys answered rather nonchalantly that it is a sign of "nobles". Hmmm...don't hear that one everyday in the states.

So we ate dinner with nobles, but you know what, they were in general some of the nicest people Ive met so far in France. They might be prestigious, but they were a really great time. I mean they ARE nobles eating in a dive bar (at least to their standards). I have to give them credit for that. But what I really want to do is take them to Doc Holiday's for drink your face off, $5 Tuesdays.

The next day Carole surprised us with a visit to Mt St. Michel, a famous landmark situated on the border of Brittany and Normandy.

We climbed enough stairs to work off about a ton of pork fat and toured the gigantic church at the top while the rest of the group prayed their hearts content at mass. But really, the place is gorgeous. The streets were old and tiny, and circled up and up, as far as the mountain went. The island of sorts is surrounded by a beautiful overcast bay, complete with quicksand and monks. I was a bit afraid to see the monks pull the bells in their hooded garb, but that's just me, and church creeps me out....especially this kind. But Give me a break.... this was a weekend of derangement. I feel like I don't even know what century I'm actually in anymore.

I think my favorite part of the whole weekend was seeing how excited Carole and her family was to show me around their life, their country and to share it with me. I don't think I would ever be comfortable in a noble's shoes, attending church and hunting, but its who they are, and I was so happy to experience it. I feel,after the weekend, I know my roomies better, even without Ombeline being there, as visiting ones home is reaching a bit deeper into who they really are. They are so proud, and I couldn't have been more flattered to be allowed a little more into their lives. Just thinking about how different my life in leggings on a cherry orchard is from their skyscraping stone walls covered with ancient painting of relatives, it reassures me every time I see something new, that however grand our differences are, we can get along just fine.... and yes I cant help but say it once again, in french.

PS Any guesses how they would react to my family... full of we don't give a "fuck" and dinners that not only don't have courses but last under 15 minutes? Yeah, I thought so, about as scared as I was when I saw a hooded monk and a room full of crosses.

Vacation away from Vacation

After a Sunday of a Monday, reorganizing what little of a mess I have in Paris, I have been wondering how I ever kept things straight in the real world. Jobs, school, homework, volleyball, copious amounts of tequila later, I guess I wasn't. I have been spring cleaning my mind and life in France without even knowing it. Last weekend, KK and I decided to further this feat and start taking advantage of our location in Europe and our none existent work hours to spend a bit of time in Aix-en-Provence, a town in the South of France, where the cultures of the two hardest working societies combine: le francais et l'italiano.

There is little to do here besides take part in a slow mode of life which includes eating, shopping, walking/exploring, coffee, drinking, coffee, and then more drinking. With the frigid weather outside, one doesnt really have a choice but to sit, relax, and prolong each activity under the not hot enough space heaters. Instead of loading more things to worry about on your mind, you hash them out with stories, laughter, and cafes. You talk, you dont rush, and you begin to take in all of your surroundings and actually absorb what you are seeing. A nice change from the hustle and bustle of marking things off a list.

Le centre ville is beautiful, old, and full of even more beautiful Frenchmen. People are nice here. Whoever characterized all French to be uptight and snobby, obviously never came to Aix-en-Provence. The most welcomed change from Paris? They loooove it when Americans stumble over their French...apparently we have a beautiful accent?

ahhh..home. The farmers market. The best one so far...if you can even begin to rank them. I love this lady....

Cheeeeese

Look at those colors!

We visited M. Cezanne's studio and wow wow wow was it beautiful. We rummaged through his empty cognac bottles and clothes and even got to walk in the semi-forest that was seemingly part of his inspirations. O greeness...it had been too long!

My favorite boys. They were rocking out in the streets and could have been in the Lower East Side if not for their adorable Frenchie accents.

But yes, yes.... it was a wonderful time. We came away nearly frostbitten, but it was just a way to paralyze the elated looks on our faces. But the balance of this simple lifestyle spending hours doing nothing, making sense of everything...lets you take in and enjoy other things more fully.... i dunno, like Mexican Fiesta night....

Americans, Englishmen, Frenchies, Greeks, and the in between combined for one great night, spent taking care of fajitas and tequila and making sure to laugh in the process.

J'arrive.

Yo, thanks.

"As for the people of Paris, they are mixed but not melted. A strong display of personal identity reminds us that the individual cultures are to be celebrated, and accepted where they can not be understood. Civil discourse is an art form (a well-regarded on at that) that pairs thought and action. People protest here, and it is meaningfully done. Rather than repressing inner concerns, the French populace finds means to relieve themselves of civic passive aggression. Yes, young guys fight in the streets after succumbing to alcohol, always at hand, but they don't use weapons: they are bruised but not broken. Call it what you will, but I'll call it respect.

Exposure is what leads to respect, and it is perhaps the most important gift we can take away from the ideas of urbanism. Disregard is all too easy when you never cross paths with starving immigrants or wayward travelers. Standing face-to-face, sharing in our joys and our appreciation for beauty: you cannot deny our shared humanity."

from: http://www.good.is/series/emails-from-afar

A quote from an article my friend/ex roomie/life partner had sent my way a little while ago. I was reading it on the train ride back from work to Paris and decided that when I looked up from the paper, everything around me was a bit re-arranged. In a good way, and in a small way, but a new perspective nevertheless. It warranted some sort of written acknowledgement; something perfect for hmmmm...i dunnno, a blog.

Only being in Paris for a relatively short amount of time, there are endless amounts of well, everything to absorb. These range from politics, language, food, people, architecture, why the hell every country just doesn't get shit straight and make a universal electric outlet, more, and even more...and alas it is all too difficult to absorb or even begin to grasp. Sometimes, you need the help of other people's views, other people's stance on what is going on around you, to understand, in agreement or not, what you really think. Although this article gave me a new, slightly clearer prescription as which to see Paris, it made me think, above all else, about the way we help one another see through our times.

In my case, I have received numerous emails, facebook posts, skype chats that include thoughts from philosophical stimulation down to a simple idea for a recipe. But they are all serving the same purpose in my life... to help. Helping remember who I am, comes from these emails, these people, these family members, when I am being thrown a new culture and language and it seems impossible to make sense of the coffee in front of me, let alone myself. Reminders usually come from Christina and my family by means of new health findings, exchanging of dinner ideas, and ancient stories that are reminiscent of what once was and what those stories have created. From Megan, I am often pushed to view events and people from a new perspective, given the tools like this article to jump out of routine and take sight of the new that happens daily, the amazingness and continuous new that is easy to look past everyday on your same route to/from work. From my Schmoopies on the East Coast, I am continually reminded of what is to come and the joy of planning and spontaneity play ensemble. And my new friends, in Paris, who discover with me what is changing and unchanged in the beautiful city that I am so lucky to drink coffee in everyday. And the list goes on and on.

But, yes, they all help. And without them I would never see how much closer I have become to people, in some ways, by being even farther... Because it is, in fact, these people who wake me up everyday, who allow me to see more Friday ahead of me than simply metro, train, bus, school, and return. These Americans who allow me to see Paris. And sometimes its just a link to an article, or a chat, or funny picture. But I guess I just wanted to say thanks. A semi long rant.... just to acknowledge and say merci.

Paris at night. Like a flippin painting.

Gotta Love A Creep

Although, yes it is true, that my work hours during the week are practically so non-existent they might even make the lovely Ms. Paris Hilton look like an overachiever....but nevertheless I do spend quite a bit of time in transit. Actually, I might spend more time en route than I do trying to get frenchies to pronounce "mouth" and not "mouse." And, I actually enjoy it...most of the time.

Friday afternoon, reflecting on my 9am. RER train ride from Paris to Chelles-Gournay:

Whoever said that a little white lie isnt at times beneficial slash necessary is well, basically, full of crap. This morning, while on my way to my sorry excuse for Friday work, thanking the lord my first two classes were cancelled and thinking maybe, just maybe, that I am the luckiest gal dans la monde. And yes, sometimes it only takes 2 hours of extra sleep to reach this state of hyper-optimism. But alas, about 1.5 seconds after I sit myself into a comfy, warm spot on the nearly deserted train, I was spotted, of course, by a creep. And let me remind you, that I may not speak fluent French, but creep I speak better than English. So, I knew immediately.

It started innocently enough I guess, with the typical, "Bonjour Mademoiselle", which is where I should have immediately corrected him to say, "Madame." Ok, you live, you learn. Of course after the first word left my mouth, the conversation, as usual, is given more fuel since I am clearly not French. After a bit of back and forth, I thought I gave off the clear message that I was so not interested. I mean I pushed my earphones in deeper, stuck my nose further in my book, and gave 1 word answers. What else does a girl have to do to give off the "Don't Talk to Me, its a Fuckin Friday Morning" vibe? But this guy is ruthless, and keeps truckin. I would rate his creepiness around a 15.1 on the rictor, so I started mentally perusing my purse for usable weapons. Chapstick, french health magazine, well the apple might do, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to eat that later...

Ahhh, ok, pay attention. What the F does this guy want? Well, I know what, but that just ain't happening. So he asks if I have a boyfriend, and I don't even let him finish when I white lie, "Oui! C'est tres serieux!"

He keeps interrogating with a smile, "Girlfriend or Boyfriend?"

What I was thinking: " It doesn't flippin matter, because either way I wouldnt touch you with a 10 foot pole that someone else was holding, mister creepy McCreepster, creep, creep, creep."

Real Answer: "Boyfriend."

Next question: "Well, how long have you been dating for?"

What I was thinking: "There is no boyfriend. And thank you sir, because I won't be able to think about men for approximately one decade or until your image has been completely erased from my memory. Now go away. Its early and should be the only creepster occupying this train car."

Real Answer: 15 glorious years.

He then proceeds to tell me that he is patrolling this train for potential girlfriends. Say What?? Yes, he is in search of a new "petite amie" and thought the best place to start was the 9am train to a Paris suburb. Huh. So he finally excuses himself, realizing he is getting nowhere and of course, seeing that I am reaching for my apple of a weapon to launch at his head. He continues on, throughout the different cars, returns back when a few more people had made their way onto my train car, stops and glances at a new lady figure for an overly awkward 30 seconds, and continues on, seemingly unimpressed. Umm, I am suppose to take that as a compliment? Well, I don't.

Ok, so maybe Im giving this guy too bad of a time. I mean, I have to give him props for originality. Using the RER train as an economical stand-in for a speed dating event...hmmm...creative? But, o mon dieu, maybe I was better off not having classes cancelled. But, again, I revisit the thought that I am the luckiest girl in all the world...heck, I didn't even have to use my apple.

Bon Dimanche, A Tous!

I am fully ashamed to say my friends, that it has taken me approximately...well I'm not so great with arithmetic...but its taken me wayyy longer than it should have, to finally make it to my first Marche Bio or Organic Farmers Market. Et oh la la, holy shitness, I was so upset with myself for never having visited this wondrous event before. The Marche Bio at Rue de Raspail, is flooded with everything your little natural heart could imagine. Everything from organic soaps and bulk oats to the most colorful and beautiful looking fruits and vegetables. Yes, the price is a bit steep, and yes the clientele might be a bit hypocritical in their full length furs, but I couldn't take my eyes off all they had to offer...

Ah Ha! My first view of the motherload. It was pretty packed, but of coarse the French made the event politely tolerable, although I wouldn't mind never hearing another "Pardon" again. Anywho, at the start my hunt was for: new varieties of apples, fresh spinach, and some crumbly cheese. Lets see how this one goes...

So far so good, as I hit the jackpot. I have never seen so many different types of apples in one place...not even Whole Foods, my friends. I decided to pick the "Juliet", a crisp flat variety that snaps loudly and ain't too bad on the taste buds either. I still prefer my pinkladies. And one more thing...can anyone give a diagnosis or hell, even an uneducated opinion on the point at which one has an apple addiction. Averaging two a day, I think I might qualify. My ass thanks the lord its not a brie dependence.

Ok, dammit. The market just haaaaad to do this to me. It doesn't stop at wonderful looking produce, but they have everything else too... soaps, dish washing liquid, bath salts, stainless steel organic pans?? Well, the market promised everything was organic. And who am I to argue with the french...in french? Pas moi, I say. Anywho, in short, everything to make a this girl grin like a...hmmm..i got nothing this time. Just grin really widely, i guess.

Ahhh et now, the understanding of the origin de la oh la la.

My last stop before prying myself and my wallet out of this black hole. Can you say 15 types of salt? This is too much....I'm done. What I actually came away with? Fresh spinach, a new variety of apples, Roquefort cheese, lavender bath salts (oops), and honey candies (oops encore)

Side note: While patiently waiting to buy my sea salts from the kind older vendeuse, the lady pauses with one customer to answer a question from another....and one dude throws his hands up in the air, going on about how long he has waited and how this poor old woman had done him some sort of injustice. They fight a bit, and he storms away....all this commotion for sea salts? Doucement fellow. But alas, this is how many French go about their lives, with passion, warranted or not.

I just like public transportation, okay?

Later that afternoon, I rendez-vous-ed with KK to grab some soup and tea at one of our new favorite places. As always, we made headway by solvings some of the worlds problems, discussing stripes and their place in the world, and the bizarre idiosyncrasies of la vie francais.

Et viola, c'est moi et mon dimanche. Une petite americaine, very content with the Sunday happenings. What more could I ask for really? A little yoga, farmers market, tea time, and my roomies didn't even die from the chicken that was left to defrost on the kitchen counter all night. I mean, it just doesn't get better than that. Bonne Semaine a tous.