Because of my sporadic presence lately (umm, monthly?), I have been left with a mountain of things to talk about. This type of problem has many solutions, but really, what's a girl to do in this situation but start with the most important? So yes, what you've heard is true (e I KNOW you're the one who spilled it)- I have finally been able to integrate my new capelet into my wardrobe. It was a tough journey, and I'm not afraid to tell you that there were tears shed. But I've made it through, and sit here in the Centre Oregon with this lovely black knitted wonder over my shoulders (actually, shoulder, as it appears to have slipped over. Just a sec). This segues nicely into me telling you that I've recently begun stepping out in things that would just not be ok in the States, but are fine in France. The parade of crazy tights has begun, and do you know what? It's fine and dandy here. People wear things like this! I wish I had photos so that I could prove this, but alas, there are none. Tant pis pour vous. And today? I am wearing my jeans in my boots. Because people do. I feel slightly silly, so only time will tell if this happens again.

Also, my hair is growing out and I'm faced with the question- same coiffeur or new one? And what do I do about this color? For reasons I'll deal with later, starting next Friday I can't have crazy hair, and I have a perpetual fear that if I go to the coiffeur before then I'll leave with something even more bright than this time. I need to appear at least mostly normal for about a week, mes amis. What is a girl to do?

The Centre Oregon is currently a breeding ground for student problems, as 2nd semesters start at universities all over Lyon. I'd like to think that my advice is at least somewhat helpful. Chevreul continues to rock my world, including students now running around saying "No shit Sherlock" after my "how to talk like an American aka how to talk like Gina" lesson. Ha.

Food-wise, cooking continues to be like crack for me. I just can't stop. Can't stop. There's food everywhere. I even made a fucking roast on Sunday night. A roast. What has gotten into me? But sadly, there was a chocolate chip cookie disaster as my mini-four DESTROYED an entire batch. Way to go mini-four francais. But it was sort of satisfying to smash apart a chocolate bar with a knife handle.

I'll leave you with a snippet of a conversation from Monday night at the Palais de Sourires (The Smile Palace! what a name for a Chinese restaurant)-
Mandy- I mean, if you like prison. Wasn't Saint Valentine in a prison cell with a telescope?
Maria- That was Galileo.