Yes Please.

PARIS, ce n'est pas (it just aint) the place for peeps with low self esteem. For real y'all, you walk down the street, and it seems like everyone is happier than you are (they probably are, ils habitent à Paris), prettier than you (also check), better dresed (them and thier babies), and somehow more fit.....even though (ridiculously delicious) dishes like conard confit are the norm. Why yes, I think storing the duck in its own fat, cooking the duck in its own fat, and then drizzling that same fat on top when served is a great idea? Do I want some? If it tastes good, well then YES PLEASE. Needless to say, "Oui, Merci!" = new keystone of my cafe/dining vocabulary.
food blog = a soon must.

La Vie à Paris!!

Les mots ne peuvent pas decrire combien j'aime cette ville!

YES, words cannot describe how much I love this city. Ah! You hear, "Paris is so great blah blah blah paris paris paris" But REALLY....PARIS.

I'm gaga, nuts, drooling like a helpless unfashionable dog (unheard of in paris) as I walk down each Rue; a (beautiful) baguette crunched under one arm, a crepe in the other, trying to figure out why the HELL Parisian rooftops make all buildings I've ever seen in America look like hairy butts. And then the TREES. dear god, praise the strange despotic urges that overcame Napoleon III when he decided, "Um yes, I think I will plant about uh 600,000 EFFIN TREES" he was a genius. Well, except that whole invading Russia thing, smooth move hexlax. But yes, Paris is green, shady (good shady, not shady shady or slim shady), romantic, and just a dream.



Also, a key to my unquenchable excitement / thirst / love of this place = FREE entrance to ANY museum I want. Louvre. Musee D'Orsay. Saint Chapelle. Orangerie. Rodin Gardens. , je paie zero euro, Nothing, Nada Nichts Nien. tous sont gratuit! Free! ah it even rhymes. thank god. This means I just grab sketchbook and pick up and go to.... (fill in the blank). N'IMPORTE OU! (anywhere) For instance Mardi (tuesday)? = Rodin gardens to sketch, wander, and remember that it's not ok to sit on French lawns. OR perhaps I'll go into the Orangerie (jeudi) to look at monet's water lillies and yeah, that's chill you guys are closing in twenty minutes, jokes on you cuz I'll just KEEP COMING BACK. Like my two day in a row visit to the Louvre? I didnt get past the first two rooms of Greek sculptures, one time spending the entire hour with Le Victoire (the winged Nike), WISHING I had a huge sign that would just say, "Vous êtes jaloux?" that all the crazy-rushing-pas-a-la-mode-picture-taking-tourists could read....and then not understand because they dont speak French.

And OH to speak French. Another reason......why this is possibly the best city in the world. I am happiest when I am speaking French. I love the sound of my voice, the shape of my mouth the use of my throat that happens with each "euh, oi, ou, ere, ion..." I utter. I sneakily eavesdrop on people's conversations on metros and in cafes excited to know the general idea of what they're saying. I try to perfect the throat sounds necesary to utter the perfect "un café s'il vous plaît, pas emprunter, ouais, merci" to not sound like a stupide americaine right off the bat, and then, continue chatting with the barista, en francais bien sur, while sipping on my straight up espresso. mmmmm.

I want to say everything that I've done, everything I've seen, and its just so much--each is a fragment that pops into my head, EVERYTHING is an experience, Playing peekaboo with an insanely well dressed four year old at a cafe, watching the glowing light change in Saint Chappelle as the buzzing tourists leave, sitting in Tuileries Gardens under a giant tree sun on my back, french conversations with an old lady at the market, about where i'm from and why my hair is so blonde, the shine on my spoon as it cuts the crouton cheese cover of real french onion soup, the smell of a boulangerie en route to class, the colorfully filled window of a patisserie.

D'etre à Paris.

Funny Things...

Happen on planes. And mixing in an all-nigther = recipe for HILARITY of the most delicious kind.

BUT before we get on the plane, lets just tuck away in our pocket the episode / process of Erika (sans sleeep) remembering to bring everything to the airport. Everything. Underwear, check. Passport, check. scissors, check. Two extra toothbrushes, check. Plane ticket, .....plane ticket....check...? I mean I have this confirmation, that's the same right? What? It's not!? Well look me up, you have proof I bought it yes? Ok well then--what?? Where the hell are we if not in the future where these problems are solved by magical things like the internet and Bill Gates? (Last time I checked, books written about the future are getting close to thier sequels: shoutout to 2010: Odyssey Two (original title)). Where is my ticket you ask??? Shoot, no, it can't be, wait, yes....it is..... In Berkeley.

Ticket....uncheck.

Plan of action

1. Cancel Air Tahiti ticket (SUCK MY BALLS AIR TAHITI) (though je heart STA cancellation policy)
2. Buy new plane ticket (via STA, et oui, j'heart STA encore, o la la)
   
3. Kick Air Tahiti desk (plan to go back and see the dent I made)
4. Kiss my family until they are sore for helping me and not giving up on this spaz of a daughter
5. Take mandtory final picture of now "happy" family (Ingrid is SO pissed off right here) haha.
   
6. Board new plane with a bunch of (beautiful) germans and head to Paris via Frankfurt

YES, back to the point. Funny things happen on planes, starting with prior to take-off a sleepy slightly hungry Erika decides to open a packet of Trader Joes nuts. Oh so gently she tears the package, except ability to be gentle?......nonexistent on no sleep. NUTS EVERYWHERE. It was like a bad porno (too soon?), and there wasn't even the "oh! but it was uh, the air pressure?" excuse to blame. So, (reverting to first person) I quietly shuffled the nuts under nearby seats with my foot, while noshing on the ones that had fallen in my lap, and making stupid "eh....? He he...? My b?" face to the Germans who surrounded me with expressions of a corssbreed between confusion and scowling.

Lets also point out how great falling asleep on planes is. BECAUSE IT IS. Reason 1: So when the Germans sitting next to you get up to use the bathroom, you sit back down, and in the <5min that passes slightly doze of/clock out entirely until BOOM. Jolted awake with three blonde faces fill your frame of view, with the flight attendent tapping your shoulder uttering "Euh..Miss? Miss?" Reaction Naturale = "Bah!#!@!, Ah! I mean, What? I mean, one second, I'll get up." The next few moments go into interpreting that same confusion +scowling expression while also noting that before being prodded awake (ew) I was most DEFINATELY sleeping sitting up with my head tilted back and my mouth open......classy.

Reason 2: Meals. I have come to the realization that in spite of my human appearance I am actually a og and will wake if a meal is placed before me. Pas d'exceptions. RING THAT PAVLOVIAN BELL SUCKAS! And by ring that pavlovian bell I mean push that little cart full of plane / TV dinners, sauf (Except) une probleme, post dinner food coma, oh yes please, I'll have a cup of coffee....mmm coffee... but wait, it's too hot, I'll just wait a second for it to--KERSPLASHLE ( sound of me simultaneously waking up and seeing my hands thrusting forward to knock over full cup of said coffee). Dreamland why? Under what crazy dream circumstances would I need to thrust arms forward? Was i rescuing a baby? was it worth it? Or was I just doing a crazy dance?

Like I said, Hilarity.
Also. here this is the phone booth as some german plane taker left it. there were 20 mini snickers wrappers. I wonders if he knows they actually sell normal sized snickers. he might die from excitement.

je suis arrivé

no wonder people are gaga about Paris. It's a dream. a blissful, crazy reality where everything's beautiful and everyone is speaking in a language that sounds like music--and i can understand it!?! (for the most part, euh..I mean... de temps en temps)

ah. paris. un reve.

Well By Joe!

One week y'all. its offic-- (pronounced: "ah - fish") and I shall be miles and miles away. Here's hopin' I'm LUCKY out there in the traditional uninuendoed (<-- a word?) sense of the word. Does it count if you wish good luck to yourself?

BONNE CHANCE A MOI!!@!)!@_!

BOOM. that just happened.

then again, i'm (kinda) lucky at cards, so here's hopin i'm lucky IN the traditional sexually inuendoed sense of the word. double BOOM.

I'm considering upon arrival speaking in as much French as I can with my host family but then only letting myself slip on key American phrases of exclamation like, "By God's Foot!" and "Well, great balls of fire!" and "God's underwear!"

lets face it i have a fascination with undressing god. different strokes for different folks.