Sixth Days Ani't Over

Attention: It has been forced to my attention that some of us are a little technologically challenged and can't find out to get to older posts. If you scroll to the very bottom of this page, there is a rather large and clickable link that says Older Posts. If you click this, it will take you to Older Posts. Than when you are at my older posts and want to go to Newer Posts, you can scroll down to the bottom of the page again and there will be a rather large and clickable button that says Newer Posts. If you click this, you will be taken to my newer posts. You're welcome.

(No one actually asked this, but I spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to get to my older posts, so I thought I should blame my technologically challenged insecurities on other people. Also, if you know how to post a picture to a blog and make the text wrap around it in a pretty, classy way, please let me know. Also, I feel like writing in pretty colors today.)

Pink Rice

I totally left you guys hanging last time (not cool), so as an apology, I decided to write another blog this week to make up for my lack of interestingness sparkling your every day lives... does that even make sense?  Also, I just realized that I forgot to spell check last week's entry so I bid you all a heartfelt apology to whatever rendition of definitely and philosophical you had to read through. I can't spell those words to save my life. On a brighter note, I ate pink rice yesterday. I was almost crying out of excitement. Unfortunately, Grace (more about my best friend later) didn't bring her camera on this particular outing and so, since I stupidly forgot to bring a camera to France (seriously, who does that?) and Grace is my designated photographer, when she forgets her camera, we're all pretty much screwed. In short, no pink rice for you. The story behind the pink rice is this: Every Thursday, Grace and I go to a rotary dinner which involves babbling on and on about how much we love it here and drinking a lot of wine juice. I probably wouldn't enjoy these meetings half as much if I didn't have Grace to laugh with the entire time, but the truth is, I really enjoy those Thursday nights. I have more to say about this, but it falls under the I have to be careful because I don't know who my audience is (#intro to computer tec 101), and so if you want to know more, you can send me a love letter on Facebook or some other equally ego boosting message of some sort. Anyways, when the plates started to come out, I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. Pink rice?!?! This is a day for the history books. Grace, who is from Taiwan and who apparently eats a lot of rice in her home town, looked more amused than pleased and after we had tasted it, told me matter-o-factly that the rice had been overcooked. OKAY THAN, GRACE. 

Stuff That Actually Makes Sense 

I Suppose I've never celebrated Thanksgiving in a way one ought to celebrate it. To me, the holiday was about getting fat and trying not to think about a turkey baster. But being thankful, grateful and appreciating what you have. That's completely old fashioned, right? I hadn't even considered the strange prospect of a year without the notary Thanksgiving. (No, french people don't celebrate Thanksgiving. Only America's and Canadians on the second Monday in October do. I've been asked a million times). So when my host mom said the family was going to throw me a Thanksgiving party, I imagined five people hovered over a bowl of mashed potatoes and a turkey baster. When we started cleaning the house head to toe, ordering little cocktail snack things strait out of a buffet from Gossip Girl and all bought new clothes for the occasion, I realized this might be something of a little more extravagance. I'll tell you one thing: this was no mashed potato and turkey baster thanksgiving I've ever experienced. Our house was spotless. We had little parfaits and finger sandwiches everywhere. Over 50 people came. We munched chocolate eclairs and I can't remember ever talking so much. My personal highlight of the night was taking the coats of five people I had never met and hearing them talk English. At first I thought my mind was deceiving me, like when people dying of hydration see water, but after successfully stalking them around the house for a bit, they really were speaking English together! When I got up the nerve to ask them why they were speaking English, they told me they were Americans. I guess my Host Uncle married an American woman. It was a lot of fun talking to them in English and I fell in love with her when she presented me with a pumpkin pie. I love pumpkin pie. She also told me that french people wouldn't eat pumpkin pie and that she learned this from the time that she made a pie for a party and found half of it lying around the house with only little nibbles taken out of it. I didn't object to having the whole thing to myself. The pie was probably the only traditional thing about the gathering but everything was wonderful as it could have been. As if the entire party wasn't enough, at midnight my host dad ushered everyone outside and set off fireworks! They were so close, you could practically touch them (no one died) and I was in aw. I distinctly remember jumping up and down in front of the fireworks because I was so happy, though everything else is a pretty big blur of happiness and eating too much. 


So there you have it. Who would have ever thought this would be my life?