thanksgiving

So for Thanksgiving this year I offered to make a vietnamese soup (sup mang qua) thinking it would be easy. I emailed my sister for the receipe. She responded with everything except for the portions. Thinking perhaps she didn't know how many people I was cooking for I told her. To which she replied:

"Oh I don't know, I'm not good at portions. As much as you want I guess."

To make a long story short I was overzealous with the tapioca powder which lead to my soup having the consistency similar to that of tapioca pudding. I wish I was kidding but I am not.

Everyone ate it anyways exclaiming it was "super bon" (who says French people aren't nice?)

I didn't take any pictures of it as I am hoping with my bad memory I won't remember the incident when I look back at the pictures (it's no loss anyways a picture doesn't convey texture).

Main differences between an American Thanksgiving and an American Thanksgiving in France:



Apero (this lasted for almost as long as the meal did).



Fireplace (this is new to me and it took me ages to get an unfuzy pictures so I'm going to post it).



No turkey (the turkey farmer kind of thought we were nuts when we asked for a turkey so far in advance of Christmas) or cranberry sauce (that's cumberland sauce - tastes similar). No corn on the cob. Anywhere.



But we did have pumpkin pie.

(de)evolution of toilets

So I received an email from a friend of mine who is currently living in China. She found the toilet situation to be appalling.

I had to laugh at this. Why? Here below is the evolution of my reaction to abroad toilets over time.

Japan - Wow, a sit down! (after my introduction to swatter toilets)

Thailand - Wow, it flushes! (after peeing in holes that for all I know lead to an abyss [a very smelly gross abyss])

China - Wow, toilet paper! (actually I don't think I ever saw toilet paper but this would've been my reaction had I seen it)

Vietnam - Wow, soap! (My friend actually came out of the toilet and shoved his hand under my nose. After a couple of seconds I identified the smell as soap [We used hand sanatizer least you think us gross])

Cambodia - Wow, walls! (after peeing in an "outhouse" with the structural integrity of tin foil which I learned later drained into the river)

India - Wow, a toilet! (after I asked to go to the bathroom and the man lead me to an open field and expected, seriously, that I pee there. There were people in this field).

my gf

So when I first moved into my apartment my roommate seemed really nice and we got alone fine.

Then about a month in, she started to exhibit weird behavior like staying in her room with the door closed when I got home from work and not come out. What was she doing in there? When/where was she eating dinner? Did something bad happen? Was it something I did? I had no idea what was going on. This continued on for like a week.

Then one day I saw the floor was dirty so I swept it (this was not the first time I did this btw and to me a perfectly normal thing to do). The next day, to my surprise she was out and about and thanked me for sweeping the floor. Thinking her weird at this point I was cautious when dealing with her. I guess she didn't like my unresponsiveness and that's when it all came out.

Apparently I had not been putting in my fair share in the apartment (including the cooking) and she was angry with me. But instead of saying something like a normal adult she decided to stay in her room and wait to see if I would offer her dinner when I made my dinner. And when I didn't she got more and more angry.

I'm sorry. Call me insensitive or whatever but when someone goes into their room and closes the door I think to myself this person does not want to be disturbed; not "knock on my door and offer me dinner".

As all her grievances came out I slowly started to realize she expected me to read her mind and when I didn't she got more angry and more angry with me.

What finally saved me in the end was that I swept the floor of my own accord and she decided that I was willing to contribute and therefore decided to interact with me again.

Right. Basically she's like my oversensitive girlfriend that I can't break up with because of the sweet apartment situation she provides me. Breaking up with her would mean losing the apartment. I was determined to make it work.

So now, in order to keep her happy I have been super gung ho about things like keeping the floor clean. In fact this morning on my way out of the apartment to work I made sure to take out the trash.

Not only that I am actively trying to be sensitive to her needs. Before leaving London I made sure to get her the Gingerbread men she asked for. They remain uneaten on the kitchen counter and I stress about whether she likes them or not. (Are they the wrong brand? Is she upset they are actually Gingerbread snowmen and not Gingerbreadmen?)

Shit is stressful yo.

Otherwise things are going well. I'm happy to report she hasn't shut herself in her room latley. In fact this evening we were both together in the living room: me reading the Glamour magazine I nicked from my friend and London and her watching the France vs. Ireland football game and shouting French profanities.

...

Who's the girl now?

yorkshire (pronounced yorksher)

a picture is worth three words

So today I received an email from my sister. The gists of it is as follows:

Busy at work supporting go live.
Jasmine really likes pre-school.
I'm good (I enclosed a picture for you to show how good I'm feeling).
What's the status of H1N1 in France?
Can't wait for turkey.

If you're like me you will find the "picture of how I'm feeling" quite odd and immediately scroll down to check out the picture. And if you're like me you will be very surprised to see a sonogram.

Then, if you are like me, you would go back up and scan the 5 paragraph email for mention of a pregnancy and you will find nothing amist the talk of swine flu, preschool, and turkey.

But unlike me, who has had 29 years experience in dealing with the weirdness that is my sister, you won't realize that it's just like her to pull shit like this and what you have to do is calmly explain to her that normal people don't tell their sister that they are pregnant by attachment. Then you ask for confirmation.

So yeah, I'll be an aunt again. Ca c'est genial.

carte de sejour

So my residence card expired at the end of October which made me technically an illegal immigrant for the past 4 days. And least you think it was because I'm a slacker and didn't realize my card expired (come to think of it, this could easily have happened to me had CSC not asked about the expiration date of my card) I made an appointment with the prefecture as soon as I realized my situation. This was two months ago.

Having dealt with French beauracracies before I have amassed two rules of thumb:

1. They love official looking papers and copies of official looking papers.
2. Don't expect to get what you need on the first visit. By my estimation it takes you an average of three.

Since there is a two month waiting period to get an appointment at the prefecture, I couldn't let rule number 2 come to pass so I stocked up on number 1. Whatever official document I had I dug out and whatever I thought I might remotely need I went out and got or persuaded, bullied, or annoyed other people into getting for me. Then I made copies of everything.

Swimming in papers and wearing professional clothes as to not look like riff raft (nobody wants riff raft in their country) I headed to the prefecture.

The guy at the counter asked for official paper after official paper and with each request (bam!) I presented him with what he asked for. Then our rhythm was interuppted when he stated that he couldn't accept one of my papers because the date on it wasn't recent enough. I looked down at the paper he was referring to. It was my friend's electricity bill.

My mind flashed to the lunch I had with my friend when he handed it to me and I pointed out the date might be a problem. He reassured me that it was the only one he had because of the system he chose to pay his bill (they estimate what he would pay per month and he already pre-paid the estimated amount for the year - at the end of the year they would calculate the actually amount and either credit or debit his account the difference). Satisfied that since such a system exists in France the prefecture would be ok with the document I let it go.

And here I was, staring at the only problem preventing me from getting what I needed. I explained to the guy what my friend told me and he agreed that yes, such a system existed in France but unfortunately for me I had to get an attestation from the electric company instead. He told me where to go, and I thought for a brief moment perhaps it was close by? I pulled out my metro map and watched his fingers as he traced the line from where we were (southwest of paris) to where I needed to go (northeast of paris).

Him: Your friend can go with you?
Me: What today? No he works, like me.
Him: [doubious look] You can try.
Me: And if I can't get it today?
Him: You go on the internet and make another appointment and come back.
Me: But my card has already expired.
Him: Yes.
Me: It takes two months for an appointment.
Him: Yes.
Me:...
Him: [the "that's life" look]
Me: Merci. J'espere a toute.
Him: J'espere aussi.

40 minutes and 3 line changes later I found myself at the Electricity company feet cramping (damn those heels) and shoulders aching (damn those papers and copies of papers). I breathlessly begin telling the clerk what I had practice in french on the metro.

"J'ai essaye faire ma carte de sejour au jourd'hui et il n'accepte pas ca[shoves paper in his face]."

He immediately tells me he understands (I guess they must get alot of distraught foriengers coming into the office) and prints me what I need. I hop back on the metro and estimate I would arrive back at the prefecture at 3:30. One hour late for my appointment.

Ironically I actually had in my possession during this time an electrcity bill of the place I actually live (but can't use as my place of residence on my card for reasons I won't go into here) for the current month in my bag because I had to pay it.

But whatever I had what I needed but the question was, would they let me in? (I also wondered to myself if I could cry on command)

They did. I am illegal no more (No crying needed).

la toussaint

So today was All Saint's day in France and I thought it a good chance to visit the grave of Serge Gainsbourg the genuis behind this song.



Notice all the metro tickets which are a nodd to his earlier hit Le Poinçonneur des Lilas.

Despite the rain I also went to visit his house "tagged" by his adoring fans after his death.