I'm not a Fan of carrying shit home!

Summer is around the corner in Paris, great time of the year, lots of Picnics, summer dresses and  smelly armpits in the metro, but that is a whole diffferent blog on its own.  I decided that this year I wanted to be prepared for the Parisian summer, which at times could reach 100 degrees in temperature , throw in an apartment with no ac in the mix and you are just asking for an uncomforatable summer.

So my plan was to go to the home electronics store to purchase a fan, while there pop into the sports store near by to get some dumbells. We decided to purchase the dumbells first since they were 20lbs and the fan seemd heavier to carry. Though i did try to convince my boyfriend to buy a portable ac he wasn't buying what i was selling. After my defeat we  started our journey home, livng in Paris you have to walk home or take some type of public transporation . We lived only  half a mile from the store so we decided to walk, which is unheard of in most of America. Hell coming from LA I've seen neighbors get in their car and drive down to the mail box to get the mail. Now that is a country of car loving people. I miss my car..Anyways  half a mile is like asking an american to walk home from a different city. Living in Paris  i've been brain washed to think its ok.. and seriously its ok. Unless you're carrying 20lbs worth of weights.... which seemed heavier and heavier with each step.  I didn't feel so bad since my boyfriend was carrying a big box filled with our heavy metal fan. I tried to comfort myself as my arm felt like it was going break off with the thought that my boyfriends arms were probably going to fall off as well.

When we arrived at the house 30 min later and my shoulders aching, i put down my dumbells waiting for my boyfriend to open the door, he too puts down his heavy fan . Once the door was open I lifted the fan to hand it to him. and thats when i realized i was bamboozed by my boyfriend, the fan was atleast 5  lbs lighter than my crazy dumbell baby i've been carrying around for .half a mile.  All my boyfriend had to say was that, i volunteered to carry the weights, which was true.  If I didn't want the fan so badly i would have asked him to carry it back to the store to return it, just to have some type of vindication. But as of today that has not happened. I'm not  fan of carrying shit home!

Bisous from Paris! M.M.

Panic at the butcher

Living in  Paris  really puts things in perspective, like how easy we have it in America. Little things we take for granted like piling your groceries in the back of your trunk and driving it home, or having 20 types of fabric softner at your dispossal , or what about being able to convey to the butcher you would like only half a pound of chicken for dinner. These are all luxurys of the past, well until i can comand the french language, and at this time i'm lucky if it can command me.

Going to the market, which is second nature as an adult has prooved to be a daunting task when you are not so wonderful with the language, so kids rule number one when moving to a new country ( learn the language). Don't get me wrong i love going to the grocery, and finding new treasures like pre made waffels dipped in chocolate. or what about the kiinder bueno icecream. So much good stuff, and its great and dandy wandering the grocery until I was looking for cream cheese, there is noooo cream cheese. I think i stood in the vast cheese department for a good 30 min until i finally decided to call my boyfriend for assistance, half of the cheese are things i've never heard of before, let alone tasted. Being in the cheese isle in france is like being in the pototo chips isle in America the possiblities are endless. After he had instructed me in what could be close to cream cheese which  is called Kiri cheese i moved on to the butcher.

One of the things i truley appreciate in france are their specialtiy shops, for cheese ( that i hate to go in alone), fruites, vegetables, seafood, meat, all of it fresh. I do feel much healthier with my groceries here, knowing they weren't sitting in a groceries warehouse for a while kept alive by all the unatural ingredience inside them..

Anyways back to the meat. I decided to cook beef and broccoli, all i needed was maybe half a pound of beef or less,  its just me and my boyfriend that I cook for. Well as i got closer to the front of the line at the butcher shop i realized i had no idea how to convey what i wanted. Oh no Panic, how do you say " half a pound of beef"?  How do you say "that is too much"?  how do you say i'm coming home with a lot of meat because my stupid ass doesn't know how to say any of this. Well thats just what happened as nice as the butcher was he didn't have the half hour i needed to do my carades game with him to explain i only  needed a little bit of meat.. So needless to day we had beef on the menu the whole week. Not to worrie i've finally learned how to say half " demi"  or just say how much meat i need for how many people. " duo person" ( 2 people). Hey talk about living and learning. Just another lesson with living in France.

Until the next life lesson, Bissous from Paris.
M.M.

Good morning Paris

Another beautiful morning in Paris, the sun is shinning my elderly neighbor is out smoking his morning cig on his terrace. Lime green is the color of his sweater today very risque for paris where black is the most color anyone really wears.

And what about me? well I'm having my coffee looking out over the Palais Royal gardens in my USA shirt flag included(hey it was the only thing i found to sleep in last night). As many times as I've woken up and looked out my window into the gardens I'm still amazed that I'm living in Paris and what better place than an old Palais turned into luxurious flats, and it came with my very own version of the French Prince charming more about him later (french men are seriously their a whole different kind of man) , my life is like Pretty Woman part 2, minus being the hooker part.

Not bad for a girl filipino girl that grew up in the O.C. and not the glamorous part with the beaches and shit, the gritty O.C. Its funny where life takes you.

I don't know how I got here, I've never been the planner when it came to life, I believe that the universe takes you to your next destination. I got that from my Puertorican friend Aida, yoga loving , universe following Aida. Hey its better than being stressed out all the time with wondering if I'm checking all my boxes in the Apropriate amount of time. 25 meet the guy I'm going to marry, check, 27 get married, check, 29 have a nice corporate job, check.

At 26 all I had was the job and I was fine with it, at 27 i threw away my banking job and became a flight attendant. Hell when do you get a chance to fly around the world and have one of the top 10 sexy jobs. So I said fuck it, to the horror of my uber mother that believed in all else job stability and a money making.

I can say that being a flight attendant was the best 3 years of my life, oh the stories. Now I live in Paris and trying to find myself again, what can my next big girl job be? Who knows, I'm waiting for the next clue in this scavenger hunt we call life.

In the mean time I will enjoy my semi fairy tale life, and if you want you can follow along.

Bisous from Paris,

m.m.