Another day in Paris

That's right, another day and I'm still here. The days feel so short for some reason. It seems like its 20h before I know it and I need to start getting to bed to prepare for an early morning. I feel like I'm always going somewhere or potentially going somewhere, which is unsettling. Today for instance, I woke up around 7h30 heading for class. The M4 was closed at my stop, Porte d'Orleans, but luckily I was with another classmate so I wasn't late to class alone (not that that makes it particularly better, just more comfortable). That may not sound like a lot but getting to class required great finesse, considering that the station was closed, the PC1 we boarded did not go to the end of the line so we had to wait for a PC1 to Porte de Charenton and we missed our stop and had to backtrack to get to class. Then, of course there's three hours of French about which I still have mixed feelings. After class, I went to lunch at a pizzeria with some friends and then returned to MPF to do virtually nothing. Tonight, a couple of classmates are hanging out in a college district but I really wasn't up to hanging out. My days are top heavy so in the evening I just want to relax--so much for a night life. It’s just that when I get home it’s already so late and I feel like I haven't done many activities but a lot of walking and riding and transferring between train lines. The in-between stuff, although enjoyable, makes me tired. This weekend will hopefully rejuvenate my energy. In truth, I really don't need much free time though; inactivity makes me miss being with....

On a lighter note (There’s always a lighter side. I don’t want anyone to think I’m having an awful time. I really like Paris, honest.), I have finally found my favorite French cheese--a delightful alternative to my nameless stinky cheese. This particular fromage is called La vache qui rit, the laughing cow. Now, before you judge, I am already completely aware that this is not real French cheese like Brie and Camembert. La vache qui rit is cheese fondue. It spreads perfectly and tastes kind of like Velveeta and kind of like cream cheese. The name alone tipped me off to the fact that it probably wasn't real cheese and the taste, being far too perfect, added to my suspicion. What sealed the deal was the mini-décors (scenery) that was packaged with the cheese. It depicts a banker being held up by a gruff looking man and an old woman in a bonnet (at least I think it’s a woman, the face isn’t visible). However, if you're ever in Paris, stop in at your local Franprix grocer and pick up a pack. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Quote of the day: "Velveeta is analogous to chickens on steroids; it’s enhanced with unnatural products."
-Me