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Lucy in Paris
Monthly Archives: October 2012
London…so hot right now…London.
Though I am assured that it is endearing when Americans speak French, sometimes you’re just over saying “Repetez s’il vous plaît” after every sentence. In times like this, I find it best to smile, nod enthusiastically, and, if you’re especially into whomever you’re talking to, let out a little laugh. Yes, sometimes you have to fake French.
For example, in class the other day, we seemed to stray from le diable et l’idée du mal to cover a more domestic area of study. What I understood was that in the second oeuf (egg), the linge (laundry) and the liberty fight le lit (bed) and it creates an obscure guafre (waffle). I decided to roll with it…you can’t really ask for an English translation à la Sorbonne. I was like, “I never knew Victor Hugo had such an affinity for kitchen appliances!”
As it turns out, the oeuf is oeuvre (work), linge is l’ange (angel), still not sure what the bed really is, and guafre is gouffre (chasm), but I didn’t learn any of this until after the fact. If I had dwelled on the details of Mr. Hugo’s
egg work, I would have been frustrated the rest of the period. Faking French gets me through the day! If a French man yells something unintelligible at me from a bar across the street, he must be very politely saying that I look like a sophisticated young lady, right? “Merci!” If a woman mutters something about the loud American tourists in the back of the metro, I roll my eyes in agreement. “Ugh, les Americains.” If I can’t hear the waiter over the commotion at the restaurant, he’s probably asking if I want more wine. “Bien sûr!” Anyway, my français is coming along slowly but surely, but when in doubt, the answer is always oui.
This song is kind of horrible, but
it resonates with me basically I just like their costumes…
Evil takes human form in Mitt Romney. Don’t be fooled, he might seem like your typical uptight, sexist, GOP presidential candidate, but in reality, he is so much more than that. He tries to act all innocent like, “Oh, I used to live in Michigan with my 5 little sons and my little wifey!” but by asserting the need to overturn Roe-vs-Wade on his 2012 campaign website and saying that he would end federal aid to Planned Parenthood, Romney is facilitating the GOP’s war on women. A hypocrite, Mitt Romney opposed gay marriage in a speech about the “freedom to build life” in America. Why would he do this? Because he’s a life ruiner. He ruins people’s lives! Romney wants to reward the wealthy with more tax breaks, paid for by raising middle class taxes. He has no plans to withdraw our troops from Afghanistan. He is against affirmative action. Mitt Romney a grotsky little
byotch bigot. In short, MITT ROMNEY CAN’T SIT WITH US!!!!
P.S. The French are all about some BO. It’s Obamarama over here.
Despite common belief, drinking abroad programs don’t have a studying problem…wait…
Yesterday, par exemple, I profited from two of Paris’s museums, le Musée d’Orsay and la Légion d’Honneur. All I have to do is flash my student ID from La Sorbonne, and I get in for free! This must be what Mary Kate Olsen feels like…
Then we went on a nice stroll to Champs-Élysées…aka we saw some sort of Parisian bomb squad heading that direction, so instead of running the opposite way in fear, naturally our thought process was more along the lines of, “BOYZ IN UNIFORMS?! LET’S FOLLOW THEM!” Typical.
La Légion d’Honneur is right by d’Orsay, and there was no line! It’s mainly military medals and badges.
Whenever I do something sketchy, like ask a nun to call me a cab or frequent “le weird bar” (see photo below), my friends and I joke that lucyinparis.com is going to be renamed lucygetshershitstole.edu or, worse, taken2.org.
So imagine my surprise when I learned that Taken 2 was an actual movie coming out this fall! If you haven’t seen Taken, it’s basically like Finding Nemo but with real people. Liam Neeson is overly protective of his daughter because
she’s retarded he’s an FBI agent, but then one day she’s all, “I’m gonna touch the butt!” and gets kidnapped by some Turkish dudes who want to take her to a brothel at P Sherman 42 Wallaby Way Sydney, and all Marlin Liam Neeson has to work off of is one kidnapper’s voice saying “Shark bate, ooh ah ah.”
Anyway, my friend Gabby and I went to see the 2nd one today. In Taken 2, the kidnappers’ families are all verklempt because Liam Neeson is a total BAMF and will stop at nothing to rescue Nemo, so they decide to kidnap him, his daughter, and his wife AGAIN. What’s crazy is that this whole situation would be completely avoidable if Nemo hadn’t taken a cab with that cute French guy in the beginning of the first movie. The moral of this story is TAKE THE METRO.
Tie it in the front; tie it in the back; wear it open; get one in black, blue, and even leather; wear it in the rain; wear it in the Spring; wear it in the Winter; hell, wear it as your bathrobe–sporting a trench coat is an easy way to keep warm while looking très française.
Damn you, Burberry! As if owning one green leather jacket isn’t enough, I am currently obsessing over this lil’ number. Hello, lover!
The trench coat is a Parisian girl’s staple piece.
When you google “the Sorbonne” this is the photo that comes up. I don’t know WTF this is a photo of, but it don’t look nothin’ like where I’ve been going errday. The Sorbonne I know more resembles a 1960s mental hospital…but really, I’m expecting to see Winona Ryder playing Downtown on the guitar any day now…
I know the Sorbonne is, like, the Harvard of France, but I want to know what the Sewanee of France is. This place is overcrowded (there are never enough places for all the students), scary (as previously mentioned), and EVERYONE IS FRENCH (I guess that’s to be expected).
In class the other day, le prof asked me to open the blinds, but what I heard was something more along the lines of “aljdkfetuadnnvdluadknbdkuanku la lumière asldkjfdhsdkutenv quand même.” Huh? “Um…repetez s’il vous plaît?” “askugneudkngksejklndmsdingnelsifnskdlkfnejsling.” Oh, now I see…NOT. When in doubt, smile and nod. “Oui, merci,” I said. Then the boy behind me opened them. I was wondering if everyone had noticed I was foreign yet. Well, at least I can now answer that without a doubt.
That’s right, the post you’ve all been waiting for…
The thing with French guys is that half of you thinks, “Aren’t all French guys, like, mimes or something?” Then half of you says, “Oh, I’ve seen Unfaithful,” while the other half of you says, “But I’ve also seen Taken!” But another half of you is like, “YOLO!” (I don’t care if that’s too many halves, I dropped calculus for a reason.)
The whole courting process is way different here. First of all, French guys are much more forward. Aux Etats-Unis, strangers rarely compliment me, whereas en France, it’s all the time! “Do you have a cigarette? No? Well you’re really pretty anyway.” “Do you know what time it is? Thanks, also you’re beautiful.” Living in France is the biggest confidence boost since going to Dollywood on a Saturday.
To demonstrate the differences, I would like to tell you a story about a friend of mine, let’s call him Jacques, for the sake of confidentiality. So Jacques and I meet these guys that we think seem fun, and we go to a bar with them. One of these guys, let’s call him Henri, is totally cute but has been talking about how he has a girlfriend blah blah blah. So I’m mid-Frenchy-flirt with one of Henri’s friends, when, tout de suite, I look up to see Henri and Jacques KISSING across the table in front of me. And I don’t mean a little peck, I mean a vraiment French kiss. So obviously we’re all, “Henri, WTF was that?” and he’s like, “It seemed right in the moment.” OKAY. Profitez bien, y’all.
A less drastic way might be at a café or bar.
Anyway, French guys get a bad rap (but don’t all guys get a bad rap?), but the ones I’ve met have been really nice and totally cute.
Also, they insist that our super American accents are très adorable (though I have my doubts).
Oh, and, when it comes to les hommes français, one last thing to remember…