I want to kill my kitchen utensils...

I have a newfound appreciation for all the housewives in the world. It's a bitch to cook and clean all the time. Want to know what's worse? When you are without teflon. It has taken me literally 40 minutes every night to scrub the crusted chicken and pasta off of my utensils. In addition to our pan from hell, our knife is about as dull as the German professor who lectured us for 4 hours during orientation. Cutting chicken with this knife is like beating a dead horse (or chicken). After Monica witnessed a near-meltdown, we decided it was time to ditch the ACCENT bullshit and fork over some dough for a fancy pan and knife. (Oh you fancy, huh)

After a grueling 5-minute long hunt through Monoprix (our version of Target), we landed upon a glorious aisle of pans. With pure determination in my eyes, I only looked at the pans with "Teflon" splattered across their shiny black bodies. Once I made the difficult choice, I then headed towards the knives (should I have been trusted in that aisle?). I had never been so happy to see such sharp pieces of metalwork in my life. I felt like a kid in a knife shop.

Since my journey to Monoprix, I have made a fantastic barbeque chicken meal which took 45 seconds to clean. My life is complete, for now. Franceland, get your shit together and give me some teflon!

Art, Bars, and Injuries

It will probably be more interesting to start with the third topic of my title. Injuries. Besides the massive bruise in my ass that continually gets blacker and bluer as the days go on, I now have a new injury to add to the list: a massive burn on my arm. As I was sick and tired of the crappy hair appliances the french use, I sucked it up and bought a nice curling iron. Considering Monica and I live in a closet, it is no surprise to anybody that we have barely any counter space in our bathroom, kitchen, or anywhere else. Long story short, iron fell off tiny counter and landed smack on my arm. So now, my tailbone hurts, my bruises look like something kicked my ass (literally), and I look like a burner (rather than a cutter). I almost had a subsequent injury this morning on my run as a 3 year old nearly crashed into me on her scooter, however my cat-like reflexes allowed me to dodge the collision. 

Moving forward to the "Bars" subject. Nearly everyday, the ladies and myself walk past Corcorans's, an irish pub near the ACCENT office. We always say how we should go, but we usually never do. Last night changed our unlucky streak. We packed our things and trekked the few blocks to Corcoran's, which was filled with wild Parisians (without smoke, thank god) and our Milwaukee friends! Christine had a dance-off with a Parisian, and although he whipped out some homestyle breakdance moves, I'd like to think Christine won. The night ended with lots of nutella-clad bread. I really need to stop drunk eating..

Going even further back in time...let's talk about art and bones. Firstly, the Louvre. Pretty cool, pretty big. The Louvre is divided into 3 sections: Sully, Denon, and Richelieu. It took us 3 1/2 hours just to get through 2 floors of Sully, so I know I'll be making several trips back. The Louvre is too massive and extensive to comprehend. I wish the explanations listed for the exhibits were given in English, considering my creative mind will usually come up with gross or inappropriate descriptions for each painting. Moral of the story, the Louvre is awesome and I can't wait to go back. 

The bones part of this section has to deal with the Catacombs. By the 17th century, Paris had a shortage of burial grounds for the increasing dead population (due to the general increase in population as a whole). Eventually, the sanitary conditions were too horrible because the dead bodies were contaminating the well water the people drank from. The solution to this sanitation problem was moving the dead bodies to unused underground mines, which are where the Catacombs currently reside. Neatly arranged and freely available to touch, the 6 million bodies in the Catacombs are both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. It takes 130 steps to climb down underneath the metro system to access them. With Courtney and I leaded, the pack and I headed through the extensive tunnel system until we reached the bones. We got reallll close and personal with these new dead buddies of ours. 

I'm here for school, right?

For the parents/adult ones who like to be updated on my academic life, I figured I should mention something about my classes. That's the whole point of being here, right? ha. But here we go...


Class #1 Marketing Communications: Don't know, haven't had it yet, should be easy.

Class #2 Strategic Marketing: Seems like a cool class. We are marketing products on a simulation computer game. A little strange, and I don't really understand how to interpret the data. Oh well, thankfully I've got smart people in my group!

Class #3 Positional Bargaining and Negotiation: The biggest joke of a class in the world. On the first day, the professor said to us, "This is like no class you have ever taken before. There is no homework, there are no tests. You are graded on your participation in the class. There really are no rules in this class. It's a free for all."

Basically, each day we are split up into 2 groups and given a scenario and we will have to negotiate a deal with the other group. The point is to argue and get your way. Participation is your effort in the negotiation (aka arguing), so anybody who knows me knows that I am guaranteed an A+ in this class.

HOWEVER. There is a serious issue with this class. During our first negotiation, Courtney, Christine, and I were put in the same group along with this kid from Russia. Our scenario was an acquisition of a French company by a German company. We had to negotiate to see if we could do the acquisition while still maintaining some of the french culture and their ceo/cfo in the company. Russia-man obviously did not understand the concept of the negotiation and would not budge from the idea that "the french and the germans can not possibly get along. Therefore, the acquisition should not take place at all." What a complete dumbass. The WHOLE POINT of the negotiation was to make the acquisition happen and not leave the offer on the table. If that were even an option, nobody would come to class because there would be nothing to argue about. He was a complete COMMUNIST. I don't mean to be stereotypical, but he seriously was.


Class #4 European Model: A SERIOUSLY COOL CLASS. It teaches you about the European Union and each class, a new professor from a different country comes in and teaches us their perspective on the EU. It is probably one of the most beneficial "real-world" classes I have ever taken. Our head professor is awesome too; you can tell he is brilliant.


So there you go!

Catacombs today...Can't wait to see some skulls.

The one about parisian love...

I do not mean to rant or whine...

but seriously Paris, why are all of your peeps in love? And better yet, why do they need to show it so much? Walking down the street, I barely see anybody alone; they are all in couples. What puts it over the edge is their level of PDA. Parisians love to be in love and they love to SHOW it, anytime, anywhere. As enjoyable as it was to witness the couple next to me on the metro play tonsil hockey, I really almost lost my lunch and would truly prefer to never have to be within 5 feet of that ever again. Paris, let's put some ground rules on the table. I don't care if you are all in love, hell, power to ya. If everyone were in love like you jerks are, the world would probably be a better place. However, I do not need to see it on every street corner, in every metro, and in every hallway. It's just a bit unnecessary. I get the point, you like each other. Keep it to yo-selves!

How To Party Like An International Student

To start, the most important thing to note while reading this blog is that while our American schools hate us and don't want us to have any fun, those of the European descent feel a little bit differently. How can I sum this up in 6 words or less?

EUROPEAN. SCHOOLS. WANT. YOU. TO. PARTY.

No ifs, ands, or butts. ESCP Europe wants nothing more than to see their bright pupils study hard during the day light hours, but once the sun goes down, it's a free for all. Maybe that is why these french student organizations are given the ability to rent out entire discos for our own pleasure? I really shouldn't ask any questions and just enjoy the beautiful gift that the founding fathers of this prestigious university have bestowed upon me:

THE RIGHT TO PARTY.

So now that you all have a good understanding of this, it's time to delve into the night. It began early, very early. at 8 o'lock (sorry old folk, but this is early for us), we pack up our belongings and head across the Land of Parisians to our Wisco friends and their dwelling. It was my first time at their apartment, and I already feel shafted for the amount I pay to live in my closet of an apartment. Putting jealousies aside, I will move on. With wine bottles in tow, we were ready to "get down" (Old folk, remember this line?) I, being the normal dumbass that I can be, chose to drink my wine like I had been living in a desert for the past 5 weeks. Rather stupid I know, but bread and water kept me hanging on to the thrill that is partying. We headed to the disco at 11 to ensure we did not pay any cover because hey, this was a party for INTERNATIONAL STUDENTS (yeah baby), and I was not about to pay any money to relish in the fact that I did not belong in this foreign land.

Upon walking through the front door, the bass was booming and the lights were flashing, and we felt it in the blood rushing through our veins saying "Dance....Dance....Dance". You know that feeling. You just gotta dance! (Thanks, Dane Cook). We headed down the majestic staircase while out of the corners of many eyes, I tumble down the staircase landed my ass on 10 solid steps. (Remember the whole bottle of wine I downed?) I get myself up, do not shed a tear because let's be honest, I didn't actually hurt in that state, and say to my friends:

THAT'S GOING TO HURT TOMORROW.

However, nothing can keep me from that dance floor. We head into it and dance the night away. Once our feet couldn't take it anymore, we knew it was time for home. A cab ride, 3 pieces of nutella-clad bread, and a good laugh later, I knew it was time for bed.

So now, it is the morning. And I know that all you readers are probably dying to know how my ass is. It hurts. Ok? Happy? Ouch. IT'S THE LOUVRE TODAY! Let's get ready to see some art, bitches.

Dear Franceland Round 2....

Hey Franceland,

It's been awhile since I left your pretty fields for the damp Belgian air, however I'm back and I have a few things to say.

1. You must not have gotten my message earlier about the "English Issue", but upon my arrival from the Belgian Kingdom, I realized you still didn't fix your people and teach them some English. Oh well, I'll give you another chance.

2. While I was away, you didn't change your food. My favorite meal here has been egg-in-a-hole (3 of them, I was hungry), which is a little sad since aren't you supposed to be famous for your eats? Where are these delectable goodies and why can't I get in on the fun?

3. The fried food in Belgium was godly. Where is your fried food, Franceland? Figure it out.

4. It's only been one day of school, and I am already fed up with your soft spoken teachers. SPEAK LOUDER.

5. I know it always comes to this, but I just want a big shower. The one-star hotel we stayed at had a shower 3 times the size of this closet of a bathroom and I would really appreciate not having to do a wall-sit every time I want to shave my legs.

6. Even though you have a few flaws, I still really like your country and I think we will become great friends over the next 4 months. LOVE YA!

When in Brussels....

I guess that's the theme for this blog post, since "las chicas" and I really didn't have a plan once we arrived in the good ol' Belgium. Once we got off the train in Brussels, we began our hike across the city (small, but a little hilly) with the hopes of ending up at our hotel. I, being the lazy backpacker that I am, opted out of a backpack and brought my rolling carry-on. Little did I know that my carry-on has an asshole-like personality and really did not take the cobblestone well. It had a mind of its own and made it quite difficult to keep up with the perky ladies ahead of me. 

Speaking of perky....I have a sidenote:

Christine Ward is the happiest person I have ever met in my life. Normally, I would cringe a bit at the raging endorphins that are having a fiesta throughout her neurons, but I am quite enamored with her and her pretty blonde hair (WHY NOT ME?!). 

Now, back to the story:

After passing some questionable stores ("Kinky Store" and "24/7 HOT GIRLS") along the way, we arrived at the beautiful Brussels square. Our first stop? A chocolate museum! After "sampling" (Aka eating my body weight in chocolate chips) and getting a demonstration on how they make chocolate, I was overdosed on the sweet stuff and couldn't imagine moving an inch for at least 7 hours. 

This is our cute little Belgian chocolate maker

But there was no time to waste! We hurried out and went into the square to see some buildings who's meaning we truly did not know. It was a sight! As all the girls were staring up at the amazing architecture, my eyes were focused on something smaller and more edible: French fries covered in onions, ketchup, and mayonnaise. "Fries, Fries, Fries" were all that could come to mind once my vision came into contact with that handful of golden goodness. Within moment, the others joined in and it became our quest. Having no shame, I went right up to the broad with the fries and demanded that she tell me where she got them or else I would beat her up (Ok, I wasn't that mean, but I still demanded to know) and she pointed in a random direction. The jerk that she was, she pointed us in the wrong direction and it took another 15 minutes for us to come upon the golden goodness I like to call french fries. These fries were like nothing I had ever tasted before; they were truly a clogged artery in a carton and we became best friends immediately.

My love affair with the french fries was short but sweet. As we inhaled out fries to the point of no return, we gazed across the street and saw something else that caught our eye. Waffles. Straight up. We couldn't resist. We dumped the fries and headed across the street to the heavenly Belgian Waffles. And no exaggeration, they were heavenly. 

The day continued on with our visit to the Belgian peeing boy (which is of equal importance as Paris' Eiffel Tower) and saw a few more sites. That night, we went to Delirium, an international bar famous for its massive selection of beers. We made friends with some Spaniards and I felt right at home speaking spanish to my new buddies (at least it wasn't French). Right next to our table at Delirium was this bizarre man rocking out in some serious dance moves (even though nobody at the bar was dancing). 

The next day was filled with a day trip to Bruge, a quaint little town about an hour outside of Brussels. It was cute, however quite cold and rainy. After braving the weather and eating more waffles, we headed back to Brussels where we went straight to Fatboy's, an America sportsbar that was showing the Bears/Packers game. We were dedicated, arriving 3 and a half hours early. We hung out, drank some beer, and cheered on the Belgian Standard team in their futbol match while we waited patiently for our big fat men in uniform to whip some Packer ass. Unfortunately, we all know that didn't happen and I won't dwell anymore on the subject. We went home, went to sleep, and woke up today with our sights on new Belgian adventures and food. We got some lunch, walked around a bit, and soon enough it was time to head back to Franceland. Upon arriving at Gare du Nord, I was filled with a strange emotion that is foreign to my mutant mind...happiness. I was happy to be back in Paris! Maybe this whole lack of connection to the French world won't be so bad after all! 

Since we've been back, Jimbo went on a date, Moni and I made some gourmet dinner in Restaurant 64, and we failed miserably to successfully do our laundry. I would say it has been a pretty damn awesome weekend if I do say so myself!

Bananagrams and Magnums...

It may seem like we had an interesting night based on our title, but it's pretty much the story of our lives. Christine has been seemingly obsessed with "Magnums" and knowing my dirty mind, you all know what I associated that with and was seriously confused each time she brought it up. Then, while grocery shopping she yells out again, "MAGNUMS!" Little did we know, Magnums were ice cream bars. Boring.

But, the Magnums were damn good, although not as good as the crepes and the mountain loads of bread I eat here. Chicken and cheese quesadillas were on the menu for our gourmet kitchenette in Restaurant 25 (AKA Christine and Courtney's room) and our evening activity was bananagrams. Are we in a nursing home? Bananagrams? YES. Bananagrams is probably the most inventive game ever developed. It is filled with surprises and one never knows what words you will form. Some may say that one projects their true feelings through Bananagrams. Too bad the words on my board were "poop" and "whine".

We followed our raging game of Bananagrams with a visit from Sade (our favorite Finnish friend...like we have a boat load of those?) and headed to the bars in Bastille. We met our new Wisco friends who are only here for 5 weeks so it kinda sucks, but a "secret" someone found a new hubby, even if she may not remember all of their romantic conversations.

This morning I had to wake up and take a test that summed up our week long torture chest of Franceland's history, "great" (but boring) people, and lessons on why the French hate the rest of the world. Moral of the story, I still don't speak french.

Tonight....going out with all the ESCP Europe party people! Holla. Should be interesting, except it's BYOB so I have to lug an entire wine bottle around Paris with me. Oh well, it's worth saving the money I guess. We buy 3 Euro wine bottles in the grocery store, and a glass of a wine at a bar is 5 Euro. Screw you bars, I'm bringing my own!!!!

CREPES CREPES CREPES

I am developing an issue. I convinced my people to travel the treacherous roads of Paris to the Bastille where "Afghan Crepe Stand Man" was awaiting our arrival. Some background on Afghan Crepe Stand Man...

Friends who went to Paris last year fell in love with this jolly fella. He makes the best crepes in Paris. Every time I go to another country, I like to choose a "pet" (aka a person I would like to take home with me). Afghan Crepe Stand Man is my pet, although he will turn me into the spawn of a beluga whale and a hippo (yeah, that big).

Moral of the story, I feel a little nausea for how fast I ate this Nutella-Banana crepe, but it is well worth the suffering. Hey, a girl needs a little TLC (Tender Loving Crepe) every now and then. Jamie took a picture of our pet so once she gets out of her crepe-coma, I will post it. Peace.Love.Crepes.

Some thoughts...

Today's orientation consisted of 6 bloody hours sitting in a room while 3 professors with dry material and monotone voices sat in a chair and spoke to us. You can only imagine how horrible it was...

The things I learned from this enlightening, AKA heart wrenching, lecture:
1. Paris is corrupt.
2. There is a problem with the "system", but nobody seems to know what to do about it.
3. Paris doesn't know how to play with their neighborhood friends.
4. Paris hates everybody.
5. Nothing else.

So as you can see, it was a pretty pointless 6 hours, a complete waste of a day in beautiful Paris (and yes, it was beautiful today) Makes me in the mood for a crepe, a big stinking crepe. The upside of the day...

After the near-torture lecture, Jimbo, Monster, and I headed to the store to gather some supplies for a raging stir fry. We headed back, killed some time, and then became gourmet chefs. The stir fry was a party in my mouth, an absolute delicacy for a kitchenette with a hot plate and a non-teflon pan.

Now I'm sitting here, and all I can think about is crepes. I bribed Monica to get a crepe with me with the best prize, bananagrams. Christine and Courtney still have yet to experience the wonder of bananagrams, but they are in for quite a surprise. After two croissants today, all I want to do is run on my rooftop park, but ESCP Europe has taken a hating to me and wants to make me go back for orientation from 9:30 am- 5:30 pm. Seriously? Ridiculous. Just give me a break, Paris. I want to see your sights, not inside your classrooms yet...

The past two days at school....

BoRiNg...

I don't know how I can do this all week. It's bad enough that we have to wake up early, but to sit through the most monotone, dry material ever is just plain torture. I honestly don't care why Paris has a highway surrounding the city limits and why Parisians are stereotyped as assholes. Let's be honest, they're rude for no reason.

I'm still having some issues with the food but slowly warming up to the concept of mushy bread in my french onion soup. Lenny Kravitz was right...L'As Du Falafel is the most amazing place in the world. For all you non-frenchies L'As Du Falafel is located in the Jewish Quarter in Marais where they serve food like falafels, schwarma, etc. (Comparison would be Pita Inn). However, this place makes Pita Inn look like a McDonald's for mediterranean food. There is no comparison. It was heaven in a pita pocket and I will forever remember it as the most amazing schwarma in the world.

All in all, everything is pretty much the same. ESCP Europe is similar to any city school where all students commute and live far from campus. It takes two metro stops to get there. Lucky for my lazy self, the metro leads us to the front door of the school. Moni, Courtney, Christine, Jamie and I planned our first trip to Brussels this weekend! Should be a thrill with belgian chocolate and waffles.

Lucky for us, we got out of orientation at 11:30 so we headed over to H&M for some shopping! I love the sales here and it is a serious triumph to defeat the urge to spend. I'll keep it at a minimum (ok mom?). We went to the market to buy some ingredients for a gourmet dinner tonight...pasta, salad, broccoli and bread! Got to love having a hot plate in my kitchenette...this should be interesting. I wish I could skip tomorrow and wake up and it will be Thursday, because tomorrow's orientation is going for 7 hours and I don't know how much more I can take.

Au revoir!

The Day we met Emma Thompson....

In order to reach the Emma Thompson part, I'm gonna have to start with yesterday...

I don't know if you readers have ever heard of it, but there's this little monument the French/rest-of-the-world like to call the "Eiffel Tower". Courtney, Christine, Jamie, Moni and I hopped on the RER after a 20 minute debate with the ticket booth man and headed towards la Tour Eiffel. Walking up the steps from train station was like walking up towards the light, for as we hit the top step, right in front of us was the magical Tower of Eiffel. It was A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. and it completely solidified the concept that I, Torey Erin Badass Schanks, am actually in Franceland for the best 4 months of my life. After taking pictures of every angle I could conceive, we wandered a bit towards a giant gold dome off in the distance.

                     

Once we exhausted our cameras, we headed towards the gold dome and ended up at this UNBELIEVABLE museum that Napoleon used for training the army and developing artillery...

We killed some time so we could see the Eiffel Tower light up...This is what we came across:

Instructions: hinge your neck to 90 degrees to the left. Then you will get the full effect. Sorry :-)

Moral of the story, HOW COOL IS THAT?! It truly was mind blowing and I never wanted that sparkle to end. Post Eiffel Tower, we headed back to get some dinner and get ready for a wine night...however we only made it out of the building to get crepes and little did we know, afghan crepe man closed at 2 am and we got there at 3. How hard is it to get a crepe?

Moving onto the actual title of this blog post...

We woke up a bit early and got dressed in our Sunday's best to head over to the Sunday mass at Notre Dame. Obviously I didn't understand a single word during the mass, but it was quite an experience. Notre Dame is beautiful and it continues to baffle me how anyone could possibly build such an enormous masterpiece without the technology we have today. The brain power required is way over my head. After Notre Dame, we crossed the Seine again to get to another little island in search of a famous ice cream parlor. Words do not do its justice, but that ice cream was the bomb. After the ice cream, we decided to head back. While we were walking back, we spotted an adorable candy shop so being my bottomless stomach self, we stopped in. Within a few minutes, Monster whispered to me and pointed at some woman saying, "That woman looks just like the mom in 'Love Actually'". Inside my polluted brain I laughed thinking "Moni must be on something." The woman was speaking french, and Emma Thompson (AKA actress in Love Actually, Harry Potter, Nanny McPhee and several others) was from England. I chose to ignore the concept until said woman was leaving with her family, said something whimsical to us in french, but spoke to her children in a beautiful ENGLISH accent. That was it. IT WAS HER! Creepily, we followed her to another store to decide, once and for all, if it was her. Christine, being her ballsy self, asked her softy, "Excuse me, but were you in Love Actually?" I have to give Monster some credit, because it was Emma Thompson herself, and that woman is as cute in person as she is on screen. I wanted to hug the English out of her. 

We moved on to a much needed nap and some dinner. Now I'm sitting here pondering how bored I'm going to be at orientation tomorrow.

Dear Franceland...

Dear Franceland,

I don't know what I did to make you mad at me, but it seems you don't like me in the following ways...

1. You don't let me sleep very long. I understand we haven't had much time to get to know each other, but you will soon find with very little sleep, I'm a bitch.

2. You gave me a very small shower. There are many issues concerning this. More importantly, how the hell am I going to fit my 6'4'' giant man in there?

3. It's very humid here. I'd like to have pretty hair so the frenchies don't throw bread crumbs at me, but it's nearly impossible with your atmosphere.

4. I still can't speak french. Could you please instill some new language capabilities in my brain so I can communicate with your people. It's day 3, and I'm tired of feeling like a martian.

HOWEVER Franceland, I gotta give you some credit....

1. Your homestyle trumps my homestyle any day. It's beautiful here.

2. I have yet to see an obese person on the street. Thank you for having REAL food.

3. I love your wine.

4. I am obsessed with the rooftop park on my street. (World, google map "39 Avenue Daumesnil, 70015 Paris and zoom in. You will see a thin but long stretch of a park, and it's located on the roof that connects all the buildings on this road. AMAZING).

5. I'm warming up to the people of Franceland. Hopefully we will become great friends, that is if I can beat the bitch out of this language barrier.


Eiffel Tower today...Will post more of my friends' shenanigans later.

"It's like an army of bitches"

The above quote was spoken by a wise englishman on the street today as he passed us. Asshole.

First full day in Paris...

Woke up in the middle of the night so I needed some drogas to lure me back into a peaceful slumber. Once we awoke, we headed over to ACCENT for our orientation, AKA how to use the metro, get a french cell phone, what to not do (but we will do anyways), etc...

The group of us decided to attempt to buy cell phones. We looked like aliens on a new planet, not knowing what to do or how to communicate. Oh well, we got our cell phones and walked out of there in one piece. We headed to lunch and I had to order, of course, french onion soup. SUCK IT AMERICANS. The French version of french onion soup is where it's at. Panera can't compete.

French Food + Torey = BLEH

I don't really like it. I hope I can get some taste for it, but it pretty much all tastes like seafood/garbage besides the croissants and crepes. However, if I continue on a croissant/crepe diet, I will soon morph from human into beluga whale. Anyways, the day was filled with the constant bombarding of "frenchness". I really need to tattoo a sign on my forehead that says "je ne parle pas fracais".

Moni, Courtney, Christine and I braved the metro. Besides the fact that we were made fun of when Monica was convinced she lost her wallet, I was impressed with our ability to transport ourselves from one part of the city to another. We went to a store in the pouring rain in search for Longchamps. Don't tell Ryan (even if he's reading this), but Longchamps are SOOO much cheaper here (Sorry Ry...). The woman in the store was not pleased with our wet bodies dripping on her bags of gold, but whatever, we were paying customers. We headed over to a department sale to check out the sales and wow...that is all I can say. I NEEEEEED to be careful or else the shopping devil will hijack all my money from me. (Hijack aka not by choice, aka can't blame me for shopping)

We headed back to the Bastille area to meet up with Jamie for dinner and this meal definitely was the best by far. Maybe french food and I won't be such a bad match after all. We'll see. I only had a salad. And I had my first glass of wine in a public restaurant (so badass, I know). Then, we raged. No, not Red-Lion-Black-Out-Drooling Rage, but French-raged.


Lessons learned today:
- Green man on the walking sign trumps any moving car. You see a green man, you go and don't hesitate.
- I had never been so excited to see vodka in my life. Withdrawl anyone?
- The french must get dressed in the dark. They throw on the most random clothes and somehow still look stylish. If only this could be pulled off in Champaign.
- When in doubt, smile and say "oui"

First day. BOOM.

I now understand why the French do not shave their legs. It's because their showers are so damn small and they have absolutely no room to bend down to cut down their jungle legs. I have been awake for approximately 31 hours just to avoid jet lag and this has by far been the longest day of my life. It is bewildering me that the last time I woke up, I was on the other side of the world. Bizareocity. (I know it's not a real word, just go with it. I'm delirious).

Plane ride...mis drogas were not so helpful and I had to rely on my own determinant to sleep. Towards the last hour of the ride, Kleindog began to complain of a pain in her head and stomach. Monica and I, in our mentally unbalanced state, fell back asleep without much of a thought. Stupid us. Within an hour of arriving to our humble abode, Jimbo fell ill and couldn't make it on our walking tour with ACCENT, the company that owns our dorm.

This blog post is an ode to Jim. Jim- kick the shit out of your shattered immune system and let's get this bitch rolling. Love you.

Some thoughts...

As I sit in the exhilarating, fast-paced office of Exchange Analytics, Inc. while I kill some time, I can't help but ponder a few thoughts...

1. I just discovered in my Frommer's 2011 France book that there is a Disneyland in Paris. I would like nothing more than to take a picture with Mickey while the sweaty frenchman in the costume grabs my hip in a not-so-tasteful manner.

2. Lately I have been thinking about the various ways I can help my mono-stricken friend Jimbo and her spleen. As I am very maternal, I propose we form a circle around her while girating in the bars in order to protect her precious spleen and vital organs.

3. I think it is a little unsettling that one of the only phrases I have been able to retain from my "Mango Learn French" program is "Je ne parle pas francais" AKA "I don't speak french."

4. I wish the Mango Learn French program taught some legitimate street smarts, like frases such as "Piss off" and "Go screw yourself". Google will have to suffice for these essential milestones in my quest to learn the language of the frenchies.

The Day Before...

I have never written on a blog before, but I decided to please the rents with a few tid bits of this upcoming rager of a semester. Preview, for those fam who don't know my people, Monica (aka Moni) and Jamie (aka Jimbo) are the peanut butter and jelly to my lunch box in this whirlwind adventure I'd like to call "Study Abroad". Please beware of any inappropriateness that may grace this blog, because I'm "keeping it real" as you old folk like to say.

Now if you read my title, you will see that it is currently the day before I drag my delirious self onto that jumbo jet and fly the tedious 7 hours to Franceland. After my day of running back and forth between my loving tailor Kyong (god I will miss her) and other errands, I have deemed myself "ready"....That is if my bags stay under the 50 pound limit.

With Blackberry in hand and laptop in tow, I am ready to set flight onto the land where they don't shave their legs and an attitude is always in style.