Today has been one of those days...
Still no wall in the kitchen, and this morning I microwaved a mug that was apparently non-microwavable and thus have probably radiated myself because I drank the tea anyway...
I somehow didn’t understand the ticket website and ended up spending WAY more than intended to go to this concert on February 2...
I wanted to wander the 16th a little bit, so I left my house under the January Paris sun, unseasonably warm, and since I didn’t want to wear my heavy coat, I didn’t bring any jacket. In the course of the 10 minutes I spent in ProMod, the weather outside went from 15degrees to 3degrees, the sun disappeared, and it started to thunder. (I think– it might have just been a delivery truck or something.) So I leave ProMod, and no sooner have I set foot out the door than the heavens opened. It was like they were just waiting for me to get out there, so they could completely douse me. Thanks. No umbrella, no hat, no hood, nothing to even pull over my head, and my computer is in my non-waterproof bag, so that was extra-good. The rain is coming in through my flats (dagnab discount Chinatown shoes), my tights are soaked, and the good hair day I was having? Yeah, instead of smelling rain, all I can smell is my hairspray running down my back...
And perhaps the crowning achievement: I went into my internet bar after a stop at home to put on something less... wet. I went to the counter of the bar to order an Orangina, because if I have to drink one more espresso I might go postal, so I say to the new bartender (you know it’s bad when you can identify the new workers), "Je voudrais un Orangina, s’il te plait." And he repeats it back to me– "Un Orangina?" Or something that sounds kind of like that, but there is this weird German techno playing in the background so I can’t be sure. I nod my head, though, which has unfortunately become my default response when someone says something I don’t understand. But then he walks over to the espresso machine, and I can’t even help my reaction: My face fell, mouth agape, shaking my head like a crazy person, watching him make the drink I don’t even want a little bit, knowing there is really nothing I can do about it. He turns around a moment later with my espresso, though apparently it is not exactly normal espresso– this time it came in a full teacup, tasting exactly like normal espresso. Maybe it was a double? But he charged me the same price as always, so I don’t really know. WHEN WILL I GET RID OF THIS ACCENT ENOUGH THAT I CAN AT LEAST ORDER A SODA WITHOUT SCREWING IT UP?
And how, pray tell, did he get "espresso" out of "orangina." They don’t even have the same number of syllables!

But on the bright side, lately at cafes and such, the servers have been teasing about my accent (in that awkward flirty foreign way) but not meanly, and despite the teasing they still speak to me in French, which has got to mean SOMETHING, right??
~B