Birthdays

Changed the background again. The other one was just...too much. And I couldn't find my original, so I went with black. Black is...timeless, right?

Tomorrow is my birthday, what I am referring to as anticlimactic twenty-two. After the celebration that was my twenty-first birthday (no comments please dear friends), I imagine that this year’s fun will be a little more…civil. At the very least I hope I don’t “fall asleep” in my front hallway after tripping over a cooler. There is a really cold draft in the foyer of our house in France; sleeping there might be even worse than sleeping on the beer and cheeto-laiden carpet of my dorm. In fact, this year I don’t have any birthday plans and I’m pretty happy about it. I don’t consider myself to be one of those totally self-obsessed people who shamelessly promotes his/her birthday weeks in advance and thus don’t care if I celebrate with one or thirty people. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to have a reason to get dressed up and go out, but at the same time, it will be nice to take it easy and relax without the pressure to be wild and crazy. I always bend under that kind of pressure.

Tuesday was Alain’s birthday. I made two cakes because I’m working on perfecting my French dessert skills. I tried my hand at a gateau de savoie, a really light and fluffy cake that required beating egg whites until my arms were sore. For the second cake, I relied on what is now my tried and true recipe for brownies. Pour the mix in a cake pan and voila a delish cake. I was very pleased with the results and I think the family was too; both cakes were gone by Wednesday at lunchtime.

Speaking of cooking, I have this entertaining picture for you all:

That’s me making little mushroom soufflé things. The filling was basically egg, milk, flour, crème fraiche, and ham. I also have a video of me making European-style samosas—filled with goat cheese and pesto rather than Indian goodies—(thank you Alain’s new iPhone) but I will refrain from posting that for my own sake. I never know what to do with myself when being filmed. Do I look at the camera or act natural? Judging from the film, I am incapable of doing either.

I had a very eventful weekend with my friend Kate. I was basically nocturnal for 48 hours (if you know me, you know this is rare. I like to have my fun before midnight. Eight hours of sleep, yes please). Friday night we went to a cute little french place called Pause Café for dinner. We had a pretty scrumptious meal. Out of sheer starvation (yea right) we ordered the cheese plate before the meal, a definite faux pas in the french culture. Cheese is after the meal! I excused myself as I ordered it, apologetically inquiring if I could have the cheese before the meal. I should have just played the naive tourist and shamelessly ordered it; what do I care if that french hipster judges me for my lack of respect for french cuisine rules?? We followed up dinner with some bar hopping and ended our night at some Irish pub/club open late.

Have I ever mentioned how fun it is to be an American girl in France?? The French (and I am generalizing, obviously) have this crazy notion that Americans are incapable of leaving their own perfect little world and thus are astounded to see me in their country. It’s like they’re seeing some zoo animal on the street. The conversation usually goes like this:

French person (generally a man trying to hit on me): Are you french?

Me: No.

French: german?

Me: No.

French: polish? English? (the guessing game continues until every nationality but mine has been effectively eliminated)

Me: You can stop now. I’m American.

French: AMERICAN?!?!?!!?! (some sort of grabbing, cheek-kissing, laughing and shaking of head ensues). Wow, wow, an American. Wow (you know, something to that effect, usually said in bad English, as if trying to impress me)

Me: Yes, it’s funny, isn’t it? (Disgusted look on face, begin walking away)

So anyways, Friday night, like most nights, included a healthy dose of playing the american card. Hey, you are bound to make friends! Who doesn't want a token American in his or her group?

Saturday was definitely one for the record books. I’ll cut to the chase. After a decently fun night, we were oh-so-kindly advised to go to this bar where rugby teams often hang out. Kate and I walked into the bar and it was like walking into a dreamland. I immediately went to get a drink to shake myself from this reverie and Kate (like the true friend she is) went to investigate the man situation. Let me elaborate. Some of the most beautiful members of Rome’s rugby team seemed to be waiting for us as we entered the bar. They motioned Kate over and I went to go hyperventilate over a vodka and tonic. The next thing I know Kate is motioning me over, saying “they’re Italian!!” and I find myself walking towards the welcoming arms of three Italian beauties.

The rest of the night was overwhelming...in a good way. We were ushered out of the bar to find even more rugbymen waiting. Oh, did I mention that they were all in suits and ties? As I told a friend, these men had roman god status. We decided to go to the Champs-Elysées where most of the clubs (I hate clubs) are and I was again ushered into a cab with rugbymen and their perverted old-men coaches. The ride included singing, chanting and lessons on how to say dirty words in Italian. An aside: I had hardly drunk a drop and thus was extremely coherent for this “adventure”. At one point in the cab ride the creeper coach exclaims “Don’t be seely, wrap your weely!!” Very proud of himself for this, he bursts in to laughter while I shake my head in horror. The difference between french and italian men is drastic; french men (as a whole) are so much more reserved. These guys were loud, goofy, and SO HAPPY TO SEE US! The whole American thing…. And that’s the story of the rugby men. I found their website the next day. Thank you internet stalking skills.

And today it’s snowing! The kids were so thrilled. They literally screamed the entire car ride to school. I didn’t understand any of it but they must have been shrieking about snow covering various surfaces. I have to admit, it is fun. Who doesn’t love the first snow of the year? Chaumes doesn't get much snow apparently...however, it's been coming down for a while now and I'm not complaining! I will, however, be complaining if there are flight issues on Saturday. I wanna go home already!!!!! I'll be home in two short days (2 days, ten hours and fifty-four minutes to be exact!!) so I can finally say à bientôt!!

Insert unimaginative last minute title here.

Hi guys! A Floyds Knobs countdown update: I will be home, according to my little countdown widget, in nine days, twelve hours, and nine minutes! I can't wait to see as many of you as possible. And don’t worry, I’m still the same old me—no beret, no all-black wardrobe and definitely still lacking the impossibly perfect hair/body/skin that all french women seem to possess—the only part of the French culture that I have managed to adopt is, well…the language (and a healthy love for beautiful French men…). The good old Dani has remained intact, crude humor included.

On that note, I want to say to all of you who know me and thus read my blog—and also to those of you who don’t know me but take schadenfreud-like pleasure in reading about my “adventures” anyways—thank you, thank you, thank you for tuning in every Thursday! You don’t know how much I enjoy hearing from you, whether you are my loyal-by-obligation (kidding!) family, a college friend, or an old grade school classmate. Seriously, I love the feedback, it reminds me of what a great network of people I have waiting for me back at home. I look forward to writing every week and I hope that it’s as fun for you to read as it is for me to raconte. Besides, I’m not even halfway finished with my time here in France, who knows what other crazy stuff could (and inevitably WILL) happen to me!

This week at the Pares household we brought out the good ol’ sapin, better known to us Americans as a Christmas tree. Now, nothing beats Dresner family Christmas season. We go for the biggest (and sometimes ugliest…remember the “contemporary” Christmas tree, family???) tree there is, generally managing to get in a fight or five before making a decision. Mom tries to take pictures, dad contradicts the rest of the family’s tree decision, I’m hungover, and Chelsea and Haley are bitching because it actually takes more than two minutes to get a tree (and I know you are all reading this and thinking, “I don’t do that!”/maliciously chuckling.) Don’t worry mom, I am NOT complaining, it has almost become a tradition for us to behave in such a manner. I mean seriously, what’s a holiday without a little family-induced stress? So to get the Pares family in the spirit I crushed a few ornaments and tore up the garland to get the kids all worked up…remind me of home, ya know? Joke. I did however make an excellent Christmas playlist. Zoe just learned the words to "Jingle Bells" so we all sang along while the kids put on the ornaments. I even saw the adults sneak a few kisses and found it heartwarming as opposed to gagworthy. Ah, the Christmas season. Makes me excited to get home where a real tree and my family’s traditions await….I’ve been shamelessly listening to Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the U.S.A” in preparation. Love it.

I have to tell you guys, I’m really starting to love the kids. On days when I have had zero human contact (don’t judge me) I actually look forward to picking them up from school. I’m telling you all this weirdly sentimental crap because it hasn’t always been like this. The first two or three months, they really tested me. Not a day went by where there wasn’t at least one screaming match resulting in some sort of punishment and me drinking too much at dinner. But now, we really get along. We have “Club Panda” in my car on the way to and from dance, tennis, etc….My car is a Fiat Panda as you may know, and I turn on the techno/dance radio station and blast the music and we all dance. I mean we spend our afternoons in the car, might as well make the best of it. Our latest favorite is “She Wolf” by Shakira…the kids think the lyrics to the chorus are “Ennnneerrrgggyyyy Fun Radioooo” instead of “There’s a she wolf in your closet”. Fun radio, in case you’re wondering, is the name of the station, kinda like KISS FM. Whenever I wanna get them all riled up, I start humming the tune to that song….laughing just thinking about it.

They’re pretty great. When it’s just Zoe and me, I talk to her like she is a friend. She gives me surprisingly insightful advice including most recently (in French) “follow your heart”. Not bad for a seven year old huh? She is so affectionate sometimes and most certainly wise beyond her years. With Eliott, I enjoy releasing the ten year old boy trapped inside of me. Anything goes—fart noises, potty jokes, making fun of teachers, you get the picture. We take turns teaching each other the important phrases in our respective languages. The French phrase lacher une caisse NEVER ceases to make me laugh. Immature? Yes.

On Tuesday I saw Twilight and think Jacob is way hotter than Edward. Feel free to fight me on that point. I finally broke down and read all the books this summer; I am not really sure why or how I finished them because by the end of the second I was just over it all. Downside of the movie: it was dubbed. So much of the effect is lost when Edward’s (or Ed-ew-ard as it is pronounced in French) lips are moving and instead you hear some lame French voice-over actor speaking. And the worst part of it all is that I didn’t understand the last line of the film—which I have a feeling was pretty important—because it was in French and I was dozing!! Lameeeeee.

On Wednesday I was invited to go to the circus with Caroline and the kids. She works for Nestle and once a year they have a big bring your kids to work day and they all go to the circus in Paris. She had an extra ticket and so I had the opportunity to go. Getting there was as per usual an extravaganza. I decided yesterday that I was ready to drive to Paris. No biggie until I ran into the 45 minute traffic jam caused by a small fender bender. I was supposed to meet them in the city at 1:30 but when 1:30 rolled around and I was still sitting in standstill traffic twenty minutes outside the city, I let her know I might be late. Finally, FINALLY, I got into the city. After only a small window of being seriously lost I found the parking garage I had googled. I hopped on the metro and went to the circus' stop. I don't know why, but getting off the metro is always super disorienting for me. I never seem to know the right way to walk down a street and 99% of the time it results in me getting lost. Already twenty minutes late, I broke down and asked some guy where Rue Amelot was. He pointed in a direction (what turned out to be the WRONG DIRECTION!!!!!) And I started walking. For twenty more minutes. After not seeing the road, being completely sweaty despite taking off coat and scarf, and just generally being pissed off, I turned around. Turns out Rue Amelot is one block in the OTHER direction from the metro. A two minute walk as opposed to 20. So I got there an hour late but still got to see an hour and a half of the show. Not bad I must say. The acrobats were awesome and there was this woman who erotically danced on a rope that mesmerized me as well as every dad in the audience...gotta please the adults, too, I guess.

The best part was after the show though. Like I said, Caroline works for Nestle--a company, that, as it turns out, makes EVERYTHING--and so after the show there was a huge reception. A fat girl's dream come true, I am telling you. The room was filled with about twenty small tables just piled with chocolate and four long tables with every sugary drink possible plus more (regular-sized) candy bars. To top it all off, there were four ice cream carts in the corner with those delicious pre-packaged ice cream cones. As opposed to being an adult with self-control, I helped the kids shove candy in their backpacks as fast as possible and may or may not have elbowed a small child out of the way in order to get my ice cream cone faster. I left the reception with four bars of chocolate in my coat. It was dark chocolate, that's good for you, right???

I met Alain in Paris later that night and because I had my car, he took me on a little night tour of Paris. There is this place in the 19 arrondissement...at least I think it was the 19th (Paris is split up by arrondissements) with the most amazing view of Montmartre at night. Then we ate a this delicious dim sum place in Belleville, a quartier chinois. All in all, not a bad Wednesday. WAY better than working.

Well that's my novel for the week. Looking forward to seeing you all soon!

Décembre

since when is Indiana associated with Indians and wolves...?

Tonight I’m writing (well transcribing; I always write in the train) while sitting at Zoe’s piano lesson. I had the bright idea to use this little pocket of time for blogging because I have just been too worn out lately to stay up late and write. I’d say it is the aftermath of the imitation swine flu I had last week plus the disgusting cold I had the week before that/now. The lovely weather we have had for two solid weeks—grey, grey, rain, clouds, grey—is clearly doing wonders for my health. Anyways, at Zoe’s piano lesson. Luckily I brought my iPod; hearing thirty minutes of what should be “Jingle Bells” can really grate at the nerves. I know from the past four months of forgetting my headphones. Even daydreaming about the smoking hot guitar teacher can’t distract me from the piano disaster in the other room.

Tuesday was World AID’s Day! I normally don’t use my blog for advertising my real life interests (you know, those things I had before I was an au pair) but chances are the next blog I write will be my crazy ass bleeding heart working in Africa (sorry mom and dad, pretend like you didn’t read that). Don’t worry, I’ll be taking at least a year pause from flitting off to far away places for some graduate school….

In au pair life: It’s December! That means I will be home in sixteen days!! I can’t believe my time here has gone so extraordinarily quickly. Despite bouts of loneliness and homesickness, I’m still as giddy-in-love with Paris as I was the first day I stepped off the plane. It’s intoxicating. Come visit, you’ll understand! Anyways, back on track. Being December, the kids started their Advent calendars. They both have been waiting for this moment for weeks. Every morning leading up to December 1^st Zoe would wake up and say “____ days until December 1^st when we can start our calendars!!” I don’t blame her though; their calendars are extra cool. You know how we have that shitty chocolate that tastes like dirt and aluminum sprinkled with sugar? They have TOYS in their calendars!!! Eliott has a Lego calendar and Zoe’s is Littlest Pet Shop (Chelsea will appreciate this).

Monday night I didn’t think Zoe was going to sleep, that’s how thrilled she was about this event. Before bedtime, I walked up to her room to say good night. I noticed there was trash littering her floor. Trash that was the same color as her Advent calendar box...I picked it up and saw that she had ripped the back off of the calendar in order to discern (vaguely, there was still a layer of white plastic) what her gift would be for each of the nights. You see, Pet Shops are like crack for Zoe. She gets a little taste and she goes ravaging for more. And with the calendar, you don’t get a littlest pet shop every night. Some nights it’s just a crummy accessory like a collar or a bottle. There are only a couple of actual animals. Breaking under the suspense of it all, she had to peak. I don’t blame her. That child is clever.

Rewinding a little bit, let me tell you about the weekend. Kate and I planned a trip to Chantilly, a town not too far from Paris. Basically we picked Chantilly because tickets were six euros and the town is known for its Chantilly crème (seriously sinful whipped cream). What more could someone on our budget ask for? Well, Saturday morning, the day of said trip, it was raining. And grey. We had postponed our departure until 1140 (original plan was 930…) and then missed our train. Things weren’t boding well for the rest of the day. At 1245 we got on the train and set off to Chantilly. Upon arrival we paid a visit to the office of tourism for maps, advice, to check out the cutie at the computer, etc… Well, the office was closed. Strike one. Not really knowing where to go, we decided we were hungry and set off in the direction that looked correct. Chantilly, not being exactly what one would consider a thriving metropolis, only had a few restos to choose from and so we settled on the restaurant that looked the most populated, a place called Giorgios.

Now, I'll have you know that describing the restaurant is no easy task. It merited a picture/home video but the crowd in there wouldn’t have been too appreciative. As it was, nearly everyone was sending mind death rays to us with their eyes for being American. The décor of the restaurant was golf + old time parlor + French version of Total Request Live. There were golf clubs, bags, and other paraphernalia littering the walls that were hung with old timey southern parlor-esque wallpaper. And in the corner, adding to the effect, there was a TV playing nonstop Britney Spears (and later other artists) music videos. Maybe the theme was gentleman's club?

I don’t know why, but French waiters have this habit of seating me uncomfortably close to French people—usually the kind that love to stare because I’m speaking English—which generally makes me feel like a zoo animal throughout my meal. So Kate and I were seated inches away from a table of three old bitties plus one sixteen year old GLUED to the half naked images of Britney on the television screen. He had to wipe the drool from his chin on several occasions. The bitty next to Kate didn’t take her eyes off of us the entire time.

The worst part was, these….pardon my French…bitches were talking badly about the U.S.! Now, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, there are certainly times when I, comment dirais-je, I downplay my nationality. But when someone tries to talk crap about my country…aw, hell no. The youngest hag at the table was saying that the U.S. really wasn’t that nice but that maybe the sixteen year old would be able to glean some enjoyable morsel during his upcoming trip. I’m not sure how she didn’t know that we spoke French….I even made a bad joke in french to try to give her a clue..

Of course, the only way to minimize the weirdness of this situation was with wine. Kate and I prudently chose a 1/4L of wine (only about 1.5 glasses each) because we didn’t want to get all schwastey face for the rest of our trip. Our waiter, however, seemed to like us and brought us two more carafes. The French women, eyes half-glued to our table, couldn’t help but notice and that’s when I made my terrible joke in french about how great it was to be a girl…needless to say, it didn’t go over well with my audience.

Nearly a bottle of wine, huge pizza, and ice cream sundae later, we decided we should go. We were, after all, the last two people in the restaurant. Long story short: for the rest of the day it poured and the museum AND the chateau were closed. We basically walked in the rain for nothing. But the restaurant was a success. You win some, you lose some, right?

And that was Chantilly. Not much more to report.

This morning (I wrote most of the blog on Tuesday), Zoe woke up and seemed very bitter. When I asked what was wrong, she commented that all she got in her calender was a stupid little collar de rien du tout. You see, what did I tell you? Crack.