Archive for September, 2008

….No, I have no diseases. I am just in Serious withdrawal from goin’ cold turkey off my café créme. Seriously people. It’s pretty sad. I can’t even try to substitute with another lack-luster replacement as I am still fasting.

Le sigh.

Moving on.

You realize a lot upon returning to America after being in France.

a.) French people really aren’t snobs. They really are better than us. LOL.

First off, seeing a fat person in Paris happens as often as an eclipse. It could be because they survive off nicotine and caffeine. And when they do eat the food is so fresh and pure that it almost cancels out whatever damage the caffeine and nicotine have done. Or, it may be because instead of candy stands in the subway, they have fruit stands. (You’ll believe me when you see the pictures.)

Secondly, they are soooo much more energy efficient. Everyone has a bike, whether it’s a ten-speed, motorcycle or Vespa. The train doors don’t automatically open; you manually have to open them if getting on or off. If no one on the cart is doing either, the energy spent on opening that door goes elsewhere ’cause that mug stays shut.

These are just a few reasons why I now understand why, and am not mad at how, French people look down their noses at us. Yes, we are disgusting. LOL

b.) I also realized that I missed something I never thought I would: Random dudes tryna talk to me on the street. Yes, that’s right. When I got to Paris it was all “Aww Black men over here are so well-mannered!” “Aww they’re so polite.” “Aww they don’t even try to holla.” It quickly became: “Wait, are these mofos all gay??” “Okay now, what’s really goin’ on.” Come to find out, cupcakes, Black men in France like WHITE WOMEN. And the French men of other descent are the ones who love Black women. It was all rather odd. It seems that no one is with their own race over there. EV-ER-Y couple was interracial. Even the gay ones. Hence, Black sisters gets no Black love. So to come home to my Harlem abode and hear, “So beautiful sis, so beautiful,” on my first venture to the corner store upon my return, I had to grin ear to ear. All I could do is say to myself: I LOVE Black men.

c.) Though Paris is supposed to be one of the fashion capitols of the world, the term fashion “faux pas” is partially in French for a reason. Outside of the fact that every man over there is very aware of and complies to his suit size (which I SOOOO appreciate. Truly. **blank stare**), French people can’t dress worth a gotdam. I was thoroughly disappointed and utterly taken aback by the amount of “fashion faux pas” that were walking around the streets of Paris with evidently no enforcement of fashion law taking place.

d.) There are international mainstays across the board. I have been compiling a list called “In Every Language.” Just attach said title to the end of every bullet:

- B.O. is spelled the same and is real…

- Black women raise White children…

- Some variation of Canal Street featuring Fouis Fuitton purses exists…

- Crazy is the same…

- Jheri curls are so unattractive…

- Obama is apparently the man…

- The value meal reigns supreme…

- The hustler exists…

- Black women are Black women…

- People think the entire train wants to hear their phone conversation…

- You will find wanna-bes…

As I reflect on my trip this list will continue randomly within forthcoming posts. But for now, I s’pose I should get to work. BOOOOOOooooOooooo.

Happy Bday shout-out to my Sisttaaaa, Clovito. Luv ya boo.

Plus tard my nigs,

cyu

My rented Parisian flat has the shower from hell. No. Really. The bathroom is the size of a closet and that includes the shower space. I was navigating around in it just fine until yesterday morning. I’ll spare the specifics but you know in the scriptures when the Lord speaks of hell-fire?? Well I hath tasted chastisement. A wrong maneuver sent splatters of flame-like H20 all over my back. Now, anyone who knows me knows that pain steals my voice. When in pain I become a mute, (I don’t know maybe it’s my body preserving whatever it can and that includes my voice) sink down, find the nearest piece of ground and pray for the pain to cease. I suffer quietly. Well, let’s just say this pain brought me through a full cycle from noise to silence and finally to a third level – intense noise. I’m sure the neighbors thought someone fa sho had been stabbed. Anywho, that was how my day started yesterday. However, after a phone call to the lady who rented us the apartment unfortunately void of the real “French” words I wanted to use, my day got increasingly better.

First, I visited Cafe de le Deux Moulin aka The Two Windmills. If you are unfamiliar with this eatery, it is a café that was featured in my favorite French film Amelie. They had scrambled cheese eggs almost as good as my momma’s, which is sayin’ a lot. 

I then journeyed to the Louvre. Though it looked more majestic at night with Tom Hanks sneaking around it in Da Vinci’s Code, it was quite the world wonder. I walked through it’s many halls surveying all of its treasures, (I also heard a lot of lies about history as I eavesdropped on tour guides’ lectures, but I digress) and saw Mona Lisa’s smirk (it was behind glass, but all the same). I saw a mule and some ponies, rode a carousel, met a Muslim bike cabbie from Harlem (go figure), and almost got hit by the wee-vehicles that the French call cars, as I walked from the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower. Fountains, statues, couture boutiques, cobblestone roads. I soaked up every single drop.

Speaking of drops, my stomach almost dropped out of my butt when I looked down off the tip-top of the Eiffel Tower. Yes, I can skydive from a great height but couldn’t bear to look from a tower, I know, Yes. I s’pose it says something about my faith in the ability of mankind that I trust a piece of cloth that catches wind more than I do a 119-year-old manmade structure. Whatever. The point, my peppermints, is that it took everything in me not to cling to the closest thing sturdy until I was back on the ground. After I conquered Le Tower (aka held onto all vital organs long enough to reacquaint myself with earth), I was le pooped. However, le tummy was wide awake. I sat down to a meal of roast lamb over potatoes and salad followed by crêpe banan et café as well as my first taste of créme brulée. I then returned to my flat and prayed jetlag would have mercy on me so that I might catch a few zzzzzzzzzz.  

After such a whirlwind of a day yesterday, my roomie and I decided to take it easy today and simply explore the land. We went window shopping which was great until a group of girls in one store just KNEW I was Rihanna, stared at me the entire time I was shopping and were waiting outside the store to ask me for my autograph when I came out. **harda$$blank stare** (G’head Z. Hyuck it up). It didn’t help that my friend was the one to tell them that I wasn’t, as I scurried off. I’m sure, given their reaction to her, that they thought she was lying.

ANYWAY, moving on, the best part of my day was when I saw the hood. I mean like straight Bronx-land hood. Bodegas, hood jewelry stores (I copped a piece ), pizza shops (no, I didn’t test it out. The sunny-side up on top of the pizza jerked me back into reality. This is still France), 99 cent stores(!), and my oh my the graffiti. I LOVED IT. I was starting to wonder where all the real people were! Don’t get me wrong, as I said, It’s still Paris. The hood is kinda fly. But the people were so real and human and well, more like me, than in the Paris that the world is shown.

Speaking of the real, I’m about to go cop me some McDonald’s. Yes, Yes, I came all the way to Paris to eat some gotdam McDonalds. Because a.) I make it a point to sample the Mickey Ds everywhere I go (and yes they are different, for example they don’t even like gotdam French Fries here! How you like that? They have potato wedges–like the homemade kind–with their fast food meals! Hmpf.) b.) you can take the woman out the hood but…well you know the rest and c.) I feel like it! what? whatchu gon’ say? take your white wig off!

Tomorrow’s the day-trip to Londontown. Check you again soon.

Au Revoir b%$ches!

cyu 

bon soir mon amies, 

I apologize for the gap between posts. I’ve been busy enjoying Paris! lol. It’s SO wonderful. Utterly amazing. Yesterday, I explored the Champs Elysees, where all the shops and the Arc de Triomphe are. Then walked along the streets peering into Chanel and Fendi and Salvatore Ferragamo and finally stopped to take night pix of the glittery Eiffel Tower. Paris is so romantic it makes you want to vomit. In New York, they throw up a street lamp strictly for operational purposes. Here, en París? They think about the mood it will set for the lovers kissing beneath it or how it will shimmer across the water at night. Unbelievable. 

After a long day of walking and window shopping you’d think I would’ve crashed when we got back to the studio. Yea, well jetlag is a mother and it had something else in mind. Wide awake, I sat and watched one of my favorite films, Love Actually thinking about My Lack of Love Actually and FINALLY fell asleep around 5am. “I’ll be straight,” I thought, as I settled into the bed. “I’ve stayed up all night at times and have been able to function through work the next…” Yea, That thought interruption? That was jetlag doin’ a Jet Li on my a$$ and karate punchin’ me in the neck. I woke up dazed and confused at 5pm today, trying to remember my name and where the hell I was. 

But the day wasn’t completely ruined. I met up with my French homegirl at Pegaille and hit up a Reebok party. And though, it was an all-girl function (booooooo!hisssss!) and the DJ played the same three songs over and over and over….and OVER again, mingling was ultra cool. Made a couple of new Frenchfemmefriends and walked around the neighborhood giving each other language lessons and hyuckin’ it up about the differences between American boys and Frenchmen. Concluding by the by, that men suck in every language. (No offense fellas) That post will come later.

A few train transfers full of staring eyes later, I am home and ready to knock out to wake up early in the morning for croissants et cafe and a day trip to the Louvre. I’ll post again soon and as soon as I work out how to resize my pix, they’ll be up for your viewing pleasure. 

Au Revoir!

cyu

Morning cupcakes!

So I had to have had THE best first day ever in a foreign country in the history of first days. Told you that Pumpkin Frapp was a good sign. lolol

I flew Delta BusinessElite and was treated as royalty (four-course meal, personal in-flight movie TV, Care Package that included a sleep mask, flight socks, moisturizer, a blanket and down pillow etc etc). When I landed I immediately found the whole “French men love Black women” to be completely true. The man who was supposed to be stamping my passport as I went through customs was too busy tryna kick game in French LOL. He completely forgot to stamp it and also held up the line for about ten minutes trying to get his friend/co-worker to translate that “he think you eehhh hot”. Surprisingly the French are very respectful of the morning hours. A mob shuffling through customs at about 7am in NY would have already been hella rowdy and if held up at all unnecessarily would have definitely become incited. Here however, you could hear a pin drop. And after the ten minutes, um just about the same. lol. I don’t know why but people in the airport seemed to think I was some type of celebrity (no Rih Rih jokes Z) but I was treated very nicely. 

I was struggling for a minute. My friend’s flight got in late and I, like the American I am, had not studied some much needed helpful French terms to make my way around the huge Charles de Gaulle Airport which is about the size of the Bronx. I attempted to purchase a calling card from a random machine after extracting some Euro from an ATM and it took my money. The conversation when I went to complain at the Customer Service went something like this: 

cyu: Ehh Excusez-moi monsieur, ehh (cyu flips through her trusty dicitonary, can’t find the word for machine and chooses to attempt another phrase) Il me fau…drait…des piéces pour….téléphoner…..er s’il  vous plait…

customer service rep (aka hater): **blank stare**

cyu: mmmmkay, leeeeet’s try…toooo ask for (flips through the dictionary) , eh umm..Oú est-ce que je peux téléphoner…?…

hater: How may I help you? (in perfect English)

cyu: **blank stare** So you couldn’t just say that from jump right? You just wanted to see me struggle right? It’s ’cause I’m Black. Where’s the damn phonecard teller.

hater points to the booth

blank stares exchanged. cyu walks off.

I met up with my friend shortly thereafter and we were able to find our way out of the Bronx, to the train where stares continued from all angles. Though I have vowed to never purchase food prepared anywhere near, much less within a subway, this is France. Rules are null and void. Well, some of them…well mainly just that one. We stopped to get croissants et cafe and my taste buds were changed forever. Apparently, the imposters that America passes off as pastry are in fact flaked pieces of cardboard. The croissants here kind melt in your mouth and you can taste the hint of butter but aren’t at all oily. Absolutely amazing. I don’t know how I will ever appreciate one at home again. And the coffee….I don’t have an hour to describe how my small shot of espresso at this meek subway stand put the entire Starbuck’s corporation to shame.. but moving on…

We get to our rented digs which we later find is in the equivalent of Brooklyn and take a walk around after getting settled in. Two of my many suspicions were confirmed: Yes, the hood is the same internationally, and yes, yes they all do have their own versions of Kennedy Fried Chicken (no not Kentucky. Kennedy. You’d know what I was talking about if you were from the hood). The hood here however, though it has the makings of the hood is probably the version of the hood that would be placed on the cover of the hood catalogue in attempts to show the best of the hoods. It’s the perfect balance of home and abroad. I can grab some Chinese takeout and walk next door and get a crepe LOL. 

On our traipse around the neighborhood, we stumbled into a cute bakery to cop some baguettes and struck up a convo with the owner, who like EVERYone else in France had no interest in helping us with our French but rather practiced his English on us. Cool peoples he was. In fact, he appointed one of his friends Michel to show us to the nearest dope spot to eat. Michel, a six-foot-two, seemingly meek 27-year-old, from Martinique blushed and agreed. We, my friend, Michel and I went to an African spot. I’m pretty sure it was food from Ghana. We sat and thanks to our dictionaries had quite a nice conversation with Michel. The food took about an hour. We didn’t mind A) because we were just soakin’ it all up. B) because after we got that food, we realized that they had spent every second of that hour marinating and loving this food that we were eating. You could taste every seasoning in this meat that just fell from the bones. Trés bien. I didn’t even mind that Michel phoned his semi-English-speaking friend halfway through the conversation just to put her on the phone with me to tell me that “he like you and wants to find if you and a boyfriend” LOL.

After filling our bellies with yummieyummies which to our surprise and delight were complimentary of the chef, we got back home and crashed. Time for Day Deux.

Salut!

cyu 

I’m at JFK airport. First sign that this will be the best trip ever: Pumpkin Spice Frapps are back at Starbux! BoomBaby! Lol. Sorry I used to be such a feen for these things. And now I sit… With one in my lap.LOL

Love you guys! About to board my flight. I will try to update overseas. If so, pix will be up shortly!

Au Revoir!
Cyu

Loose ends. Loose ends. Loose ends. argh! This morning almost made me reach for a Krispy Kreme donut yall. SO serious. It’s been one of those days. Too much to do in the little time alloted. The fat girl inside (her name is Patrice) was like “G’head, Just break your fast. Do it another day. That donut wants to love us! And who are we to turn down love??” But I stood my ground and though the stress is so real right now, I am STILL the master of my domain.

With all that said, Inshallah (God-willing): I AM LEAVING FOR PARIS TOMORROW!!!!

The Louvre, The Eiffel Tower, Nina Simone’s former residence, baguettes et fromage, ahhhh oui oui. I’ve heard so much of the city. It’s beauty and the beautiful people who reside there. For some reason, everyone I know says they can see me living there. Well, if you don’t get anymore posts after today, know that I have relocated LOL. just kidding. I joke I joke. Hopefully I will be able to keep you posted on the goingsons abroad. I will be taking beacoup d’images so you’ll get those when I return.

In other random, yet not at all less important, news: I am adopting a baby….. Pick up your face, when I say baby I am referring to a cat. (Yes I am one of those people. Shutup)

Her name is Savi (which I think is the coolest name ever) and she is six months. She looks like she’s mischievous as all hell but she’s the cutest thing ever. Just thought I’d share. LOL. And Yes, this is the sad attempt of a woman approaching none-of-your-damn-business in years to satisfy the curse that is an intolerable female craving for children. There. Okay? I said it. :-p

But, I digress. Loads to do. No time to do it. So I can’t give you the five random posts I tend to put up in one day sometimes. I will report in from the airport tomorrow. Wish me luck. Oh hell, just pray for me ya’ll.

voyez-vous plus tard!!!!

(that means see you later, for those who’ve requested translations)

cyu