'His willy was like a cricket bat!'

Top 3 random observations of the past 48 hours:

1. I've been in France too long. When I saw the add for "Capote", I thought: "Why would Philip Seymour Hoffman star in a movie called "CONDOM" ?

2. British Cosmo is awful and way too euphemism-filled. For the confessions bit, its like, "And then we kissed! And THEN he touched my naughty bits!"

3. Irish people use the phrase, "(to) act the Mick" . Anyone else find this both shocking and hilarious?


-FCH

Go North and Go Blond

Small northern European island nations are fucking amazing.
I'm coming in from the tails of a *savage* Dublin Christmas, and I have to post about my trip to DENMARK last weekend, bouncing around the blond isles with Mikey.

We were in Copenhagen (with Laura and her bf Lars and, randomly, blast-from-the-past-Lasse), Nyborg (where I used to be an au pair), and Odense. Totally sweet MAP if you's curious.Probably won't be, though.

(Mikey, looking across the sound between Fyn and Sjaelland)






Here, in no particular order, are the best quotes of the weekend:

1. "So, vat are you doing in Europe other than trying to get in bed vith her?"
-Erik, (Baron, grandfather of kids I cared for) to Mikey.

2. "Not much else."
-Mikey to Erik

3. "Try and be good, and if you can't be good, be careful."
-Erik, again. Fucking wise man.


4. "Um, I kinda want to just play videogames with him."
-Mikey to me, while at the house of my old Danish host family:

And yes, more proof that all men are still boys:





In other news, I got to meet up with my little little, Laura! Proving only further that we really ARE almost a genetic family. Danish pride, what what.

Also, met up in Tivoli with Lasse, my first boyfriend, who I hadn't seen in 4 years. (Tivoli=old school amusement park in middle of Copenhagen)

Let's just say watching porn with your grandparents would've been less awkward.
Luckily, Mikey was there to fill some of the awkward pauses and generally painful slow parts of the afternoon. Oh, and the clincher being, you know how usually, you might want to look...I don't know..attractive when you see an ex-boyfriend?

YEAH. When I saw the old potato-eater for the first time in 4 years, I hadn't showered the night before, nor washed my face/brushed my teeth because Mikey and I missed the train to Copenhagen, and drunken-crashed in one of the wings of the castle.

Consolation being, we woke up 1) In a castle 2) With a live butterfly in the window:
Voila:



Love to you all. Godt Nytaar!
*F*

p.s. more pictures on
and, duh, facebook.

An excessively cute blog entry.

In lieu of posting about my wonderful trip to Copenhagen this weekend (with Mikey!), I have decided to discus...kittens. Specifically, my cat Milton.

Without further ado, here is

MILTON'S BATHTUB GAME

Step 1: Cat sees you head toward bathroom, runs in front of you and leaps into the bathtub.

Step 2: Cat sees your shadow against the shower curtain. Or, you put your hand against the shower curtain, like so:













Step 3: Then, the death leap:



















Step 4: Repeat 8,397,487,397 times. Cat never tires of it.


Bah Humbug,
-Francesca

Give your American librarian a hug. Now.

The numbing has begun.
It's that old "I'm in school" feeling...

(the Po)



Much like Hopkins, I'm always walking around with a coffee my hand, looking busy, and of course spilling the coffee all over myself. Difference being, French people stare at me like a freak whereas at Hopkins it was something like, "There she goes again"

Library culture is a bit of a disappointment here. The Sciences Po library sucks, and the librarians are surly as hell. Actually, that's an understatement.
They're just mind-blowingly mean people.

I've come very close to burning a French flag and a pile of outdated political science books in a sacrificial pyre in front of the front desk, then spitting on the flames, all while singing the Marseillaise. I swear to god, if they give me the French shrug as a response to a question ONE MORE TIME...

(For the nerds that are reading this: I just got me a library card to a nearby library:
Yep, it's listed under "greatbuldings.com" and I'm really excited.)

Little to report, except a revision to the bit on my last posting about French men being/looking gay. After a bit of thought,I've decided like it's not even one particular thing, like external appearance or general comportement, and I hate to rely on those stereotypes to describe why it's so unclear for me. I mean, right, I knew/hoped that French men wouldn't be like the belching, natty-bo drinking American men I know and love.
In fact, it's almost inexplicable. You'll just have to come here and look, why, more than once, I've stuck two feet squarely into my mouth, assuming French male friends of mine either were/weren't gay.

Good thing I don't have to worry too much about interaction with men-the social life at Sciences Po is as lackluster as at Hopkins, EXCEPT for the planned "soirees" at sweet clubs around Paris. Basically, you can see that toolbag in your history class go insane, danse on the bar, take off his shirt, and start rubbing his hands through his chest hair suggestively. "Hilarious" is also an understatement.

For example:



until next time,
restez 'tranqs'

-F

You like zee Frensh keess?

I've gotten a number of questions about French Men.
I'd like to take this time to shoot down all the positive stereotypes out there:



(see picture taken from the Student association page of my school: Straight? Gay? French?)

"OOh, they have such cute accents."
NO. British guys have cute accents. Irish guys have sexy accents.
French guys simply CANNOT SPEAK ENGLISH.
There is a big difference here. I had a friend who was once told, "Your hairs are like fires."
She was slightly scared.
And the "th" sound? Forget it. zz, zzz, zz. Imagine the French knight in Monty Python and The Holy Grail, but maybe worse: "Of course I am Freenssh, why do you zzink i have zzis reedeeculous accENT?"

"They're sooo romantic, aren't they?"
If you're idea of romance is "I'll just assume that you're really easy," then yeah, right on target. Really romantic. I feel it's safe to say only in Paris would I get BITTEN ON THE ASS in a casual social situation. At a bar recently, I was a bit drunk, dancing in the middle of the floor, and some guy actually reaches around and tries to take a chunk out of my left buttock. It was as romantic as a prison shower scene.

"French straight men are distinguishable from French gay men"
If my gaydar serves me right, approximately....95% of the male population is gay.

Their hair waves down their back like Fabio. Their sweaters are very often pink. in the summer, they're tied around their necks. Granted, I dig the tighter jeans and the fact that they coordinate very nicely, but I've had enough. I want someone to open my beer bottle with his teeth. To wear a T-Shirt, preferably with a stain on it. What's that? You can burp the alphabet in French? Tres sexy.

"They're so charming"
Wrong again. The courting habit of French men is what many American judges would call, "stalking." If you give your number, it's over. Expect text messages in broken English grammar at least 3 times a day, such as, "Allo! Is the French. We take a drink now?"

A toute!
Frenssheeska

Life is prettier in color.

The big N.D. Arguably, the oddest-shaped cathedral in Europe. But, leaves a perfect space for the moon to peep through! Still can't believe I happened upon this AND had my camera with me.



Les filles! At Mum Sabai, best Thai Restaurant in Paris.













It snowed in Paris on Saturday! Absolutely gorgeous. I was in a kitchen making thanksgiving stuff all day, but this is a Luxembourg Gardens shot, courtesy of a friend who lives in the 5th. Nice sculptured butt, too.



More of the snow+butt combination. Pantheon in the distance.





That's Me. Don't always try to look like a 40-something alcoholic, but it happens. Notably, on Halloween. LONG LIVE AB FAB!
Note: This is when I actually had time to do things like drink entire bottles of Champagne on weeknights.


Sometime back in August, they opened up every government building in Paris for two days. We stormed the lines at L'Assemblee Nationale (National Assembly, Congress, etc.) and once we were inside.....fell asleep.




This is a picture taken in LaDuree, the first Salon de The in Paris, if not in the world. While my mom and Bonnie (shoulder pictured)were there, we could help but notice the man who was cuddling his bijon, intermittently feeding him overpriced cream puffs. It was adorable. Women came flocking over to his table to pet the dog-even at 70, French men have game.



On November 11, the town hall put little bouquets on every one of these plaques to commemorate soldiers from the resistance. Very nice, actually.




Children looking at the Christmas display window in Printemps-one of the grands magasins. Absolutely amazing. The only real Christmas display left, I imagine. The stuffed animal heads you see here actually move and talk (albeit, in French).

Le premier blogging

Instead of rambling on about how awkward I feel starting a blog, I'll leave you with some of my favorite conversations from the weekend, in which I hosted a Thanksgiving dinner at my Irish friends' flat, which overlooks all of Paris.

Shauna: So, is Thanksgiving a drinking holiday?
Me: No, not really, I guess.
Shauna: Well, it will be now! It's an Irish thanksgiving!

Claire: So do you have tater tots for Thanksgiving?
Me: Well, no, not really at all.
Claire: So what ARE tater tots?
Me: well, they're like potato..things...
Shauna (in the background): So have we figured out what tater tots are, yet?
Claire (to Shauna): Nope, still trying to figure it out


On the menu:
Turkey
Mashed Potatoes
Gravy
Stuffing (mm)
Green Beans
Peas & Carrots
Red Cabbage
American Biscuits
Cranberry Tart
Pumpkin Pie

And, apparently, 17 bottles of wine.

In fact, I'll blame this whole blogging thing on my general exhaustion and hangover I have today.

Leave encouraging notes!
Love, Francesca