In an effort to soften the blow of not going to cousin Vinny's wedding, Séb and I went to a birthday party of a friend of his friend Thomas who lives in one of the high rise apartment buildings along the Canal St. Martin. The view of Paris with the almost half moon sparkling along the canal was beautiful but not enough to forget that I was missing a very important event. That's what the wine is for.
It took a while to warm up to the guests who weren't terribly forthcoming, so I spent a portion of the night helping Thomas cut the pizzas and watch the quiche baking in the oven which was conveniently located next to the wine. Like my grandfather says "You're always in good company with a cocktail." Cheers to that. Being an Italian who was raised in a house with all boys, I'm not shy to helping out in the kitchen, in fact it comforts me, especially when I have access to my drink refills. In addition to my precious wine, I also had the company of Séb who was coming in and out with empty plates from the party, a handful of guys entertaining themselves by blowing up the balloons with their nostrils and releasing them where they would fly around the minuscule kitchen and a Science Po student wanting to know if I thought hip hop was dead after I told him that I used to live in Brooklyn. I'm hardly an authority on that topic.
After a few drinks at a party, what normally happens is that my French becomes Franglais. It's little things where instead of saying appareil photo, I'll say camera or instead of baladeur, I'll say iPod. Whatever. Changes that hardly make the conversation unbearable, just a drop more Anglo. To the girl who nixed Madonna for songs from the Sister Act 2 soundtrack, and me not being able to immediately recognize it, I had asked her "Cette chanson est dans le movie avec machin.." Said girl who thought she was the cat's meow with her faux-rockabilly style and sour pout that she kept making whenever she'd pass a mirror, looked at her friends for approval to mock me and slowly turned to me with a smirk said "Oui, le movie." As her friends started cackling like witches at my mistake. Sorry, le film. What was ironic was that they were only playing music in English and trying to sing the lyrics. Who's laughing now?
I walked away not wanting to entertain catty behavior with little girls who clearly didn't know how to have a good time on a Saturday night. "I think these girls are being really nasty to you." Séb pointed out before I even said anything. "Sort of, but I'm tough, it's going to take a lot more than stupid girls grimacing at futile details while they're offending my culture with their shit renditions of "Like A Prayer." I said while popping a Haribo strawberry candy in my mouth.
Later in the night, I heard the birthday girl ask Séb why he brought some stupid American girl to the party with a terrible accent who can't even speak French. Now that hurt my feelings. I really did try to be nice to everyone, especially this girl where I even wrote her a cute little note in her birthday card and genuinely tried to make conversation with everyone. While my formal French is in dire need of help, I can certainly hold my own and blend in at a party, we're not talking about the cure for cancer here, topics tend to stay at surface level so this comment was just unnecessary. In her weird defense, she also fell down on the floor with her skirt up revealing her thong while holding the bottle of Ricard that was glued to her hand all night after saying this. Being drunk is never an excuse for being an asshole but it was her birthday, so...
Wanting to be alone because I couldn't hold back my tears from her cruel comment and being a bit tipsy myself, I sent Séb off to go home alone. At home, I signed on to facebook and saw the first group of photos from guest's iPhones of cousin Vinny's wedding which broke the seal and my tears flowed like the wine in my bloodstream. Instead of being with my family and friends, I was being made fun of by bitches.
Her drunken comment pissed me off for several reasons, one being that fact I had not spent almost two years with a tough French family who did not speak a drop of English without learning a thing or two and who were certainly not shy in correcting me. While there is always room for improvement, I'm not the foreign exchange student who has no idea what's going on and sits there smiling like an idiot.
If this dumb girl thinks that my French is bad now, she would have died if she knew me when I first came here. Let me share with you the biggest blunder I have ever made here. Brace yourself.
Picture it. A Parisian suburb. Christmas Eve dinner. 2009. Chez mon ex-fiancé. Getting old comes with new problems or 'kinks' as my mother calls it and one of them is my new found allergy to beets. I had eaten some the day before Christmas Eve unknowingly because sometimes it's hidden in the form of powder and added into dishes. I woke up the following day looking like a beet. My skin was red, itchy and peeling. I called Monsieur Flâneur who was already out at his grandparents and told him that I had eaten something weird (not knowing the word for beet) and that I was going to look a little "raw" at dinner. "C'est pas grave." he said while wondering which train I was going to take out to Chaville. At the time, he was madly in love with me so I could do no wrong or look ugly. I was perfect. Funny how quickly things changed but anyway.
Trying to cover up my red face with pounds of mineral powder that was doing nothing short of making me look sick, I sucked it up and headed to the métro for my first Christmas in France. He picked me up at the RER station in Chaville and since it was dark out, he didn't see the severity of my face. "Ça va." he said while giving me a kiss on the nose. Ok, ça va, maybe it wasn't so bad. Because I was running late, we got to his grandmother's house and went straight to the table where the family was waiting for us to eat. Under the light of the dining room, my face was revealed. His grandmother looked at me and asked if I was ok as I looked like I was getting a chemical peel at the table.
"Je suis allergique aux 'beets'" I announced to the table feeling ill at ease over the fact that I looked so awful. There was dead silence as his grandmother, grandfather, father, mother, cousins, aunts and uncles looked at me. "Chérie, pourquoi t'as dit ça?" MF asked me wondering why I would say such a thing with intense concern, his eyes getting black as he looked into me. Confused, I brushed it off and continued, "T'étais là quand j'ai mangé des 'beets'. Tu te souviens pas?" His eyes widened and his little cousin spit out his Coca upon hearing me say this.
Let's take a few steps back. When I don't know a word in French, I'll sub it with a word in English and just say it with a French accent. 9 out of 10 times, this method is quite effective. But not this night because the word for beets is (what I know now and will never forget as long as I live) is betterave and the word beet when said with a French accent is slang for cock. I announced to his entire family that I am allergic to cock and that my boyfriend, their son was there while I was eating it. Oh yes, this in fact happened.
"Americans are out of their minds!" his grandfather said jovially with a full mouth of salmon fume. "Oh là là, desolé mon fils! Tant pis pour toi!" MF's father said consoling his son. Fortunately, his family is cool and they broke out into laughter once they realized that I am not allergic to their son's dick and more importantly wasn't disrespecting them. His little cousins spent the better part of the night chanting "Je suis allergique aux bites! Je suis allergique aux bites!" using me as their excuse to scream profanities while playing with their new toys.
This week has been colorful in regards to my French. I have never had maletendus like this before but all I can say is thank god the incident with the girls didn't happened when I first moved here otherwise it would have really discouraged me. I know that I have come a long way in my progression and while yes, I just recently sent an email to my professor saying that he can lick me, these moments truly are few and far between and I don't have sexual tourrettes in French. I promise! There will always be mistakes, bitchy girls, missed events but that's what makes life, life. Nothing is a 100%.
Saying that, here's hoping for a better week.
