Disclaimer: this may need to be read in bits and pieces to prevent boredom

So much has happened in the last few days, it would be impossible to tell everything. Therefore, I will start with what happened to me roughly 90 minutes ago. As I was coming home from the grocery store (which took me at least an hour for only five ingredients because I don't know how to navigate French megastores yet...not to mention I'm not sure if I got butter or margarine, ham or bacon)...as I digress
I'm walking home from the store and I come to my apartment building and the door won't open. Another resident walks up, a guy probably about 24 years old, and he tries his key at the door as well. We're both standing there trying to open the door, and I explain to him that it's my first day in my apartment. He speaks zero English, so of course I take this as an opportunity to work on my French. I think his name is Hermes (I couldn't understand him very well at all). He then invites me to come see his apartment (I keep my groceries with me, just in case I need an excuse to get out of there, keeping in mind that I really want to make friends in my building). He then proceeds to show me a family slideshow of about 150 pictures all of his brother, sister, and dad. His dad, by the way, is the African ambassador to the United States (I think...I'm not really sure I understood completely, but he kept showing me pictures of his dad shaking hands with important people). Then he boots up his computer to show me articles about his dad. This whole time, I am just thinking about how to get Leslie Keena an internship with this guy, so she can study Africa. And then just when you think it's bad...it gets worse.
He pulls out his 2pac dvd's. Now I get to look at pictures of him at the Snoop concert, and all of his American dvd's about rappers. I also get to look at his fanbook about Barack Obama.
I made up a lie about having homework, and came upstairs to my apartment.

Now we rewind...
Friday I went to the Louvre with the UVA girls. I suggested that we go to the part of the museum called "Sully". Diana then responded "Becca, we can't just go to that part because you like the main character from Monsters Inc." I quickly denied these accusations...although they may be somewhat true. They opened up an exhibit of the original walls of the Louvre. A contemporary artist wrote French poetry in neon lights on the walls to show a contrast between the old walls and the new inspirations of the Louvre. The phrases I could understand were very cool. We're all nerds and read basically every informational plaque on the wall. As a result, we only made it through about five rooms at the Louvre before it closed. Once we got outside, I directed the group towards the outside courtyard of the Louvre. We almost got run over because I failed to notice the "Interdit Pietons" at that doorway and the trail of tourists walking through the other entrance that wasn't a major traffic center.


Saturday I met with Steven's family right outside of Paris. I joined them for a beautiful lunch at their house which began with great white wine and appetizers. It then moved to great red wine and the entrees. And ended with cafe de marron (french people love love love their espresso. Apparently the spokesperson for Nespresso here is George Cloony and French women love him), a beautiful cheese plate, and macaroons.
We then drove about ten minutes to Chateau de Malmaison (passing the forests of Versailles on the way...naturally). The Chateau once housed Napoleon and his wife Josephine following his return from Egypt. The rooms were very beautiful, but the best part was the top floor of the mansion. It held very detailed records of every type of wine that was purchased for the house. Jean Marie also taught me the different words for glasses to drink from. I didn't understand the difference between vert(the color green) and verre(a glass to drink from). A random old French woman listening in to our conversations then decided to give me her own little lesson and very shortly told me (in french) "the glass IS NOT THE COLOR!" I politely thanked her, and then very quickly walked away. I also saw a huge beer mug that once belonged to Napoleon. It is about the size of a liter, and if you go to Germany and order this mug they will bring you that much beer for one person (I would most closely relate it to ordering a pitcher for yourself at a bar).
We then went to walk around St. Germain near the chateau, and stopped for a warm drink at a cafe. The cafe was absolutely beautiful with embroidered tableclothes, and very detailed china. The cafe owner knew Steven's family very well, and they talked about politics and current events. At one point I thought the owner went on a rant about Russian prostitutes which I thought I misunderstood, but Coraline (Steven's cousin who speaks English) translated their conversation for me and sure enough I was right.
We then went out to dinner at a famous restaurant called Le Restaurant de la Maison Fournaise. I've included a link to make this blog more interactive! http://www.restaurant-fournaise.fr/
For those of you who are too lazy to read the website, this restaurant was featured in a famous Renoir painting found at the National Gallery in D.C. This was also a place that many famous impressionist artists would come to paint pictures of people boating in the summertime. There's even a boat in the water nearby where artists come today to paint. I ordered duck (and I had it cooked rare like the French do). Before telling him, the waiter asked if I wanted my duck well done. I answered non, Merci and Coraline gets hers well done. The waiter thought that was great and then asked her if she was sure she wanted her duck "cooked American?" I wanted to shout "this American understands French...tu comprends?" Instead I shrugged it off, and enjoyed my dish because you could never get it cooked this way in the states. I guess he had some truth in his joke.

Later that night at Gulfem's birthday
After dinner, Jean Marie drives me back to the apartment. This way I get to see Paris in a car which is completely different than going across town in the smelly metro. The L'Arc de Triumphe is lit up, and we drive down the Champs Elysses while drunk students are making out in the middle of the street.
I meet the rest of the group, and we go to the euro shot bar for Gulfem's celebrations. After accidently taking a group's table (which almost ended in a West Side Story brawl...only there was no snapping and everyone spoke French...and no physical violence...actually it's nothing like West Side Story), the Americans finally win and we get to keep our spot. I then politely ask the gentlemen next to us to slide over a bit so we can fit everyone in the booth...bad decision. Thus begins long conversations with creepy French men. One of them has baby arms and resembles Judy from SNL. Again I insert a clip that only Americans can see (you can't stream American tv shows in France), to make this more interactive. http://www.hulu.com/watch/73360/saturday-night-live-lawrence-welk One of them asks for my number, so I told them in my very best French that "I don't give my number to people, and my heart belongs to Diana (who is sitting next to me)". They ask if we're lesbians, so I very obviously and sarcastically respond "of course." Then Mr. Hair Gel Short Arms yells "lesbians!!!" at the top of his lungs to the whole bar. Luckily it's a very classy establishment, and no one hears him. He then gets confused about why we stopped talking to him....he's a keeper.
We then head to a bar near the Opera, where there is a huge dance floor with lazer lights and very drunk Europeans. It's a big sausage fest, so we decide to sit at the bar. Every time I looked around a very short, old man was standing behind me. He started to dance on my leg, and our Australian friend Lucy calls him a Leprochaun. Normally I would be upset about my friend using inappropriate name calling to "short people", but this guy definitely deserved it. He stopped creeping after that. We couldn't get a taxi home, so naturally we waited at the bar until the metro opened again at 6.
The next morning at 6 at the metro...
Random guy comes up to us and asks us where we're from in America. We've had this same conversation literally 20 times that day, and we don't feel like doing it again. He walks away, and I am then informed that he was smoking weed 6 inches away from me and I had no idea. I then look around the metro stop and everyone is smoking marijuana and eating crepes. We then proceed to pass out for the next twelve hours at the apartment.

Yesterday
I had my first class yesterday. My teacher's second language is English, so she speaks very slowly. It's awesome because it gives me time to take notes and try to keep up with all of the political sociology that my peers are babbling about. The teacher then asks who knows the definition of "outsourcing". Some random girl in the class gives a horrible definition, and then the teacher is super proud and asks where she would have learned about that kind of thing. The comm school would have been very disappointed in me for not raising my hand. Especially since that's probably the only question I'll be able to answer for the entire semester. We also go around the room and tell the class where we're from and why we're here. When I said UVA, my professor asked me to talk about the campus since it's so beautiful. I got really giddy and rambled about the lawn and Thomas Jefferson and how much I love my school. I got all warm and fuzzy, and everyone in the class was smiling at me, and it was pretty awesome.

Today I had my first French language class. My metro line broke down on the way, and I had to make two more line changes in order to get to my class. Unfortunately I couldn't understand the public service announcements telling me to get off the metro. I then had to ask a random woman on my car for help. I was twenty minutes late, but my teacher was very understanding. She's a little spacey I think. She kept referring to the other absent girl as Rebecca. Finally I just asked her if there was another Rebecca in the class. She then told me that she thought I was Evelyn the whole time (the other missing girl who didn't have metro problems), even though she had discussed ways to say "the metro broke down" in French and had been calling on me during class.

We learned important French phrases to ask for help. One of them was asking for a light for your cigarette. She then polled the class to see who smoked. One girl said she only smokes when she drinks. Our teacher then replied that they can be a great combination! Only in France....
We then reviewed the alphabet, and most people couldn't do it. I think I may need to move to the next level.

Whew I'm done. In this process I have finished my second jar of nutella with pretzels. I would say that is a successful blog post. Pictures are coming soon!