True Life: I am a shit show

Ok, so as you can tell from the title of this post, I have obviously had my most ridiculous Parisian experience yet. HOWEVER, it was not with a Parisian. Sorry Frenchies, until you warm up to me and my yankee friends, I will probably not be able to have these ridiculous experiences with you; regardless, you are still beautiful and I wish you would all teach me French.

So, at the FIAP - where the NYU kids who aren't so fortunate to be landed in housing immediately are placed - I met this charming young man named Charles (HAH!), who was extremely sexy. Adrienne found him impossibly arrogant, and so naturally, I was attracted to him. I was hoping that he was at NYU, so I started flirting with him ruthlessly. After discovering that he went to Stanford and was in Paris for 2 weeks JUST TO LEARN FRENCH, I was immediately enamored. We invited him out to celebrate the rest of NYU's arrival and he and I shared a bottle of Pinot Noir. It seems all men know if they can pick a good bottle of le vin rouge, they will have the keys to my heart, among other things.

We hit it off and I expressed my love and passion for Paris and Versailles and told him I would take him to do something extremely touristy if he and I could organize something. He was, naturally, impressed with my New York sass and wit. I got a phone call the next day and then we made plans for dinner, to celebrate his last night in Paris.

We went to chez L'ami Jean, (http://www.amijean.eu/index.htm), which I have read about in my little TimeOut book, so it seemed I had a major Foodie on my hands. It was a night of firsts: my first date on a whim, the first time I have ever had WAGYU - an amazing Japanese beef that made me want to burst into tears because it was so delicious -, the first time I have ever eaten bone marrow which was also the most savory thing I have ever eaten. Every bite made my mouth water and my heart fill with pure foodie joy. We shared an enormous plate of steak and potatoes and the evening made me want to avoid sodium for at least a week. I have never enjoyed salt so much. I didn't even need dessert. On top of that, the waiter recommended a fantastic Bordeaux that was slightly dry and really made the beef taste a million times better. I wish I took photos of the beef. When it arrived I couldn't stop talking about blood or chanting BOEUF. I think Charles thought I was nuts, but the whole time I just noticed the awe on his face with anything I said. We all know I'm ridiculous but I wonder just how impressed he was by my ridiculous behavior.

ALSO: If this is a California thing, I am moving to Cali. Not only did he come pick me up at the De Ribier's, he came up for a glass of wine with Monsieur de Ribier and myself. It was adorable. He couldn't believe the apartment and then he paid for CABS, IN PARIS, THE ENTIRE NIGHT. Hello, you may actually be more chivalrous than the last Charles I dated. If this is a trend with the name, I will continue to date people that refer to themselves as Charles and go to elite schools. Monsieur de Ribier was extremely impressed when he heard that Charles went to Stanford. "C'est tres bonne cette université, c'est une des plus bonnes dans le monde" etc etc.

After we had consumed the most beef I have ever consumed in one sitting, he looked and me and asked if I wanted to go to a Cabaret show. WHAT? DO I WANT TO GO WATCH NAKED WOMEN WITH SOMEONE I JUST MET? I was hesitant at first but then considered the fact that I have been thinking about strip clubs and cabaret shows and how it would be really difficult to find someone to go with because any situation involving naked women and alcohol immediately becomes awkward. I wanted to go to one in New York, but they can be so shady and expensive, and not everyone at NYU is as strange as I am. (Note: I am not gay.) So, I took him up on the offer.

We went to this Cabaret called Crazy Horse. (http://www.lecrazyhorseparis.com/ There is also one in Vegas, naturally) It was fascinating. The women were identical in form, though not really on top of their act, as many of them were delayed in steps, etc. It was like they were genetically engineered for this club, I mean the size of their breasts to the dimples on their backs, these women were like clones. Beautiful, eerie, French, lip-singing clones. And, on top of that, it was just breasts. I definitely saw the female body like never before. And what is more, the show proved how much the French love American music and pop culture. Only one song was in French. They even played Britney, Bitch.

The Paris metro closes very early on weekdays, so we rushed to the subway. When I realized we wouldn't make it back to the FIAP, I dragged him on top of the Trocadero. When we walked out, the Eiffel Tower was sparkling. It's as if I knew it was going to sparkle and I knew I needed to see it and I knew I needed to see it after this incredible night of new things. We watched it and he held me and it was like a seen in some cliché French movie except neither of us was French (which made it slightly devastating). He wanted to find a cab and so we walked down the stairs and hopped into a Benz, because a lot of taxis in Paris are Mercedes, and carried on with our night.

Now, it is slightly sad that I will never see him again. I did not ask for his number and though I did manage to find him on Facebook (because I am a pro), I know I can't contact him. It would simply take away from the experience, which was incredibly liberating and just fantastic. I don't even think I am putting into words. This may have been the best date I have ever been on and I am actually starting to think that it's really going to be okay if I don't ever see this boy ever again.

It's like what this guy once said to me: Women have a lot of difficulty with one night stands and with things that they realize will not continue or will never come to fruition. They cannot be friends with their one night stands. I really agree with this, because it's true. Most women I know play Coyote Ugly and run away from one night stands.

Now I can say "We'll always have Paris" and actually mean it.

On to the next adventure, mes amours.

Things Not to Do in Paris: #1

Do not go to elite youth hostels and flirt with boys who decide to sit at your friend's table, unless they are from a program actually staying in Paris, will live in Paris for a few months, or at least speak French, or are European. You may discover, very sadly, that they are really just American students on vacation. Or, Stanford students with girlfriends (ok, I deduced this from brilliant Facebook stalking), who probably just want a companion in their hostel suite. And you will be sad, because they will be handsome, but they will always and forever be tourists.

I think this makes it sound like I'm not a tourist. Admittedly, Adrienne and my cab ride home from the FIAP was a beautiful, little Parisian tour, making stops along the Seine - though really just at red lights. It made me miss New York and taking cabs home from Rockefeller Center and also from the Upper East Side.


edit: Stanford boy called for dinner tomorrow. Why isn't he French and why do I have orientation?

FINALLY.

ADRIENNE AND THE REST OF NYU HAS ARRIVED!!!!!!!!!!!

I will soon have a roommate and a companion for all things Paris. Woot.
I also have the luck of meeting someone who is from the States but is leaving and thanks to my fabulous Facebook stalking skills, might have a girlfriend. Pish Posh.

Orientation starts tomorrow and I am SO excited to spend time with new babies and new people, and specifically the birthday babies Charlie and Michelle. Anniversaires cette semaine! Macarons!

So late so I am going to sleep.

Running.

Two things I can disprove about the French thus far: 1. Not everybody smokes. In fact, the people I live with find it disgusting. All of them. Even their 2 daughters. 2. Everyone is thin because they actually exercise.

Today I went for my first run in Paris, and really in a place other than New York, because I won't even run at home on the streets. Fact: Parisians do actually run on the streets. A friend told me that the French will never walk around sweaty or gross after exercising. This is total bullshit. I have seen more sweaty Parisians running, along the Seine, in my neighborhood, and in Passy, than I had ever seen in New York. Also, the parks here are designed for runners. The "tracks" or pathways that circle the park are not concrete, thus they are far better to run on. The track at le Parc Monceau, close to my apartment in the 17th, is fan-freaking-tastic. Though I could not run for the full 45 minutes that I normally go out for, there was tons of space for me to stop, stretch, do a couple yoga poses, and then continue on my little brisk jog. Runners here motivate me more than anyone in New York. They are legit: a lot of people run with weights and few people wear little matching outfits like they do on the West Side Highway in New York (actually, there were a lot of outfits that were just plain awful and I don't know how they left the house, even if just to run, in clothes like that). Also, something interesting: the water fountains were not like the ones we have that come up to your chest and you lean. You have to bend down, and its almost like a dual water fountain/foot rinse.

Also, after doing a bit of online research, I was able to find a gym similar to Bally Total or one of those other all female clubs called "Lady Fitness." Few people in my area speak English well, so I hope my French will be good enough to figure out if I can get a membership.

Now, time to shower and go back to the park to finish the book I never read for Orientation which starts, erm, tomorrow.