Pouvez-vous dire: FIERCE?

POST FROM APOLLINE, MARIA, AND AURORA

We know that our EXTREME relaxation has taken it's toll on our posting, but we'll try to sum up our (almost) month in Paris.

Supermodels and fashion have been a large part of our experience because, well, bien sur, we are in Paris. Tyra Banks and most recently Heidi Klum have been our constant companions, and we've become acquainted with the upcoming "top" American models and designers. If you don't get what we have been doing while in Paris, then we think you need some serious fashion education with the help of America's Next Top Model (lovingly called ANTM) and Project Runway.

And no, it is not lame. Well, yes it is, but we desperately needed some way to get the feeling of "finals while in Paris" off of us. So we watched these shows, plus French versions of or just dubbed versions of MTV shows (Parental Control & Sweet Sixteen) and top music videos in order to de-stress.

The Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, Centre Georges Pompidou have all been conquered, and the Père Lachaise cemetery , which is right near Maria's spankin' new apartment, will be soon. The only problem is that anytime we try to visit a monument or museum (like the cemetery which houses Jim Morrison's awesome remains) it turns out to be closed. We've looked like fools standing outside of every friggin' tourist center and trying to make out why no one else is there, but we laugh it off and go back to what's always open- the internet to get our "fierceness" fix.

But even though we haven't been the model tourists, we believe we understand Parisian living now. Example: Maria buys a baguette, gets very excited about others walking around with baguettes (she seriously scared a man once, when she pointed anxiously at his), and them proceeds to devour baguette with cheese. Ah, the beauty of Paris. We learned how to shop like a Parisians, and how to not be offended at the quite curt manners of salespersons.

And now we walk the streets of Paris confident we can find our way, or get lost with style (thanks to Tyra and Heidi). We might not be the chicest on the street, but we understand what chic is.

But not all fashion is glamorous, attractive and pleasant odored. Walking through the streets of Paris on the 31st of January- one of the few times we left the apt - our heads still buzzing with ANTM, and trying to find our ex-SAM Jordi in front of the Louvre (a feat too difficult for us) we run into a little bald man with huge designer glasses on his head and a scarf. Feeling unthreatened by what clearly appeared to be a gay man that was shorter then all of us - except maybe Maria, we stopped and listened to him repeatedly asking us if we knew where a certain youth hostel was. We didn't. Yet he kept asking and talking. So, that's how we found out, or at least he told us, that he was a makeup artist.

One thing led to another, and because of too much ANTM and hopes for a free makeup job, we ended up in a café with him. We were très chic sitting with this an of fashion, when little by little our first good impressions of him evolve into disgust. Suddenly the patchyness of his bald head became very apparent as well as the dirt all over his hands and that horrible smell coming from rotten green teeth.
Excitement all gone, fear took its place and we all started shifting in our seats wishing that we had told him that we were busy meeting a friend rather than follow him into that damned café. He kept talking and talking in an incomprehensible accent that seemed to come from nowhere - not French as he claimed - a new cloud of bad breath reaching us with each sentence, and then when are eyes were wandering to clocks and cell phones he started making his moves on Aro. He made the classic "call-me" signal at her while the rest were distracted with writing down email addresses, which he had insisted on. We felt the agony would soon be over, but he continued to brag and brag about all the people he had met in the biz, including some guy name Georges Collony-- his attempt to talk about the beautiful George Clooney. We finally escaped his grasp, when his appointment with some other poor soul approached. This was the one time that the French custom of the double-kissed goodbyes have been thoroughly hated. With no particular place to go, we frantically headed towards the opposite direction this man took. But this was not the last of creepy men that night.

As previously stated, it was the 31st and we planned to welcome the new year with Jordi and his lovely family at the Eiffel Tower. After some confusion, we finally met up with Jordi and headed over to the tower.
It was amazing. The place was packed, full of people looking up at the blue tower with champagne in hand. The cold wasn't even felt because of the amount of people there.

When midnight was finally here, the fireworks went off. They were a bit weak, and not at all compared to the fierceness we had expected from Paris. But at this very moment, a man about 5 feet in front of us proposed matrimony to his girlfriend. Apolline felt it was contrived; while the rest celebrated for the couple. She said yes, of course, and then they began to make-out (like you do in Paris--PDA is no joke) and he also began to grope her butt, which was very uncomfortable for us all.
After this we decided to take a tour around the place. Luckily we had two strong men with us because apparently New Year's is the time to get into girls' faces and scream "Bonne Année" in a flirty/scary/hysterical way. We were stopped many times, asked to give kisses, after our refusals we were reprimanded because, apparently, in Paris "c'est normal!" We were asked if we were Brazilian, Russian, Italian, etc- and once our nationalities were made evident by our "I don't understand you" we were asked about Obama and 50 Cent, our national heroes. But luckily things didn't get out of hand, thanks to Apolline's "crazy eyes" which she was obliged to give to several gangs of thuggish looking 15 year olds begging for our phone numbers.

After this exhausting and eventful day, of course we needed to recuperate with more fierce, fictional drama. We turned to the people who have never failed us.

And now, Apolline is gone to Scotland. We wait for a post from just her. And Aurora and Maria spend day and night in Maria's ridiculously cute apartment in the 20th district of Paris. We will not talk about Maria's attempt to secure an affordable apartment in Paris because we have tried to erase that pain from our memories.