My major in Fascism.

I was toying with the idea of staying all year. I applied and was accepted. It took me 10 days to realize that that was the end all be all fantasy of the year, even more unrealistic than my desires to marry my British Vichy France professor (who, btw, is apparently also a professor at Science-Politiques? Why aren't we in love?). Let us discuss Paris and the pros about going back to New York, but really only so I can major in fascism or Hitlerism. Because we all know, Hitler was a Jew and this therefore makes it somewhat acceptable for me to be obsessed with him and the development of Nazism and Totalitarianism. At this point, I should start considering Franco, because at least he didn't kill the Jews. Or maybe Mussolini, but I am not Italian and I'd prefer to learn how to speak Catalan...

Next semester may or may not be the semester of Fascism. I am still unsure of how I can manage this because surprise! I still have a MAP requirement to take. God save the Queen.

Really, though, none of that matters. Last night we had a cocktail party at NYU to celebrate our homestay families and generally get drunk on NYUs tab. I succeeded in both. First of all, my homestay family thinks I have a drinking problem. I think I have discussed this multiple times but last night they asked if the water I was downing was vodka. Always the butt of an alcohol joke, let me tell you. It can't go on like this forever, because as soon as I get back to New York it will be the same thing where I have an overwhelming fear of bars or going out in public, generally speaking. So we celebrated our homestay family and here are all the reasons I am thankful for them, even though they pick on me for liking wine more than usual:

1. They tell me I speak French really well, better than they had expected, and that they hope I continue to use the language in the future.
2. They share their life with me. The other day Madame showed me her scrapbook of all of her travels during her 20s, and it was so amazing.
3. I get a hello bisou when she returns from her vacations and she treats me like her granddaughter.
4. We have little chats every morning over coffee and cereal, and sometimes its the reason I am late but I don't mind.
5. They always tell me little tidbits about Paris, France, and various other places, that really end up being useful.

I have never felt so much love for a family who isn't mine. I would stay with them only so I could live with them again but I feel so silly for getting so attached. Any time I am having a hard time, or any time I feel like Paris is not where I should be, they remind me of how incredible this experience can be.

That's it for now. It's a beautiful day in Paris and I am still without internet.