Russian Doll

The majority of our couple-friends are mixed.  Franco-Italian, Franco-Irish, Franco-Japanese, Franco-Mexican...
It makes it interesting.  Like a cultural/adaptation study.  You see how couples adapt in their relationship and around home.  And you REALLY see who wears the culottes in the family.  Though you could be wrong...

I met this Russian beauty thanks to a friend of B's.  We had the couple over for dinner and he was chiding her and her French grammar mistakes at the dinner table.  She sweetly accepted. I silently slapped him in my own mind.
So I invited her to my house on a Friday night with some other girlfriend's of mine.  She was quiet and kind - and seemed to have none of the regular complaints

He keeps talking but he isn't actually answering the question....

He dances like it is the 80's


His love of stinky cheese is making our fridge smell like something died in there, even with the tupperware!

He's just so French sometimes. 

No girl is that nice and no significant other is without small annoyances. 
And then we had dinner at their house.  And they were both so excited because they cut themselves off from wine during the week and now it was Saturday night dinner.  We brought chocolates from Chapon and she ate one during apéro, which he didn't like one bit, but she did it anyway.  And then we had foie gras, but with vodka. 
And then all bets were off. 

And just this last Saturday there was a baptism for their little girl (18 months old) at the Russian Orthodox church.  Apologies for quality of the IPhone photos, and the miserable gray sky (but you know how I like to kill people's French dreams).

Saint Alexandre-Nevy Cathedral

The hour of speaking/singing in Russian with candles and annointing oils.

Baby didn't mind the priest and his annointing oils until he plucked her naked from her mother's arms and stuck her in the bath. 

Finished Franco-Russian baby, complete with fur collar and beret!

Don't worry, relationships aren't about winning. 
At least not until your easter candy is brought by a flying bell instead of a bunny, there are no more stockings hung by the chimney, no bacon at brunch and you are eating snails and oysters for Christmas.  We won't even talk about the lack of pumpkin anywhere. 

But you can win this one, France.  And my Russian friend agrees

This is the end of a 2.5 foot pyramid (piéce montée) of cream puffs filled with vanilla pudding and covered in hard caramel.  The petals at the bottom are crushed grilled almonds in the same hard caramel.  And the colored pieces sticking out are candied almonds.  One of the only acceptable foods to eat with your hands.

Otherwise known as a croque-en-bouche or Croquembouche; literally: crunches in the mouth.

Souvenirs

I used to buy knicknacks
                            and then t-shirts

Now I steal pens and hotel notepads
                and pick up other useful things to bring home from vacation.

sugar cubes from Marocco

 like sugar cubes.


because no one wants to live in their memories forever.
or keep dusting them for the next 10 years.

Word of the Day: souvenir = memory/vb to remember

Se lever du mauvais pied

French phrase of the day

se lever du mauvais pied (seuh leuhvay du mo-vay pee-eh)

I get up early sometimes and meet my friend Max for coffee.  I drag myself out of bed and throw some clothes on and run to the metro (this is quite scandalous here, but being badly dressed and wearing tennis shoes makes me feel rebellious and free). 
Sometimes I drag my feet and run late. And in typical fashion, today, line 13 was so packed that even though I am child-sized, I can't fit in. 
So then I sit.  And then for 11 minutes while I wait through the next 3 metros (for the next slightly less packed metro), I spew an angry diatribe ending in "I am going to punch that metro driver in the throat"

Huh.  I think. 
And I realize,  it is one of those days.  Funny because nothing is particularly wrong. I just have that feeling - like no matter how many shiny pastries or rainbow-pooping unicorns were to pass in front of my eyes all I am going to feel doing is punching people in the throat. 

In french, this is called
    "to get up on the bad foot"

So I just wait it out. 
And while I do that, I look for people who are on my shite list to get in a fight with. 

The swear word edition

 I don’t really swear in French.  Mostly because I can’t make the stupid “r” noise very well. 

And the “u” noise. 

Well I can make the "u" noise. It just sounds ridiculously stupid.  And gay. 

Well, and it’s only in slightly poor taste to throw around swear words when your level of communication is at about pre-adolescent.  

Well on second thought, maybe it is entirely appropriate.  First naughty words.

 

So the one that does occasionally escape my Parisian mouth is chier. 

SHEEEYAY.    

Say it again: SHEEEYAY

As in “ça me fait chier”.  It makes me SO mad.  Sa meuh fay SHEEYAY!

 “It makes me defecate.”

(Do you like how I avoided the swear?) 

Why this is the swear, I really don't know.  

Except it is reflexive. You do it to yourself.  So it literally, means this:

Is that what happens when you get mad?