Tag Archives: humor

$hit Americans $ay in Paris

Two months ago on Youtube, every subculture, city resident, ethnic group, and household item had a lot of shit to say.  “Shit New Yorkers Say” “Shit My Nigerian Dad Says” “Shit My Towel Says”.  And there were a lot of unfortunate wigs and accents along the way.   As soon as “Shit Shit Says” came out, the trend was a bit tired for my brilliant “SHIT AMERICANS SAY IN PARIS!”  Reviewing my shelf of Eiffel Tower bedazzled diaries from the past, I had enough material to whip up a script, a storyboard, and all both of my friends to make this thing viral.  But alas, I saw today that someone by the name of Ludovig beat me to it. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rriaeKyRVis)  Luckily none of our one-liners overlap.  And don’t worry, this American here has a lot of Shit to Say, too.  So here is my own material for your viewing pleasure, minus some unfortunate time of me on camera.

"Yes, I speak French. I took it sophomore year."
"That is SO Fah-RENCH!"

 

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An Ode to my Apron

 

 

So, what did this newlywed domestic diva ask her husband for her birthday?  A sophisticated apron, of course. I have recently launched into a new career as a food stylist.  But I cannot get just any apron dirty.  Nonetheless, to prevent any such birthday surprises, we went shopping for it together several weeks ago.  I have always adored those fluffy, froufrou aprons from Anthropologie.  You know the ones with a pocket for a Diptyque candle and another for a green drink?  However, I needed an apron to communicate that I am serious, capable, and have good knife skills.  Needless to say, if you are looking for the best array of quality home goods in Paris, specifically the best selection of aprons, Lafayette Home Opera is the place.  There are several walls of aprons and matching accessories of every color, pattern, and persuasion.  And I found a real beaute.  What kind of chicery is this, you might ask?  It’s purple ombre canvas with a discrete and slimming kangaroo pocket, perfect for an I-phone or a snack. And I couldn’t resist adding on a matching oven mit and kitchen towels.  I’m a real housewiii, I mean, food stylist now!

HAPPY JOUR DE MACARON! HAPPY SPRING! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Flowers from our petit jardin. Spring has sprung!

Today is my birthday!  And the first day of Spring!  And it also happens to be the ‘jour de macaron’!  I was born on a good day.  Free macarons!  Thanks http://parisbymouth.com/ for sharing this.  If you’ve never tried a macaron before, they are the semi-precious confectionary jewel of certain French patisseries.  Crisp on the outside, unctuously intense on the inside.  Although the macaron trend is going strong in the States, I’ve never wasted my time finding an American equivalent.   (Have you found any good macarons in the USA yet?)  So shortly after I started planning my trick-or-treat-style macaron conquest, I realized that France doesn’t follow the same ‘demand and supply’ criteria as Halloween or that happy, happy day when Ben & Jerry’s gives out a free scoop in the States.  Eloquence is key to getting anything done in France.  Everything needs to be stated precisely and efficiently.  So I strutted into Dalloyau, a local participant.  I inquired ever-so politely in my most proper French, “Good day, dear sir.  Do you happen to be participating in this joyous day of macaron?”  Pause.  “Yes, in fact we are.  If you happen to participate in a tasting, you are certainly welcome.”  “Uhhh, yeeaah!…I mean, if you please.  I will take a vanilla, kind sir”  A little coercing for a small treat.  I should have mentioned my birthday first thing.

Take advantage of the beautiful day.  And a macaron too, if you please.

Souvenir de Paris

As much as I am continually charmed by the life in France, some things lag behind. For example, to complete most bureaucratic tasks (banking, visas, health insurance), a secretary hands me a blank piece of paper to put my request in writing. Most secretaries have a desk piled-high with said requests. Hmm.

Peeling paint and spiderwebs are often a part of the decor.

Our old washing machine has been bust for months now. I’ve been begging my husband to ditch it. However, there is only one issue; it is also our only counter space. How I long for one of those stainless steel and granite American-style kitchens with a French-doored refrigerator and a freezer larger than a shoebox!

Finally, the other night I was brushing my teeth on my way to bed. Not only to find a worm on the bathroom floor. Of all the things that could come off the street and into our humble bathroom, a measly little worm is the least of our troubles. But it doesn’t mean I want to have my bare feet in the proximity of an unannounced worm.

Old world charm, first world woes.

Twee for Truffe

In France, instead of calling something cute, choux (or cabbage, respectively) is a term of endearment of choice.  Does this have anything to do with the unfortunate invention of the Cabbage Patch doll?
 
And mind you, baguette refers to not only to the staple of my ex-patriotic diet, but also to magic wands and chopsticks.
 
And dogs noses are affectionately given the name of truffe.  Or the 2000 euro/per kilo mushroom. What could be more precious? Shameless plug for my pending birthday present….darling, if you are reading this, a german short-haired pointer is much less expensive than a kilo of truffles!