French people say the darndest things

As I said to a friend recently, the only things I don't like about living abroad are:
1) School (in general)
2) French people.

An excerpt of the things I've heard in the past week out of the mouths of frogs:

1) "American's different than English. It's mixed with other languages."
-Taxi Driver, who was also drumming rapidly on his steering wheel while driving

2) FRANCE=CHARLES DEGAULLE=FRANCE AS COUNTRY OF VALIANT RESISTANCE
(Written on the chalkboard in class)

After seeing the look of shock and horror on my face, the professor had to add,
"Yes, it is only in France that this is taught."

3) "I'm sorry, can you type less loudly?"
-Girl in National Library.

I swear to god, it took *so much* willpower to mumble, "I'll try" instead of snapping her in two. (Yes, I could probably have done it quite easily)


4) NEW ADDITIONS to badly translated French-man texts:

"I kiss you very much!" (Je t'embrasse beaucoup, literally)

"I propose to you to take a coffee..." (Je te propose a prendre un cafe..)

That's all I've got for now, but expect a Part Deux, without a doubt. Cheers!
I leave you with a picture of THE CUTEST CAKE EVER MADE, seen in the Dalloyau store window:

How to apologize for vomiting on carpet.

Apparently, the more difficult and self-important my school gets, the more debauched my behavior gets.

Without getting into any details, here are the results of my
"How to apologize for vomit on a rug Poetry Contest";

Sorry I got so wild last nite
And my vomit on your carpet so white
I'll gladly give you some time,
Some elbow grease and some 4-0-9

-Jon Raviv, 2005


In other news, I'm feeling super bereft with the girls and Team Scheib gone:
Here are some are some photos of our winter Paris bender. Plus Canadians.

James being saluted by Nicolas after jumping in the Seine. Keep in mind it is also *December* at this point. Damn Canadians.



Team Awkward:




Note: Mikey is singing? yelling? in this picture and most of the others:



I see this view of the tower every day, but when you're drunk and it's New Year's and your friends are there it's pretty damn exciting.




MICHAEL SCHEIB IS A GOD



Bonne nuit, guys.

And the bells were ringin' out for Christmas day

Nothing has been particularly *funny* as of late, except if you consider everything going really well for me to be kind of funny.

I've been happier than a pig in slop.

First, Dublin for Christmas. Amazing. I spent most of my time on Shauna's couch moaning about the superiority of Anglophone countries:

"French...cunting bastards...mmmmmm...English language....mmmm..."

Irish TV is a beautiful mixture of the best of American and British TV. Absolute heaven, after 5 channels of shitty French game shows. Shauna's family, The Sheehys, are the nicest, warmest folks, ever. In fact, My parents seemed kind of disturbed that I wasn't particularly homesick on Christmas eve.

Shauna lives in Bray, just outside of Dublin toward the coast, so on St. Stephen's day we went for a tour of the seaside towns of Dalkey, SandyCove, Killinerney (or something like this. Someone correct me). The vista inspired James Joyce's Ulysses and the entire town was marked with his literary-ness.

I won't drone on anymore. An Irish Christmas in pictures:


Shauna, doing her "BRAAAAAY" face.
(Bray: Dublin :: Ft.Lauderdale: Miami, except 1/100 of the scale)




Out in Bray, at the chipper's. This is, apparently, a place where French fries are sold.



Dalkey Harbour, on Dublin bay:



I love how desolate this picture is. More Dublin bay.



Sniff. I miss Delray's Seaspray.



Dalkey. Quaint like whoh.



Me and Arnie Pie on the streets of Dublin!

'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