de la bouche du metro // from the mouth of the metro

Between today and yesterday, I learned all manner of things:

1. The sex district of which I spoke of is in le 9è arrondissement--only about a ten-minute walk away from my house. This is good to know, I guess, should I ever have a need for taking sketchy pictures ("Mom! Dad! Guess where I am?!") Or should there ever be an affaire between myself and a Frenchman, I will know where to get us sex toys and lacy lingerie. Additionally, I like to culture myself--the erotic museum will surely accomplish that.
2. Frenchmen are incredibly feminine. I really love them only for their accents. There have been two instances so far when I have thought that someone was a woman until he opened his mouth. When I mentioned the lacy lingerie in No. 1, I was not necessarily implying that I would be the one to wear it.
3. Despite their Eurotrashy tendency to wear pants that are tighter than my own, Frenchmen still occupy some sort of pedestal on my head. Being hit on by Frenchmen in the sketchy part of town feels just as greasy as being hit on by Mexicans in downtown Los Angeles, and yet, on some level, it feels somewhat classier. Maybe it's because it is done in French.
4. I have a pretty good head for direction...sort of. I can't really understand why or how I am learning the layout of Paris so much faster when I never could deal with New York City. Paris is not straight city blocks, but narrow streets of quaint charm and occasionally, understated elegance.
5. I must be pathetic, because I have a phobia of appearing touristlike and so am embarrassed to whip out my camera and take pictures. But no worries, I will get over myself soon. In any case, it's been really overcast/raining the last two days--I tried taking pictures today and it started pouring a minute later. Pictures of Little India will come when I manage to find it again, and I promise that you guys will have photographic evidence the next time I go to Les Champs-Elysées or L'Arc de Triomphe.
   
6. I am going to get completely spoiled in Paris. And also as fat as a tub of lard. I've been pretty good, but soon I am going to give in to the tempting calls and smells of the four boulangerie-patîsseries and two marchés within five minutes from my apartment. Foodgasm.

Madame and Monsieur are an old couple living near the border of the 8th and the 17th. I was under the impression that they were both retired, but apparently Madame still goes to work on certain days of the week. They both come from large families, and have four children of their own. I have already met several of their children and grandchildren.

The Du P. family is incredibly photogenic. Every single one of them could be models. Even the ones that married into the family. The grandchildren are the cutest beings in the world--they are the sort that makes you go, "Babies! I want one!" upon seeing them. There is one woman who had given birth to three children and still had a flat stomach. I just don't understand how Frenchwomen are so svelte. Also, Madame might be close to being a retiree, but I'm pretty sure that she is more sophisticated and fashionable than I am. By far.

Madame and Monsieur are incredibly nice and accommodating. Madame makes it a point to ask me how my day is and what I did. When I ask her for suggestions, she always has a lot of recommendations for me. Monsieur is a little quieter, but fiercely intelligent. I really enjoy talking to him about current events. I have also promised to show him how Skype works.

They have spent time in the States, so they know English well enough to give me some help when I stutter for too long. I adore them.

I find myself dealing with a weird dichotomy. During the day, it is French French French, and I feel my language skills really improving. At night, simply due to the blog or friends and family, I speak a lot of English, and then it feels like I am not. I don't know if I actually am, but it's an interesting thought/realization. Maybe you guys will just have to suffer through more of my sprinkled-in French, both in blogs and in talk. I feel better when I add in random French, comme si I am making more of an effort or something. It's probably the "or something."

It's only been two days, but...Paris, je t'aime.