Flamby vs. Cupcake

It started off as a joke.  A laugh between friends and family.  The little Southern girl who got so flustered over cultural idiosyncracies that she one day exclaimed during a rant, "As soon as I have my French citizenship, I'm running for President!"

While I still lack the citizenship, and probably the money and sponsors, I've decided to share the laughter and dreams through the written word. 

Do you dream of service with a smile instead of customer service that makes you (almost) cry?

Do you long for ice cubes in your local grocery store to allow for hours of party rockin' with cold beverages?

Do you feel that if a Parisian were to say "excusez-moi" in the métro when knocking you over during the morning commute, they just might explode?

If you want change you can believe in...come join the fun bus that is Flamby vs. Cupcake.

Overly processed flan ain't got nothin' on cake and icing made with love and Southern hospitality.

Tips for Surviving Thanksgiving

This is for all the French people out there.  If you are American, feel free to contribute your survival tips for Thanksgiving in the comments section.

You've probably got a big sourire on your face.  For years, you've been hearing about this huge American festival called Thanksgiving, but you're not really sure what it entails.  Now, you find yourself invited to a Thanksgiving dinner by your American friends and you're kinda freakin' out.  What should you expect?  How should you behave?  Is it really that much to eat?

Don't worry.  EC's got you covered.  Here are my survival tips.

9 kilos of bird for 22 people...you do the math.

Always Keep Your Papers

Dear audience of Francophiles, I know I tend to impart wisdom about where to go eat in Paris or about common myths associated with being American or French.  You know...practical stuff.  But today, if I can give you any sort of advice on how to survive in Paris, let it be this:

Always keep your papers.

I'm not sure how it all started.  I think it happened when I was going through my papers in a frenzy one Sunday afternoon.  Since moving to Paris, my important papers have resided in folders in a backpack.  Now that I have been here for 2.5 years, the backpack is starting to bulge.  Immigration papers, payslips, assurance maladie papers, phone contracts.  I am made up of one impressive French paper trail.

First Aid Preparedness

Most of you, my dear readers, are probably a lot like me.  You loved your high school French classes.  You were seduced by the magic of the French language rolling off the tongue.  And then you were further seduced by the cutting edge fashion, the world-class wine, the irresistible member of the opposite sex, the unmatched gastronomy, or a combination thereof.  You can conjugate verbs as if your life depended on...especially that pesky subjunctive.  You most likely smile politely as the French compliment you on your *amazing* French skills, before going into your history as a practicing Francophile.  Ah, the French life.  You're doing it right.

And then you hit a brick wall that's called getting sick.

Expat Meltdown

There are good days and bad days in the life of an expat here in Paris.  The good days consist of being able to make the French understand their language.  Or eating an awesome blows-your-mind meal of French deliciousness.  Or scoring that invite to a French friend's party, thus giving you that long-awaited nod of approval that you are indeed trusted enough to grace their inner circle with your presence.  The bad days consist of lost hours battling French immigration.  Or going to try on jeans and realizing that all that delicious French food has made you a bit more *ahem* voluptuous.  Or encountering French people who share their opinion of George W. Bush and how you voted for him.  Even though you didn't.  And he's been out of office for over 2 years now.  I digress.

And then you have the rare but incredibly discouraging day when everything that can go wrong does go wrong creating the most shit-tastic day in an expat's life.  Commence the homesickness and the Ben & Jerry's {insert other comfort food here} splurge.

Photo: The Lobster Pot

10 ans plus tard...

I heard a French news commentator the other day ask his guests if September 11th was even worth commemorating, remembering 10 years later.  I'm not overly nationalistic, but his comment slightly enraged me because I found it somewhat disrespectful.  And then it got me thinking...

Other than French verb conjugations, I had no idea what was going on that crisp autumn morning.  I was barely awake for my 8 AM Sociology course, and during my 10 minute break period, I hadn't heard what was transpiring in my nation's economic and political capitals.  I guess because no one really knew.  This was a time before 24 hour news cycles and Twitter.  Really even before text messages were over utilized.  I listened to my French professor in a dimly lit classroom as if everything was normal.

And then I stepped outside into the sunlight.

Yet it all seemed so dark.  People huddled together in Humanities Plaza, crying or just staring into the distance.  I wondered if someone really famous and important had died.  My cell phone, which had been on silent, had apparently been ringing like crazy.  My ex-boyfriend, my mom, my dad.  All had been trying to reach me.  I headed to the University center and saw the collapses being repeated over and over again on the tiny TV screen.  My first thoughts turned to my family, as they are mostly concentrated in the DC area.  I went over to another part of campus to be with my mom.  In the parking lot, I broke down and cried.  A stranger walking past, paused, put his hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm sorry for your loss."  I hadn't lost anyone, but I was so terribly sad for those who had.

Just like when Kennedy was shot, most Americans can describe what they were doing the day the Twin Towers fell.  The day that many Americans supposedly lost their innocence.  I was a freshman in college, full of excitement and aspirations.  On the 11th of September 2001, my excitement turned to fear.  My aspirations to doubt.

September 11 had such a profound impact on the world that it is hard to ignore.  Yes, there are larger tragedies elsewhere, but when 3,000+ human lives are lost in an instant like that, when humans become weapons, and when symbols are destroyed, you can't not remember.  So yes, Mr. French Commentator, it is worth commemorating.  It may not be D-Day, or the day atomic bombs were dropped on Japan, but it was a huge tragedy for us.  We are a nation still dealing with the scars and current realities of this attack.  We need a day where we can remember how far along we've come in healing and how far we need to go.

If I had one wish, one hope for American 10 years after September 11th, it would be to remember.  Remember those we have lost, on that day and in the aftermath.  Remember those who are still fighting, whether in the foreign wars that came out of that tragic day or those who fight for their health every day because they risked their lives to save others.  But most importantly, remember how we felt that day.  Not the anger, the confusion, the fear.  But rather the unity.  I'll never forget watching Congress, gathering on the steps of the Capitol building, singing "God Bless America" together.  Now, you could barely recognize our nation.  We were resolved in the days after September 11 to be a stronger, better, cohesive nation that could rise above any national tragedy.  That American brotherhood seemingly does not exist now. 

You don't have to mourn with us.  You don't have to commemorate or even think about this day.  But show some respect for those who choose to do so.

Myths about the French

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about how I will never fit the Parisian mould due to my love of beer and my inability to part with my white socks/sneaker habit.  To be honest, a lot of my observations are quite anecdotal, and it should be noted that Parisians ≠ French.  Nor do all Parisians behave in the manner by which I or Magny described.  Really, it all boiled down to how I feel trying to navigate my way through this exhilirating city and relationships with its citizens.

That being said, I thought it would be fun to follow up and dispell myths about the French.  When I was a French professor at a US university, I used to get questions all the time about what the French are really like.  Some were great questions about dating, eating, vacations.  Others were...well, they raised my doubt about the saying "There are no stupid questions..."  When I have friends visit from the US of A or even when I go home, I usually have a conversation about the French and how it is to live among them as a badass American spy American expat.

So who are these Frenchy folk?

Revenge of the Registry

It has been one month of marital bliss.  One month since our pyrotechnic cupcake wedding cake.  One month since we sipped champagne on a beach in France.  Now that we are relaxed and rested after so much planning and partying, Fab and I decided it was time for an adventure.

And that adventure would be...the gathering of our gifts from our wedding registry.

Shhh....we're huntin' wedding gifts

5 Reasons I Will Never Be Parisienne

I just finished reading Olivier Magny's "Dessine-moi un Parisien" (in English "Stuff Parisians Like") and it had me rolling.  After 3 years of life in Paris, so much of what he said is amazingly true.  Even though most of my friends aren't real, born-in-Paris Parisians, many of the habits that Magny addresses in his book have been adopted by them.  Heck, even me, a girl from the backwoods of Tennessee has adopted many Parisian habits.  We go to the cinema on Sunday, we love to sling around the word putain, and we love our ski weekends and country house weekends.  Perhaps it is survival.  I tend to think that I have this subconcious desire in my American mind to become this sleek, sophisticated, and sensual Parisienne woman.  My poor subconcious better be able to cope with some major failure, because that desire ain't happening.

Read Magny's book.  You will die laughing.

Hidden Ambassador

There are loads of American tourists in Paris right now.  High tourist season is right around the corner, and despite high fuel prices and a low, battered dollar, Americans are here enjoying a city that has enchanted generations with its food, its romance, and its beauty.  I hear Americans speaking, and my ears pick right up.  How lovely it is to actually be able to hear people talking and understand them without even trying.  Although, sometimes I don't really want to hear what they are saying.  But still!  The concept is nice!

I am getting married to a wonderful French man in less than a month.  We are a little crazy with all the last minute details, so between working and wedding planning, it's hard to think of anything else!  But today, I had a deeper thought on my daily commute to work. (You tend to have deep thoughts when you are trying to avoid making eye contact with others as well as forget that your nose is crammed in some stinky armpit.)  By marrying a French citizen, and by making the conscious decision to stay here in Paris, I am becoming a sort of ambassador.  I represent my country, my culture, my language all while blending in and an taking on a new culture, language, and home.  And here you thought my wedding talk was a random tangent...

DSK summed up in comics

The news story of the week has been former IMF chief, Dominique Strauss-Kahn and his purported philanderings with a cleaning lady in a posh NYC hotel room.  It has definitely been an interesting cultural experience, being an American surrounded by the French.  The morning it happened, I was with Fab's family, and it seemed like everyone was sure it was a trap.  That someone had paid this woman to pretend that DSK had sexually harrassed and assaulted her.  Or maybe he had a tumor that made him do crazy things!  At one point, there was the admission that he had been known for his love of women in the past.  But all the more reason for his political enemies to send someone to trap him!  They knew his weakness! 

Had I been sitting around that same breakfast table, but in the United States, I think I would of heard, "He can't keep it in his pants!" or "He needs to resign from the IMF..." or "Typical Frenchman..."

American vs. French Weddings

Somewhere, between work, traveling, enjoying spring in Paris, and settling into my new love nest, I forgot I was getting married.

Wedding Cultural Experience : Registering for Gifts

We're down to 3 months and 17 days before the "Big Day," so Fab and I have started to register for gifts here in France.  Being the lucky, multicultural couple that we are, our friends and family are on both sides of the Atlantic, so we could have chosen to have a registry on each continent or in one country...as if we didn't already have enough decisions to make !  I asked Fab what the deal was with French wedding registries, which was met with a funny "I've never been married in France before, so dunno !"  Given that the Galeries Lafayette & Printemps have more trendy items, we decided to look at BHV first.  Thus began our adventures in wedding registries.