Fight for your Right to Party

Like the United States, France adheres to a strict separation of church and state.

Except, not really.

For instance, today is a national holiday. Why? Because it’s Pentecost weekend. And last week there was no school on Thursday… because it was the Ascension. The Monday after Easter is always a national holiday as well. 

If you ask a French person why these are national holidays, when technically, Catholic (not necessarily cultural) holidays aren’t supposed to be sited or celebrated by a government when there’s a true division of church and state, they just shrug. Doesn’t seem to matter much to them, as long as they get their long weekend. To be honest, it doesn’t really bother me, either. I figure, at least, the government is honest about the true nature of their holidays, and don’t try to cover it up by calling it something else or putting emphasis on a non-religious reason for the day off…

Minor Catholic/Pagan holidays are also celebrated in lesser degrees that aren’t official national holidays but are widely-known cultural traditions. Like the cutting of the ‘King’s Cake’ containing hidden figurines on the day of the Epiphany. The exchanging of ‘lily of the valley’ flowers on May 1^st. Or the Chandeleur when everyone makes and eats crepes. Then there’s Mardi Gras, of course,- a time to pig out or go drinking to get all your vices out before the beginning of Lent. Some of these are internationally celebrated holidays. Others are only celebrated in France or French provinces.

In deeper, more rural parts of France, there are carnivals and festivals and traditions that date back to before Catholicism even arrived. Bon fires, the throwing of fiery disks, lanterns, parades and masquerades, etc…rituals that managed to remain intact despite the passage of time. How do I know this? The national news covers them regularly, during their afternoon broadcasts dedicated to cultural heritage. And I have to say, it’s interesting stuff!

So, as bummed as I was yesterday, when I realized the kids had yet another day off school this week, I have to say I’m grateful to live in such a culturally and historically rich nation.

What are some of your favorite low-key holidays? I noticed an increasing excitement about May 5^th in the U.S. these last few years, even though I don’t remember celebrating cinco de mayo when I was younger because... we’re not Mexican, but what the heck… Sometimes any reasons a good reason to party:)

Thanksgiving Blues

So, this year’s Thanksgiving is going to be depressingly low-key. 
I say ‘depressingly’ because, in a country where Thanksgiving is just any other day, it’s difficult to be anything but low-key.

Truth is, I didn’t realize until now how much working in the French school system kept my American-holiday spirit alive every year. Explaining the history and traditions behind Halloween and Thanksgiving to hundreds of kids made me feel kind of like an Autumn Holiday Fairy, spreading the before-Christmas cheer wherever I went.  

My colleagues and students always enjoyed learning about Thanksgiving, more than any other holiday. Because it was so different from anything they have here. Their eyes would go wide when I told them we had a whole day dedicated to being thankful for what we have. (Not something that comes easily to the French:) Then we’d go around the room and offer up examples of things we were thankful for. We’d watch the Mayflower Voyagers as a class (I have a copy in French), and I’d show them the Macy’s Day Parade book with fold-out posters of the balloons over New York City. They’d ‘ooh and aah’ over the never-seen before pictures of spider man and snoopy floating amidst the sky scrapers and ask me if they’re ‘really that big?’  

They’d listen with mouths agape as I told them what’s involved in our annual feast, raising their hands whenever they thought something sounded ‘good’ or ‘gross’.  The little ones would make colourful hand-turkeys and the older kids would come to class later that week with stories about trying to make their first pumpkin pie with the recipe I handed out.

I feel like, in my own little way, I made the holiday real, not just for them, but for me, too. And being out of work this year, I’ve missed the build-up and excitement that comes from sharing Thanksgiving with people who know nothing about it. It was a really great feeling, and I hope to be able to do it again someday.

Until then, I’m thankful to be sharing the holiday with my own little family and for the little things. There may not be cranberry sauce or pumpkin pie filling at the grocery store, but there’s also no mad rush of people looking to buy last-minute ingredients, crowded parking lots or lines, or panic attacks over finding a turkey in time. So, I guess sometimes low-key isn’t so bad:)

I hope all of you back in the states have a wonderful holiday! 

French Me

I’ll be honest. Wednesday, I forgot to post, (head slam!) which happens sometimes because all of my posts are improvised just a couple hours before they go live. In my defense, though, my blogging schedule slipped my mind because I was ferociously studying for the French proficiency exam I need to take in order to acquire citizenship that was coming up Thursday.

So, yesterday, I took the metro into Paris and stumbled around with my little map in one hand and my tactile phone in the other, trying to approximate the blinking dot of my gps app to the narrow, winding streets in front of me. Finally, I managed to find the testing center in time to not be disqualified from the exam.

The first part of the test was fairly straight forward. I had to converse with a French person for five-to-ten minutes. There were some basic questions involved and a part where I had to come up with questions for the instructor based on a theme. The whole thing was recorded so it could be sent to a grading center.

The next part, however, was oral comprehension- given in an old-school listen to a cd/fill in the blank format. We listened to one part of a conversation and then had multiple choices as to what should come next. We listened to a joint conversation and then had to answer a question about what was said. -Same thing with excerpts from news interviews. Seems easy enough, no?

Well, NO.

As it turns out. The French are quite competent when it comes to complicating your run-of-the mill multiple choice until you’re not sure which way’s up. I came to this conclusion a couple years ago, when I was getting my French driver’s permit, so I knew not to sniff at a French multiple-choice test, especially when something important like citizenship is involved. 

First of all, there were 30 questions to be answered in 25 minutes. 

Secondly, when it came to the joint conversations and news excerpts, a lot was said and the questions were sure to be based on a tiny or unimportant detail.

Many of the answers resembled one another or ALL of them were cited in the conversations but we had to decide what was most important.

OR none of the details were cited in the excerpt and we had to decide which one looked even the slightest bit relevant. 

For example:

Michelle says- ‘I took the company car to work early Monday morning. I made sure to ask for a specific model, because I had a business meeting in Brussels later on in the day, and it’s important to have a dependable car with good gas mileage.’

Question:

What color should the sky have been the morning Michelle left for work?

a- Grey
b- Black
c- Blue
d- Violet

*sigh*

In any case, I hope to get back to my regularly scheduled programming next week. I have a few newly-released books I wanted to spotlight but I’d rather include them in next week’s post so they  can get the attention they deserve. What was the hightlight (or lowlight) of your week? Any big plans for the end of September?

Hope you all have a great weekend!

*CQG*

What Does it Mean to Be an American?

Okay, wow. The title of today's post is way too philosophical for this early in the morning. But it's one of the things that occured to me as the plane was touching down in NYC Saturday night.

I wasn't sure when I was going to be be able to blog again. Between the jet lag and the traveling from place to place, I haven't even had much time to think, nevermind come up with witty observations.

First of all, I'm writing this post without spell check which is kind of like standing on a podium with my clothes off. Most of you post early in the morning and, for that, I salute you.  Living in France, I had the advantage of taking most of the morning and early afternoon to come up with a blogpost and write it out so that it posted at 7 or 8am US time. Everything was on the fly. Not so easy now that blogtime is six hours earlier. I tried writing something out last night but I couldn't come up with a damn thing. I guess I've become too dependant on improv, if that's even possible.

In any case, we're all doing well. In vacation's past, whenever I came home to the US, I almost felt like I had split personality disorder. One half of me was French. When I'm in France, I speak a different language, have different mannerisms and a different humor. The French Katie would be sitting in a chair, pouting out her bottom lip and wondering why these silly Americans eat standing up so much.  The American in me would tell French Katie to 'shut up and go grab a hot dog off the grill'.

Now, the two of us seem to have settled down into one person. Maybe it's age, or time but I find I can understand, identify, and accept the good and the bad both countries and cultures have to offer and it's definitlely made our arrival back in the family fold that much more peaceful.

I hope you all are having a fantastic week! Have you ever had a cultural clash moment while traveling or meeting people from a different country (or a different region of the US, even!)?

Sarkozy Took a 'Nosey' - Why The French Are Freaking Out

So, it looks like Sarkozy took a nosey. (you get it? Like, he took a ‘nose dive’- see what I did there? did ya? Yup. #lameismygame)

The socialist party in France has gained presidential power for the first time in over twenty years and this has a lot of French people scared crapless for a few reasons:

Most of what I learned about socialism came from high school history class (I still have a mental image of communist Russians collecting their rationed shoes and clothing) – but the basic idea is that a country shouldn’t have wide divides between rich and poor, but one big, thriving middle class. Everyone should have the same rights and be pretty much at the same economic level.  So, they tax the wealthy. Basically a ‘take from the rich and give to the poor, robin hood’ type deal. 

Thus the funny photo here, showing all the rich French people heading for the Swiss border. Unfortunately, like the image suggests- if big corporations are taxed too severely, they might be forced to take their business and their (much needed) labor/employment some place less expensive (like China) - further depleting the economy and job market here.

Another problem with trying to create an economically equal middle class is that, in addition to taking from the rich – you have to pick the poor and disfavored out of the gutter (which costs time, money, and resources) and try and teach them how to be middle class. Since most of the poor and disfavored in France are un-integrated Muslim and African legal immigrants, this means awarding them help and benefits. But with a lot of French feeling as though their cultural identity is already being threatened by this population (i.e.: A different birthplace+ a different culture+ different religion + different language = you’re not French, dudes!), they’re appalled at the thought of the nation’s money being spent to benefit the ‘non-French’ who’ve come here to take their jobs and collect benefits. And they’re afraid this will incite even more immigration in a country that is already suffering from job and housing crises. 

Needless to say, it definitely didn’t please the French to see African, Palestinian, and Algerian flags at the Bastille for Hollande’s speech yesterday when, logically, this is a French election with two French candidates. And, um, oh yeah, we’re in FRANCE!

The French aren’t reassured by what’s happened/happening in Greece. Basically the socialist regime in Greece lied about their debt, their economy collapsed and they’re in the midst of uprisings and riots galore.  Like Greece, France has a huge international debt and is in economic crisis.  They’re also, like Greece, suffering from rises in immigration, unemployment and housing costs.  It would only be on a hop, skip and jump for the French to end up where Greece is.  So, yeah. Scary.

The last socialist president, Mitterand, was kind of a gangsta.  His regime used money and fear to put pressure on national media and journalists for their own benefit- covering up personal and political scandals for himself and those in his entourage.  Also, a lot of the national debt was acquired during his reign when programs to build a crapload of housing for the disfavored, establish free health care for all, and give money to the willingly unemployed (in addition to the unwillingly unemployed) pretty much sucked up every penny the government had.

So, there you have it- The French socialist debate in a nutshell (well,creepy style). I have to ask- what is the American’s take on all of this? Is it getting any coverage in the U.S.? Do you think a socialist government (while having noble intentions) can succeed in maintaining a politically, culturally, and financially strong country?

V - Vacuum War

Most of you already know how I feel about house cleaning. I do it because if I don’t, nobody else will.  Doesn’t mean I enjoy it. Although there is something to be said about opening all the windows and deep-cleaning the house on a bright sunny day when everything smells like spring. Unfortunately, bright sunny days are few and far between in the Parisian suburbs.

If I’m going to clean, it’s going to be on my terms.  Alas, this has lead to a vacuum war between myself and my French husband.

You’ll notice, if you type ‘vacuum’ into google images- about 95 percent of the pictures shown are like the above- an all-in-one model, with the sack and sucking mechanism included along the handle.  It’s easy to use- sure, maybe a little bottom-heavy, but also easy to store in a broom closet so you don’t have to look at the damn thing all day long. Perfect for the doll-houses with minimum storage space that pass for apartments in these parts.

If you type ‘aspirateur’ (French word for vacuum) into google images- you’ll find 95 percent resemble big hulking jet packs with a tube that leads to the long pipe with a handle and vacuum head.  Anything less is gawked at by my French counterparts as ‘inadequate’.

I hate these kinds of vacuums. 

Hate them, hate them, hate them. 

The heavy reverse-jetpack on wheels needs to be tugged along behind you as you desperately try to avoid the tubing (which often gets caught between my legs) and try not to trip over the mile-long wire that trails behind the whole as you vacuum away. And lifting the jetpack is damn near impossible. I don’t understand why there’s even a handle.  The thing weighs as much as I do. Maybe I’m just a wimp- but I find these machines more trouble than they’re worth.  And don’t even get me started on trying to find a storage space willing to accommodate the monstrosity.

That’s why I’ve stuck by my Red Dirt Devil all-in-one for the last few years- that was, until my husband and mother in law (and a store clerk) ganged up on me and made me buy a ‘real’ vacuum by their standards.

Needless to say, I remain loyal to Little Red, even if he might not have the same sucking capacity.  The ‘Heffalump’ my husband made me buy remains up against a wall in our hallway (just like I said it would because there’s no damn place to put it!)

I hate to admit it, but the Heffalump does work better. But that’s beside the point - I never needed a vacuum that could suck the paint off the walls.

Sometimes...you just have to fight for what you believe in.

I think this is my lamest post to date but the question must be asked- Do you have a preference in the war of the vacuums?

S - Subway Can Suck It in France

Even before fat Jared became skinny Jared just by eating Subway sandwiches, I was already a fan.  My dad used to bring my usual roast beef on white while I was book-keeping for our high school basketball games.  And my dorm room at UConn had Subway open 24/7 – a great place to grab a snack for 3 a.m. muchies.

So, of course, when Subway began to make their way over to France, I was ecstatic. And when one opened up only ten minutes away from our Paris suburb dwelling, I couldn’t wait to test it out.

However, there was one small thing I forgot to take into consideration while anticipating a taste of home:

This is France.

The sandwich doesn’t hold much novelty for French people since they’ve been serving baguette sandwiches for the last hundred years. But they’ve never seen a sandwich shop set up like an ice cream stand where you pick your own combination.

At first, nobody could figure out how to order. Which annoyed the staff. (again. French) and the lines were insanely long.

When you finally order, the staff treats you like you’re a moron. (just normal French procedure)

They put cheese on everything – whether you want it or not.

They put it in the oven -  whether you want it or not.

What they don’t do is put enough meat on your sandwich to reach from one end of the bread to the other.  I’m lucky if I got three small slices of roast beef.

And whereas you pay 5 dollars for a foot long in the U.S.

 In France it’s 6.20 euros. ( a little over 8 DOLLARS!!!)

*sigh*

While it did taste much like what I remember (the bread is the same. thank god for that), I have a feeling Subway isn’t going to make a lot of headway in the big octogon.

Are you a fan of Subway sandwiches?  Have you ever experienced a european subway?  

Hope you all are having a great weekend!

M - Move Back, Dammit!

A complete disregard for personal space is something I’ve gotten used to living in France.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been bumped, pushed, or stepped on while waiting in line at the grocery store, post office, or bank.  People just don’t seem to have a problem standing on top of one another.

But at least, in those circumstances, a loud sigh and annoyed scowl can usually ward the person off…a few inches.

The problem is, this kind of ‘closeness’ can also be a habit of people I work with.  I have two (female) colleagues in particular who are always stepping reeeaaally close to me when they talk.

The first time this happened, I tried leaning/stepping back a foot or two but they just popped my invisible personal space bubble and slid right back in. 

I realized this is just the way they are (probably a habit formed from trying to converse in low voices about students who are getting on their nerves). I noticed a lot of teachers are always hunching really close to each other when they talk and there are students around.

But the American in me tenses every time they step in for conversation.  I tell myself  ‘Stay still, Katie. Just stay still. Their face will have to stop heading towards yours at some point. They need at least an inch of air to speak, right? ’.

Then I have trouble concentrating on what they’re saying with thoughts like:

 ‘Her face is taking up my entire field of vision.’

‘I can’t see anything but her face.’

‘ I don’t even look at my own face this close in the mirror.’

‘I bet I could totally apply my makeup using my reflection in her eyes,’  

I think if I were in America, I wouldn’t have a problem with telling someone to move back into their own zone. But here in France, I tend to try and be more tolerant – even if it drives me nuts.

What do you do when someone keeps popping your personal space bubble?

G - Gasp!

Yup, that’s what I did when I realized I’d forgotten all about my Saturday ‘G’ post.  It’s been a long time since I posted on Saturdays so I guess the reflex escaped me.

Plus, Easter is tomorrow so the kiddies had me waking up early so I could hit the ‘primeurs’ in search of white eggs. (White eggs are annoyingly difficult to find in France. They don’t sell them in regular grocery stores – except in the kosher section but more often than not, they’ve been bought up already.)  The inlaws and friends are coming over for Easter dinner tomorrow so there’s shopping and preparations to be done for that too.

There’s no talk of the ‘Easter Bunny’ ‘round these parts. (except in our family, since I’m American.)

In France, it’s church bells who bring the eggs.  You see, on Good Friday, all the church bells in France fly to Rome to be blessed by the pope. And on their way back early Sunday morning, they drop chocolate eggs into the kids’ gardens and homes. When they finally arrive back at their churches on Easter Sunday, all the bells in France sound off happily at the same time.

Now, I was born and raised Roman Catholic, and even I think that explanation’s a little lame. What the hell do church bells want with chocolate eggs?

Then again, Peter Cottontail hopping down the bunny trail doesn’t make much sense either. However, I’m sticking with my American roots and the kids and I will be watching ‘HOP’ and coloring lots of stinky hard-boiled eggs for tomorrow’s festivitiesJ

What are your Easter traditions?  I hope you all have a fantastic one!

*CQG*

Losing Weight and Feeling Blech

One of my other goals for this two week vacation (which is almost over now. Thank God) was to instill some kind of regular weekly exercise/diet regiment.

There’s a few problems with that, though.

One- I’m not big on ‘real’ exercise. I’m more of a situational exerciser. Which means I only exert physical effort when there is no other alternative.  For instance: I lost a ton of weight my first year in Paris because I was too broke to pay for a cab and had to walk everywhere.  I worked on the other side of the city and had to basically run from my front door, through the various metro stops and systems (including the 3 mile walk through Chatelet station. In heels.) to get to work every morning. I used to call it the ‘Chatelet shuffle’. I could have probably sold a video if citywide subway systems were readily available for in-home use.

Then there was 2010- when I was trying to get my French drivers permit. I couldn’t very well drive to my daily class and it was a pain to pack up all the kids so the hubs could drive me there and back every day. So I walked instead. Nearly 5 kilometers each way.

Since that time, though.  There’s been no real need for exercise. I’ve been trying to find my ‘situational exercise’ wherever I can- telling myself things like ‘Cleaning is exercise. Eating is exercise. Breathing- it’s exercise!’

‘Going up a couple flights of stairs a few times a week? Total exercise!  And I walked! To my car! Sure- it’s parked right outside the building but walking is exercise, man!’

Yet, no matter how I try to convince my body that we are consistently active, my waistline doesn’t seem to agree.

Two- The closest I’ve ever come to dieting would be something like the French ‘forking it’ diet. Yeah. Look it up. My weight has fluxuated over the last few years. But I was always able to get back down to ideal by doing something simple- like giving up soda. Now that I’m approaching thirty, though- those extra pounds have seemed to weld themselves in place. For awhile, I tried to convince myself it was muscle mass- you know, from all that stair climbing and eating with a fork.

But deep down, I know the truth.

Any tips for this ‘forking’ situational exerciser?

Go Jean, Go

So, like every year, I totally missed the Oscars since the show doesn’t start until around 2am my time.  I did wake up to facebook posts, though, about Jean Dujardin winning best actor? Wow.

I didn’t see ‘The Artist’ but my husband did.  I wish I could say he came home with lots of trendy existential artistic insights to relay. 

But, alas, high-society film critic my husband is not.  

In fact, the hub’s analysis consisted more of terms like ‘bored out of my mind’ and he admitted to falling asleep about a third of the way through. I guess the lack of sound, speech, or other stimulus was hard for my high-action film fan to take.

I think the French are proud of Jean, of course, but they’re also a little surprised.  I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but the French aren’t big on comedy.  Or rather, they enjoy dark comedies made fun by witty quips or completely off-the-wall situations all while the main character suffers from something like loss, depression, destitution, illness, blackmail, or all of the above. 

And somebody usually has to die, of course…it ain’t funny ‘till somebody dies.

Here, Jean Dujardin is, for all intents and purposes, a comedian- mostly known for a comic mini series and movies like ‘Brice de Nice’ where he interprets an intellectually-challenged beach bum or a ‘Naked Gun’ type character in OSS 007. Not exactly rolls the French hold in high regard. But all in all, I think the entire country is happy for him and proud to be represented in such a high profile award show.

Did you watch the Oscars?  Any moments I should look up on youtube? What was YOUR favorite movie pick of 2012?

I Drank the Water

Most of you probably won’t remember a blogpost I did about living in France entitled ‘Don’t Drink the Water !’ which was a commentary on the number of pregnant women living in and around the Parisian suburbs and how French drinking water must have contributed to my leaving with an extra passenger aboard some nine years ago. (I’m convinced the French government has been secretly slipping folic acid and some other fertility enhancers into their tap water ever since WWII)

Therefore, heeding my own advice, since I’ve moved back to France I resorted to drinking bottled water for a few years or other bottled drinks as often as possible.  But then, to cut down on plastics, we got a water filter and eventually, these past few months, I’ve foolishly been filling a clean plastic bottle with tap water and sticking it in the fridge.

I should have known better.

Because, yet again, I have inevitably fallen victim to the French drinking water pregnancy continuum. That’s right, a new addition to the Creepy household is in our conceivable future (pardon the pun).  It was a definite surprise and I’m sure on some cosmic divine level, this must have been planned. 

It just wasn’t planned by us:)

But never the less, this Creepy Query Girl is thrilled to have another project in the making...even if it isn’t of the writing sort.

How about you guys?  Life throw you any pleasant surprises lately?

Smelling Melon Butt

Now that the school year is back in swing, I’ve decided to get back to my Friday in France posts.  I know I’ve already sited some of the wonders of the French market place in my Hello There Pig Face! post.  But today I wanted to talk about the actual ‘interaction’ the French seem to have with their fresh produce.

I guess there are three factors that determine a fruit or vegetable is ‘ripe for the picking’ as they say.

First is color.  Tomatoes should be bright red/orange.  Banana’s should be yellow, not green.  Avocados are usually ripe when they’ve turned a very dark evergreen...you get the idea.

Next is touch. In the marketplace you’ll see people digging through baskets of tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, onions, potatoes and other veggies- looking for those perfect few that will make it into their carton.   Avocados especially draw a lot of attention because you have to be able to push in the skin just a little- the flesh beneath should be somewhat soft.

But then you have melons. 

Now melons are a real crowd pleaser when it comes to finding ‘the one’.  Because not only do you have to go by color (beige/green) and texture (firm) but the biggest identifier of a good melon is the smell.  The back end of a melon should smell just as the melon would taste- sweet, moist, and melon-y.

But for some reason, I always feel awkward smelling melons.  I mean, when you see this coming at you:

Well, to be frank, I can’t help but feel like I’m smelling a melon’s butt every time.   

Call me weird.

How do you all go about choosing vegetables where you live?

I hope you all have a fantastic weekend!!!  A big 'Hello' and 'Welcome' to all the new followers!!  *waves frantically*

Hooligans

As you can imagine, I have noticed some cultural differences between American men and French men.  But today I’d rather talk about something they have in common.  The sport might not be the same.  In the U.S. it’s usually either football, basketball, or baseball. The leading sport in Europe is soccer, of course.

And while I guess you could say American men might be a bit more athletic than Frenchmen (organized sport isn’t part of the school curriculum in France and there are no inter-school competitions like in the U.S.)- there are exceptions.

But in general, I’d say about 80% of American men and Frenchmen alike prefer to enjoy their sports from the comfort of a nice cushy couch, accompanied with an ice cold beer and the companionship of their guy friends.

All of this is fine and good, of course.  Except for one little detail whose logic escapes me:

By some inexplicable trait of universal male-brain damage; men actually believe they are playing the sport.  They sit there, beer in hand and ass firmly planted while they watch the actual athletes exhausting real physical effort for the win-and yet act as though their cries of  “Yes!  Yes! GO!” and “What are you DOING???? Left!  Left!  Look he’s open dammit!”  and “That was a foul!  Off SIDES!!!!!”   --will actually, by some intricate magic or prayer, influence the game on the television.

*Newsflash dudes.*

 It doesn’t.

I mean, I can understand getting swept up in the game.  Sure.  They lose themselves in the moment.  It’s entertainment after all.  But what I can’t understand is how after said game, men like to make triumphant statements like:  “We totally kicked their ass.  We’re going to the finals!”

‘We’?  what is this ‘we’?  You didn’t DO anything!?  You just sat there and shouted at the screen for an hour!  What the hell is wrong with you?

Of course, when you actually state these thoughts aloud, the men look at you like ‘you’re’ the one who’s gone nuts.  (again.  Brain damage.)

And then-to make things worse, some men will actually nurture an everlasting and undying hate for any supporters of a rival team with the logic that anyone who plants their ass in front of the television and routes for the opposite team is a traitor to mankind and must be bad-mouthed, degraded and, in some of the most extreme cases to date- actually die.

It’s madness.  Pure and simple.   And they say women are irrational.  But you don’t see us yelling obscenities at people who can’t hear us and hating others for doing the same.  We don’t take out a baseball bat when we’re Team Jacob faced with Team Edward, for god’s sakes.  Give me a break. 

Male.  Brain.  Damage.

It’s universal. 

Have a great weekend everyone!

*CQG*

Who's Bringing the Cake?

The French have a whole relationship with cakes that I haven’t  completely adapted to.  I still can’t eat yellow pound cake  for breakfast even though here it’s considered normal.  Or that chocolate cake or yogurt/lemon cake is often eaten for snack after school.  (It tastes too much like birthday cake without the frosting!)

The biggest difference in cake consumption, however is the yearly events- birthdays, holidays ect…  In France there is really no such thing as a ‘sheet cake’.   You can’t go to the grocery store and find a big ass chocolate or yellow cake covered in flavored lard mixed with sugar. 

And nobody here would dare make a cake for any special event.  Why should they when they can just hop over to the nearest boulangerie and get themselves one of these?:

strawberry and cream double decker called a 'fraisier'

Or these:

strawberry pistachio 'fraisier pistache'

Or these:

a 'mille feuille'- very thin layers of cake, cream, slate sugar, and chocolate

French cake is probably the most perfect dessert I’ve ever tasted- often involving fruit and cream and cake so light and airy it doesn’t take up nearly as much belly space as the chunks of compound carbs we Americans like to chomp down (with a large glass of milk on the side- in my case).

That said, when my birthday rolls around, (Which is coming up soon- July 1^st!)- I make my husband get me an American type cake.  Even though they’re frozen and often involve Disney characters- They’ve got that double level chocolate cake and traditional frosting that I need in order to ‘feel’ like it’s my birthday:)  As you can imagine, my french relatives are less than impressed with my cake choice every year.

What’s your favorite kind of cake?  If you lived in France, would you be a stickler for sheet cake or would you bow to cultural cake consumption and head to your nearest boulangerie?

Americans in Paris

One of the reasons I was so upset about losing my only American friend in France is because she was the first American I’d met here who was…how do I put this?...um… like me?--  In the sense that neither of us were:

Tourists.  I don’t think a lot of people realize just how many Americans visit Paris every year.  Throw a pair of mouse ears on top of the Eiffel Tower and you’d think you were at Disney on a Saturday afternoon.  American tourists are easily picked out by one of the following:

1. A fanny pack 

2. A baseball cap 

3. Socks with sandals 

4.Oversized sweatshirts or fleece jacket 

5. Sneakers (tennis shoes)

5. An ability to project their natural speaking voices loud enough to be heard within a 2 mile radius.

Married to filthy rich businessmen.  When I first arrived in Paris, my daughter was only about four months old so naturally I was excited to find a group of American mothers in the Paris suburbs.  After a couple meetings though, I realized I didn’t have much in common with these (very pleasant) ladies.  Their husbands were wealthy businessmen who had been assigned to France for some work-related project.  I visited their rented luxurious French suburban houses where most of the group members sat around complaining about …the French.  Or living in France.  Or their cleaning ladies.  They had nannies even though they didn’t work and spent most of their time at the gym or at the spa, getting coffee with friends, or meeting with their therapist.

Green to the point of actually sprouting roots.  The polar opposite of the rich American desperate housewife is what many refer to as the ‘Green’ mothers.  Now, I’m all for recycling your garbage, keeping an eye on power and water usage, buying local produce and I’d even go so far as to start a compost pile in our yard.  But the Green ladies I’m talking about are the kind of women who only wear recycled fabric clothes, don’t bathe more than necessary in an attempt to save our oceans, won’t go near a normal grocery store and married Frenchmen so they could live out their dreams of opening an organic breastmilk tapioca bar in the Parisian suburbs or something to that extent. 

 or High Culture Fanatics.  As a writer ex-pat living in France, I suppose I could be as eccentric as I wanted and everyone would just say  ‘Oh, well…she’s a writer in Paris.  Aren’t they all a little eccentric?’  Not all.  But many Americans who’ve chosen to come live in the bohemian city are a little eccentric to say the least.  Dressed like they’ve just stepped off the Gautier platform, (think Mad-Hatter top hats, square glasses and 'foulards') They hang out in the literary cafés and have in-depth conversations about existentialist art or the feminist movement.

Needless to say, there is a reason I only had one American friend around here.

Have a great weekend everyone!

*CQG*

The Cry Monster

Today’s ‘living in France’ post doesn’t have much to do with French culture.   Yesterday I said ‘goodbye’ to my only American ex-pat friend. 

She was my go-to American friend here in France.  We actually met through Babycenter.com six years ago. and started getting together for Thanksgiving and Halloween every year, celebrated birthdays with our kids and had green beer on St. Patricks Day- stuff the French don’t really understand.

So as you can imagine, I was a little sad when I heard the news she was moving ‘back’- don’t know who I’m going to celebrate all that stuff with anymore.   But I was also excited for her and her family, a little envious that things worked out so well for them going back to the U.S. after living nine years in France.

But as the time for ‘goodbye’ drew closer, I couldn’t ignore the strange heavy weight in my chest I’d had for the last two days.  Or the lump in my throat as I was heading towards our final ‘lunch’.  And finally, yes, the tears - lots and lots and lots of tears.  In fact I was pretty much an incoherent sniveling mess the entire time. The 'cry monster' totally took over- which is so unlike me.  I’m not usually an overly-emotional person. Plus I look absolutely ridiculous when I cry (squeaks, strange noises, snot, red blotchy face...you name it) so I try not to do it too often in public.

She was just as upset- after all she was the one leaving her whole life behind.  But anyone walking by would have thought she’d just told me someone died.   I felt like a total freak.  After some serious introspection I still couldn’t tell you why her departure is hitting me so hard.

I think it’s an accumulation of things.  Living in a foreign country is a choice.  That doesn’t mean it’s an easy choice or that it’s easy to live with all the time.  Even though I love it here, there are times I wish I was closer to some of the people I love.

But after awhile you get used to missing people – Family, friends, everyone who saw you grow into adulthood.   And I think the hardest part is knowing my friend is now one more person ‘on the other side’.  Another person I have to miss.  We’ll connect through facebook and skype like I do all my other family.  But it’s not the same.  She was really here. And now she’s not. 

Sorry to poo on you all this Friday with my melancholy.  Guess homesickness is just another part of 'living in France' and it comes in many weird shapes and forms.

Hope you all have a good weekend!

*CQG*