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!!