Paris, je t'aime.

Today I found myself wearing a blue and white striped shirt, scarf around my neck, and a baguette under my arm.

Yes, I would say the transformation is almost complete.

I'm in love with the little things about Paris.

The pleasure of sitting down for a cafe creme at our neighborhood brasserie.

The fact that the weather has changed so frequently here this summer, and yet the Parisien's always seem so ready for it. Raining? Got my trench coat and parapluie. Sunny and warm? My Havaianas and linen skirt are ready to go.

In Paris, it's never too early in the day for red lipstick, and it's never too late for a scoop of ice cream.

It's no mystery that the French have a paramount understanding of the importance of taking pleasure in one's life. And with their 6-10 weeks of paid holiday, it's easy for them to take time to create that pleasure.

I was speaking with my new Parisien girlfriend, (yes, I have one now), and we were discussing our love for each others mutual cities. She loves her visits to NYC, and went on about the cute boys at Abercrombie & Fitch, and how much she craves a good burger from Burger King. (Obsession with Burger King is a French thing. I have tried desperately to convince them otherwise, claiming it isn't anything more than a basic fast-food chain and most Americans I know don't eat there, but alas, their fascination remains.)

Being that we are 20 something girls, naturally the topic of Sex & the City came up. I asked if she watched the last episodes when Carrie goes to Paris.

"Mais, oui! But you know, it was just such a typical representation of what Paris is like. People walking around with their little dogs, in their beautiful clothes, eating baguettes...We don't really do this. This is not really the French way!"

And I thought, oh but yes you do. You just don't see it that way because you are in it, living it.

It made me think of how people view Americans and how easy it is to become defensive when one's country is narrowed down to things like, oh I don't know...Burger King and Abercrombie & Fitch.

But isn't that how we begin the process of acclimating ourselves into something new? We take on the style and attitude of a place and just hope to blend in with the natives.

As for the status of my french-ness, I might say I am doing pretty well.

Mistaking me for a Parisien, a handsome man stopped me on the street today and asked for directions.

Silly man...he thought he was in the 2nd arrondissement. But I quickly showed him on the map that we were indeed in the 7th.

Maybe it was the striped shirt or baguette. Or maybe I am beginning to exude that certain "je ne sais quoi" that is so inherent in the people here.

Either way, with little then a week left before I head home, I am already beginning to miss the city that has stolen my heart. In more ways than one.

Don't mess with me, je suis un New Yorker.

I weighed myself today.

Why oh why I felt the need to weigh myself after 3 entire weeks of eating pain au chocolats, ice cream, and butter, is absolutely beyond me. But nevertheless, I did it.

Then I went for a run.

A really, really long run.
(Okay, it was 15 minutes. But it counts as double, as excercising at all in Paris is so uncommon, I felt obliged to give myself some extra points.)

With the sneaking sensation that I am beginning to resemble Snufagufalus, I am attempting to reform my diet...while in Paris; the land of boulangeries, butter, ice cream (yes, they have that too), and steak frites.

Why did I weigh myself again?

I guess I could always do as the Parisiens do. Which in this case means drawing from the three major food groups: Mojitoes, Baguettes, & Cigarettes.

But alas, my boyfriend has threaten to break up with me if I so much as touch a cigarette.

Boo. What's the deal? I thought he was French! Don't I win a free pass with that one!

Apparently not.

But despite my current body woes, Paris is continuing to open itself up to me.

I had a lovely cheese and wine party at Parc Monceau with some girls from class-2 Swiss, 1 Canadien, 1 Dutch, et moi- l'Americaine.

And Bastille Day was eventful...er, I mean, fun.

Well, that's break this one down. We attended the Bals des Pompiers, the Firemen's Ball. Basically the firemen of Paris transform their firehouses into hot dance clubs for the night. Free admission, booze galore, and hot, young firemen running the joint. What's not to love, right? Edouard and I danced are tushies off. It was a gorgeous night, and it seemed like all of Paris turned out for the occasion.

Now comes the eventful part.

Edouard and I were taking a break from the mass of sweaty dancing people, when a couple smashes into us from the side. I mean, we really took a hard it. Obviously plastered, we decided to leave them alone. But then, the guy crashed into me again, spitting his already incomprehensible-to-me, but-even-worse-because-he's-drunk, French words in my face.

His girlfriend quickly comes to his defense apologizing, "Je suis desole, Je suis desole! Il est saoul, il est saoul!"

"I know that he is drunk, but just stop smashing into us."

She looks at me inquisitively.

"Quoi? Quoi?"

"Stop smashing into us! Ca va, ca va? Just ARRET!"

At that very moment her boyfriend decides to smash his hand into my face.

And it was here, my friends, that I almost-almost, found myself in a fist fight with a drunk, French, POLICE officer, on Bastille Day.

"Il est un policier! Il est un policier!" she kept saying to me. All I could understand in the moment, was "police", and I wasn't sure if she wanted me to call the police or what. But then it quickly dawned on me that the police were indeed already present. Smashing me in the face!

Luckily at this moment, Edouard, calm as ever, told me to walk away and he handled the situation perfectly. By giving him a nice punch in the jaw!!!

No, not really. But that would have been totally cool to write in this blog.

As civilized French citizens, they talked it out. And as I watched from the corner, my blood still pumping with adrenaline, I thought a few things.

First being, I know better then to involve myself in any confrontation with a drunk guy at a party. What was I thinking?

But mostly I thought, that's right Monsieur Policeman.

I'm a New Yorker. Don't mess with me.

You know you're in Paris when...

You know you're in Paris when...

You go out for a day of shopping and your french boyfriend manages to buy more clothes than you. Then you have cheese for dinner, while watching the World Cup. And you actually care who wins (Spain).

My god...what has become of me.

After two whole weeks in Paris, I am very proud to announce that I have made several attempts at all of the goals I have set for myself.

1. Learning to Cook-made two dinners last week. First was a rosemary chicken and pasta dish. Unfortunately an utter disaster. The metric measurements are not helping, and who knew rosemary had to be cut? Recipe called for a sprig. Mine was more like a branch.
And second, a salad...with chicken. The chicken from the night before.

So obviously still must continue working on that.

I don't know why, but cooking scares me. I mean, it literally scares me. I get nervous while shopping at Carrefour (the grocery here). I think, "Oh goodness...all of these ingredients...they have to go (gulp) together." But I keep hearing my Grandmother's voice in my head, "If you can read, you can cook". But then again, she also always told me to marry a man just for their money. Which she did quite successfully, four times.

2. Learn more French-very happy to report I am getting quite good with this one. Went out with some French friends the other night, and understood about 90% of the conversation. Speaking is a different story, but my 3 hours of daily French class are helping with that.

3. Make friend's with a Parisien girl-hmmm...this is a tricky one. I am making lots of friends at school, but most of them are from Holland. Does it count?

4. Teach a performance class-A work in progress...

I find it interesting what has happened to my psyche during these first two weeks here. Naturally, I had a lot of excitement and adrenaline before I left. But then it suddenly dawned on me that I won't have the gym, DVR, friends, or even my BlackBerry to keep me company for awhile. My schedule is open...wide open. And I don't really do open. Not unless a beach and a mojito is involved.

So here I am. Going into week three and I have decided not to stay sheltered in my apartment.
I am going to do touristy things. Because as much as I don't want the French to know (I cover my American books in the metro with a French magazine), I am not from here. I am not French. I'm an American girl, who happens to be in love with this place, with a man who is from here, and who is just visiting for awhile to see what she finds.

Alan Alda said it best, it seems.

You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition.
What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself. ~Alan Alda

An American girl in Paris...almost.

Cole porter once wrote, "A week in Paris will ease the bite of it."

Well, what about two months?

Because that's exactly what this American girl is doing one week from today.

Yes, it's true. I am temporarily vacating my 6th floor walk up for a dreamy pied a terre in the 16th arrondisement. Saying au revoir to my running shoes, Lean Cuisine, and $8 bottles of Best Cellars wine. And saying BONJOUR to kitten heels, coq au vin, and French wine...glorious, glorious French wine.

Now I know what you're thinking, "But Adriana! Aren't you going to miss those 6 flights of stairs? Being squeezed in like a sardine on the stinky 6 train? Or your crazy neighbors that really aught to try therapy (or medication)?"

And of course my answer to that is quite simply...NON.

Now this is certainly not a bash against New York. I love NYC. And I am quite grateful to be living in this fantastic city. But I have to say, I am even more grateful to be getting out for awhile.

So here goes. My attempt to carve out a life for myself in a far distanced land. I won't be alone on this venture. My sweet Parisien petit ami (boyfriend-not "small" friend, as I once gathered) will be accompanying me throughout this entire ride.

I am determined to accomplish a few things while there:

1. Learn to cook
2. Learn more French
3. Make friend's with a Parisien girl
4. Teach a performance class to a few eager students
5. Learn to cook (must reiterate that one)

This blog will serve as my weekly progress report, and hopefully will include a few charming anecdotes that some people back home (James Compton) might find amusing.

One week and counting...

Wonder if bringing 8 pairs of shoes would be considered excessive?