Le Blog...She eeez born! Also, why French babies are the best.

I have decided to have a blog about my Parisian adventures. Since I am notoriously bad at staying in touch with people, I thought this would be a good way to let lots of people know what I'm doing in a short amount of time. Between eating 35 croissants a day, trying on berets and practicing my French laugh in front of the mirror, I hardly have time to practice my miming skills, let alone send a bunch of different emails ou les choses comme ca. "Les choses comme ca" has become a very useful phrase for me and my lack of French. It means "things like that" and it's very useful when your vocabulary is not good enough to think of more than one example for something. Which has happened to me a lot, since I basically have the vocabulary of a French 4-year old

French underwear purchased in high school
Prophecy underwear??? What else
can I learn from them? Will I one day
speak French to pieces of French toast
with mustaches and berets? What does
the future hold??????

Speaking of French 4-year olds...they are the cutest children in the world! All the French kids are très adorables. They wear these puffy marshmallow jackets and hats and scarves and mittens and manage to look way more chic than me. They have little rosy cheeks from the Parisian winter chill and cute little French accents. If I ever see one of them holding a mini-baguette, the cuteness might kill me. I love to watch them, not in the way of a pedophiliac, in a touristy way. Rick Steves said nothing about the les petits enfants, but I find French-child-watching a heart-warming and completely free use of my time. 

It happened especially this morning. I live in the 19th arrondissement, and there is a beautiful park, Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, really closeby. It's gorgeous, with this rock structure in the middle of it that you can climb up surrounded by a little pond. There's lots of ducks and geese, huge piles of dog poop, jogging Parisians, and (most importantly) cutie little French babies for me to spy on. 

view from mountain thingy at Parc

Today I had my first Sweet Briar encounter, a little meet and greet type deal at a café. I got there really early–it was my first time using the métro–and I had time to wander about. I saw the Eiffel Tower, disappearing off into a gloomy haze of clouds. It seems perpetually cloudy here. I hope this is going to be okay for me. I live in a state with over 300 days of sunshine and go to school in sunny SoCal. But, if I get depressed, I know what to do: stalk some French bébés. Who needs Prozac... ou les choses comme ca? People say the French Paradox is the ability French people have to stay thin while eating so much rich and delicious food. I, however, think the real French Paradox is this: If everyone thinks French people are so arrogant and rude, how can they have children that are cuter than bunnies and chinchilla pups and mini-sized things? 

oh la la, French spice shelf
just like any other
shelf... but with spices

Here is the answer: they aren't rude or arrogant at all. Or any more than normal people, everyone's a little rude and arrogant when it comes down to it. My host family is wonderful and when my host brother had a party I got so many many cheek kisses from French teens I couldn't count them. 

I think we all know what this is.  But notice the gray
skies and bleak fog that will now greet me every day. 

Well I don't know what else to say. Of course there is a lot to say but it is too much. I'll have to spread it out, like butter on a croissant. Yes, croissants could use more butter. 

À bientôt !