Day 22 from France: I Am Invincible!

Shaboom sends us her update from Paris...

I only had 2 hours of sleep last night due to Obsessed!'s snoring and kicking all night. It didn't help that I couldn't turn off my brain as I lay there thinking about my ex and imagining the very detailed dialogue we'd be having if I was in LA right now. He is finally moving out of my apartment (9 months after the break-up) and last night's episode was entitled "SwimSwim returns keys and garage door opener to Shaboom."

I had pasta with cream and cheese and a quick cup of tea before rushing out to an interview for an office job (which pays about the same as a waitressing job but you get to sit down.) Again, I was dressed a little like a homeless person in pants a few sizes too big that they hung down so low I had to wear platform heels to the meeting. I normally always wear flats to interviews as I once read that the higher the heel, the higher the bimbo factor and the lower the respect. I'm hoping that those rules only apply in The States.

I drove the pumpkin-mobile through hellacious traffic. The GPS told me it would take 20 minutes to get there, so just to be on the safe side, I gave myself an hour. Um... I was late. Yeah. Awesome first impression. But I parked without paying (the meter only took a special pre-paid card which I didn't have) and NO TICKET!!!

It really is the little things in life.



I met up with an old college friend and walked all around Montmartre (2 miles total) before sitting down to lunch on the Place de Tertre. I ate a salad with ham, tomato, cheese. I drank water and a café crème. Again, I parked without paying and NO TICKET!!!

I was so hungry, I forgot to photograph my salad before eating.
So here's a peek at what the Frenchies at the table next to us were eating.


Here's our empty glasses.

Keep in mind that Montmarte and Sacre Coeur includes tons of steps. (I did not take the following photos:)


Photo by Rowell Photography


Photo by Pulp Free Press


Flickr photo by supercilliousness

We then drove over to the Trocadéro and walked around some more (1 mile) before settling into a café with a glorious view of the Eiffel Tower. I drank a café crème and we met a French dude who claimed he'd help me find a job. Again, I parked without paying and NO TICKET!



My friend and I then walked around the 14th arrondissement a bit (2 miles.) Again, free parking and NO TICKET!!

Montrouge - such a cute neighborhood!

We headed up to the 5th arrondissement near the Panthéon for a leisurely stroll (2 miles) and to have a dinner of crêpes with andouillette sausage, potatoes, cheese, cream, chives, salad, CIDER! Yum.

I joined a choir. Rehearsed for 2 hours.

When I came home, I drank a litre of hot tea as my voice was straining. Wow, I haven't sung in a jillion years.

I ate some curry chicken with onions and rice followed by an apricot yogurt and an apple.



ACTIVITIES SUMMARY:

7 miles of walking
Climbed a ZILLION stairs
...all in 4 inch platform Vivienne Westwood boots and a 7 lb purse.
4 illegal parking jobs and 4 get out of jail free cards! I am living on the edge!
Sang for 2 hours
Danced for 2 hours
Clapped my hands for 2 hours - They were red and swollen when I was done.
Lots of talking.
Lots of exasperated sighs while driving through insane French traffic (that must burn A TON of calories.)

Day 10 from France: Café Le Pré

Shaboom sends us her update from Paris:

I woke up out of breath. The panic had already set in. I knew I'd be spending the rest of the day PRETENDING to be a waitress. I haven't done this since... um... college?

But the sun was out, which is rare in "winter" so I took it as a good sign.



I donned my all black attire, grabbed my big, red bag and walked out the door as Obsessed! was coming down the street from the bakery with fresh bread. If he only would have shown up a few minutes earlier. Damn.

I walked to the train station, up and down lots of stairs. I switched trains at Châtelet Les Halles, up and down and up and down lots of stairs. I got to my destination, up and down and up and down lots of stairs.

As I was coming up the stairs onto the street and began to see light of day, I almost started hyperventilating. WHY WAS I SO NERVOUS?! It's waitressing for crying out loud! "I can do this. I can do this." I chanted silently.

My stomach felt strange too so I dashed into a Starbucks that magically materialized at the mouth of the Metro exit and bought a Venti Vanilla Skinny Latte at 140º F (my old LA drink which I never indulge in over here because a.) there are much better places to get coffee and b.) they charge you about $9 USD.)

Also, I needed a receipt in order to get the door lock code for the bathroom which I desperately needed because a.) I needed to make sure I hadn't started my period and/or take care of that issue and b.) I didn't think I'd make a very good impression if I arrived at the trial day of potentially my new job and within 5 minutes stunk up their ladies room shrugging my shoulders I WASN'T ME the entire way through.

BTW: Because I've lost all this weight (still can't believe it) and I haven't worked in a few years, I have no clothes budget and nothing I currently own fits. I was wearing black pants I bought in 1999 that are 4 sizes too big, a different shade of black cute top, yet another shade of black sweater, and yet another shade of black silk blend blazer from the days of yore which is an XL with another shade of black scarf. Don't even get me started on the shoes - black sneakers I found in our hallway as I was about to leave the house. I don't know who they belong to - Vapors or Mali, I'm assuming, and no they weren't really my size. Excellent choice for being on my feet all day. I'm a freaking genius, I know.



I got to the café with time to spare and spent a half an hour getting the walk-through and familiarizing myself with the computer system before they served us our staff meal. The café manager instructed the most senior waitress to sit and eat with me. Without saying a word, she obviously refused as she disappeared for the next hour with no explanation. At least I wasn't getting dissed in the middle of the high school cafeteria, although now that I think about it, I will probably have that type of nightmare tonight when (IF) I go to sleep.



I forced myself to eat mounds of toasted goat cheese (barf barf VOMIT) because I was starving. I'm getting nauseous just thinking about it. Happy thoughts! Rainbows and lollipops. Lalalalalaaaa.

I tried to take those 30 minutes to memorize as best I could their menu so that when customers ordered, I had to do as little guess work as possible. I wasn't allowed to write down orders and as the French language is so complex, ham is rarely ever called ham. If it's prepared one way, it's called one thing. Prepared another way, it has a completely different name.

With French cuisine being vast and intricate, there are a zillion ways to prepare each and every thing and each time it has a different name. I was dreading standing at a four-top where each person ordered something different that a.) I was not familiar with, b.) wouldn't be able to write down, c.) sounded like a bunch of syllables that I then had to memorize until I could make it to the computer by which point I hopefully hadn't forgotten the string of syllables and could somehow find the corresponding menu item from the list without totally screwing everything up.

Furthermore, I prayed that the string of syllables wouldn't be something where I'd have to return to the table asking "And how would you like that cooked?" or "Would you prefer a salad or potatoes?" and additionally "What kind of potatoes?" etc. I imagined 4 trips back and forth from the computer to the table PER PERSON. I thought I was going to faint and it took everything I could muster up in the form of courage to not run for the hills.



At the end of the day, I didn't screw up any orders. I didn't break anything. I didn't drop anything. I didn't faint. I didn't piss anyone off. I didn't make any mistakes. I didn't seem like too much of a dumb-dumb, although I think one of my 19 year old colleagues may have thought I was a little dense when she was explaining how to set the table. All in all, I was pretty proud of myself.

After my shift, I chatted with the manager and she promised she would call tomorrow to set up my schedule and that I should take the menu home to memorize. Right before I left, it somehow came out how old I am and that I have waaaayyyy more experience than I listed on my résumé.

My French girlfriends say she's not going to call because she's probably nervous that I'm trying to take her job. Apparently that's how it works over here. I guess we'll see tomorrow.

(I'm sure it doesn't help that by the end of the day, not only did I look like a homeless person who had stolen all of my clothes in different shades of black, but I was hobbling around in someone else's shoes...)

$52 USD in salary AND tips (I'm thinking that maybe I don't care if she never calls.)
MINUS
$9 USD Starbucks coffee
MINUS
$9 USD metro fares
MINUS
$70 USD (SHUT UP I KNOW) waitress apron

It cost me $36 USD to have an "ideal" French waitressing experience. I should turn this into a theme park!

Shaboom!

I would like to introduce you to my fabulous friend, Shaboom Shaboom, who lives in Paris, France and is my inspiration for this whole experiment.

I met her while working a few years ago in California. I think we were friends in about two and a half seconds. She is beautiful, funny, vivacious, unbelievably smart and tells it like it is. And when I say smart I mean speaks 100 languages kind of smart. She would never tell you this, of course, she’s not like that.

She is a single girl, living in Paris. She has a new lover who will be referred to as Obsessed! This name because.....well.....he loves to make love. He may be THE clumsiest Frenchman in that country’s history.

She has her pulse on all things French, wears six inch heels to go shopping, sleeps until noon and is up until the wee hours. Regarding lifestyles the only thing we have in common at this point is that our purses both weigh seven pounds. But hers is a fabulous French bag and mine is a Mommy bag.

I would like to thank her with all my heart for letting me dissect her life in the search for French Skinny in Burbank.