A Late Start...

Instead of sending e-mails that seem to always be missing important people in my life on the address list, I've decided to attempt to document the rest of my stay here via blog...I am technologically inept so please excuse any stupid mistakes or messed up URLs or whatever it is that happens when things go wrong.

Instead of discussing what has already happened, I'd rather just start today, February 6th, 2009. Today has probably been my least favorite in this city so far. As many of you know (due to my excessive whining- sorry) I applied for my visa too early since I thought I was coming to Paris in September, before Obama job opp. In my rushed attempt to fix it over the summer, I seem to have really screwed up and accidentally applied for a permanent residence form instead of six month visa. So, I have to get this residence form to legally stay through June, which can only be obtained at the sous-prefecture (the French DMV) that services your area.

I live in Malakoff, a town that is a 30-second walk from the Paris border. Because I am on the wrong side of said border, I have to go to the s-p that services the suburbs, a good hour train ride from me. Joy! My host dad, Bruno, is the nicest man ever and took me there via his motorcycle this morning at 7 AM (sorry mom, I know you are very anti-motorcycle. Just close your eyes for this part.) I know this exposes how very much of a naive, American girl I am, but it was incroyable! genial! magnifique! It was my first moto ride, but I very much hope it isn't my last. My school here made us sign a contract stating we wouldn't drive one because of some student last semester who decided he was Rico Suave and wouldn't wear a helmet...bad news. So I guess I must just find Jean Pierre Jacques, the fantastic french gentleman who also has a motorcycle. Should be easy...

7 HOURS after my arrival at the s-p, I was finally seen. In the meantime, I attempted to become a connoisseur of French candy bars. I bought 5 different ones, some of which were highly suspect. Muesli mix Balistos are about as awful as they sound. I also had 6 50Eurocent cappuccino thingies from the machine. If you haven't yet, please read "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay," the only reason I did not try to hold an unsuspecting French child hostage until the bureau agent agreed to see me.

Of course, this story can only end badly. I got to the window, was told I needed to have my birth certificate translated into French, was told the office did not know where I should go to do that, was told to come back when I had that and wait another 7 hours. Fantastic. In our orientation, our program talked about the different stages of living in another country; Euphoria, Frustration, Hatred, Understanding and Enjoyment. Today I officially moved from euphoria to hatred in no time flat, but Gray Gray saved me with her adorable phone call and amazement at my life here.

And my life is amazing here. Last night, the playwright Israel Horovitz presented in a reading three of his newer short plays at the Village Voice. VV is a tiny American bookstore in the Latin Quarter full of beautiful books and unusual people, and it often hosts readings by authors, playwrights, commentators. Both readings I've gone to, Israel and Junot Diaz, have been cramped and exciting. I'm lucky enough to have found a similarly nerdy but quite fun girl on my program, Rachel. We have lots of mutual friends, and have bonded together in our quest for good food, wine, men and boots. So fair, things are going well on all fronts, although social interactions here among the youth are very different than in America.

In Paris, girls are ice cold. If you, young man, want to meet girl at bar who is cute, tough luck unless you somehow have a mutual friend that can introduce you two. Otherwise, she will completely ignore you regardless of how charming or cute or whatever you are. Similarly, the local girls look at non-local girls (me) as either overly promiscuous or pathetic. Either way, the females very clearly send the message that they have enough friends, thank you. It's silly. And since many of the guys my age still live at home, they are different too. Boys/men here seem to be about 3 years younger than their American counterparts.

This weekend should be fantastique- the weather is getting warmer which means picnics and wine and cheese and dresses. I think I am going to my first Opera, and potentially to see CHE (although it is in spanish with french subtitles, which means I am screwed a bit). BISOUS.