Get Like Me.

I have been to Paris once before in my life.

It was 1994, so naturally my memories are slim and insignificant. I remember being mortified by the amount of couples m-ing out on park benches. It might seem too cliche to be true, but this is Paris after all. I also remember ordering spaghetti (obviously) at a restaurant and wound up with plain noodles. When I asked for tomato sauce, the waiter said, "Eh? Le Ketchup?"


So with such little personal memories, I have absolutely no idea what to expect in the next four months of my European life. It's actually easier for me to think ahead to August in Wisconsin (the terrace, empty plans of bike rides, med cafe reunions, going to the plaza against my will, etc.)

Right now, the most I can do is make some reasonable, reachable Abroad 2009 Goals: Come home looking like Audrey Tautou, cooking like Julia Child and singing like Edith Piaf. Easy breezy, baby.

Okay, so maybe I'm not actually saying anything of substance in this post. But from the girl who cannot navigate anywhere west of Park Street and slept through half of her fourth semester French class, I guarantee you much better material once Le Metro takes over my life.

Until then...