franchement, tu parles bien francais

So, your favorite friend of all time (moi) is, guess what...IN PARIS!! Oh the insanity! Yes. I live here. I don't have a lot of time on my hands, actually I have no time on my hands, but I am handily wasting it by posting this blog and justifying it by telling myself you care. So I will just give you a few highlights/hilarious stories.

Please note that the full story in photos is on Facebook. Just go here: http://www.facebook.com/p.php?i=610564950&k=45EY6Z55UT6G6BDAQE2ZQVVUW6BAX55B43IY&oid=1357565432720.

This is my roommate and I. She is awesome.

That first pic is the Cathedrale at Chartres. Chartres is an adorable little town.

Here's my funny story of the day.

So I was walking over to the post office. Let me rephrase that, I was trying to walk to the post office. I wanted to mail my favorite boyfriend of all time and my favorite mother of all time packages. I also wanted to send my favorite grandparents a postcard. In order to do that, though, I had to figure out how, and where, to send things from France.

I had the address of the post office and figured I could get there just fine. I was wrong. Paris' streets are not normal. It is like a joke to try to figure out anything ever when it comes to streets. So I got rather lost. A man came up to me and asked if I needed help (in French). I said, "Maybe, do you know where rue Douain is?" He said, "Hmm...not exactly, but I'll help you find it." I said okay, but I also pulled my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket. We were at a VERY busy carrefour (like intersection but more confusing) so I wasn't too worried, but I did see Taken.

While we were walking, the man introduced himself as Omar. He told me he was tunisien. He's from Tunisie, I don't know what that is in English, Tunisia? I don't know. But his accent was hard to understand because it wasn't exactly French, it was a little different, and I'm learning.

Still, I seemed to speak French quite well. "Frankly," he said, "I wouldn't have known you were American until you told me." I was flattered.

We continued to chitchat until we found the post office, fairly quickly and easily. I said, "Thanks, bye!" I tried to go into the post office.

"Attends!" said Omar. I stopped. He asked me for my phone number. "I don't have a cell phone," I said. He pointed at the suspiciously cell-phoney shape in my pocket. "Oh, that's mine and my roommates. We're not supposed to give the number out." Omar said that was all right, he would just put his number in my phone and then I could call him if I needed help finding anything else. Smooth, Omar. Very smooth. It wasn't worth arguing, so I let him put his number in my phone. He insisted I call him very soon. "I have family here," he said. "We can go out with my cousin. It'll be great." "Uh huh, uh huh," I said, with no intention of calling him.

"Well, thanks," I said. I tried to leave again. Omar stopped me again. He tried to do the double-cheek kissing thing that French people do. They don't usually do that when you just barely meet someone, so I knew he was being a little forward. But I was so flustered I sort of did it back, but felt lame and kind of epicly failed. Omar didn't mind. "Call me!" he yelled.

Then I walked home, completely forgetting about the post office. I had to go back today. Luckily I found it right off.

Also, Omar still hasn't hunted me down, kidnapped me and sold me into the sex trade. That's always handy, because I don't think my dad is very good at punching, kicking, or shooting people. Or blowing up stuff and driving through it. So I'd probably end up dead.

Overall, Paris is pretty awesome.

Love,

Lizzy ;)