Le Deuxieme Etage

In France, the first floor is not called that. I'm not actually sure what it's called, but the 2nd floor is the "premiere etage," the third is the "deuxieme etage," etc. It doesn't make much sense. So, when I say to you that my French classroom is on the "troisieme etage," you would think that means that I climb two sets of stairs to get to my class. No. It's three. And for those of you familiar with my class pet peeves, number 3 is having a class on a floor above the 3rd. Like my math class last spring. 4th floor. Too many stairs.

Last night I discovered a website that streams ambient music as a background for sleeping. The home page came with a warning, which I found amusing: "do not listen to this website while operating heavy machinery." Similar to what one finds on nighttime cold medication. Little did I know that as soon as I turned on the station while I was reading "Love in the Time of Cholera" last night, I would completely gone until 11am today. It was unbelievable. And nice, since I have had trouble falling asleep lately. I needed the help last night after my day yesterday.

So, today I decided, well-restedly, to shake off my worries and have a good long day full of French and walking around. I did it! Except for getting lost on the way to my walking tour and not having people understand my jokes (something I'm getting used to, both from the spacey California kids in my class and the Europeans), I skipped around all day in a cute outfit listening to my "Teenage Mix" that I made on my iPod last week once I realized that I was in fact 20.

Got to Boulevard Raspail (where phonetics lab is every day at 13h30) and grabbed a baguette and Coke Light for lunch. Sat on the bench outside to read my notes and listen to more music. This old man was sitting with his back to me on the other side of the bench, and after visibly creeping out one girl (who got up and scurried off after he tried to stroke her cheek), moved on to me. I just looked at him like "seriously who are you kidding" and said "Arretez, s'il vous plait." He backed off immediately and I sat there munching my baguette while he continued to hit on students of the Cours de Civilisation Francaise. What a looooser.

Our walking tour was through Belleville this evening, and though yet again I understood nary a word of what our very cute little French tour guide was saying, I had a wonderful time. This was even despite the fact that I had to literally run to our meeting place in my heels (something I hadn't planned on), which resulted in the creation of huge and (the understatement of the century) unpleasant blisters on my poor feet. Luckily, an angel in the form of Jenna had a BandAid for me. Glorious. But Sally and I lingered at the back of the group making random comments. She got my jokes, which was very nice. Abby is no longer ill and so seeing her was also quite wonderful. We wandered through some cute little rues (streets) and saw tons of excellent graffiti. I also found where all of the cute artsy French boys have been hiding: in the poor neighborhood! Just as I suspected.

After the tour, Sally, Abby and I decided to get dinner at this crazy-looking Chinese restaurant right off of Rue de Belleville and each got the "prix fixe" menu of salad/soup, main course, dessert. With wine and an after-dinner whiskey and coke (which Sally had never had before!) to go with our weird pre-wrapped "glace" (ice cream). Our waiter was very Chinese and very sweet and he told Sally that she looked like Monica Lewinsky and insisted upon calling her that for the duration of our meal. Bahahaha. Hilarious. Good thing she didn't mind.

Belleville ended up being quite near where I live, and I wouldn't have minded a walk home except that my feet were basically bleeding. So I got off the metro at Vincennes and took off my shoes (very un-French) and walked home with my headphones on, but NOT BEFORE being stopped by some random man who talked and talked and talked to me then asked where I was from and for directions to somewhere. I had no idea what he was talking about except that he asked my name and I said "Carlotta. J'ai fatiguee. Bon nuit!" And peaced out.

My cute family was smoking cigarettes and watching a movie (except for Victor - asleep - and Julien - probably out partying). Too much in pain to stop and chat, so I said "Bonsoir! Ca va?" and after appropriate responses from all parties, said "J'ai fatiguee et beaucoup de travaille." Which isn't exactly true, since I really just wanted to soak my feet and watch Mad Men and go to sleep. Which is what I'm doing. Only now it's 30 Rock.

A bientot!