Apartment and Roomie

Last week I moved into my apartment which is amazingly fabulous. It is on the sixth floor of a walk up which is (surprise!) actually the seventh floor because the French consider the 1st floor to be the 0 floor. So, three bags later and with a moment on the 4th (read 5th) floor where I thought I might just tumble back down the stairs with the hikers backpack on, I made it to the top. And, let me tell you, it's worth the hike. This is the absolute best apartment I have ever lived in. Everything about it is old and precious, except for the Ikea furniture which it is decked out in. Really though, it's super amazing and I'm hoping the stairs will give me fabulously toned legs.

The apartment has some definite quirks. Including the heating system which is gas and which every 15 minutes makes a sound like lighting a gas stove, which panicked me for awhile until roomie explained to me what was happening.

Roomie, whose real name is Celine but who I like calling Roomie, is hysterical and fabulous. Everything about her is classy and beyond French. She weighs approximately 7 lbs, has fabulous style, and sniffs wine before she drinks it and actually turns bottles away based on the smell. Her one American flaw is the fact that all I have seen her eat is Mcdonald's quarter pounders and cookies and alcohol, yet she remains tiny. Je ne comprend pas.

Roomie speaks pretty good English, but we still have breakdowns in communication. There is something in our kitchen that I believe is a microwave and which she explained as something that makes your food go from cold to warm, but does not cook it. I asked if you could make popcorn in it, to which she wrinkled her nose and said, "We do not eat popcorn in France". I have yet to use this mysterious microwave-like appliance.

I think Roomie also finds me pretty entertaining. From my severely broken French - I told her we were going to Chartres, and due to my inability to make the correct R sound, it took me explaining that it was a big church with stained glass windows and was very famous before she said "Ah! Chartres" - to the fact that the other night Little Texas and I made drinks before we went out and decided to mix champagne with fruity vodka. She tasted it and I believe it took all her will power not to vomit.

Roomie's boyfriend, who is actually named Pierre-Charles, as if he weren't French enough, owns a bar in the 2nd arrondissement which is called "Experimental Cocktail Club". Experimental being key. We went there the other night and they convinced me to order a drink which had raw egg white in it. Under the motto of "when in Rome", I caved and ordered it. It turned out to be beyond fabulously delicious.

All in all, Roomie and the apartment are great. Hopefully at the end of this journey my French will be better, her English will be better, I will be a little classier, and she will be a little less classy.