It's been quite a while since I've written on this handy piece of machinery, aka my computer, aka my blog and I think I'm going to skip a bunch of stuff and go straight to Paris, France. Doesn't everyone?
Let me just say, packing for Paris was by far the most difficult in terms of life-decisions I've had to make yet. However, I made due. Mainly because I went shopping. duhh.
So here we are in France. First stop: Notre Damnerz. (yes, they spell it with a silent 'erz' because they are classy). It was tre amaing and yes, so like the disney movie. I like to pretend that I speak french. It's easy when your roomate has a french name like "Ghiz" (sounds like jizz) that even she can make classy just by making it sound French. No one questions it. Unless they are drunk. Or go to JMU. Anyhoo, Ghiz, who I will from now on call Baguette for legal reasons, and I would frequently walk home alone from parties back to our dorm Freshman year. To keep people at bay, we would speak french to each other. I'm not sure why we thought that would work but so far so good. She taught me how to say "i'm going to kill you, bitch" in French which sounds somthing like "jew vah te too eyyy formage baguette bourgouizee" and then she would answer in perfect French with nothing I understood. I was officially fluent. Even though we probably just should have yelled that in English I'm pretty sure people got the gist. So here I am in France, knowing better than to yell such profanities in the street (and I was sober when we got there). So instead, I decided to look French. You all know excatly what I'm talking about. nose in the air, three strides ahead of everyone, and of course looking down at people (easier for me considering the height. I got it from my momma; the height, too).
So here I am saying "bonjour" in a perfect french accent and people are assuming I'm French. And then they rightfully assume I'm not because I have no idea what the fuck they're saying. But because I have that look like I'm better than them they let it pass and hand me the chocolate I've been eagerly pointing too (that, my friends, is the same in every language).
Fast forward to the Louvre. Correct sir, it does not sound like it is spelled. It is something us more intelligent folk like to call "we do the same shit in English but don't even realize it until we try to teach 12 year olds our own language which we have not yet mastered." However, the one thing us Americans have managed to do better than the French is hygiene. That is not a lie. They smell. Bad. But, because "everyone (only the French) likes their own brand" we all got along fine and secretely sprayed them with perfume when they weren't looking. So, back to the louvrezexx. It was awesome. Tre cool. I tasted some blues (it's called synesthesia, but only the French would know that) and looked thoughtfully at some Picasso's then I left and went in search of wine and chocolate. It turns out that no Eurpoean country will every fail you in any of these two catagories. The wine is always good, cheap, and legal, and so is the chocolate. (But don't tell some random guy on the street you want 'chocolate' because he's probably a drug dealer and will sell you some laced hash).
We later went to a church, who's name I'm going to say is Mon cheree tet chat baguette, and it had the most beautiful stained glass i've ever seen. It was called something along the lines of "room of glass" because the only structure that wasn't glass was what was holding it up. Pretty amazing. I vaguely remember getting yelled at to be quiet because apparently when you're American and quiet that's still too loud. So i put on my french face and told them to eat their poop in frenchish-englishish-murmur. (that didn't really happen, mom. Only because I knew you would have whooped my butt in a very french manner meaning you would stop cooking for a few months and sleep in till 2 in the afternoon).
While in France I was able to meet up with Karpoop! (Or Kar-merde, if we're trying to be politically correct). It was nice to know that we could manage to find no clubs and or bars even in Paris but we could still enjoy watching the Eiffel Tower light up 2 to 3 times. The Tower would light up starting 10 pm for 10 minutes every hour on the hour. Considering we managed to see it three times in a row shows how far we didn't get from it. But each time was more amazing then the next because shazam, Karlyn and I were reunited in Paris. It was like an Olsen twins movie minus the movie and then add 60 pounds and 2 feet each.
Because I kept pretending I was French and therefore speaking french-ish I think it actually improved more than my Spanish has improved in Spain (that's pretty hard though, considering it's perfect. OOOPS still in my France-attitude. Re-do. My Spanish sucks. Phew, back to the American attitude). But really, I fell in love with Paris; the food (wine), the people (wine), the culture (wine) and the wine (boys). I've decided I'm going to learn French fluently and be able to say "you all are cheese eating surrender monkeys and I love you for it."
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