People Who Don’t Mind Their Own Business

I’ve decided that’s a new (or rather, constant) pet peeve of mine.

This afternoon, I went to get a cheese crepe at a nearby stand. I was famished and patiently waiting for the guy to start on my order, which he did right after grabbing a big handful of change and passing it on to his co-worker. He didn’t wash his hands or put on gloves before throwing a crepe on the grill (with his hands) and then grabbing the cheese from the fridge and again using his hands to put the cheese on the crepe. Gross.

Poor hygiene is another pet peeve.

However, I figured it’s on the grill, the heat will kill off the germs. So I didn’t say anything. As my crepe was heating up and hopefully germ-killing, the crepe-maker took some more money from another client, opened the register, handled even more bills and change, wiped his nose with his hands and THEN proceeded to flip my now-finished crepe—with, yep, his hands.

Seriously disgusting.

So I said to him politely, “I’m sorry, but you just handled that money and then you’re using your hands to make my crepe. I really don’t want to eat it now.” He just looked sheepish, but then some young woman sauntered up and said to me obnoxiously, “Don’t eat it then. Just get out of here.” And told the crepe guy, “Let her leave.”

Meanwhile, I was like, “Who the hell are you?” She wasn’t a co-worker. She’s another customer and what business of hers is it if I do or don’t want to eat an unhygienically prepared crepe?

I was so annoyed, I actually did say (in English), “Who are you, bitch?” But she didn’t understand me and I restrained myself from flipping her the universally recognized bird, which seemed rather undignified for a pregnant woman to be doing.

Well, that was about an hour ago and I’m clearly still fuming. But really, why do people have to get into your business when it has absolutely nothing to do with them? Obviously, I understand stepping in if you see someone being harassed or abused, but why should you care if someone has higher cleanliness standards than you do? By all means, eat a germy, boogie-ridden crepe—I’m not going to say anything unless you’re a family member or close friend.

I’ve noticed a bit more of this kind of buttinski-ness in France than in New York, if only because New Yorkers usually don’t care (about anyone but themselves—ha) and don’t want to get involved. But almost every Frenchie has got a very vocal opinion—about everything. I guess it’s just something to get used to.

N.B. I do want to point out that many crepe-makers use gloves and/or utensils, not their hands, so this guy was an egregious exception to the good hygiene rule.

Seriously, A French Test?

After much procrastination (on Dman’s part) and paper-gathering (on mine), I’m finally about to receive my titre (or carte) de sejour, which is the first step to getting my French passport.

On July 15 (the day after Bastille Day seems appropriate, right?), I am to go for a medical examination and I’m supposed to receive my carte that day. Easy-peasy.

Or so I thought until I received a letter yesterday telling me July 15th consists of a half-day of instruction on French civic training—Liberté! Egalité! Fraternité!—and information about life in France. And I’m going to be assessed on my level of French, speaking and writing.

What?!

Not only am I to be subjected to a medical exam by the Asia doctor (I already bitched about this on my FB and Twitter), I’m going to have to go to class and take a test?

Dman says it’s a new Sarkozy rule that all people applying for residency in France have to know how to speak French and have some basic knowledge of the country’s history. I guess I can understand that. But  I kind of dislike how none of the ladies at the Prefecture managed to give me this pertinent information, just telling me that I’m having a simple medical exam. So either they don’t know or they’re not interested in freaking people out—in person, anyway.

I think my French test should go well. But due to my competitive Asian test-taking side, I’m going to have to pass with flying colors or I’m going to be pissed.

I guess there’s a reason I’m being examined by the Asia doctor.

To Tip Or Not To Tip?

That is seriously the question in France. Obviously, the general answer is you don’t tip because service is included in your bill. However, it gets a little trickier because some people do seem to leave a little something at cafes, restaurants, for cabbies and at hair salons.

Dman tells me that a tip or pourboire (literal translation: “in order to drink”) is really almost a courtesy. You leave a couple of euros so that your server can grab a drink later or something like that. I don’t go by what he says, though, because his tipping record is all over the place. If he has change, he leaves it. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t. If the waitress is cute, he probably tips a bit more. He’s more conscientious of tipping at a chic place than the corner cafe. There’s some rhyme and reason there, but I don’t totally get it.

Tip? No tip?

For restaurants, I’ve figured out a bit of a formula. On a bill under 50 euros, you leave maybe a euro and/or some change. Over 50 but under 100, you leave around two to three euros. Over a hundred, you leave five.

Or not. Because I see plenty of people who leave nothing.

The arbitrariness bothers me. I’m used to leaving the standard 18-20% on a restaurant bill. This random, tip-as-you-like system is unsettling. Is it too much? Not enough? Am I being a stupid American? Probably.

And don’t even get me started on hair salons, which are tricky enough in the States, where you tip the shampoo girl, the blow-dryer, the stylist (but not if he/she’s the owner)… Again in Paris, some people tip at these places; others don’t. I can’t tell if I’m expected to tip because they know I’m American and know that Americans usually tip.

In fact, I’m sure it must have been Americans in Paris who ruined the whole not-tipping system here. All these unknowing, tipping tourists have caused this maybe-you-tip, maybe-you-don’t mayhem—along with my general anxiety every time I’m in a situation where I’d normally tip in the States.

The other day, I had Thai food delivered and on the bill of 30 euros, I gave the delivery dude a 3 euro tip. (This was soon after I’d come back from New York.) He looked at the money blankly and said, “But you overpaid.” Dman explained, “It’s a tip. She’s American.” The dude grinned happily, clearly thinking, “Dumb, over-generous Americans, you gotta love ‘em.”

Aargh.

Feet First

It’s pretty much a given that French women are chic, have that certain je ne sais quoi when it comes to lingerie, sensuality, blah, blah, blah.

I’ll tell you where a lot of French women don’t have it together—their feet! In New York City, with its cheap nail salons at every corner, it’s rare to see a Manhattanite whose feet aren’t perfectly groomed. When pedicures cost $18, there’s really no excuse not to go at least twice a month.

Not so in Paris.

Pedicures here are called soin des pieds or beauté des pieds and are offered in spas and some hair salons. They’re also pricey—around 50 euros ($69 at today’s exchange rate!)—and usually don’t involve the major cutting, callus-filing and cuticle-removing that American pedicures are known for. It’s more like a sensual massage for the feet, with some filing of the nails and lotion-rubbing. And most places don’t have the vibrating Barcaloungers; you plop your feet in a bucket of water and onto your aesthetician’s lap (not so comfortable.) Getting your nails polished (pose de vernis) costs extra, too, and often is just two coats of polish. No base coat or top coat—what?!

So it’s understandable why feet don’t seem like a priority to Frenchies. Not when there’s wine and ciggies to pay for!

Of course, the French do have a secret weapon when it comes to tootsie maintenance. They’re called podologues. As far as I can tell, they’re podiatrists. But unlike the States, where you need some medical reason to see them, here you can just ring up your  neighborhood podologue for an appointment and they shape up your feet with sadistic-looking equipment that I hope only a medical doctor is allowed to wield. Some of them even paint nails and they’ve got those cushy medical chairs. You leave with baby-soft feet.

The best part is that most charge around 25 to 30 euros. Still not a bargain compared to a Korean salon, but you also don’t have to go as frequently.

Now that summer’s approaching—and I’m heading to Corsica this weekend–my poor feet need some podologue TLC. I avoided the NYC salons during my tour because I heard you shouldn’t get your nails painted while your preggers; it’s too toxic, apparently.

So while my feet probably won’t look like this again ’til after the baby’s born…

Toes!

I’m also not spending the summer looking like Shrek:

Shrek Feet!

Great Expectations

I’ve been thinking recently about why it is that we get disappointed by the people in our lives. Ultimately, I think it comes down to a person not meeting our expectations of what a friend or family member should be. So whose fault is that? Yours for having the expectations? Or the other person’s for not living up to them?

Like everything, I imagine it’s a combination of both. However, I think there’s a standard of decency, a bare minimum of expectation, that you hope a friend can meet.

A few people in my life have been written off because they were incapable of doing that. What struck me the most is that they’re not incapable, per se, just that seemed incapable with me—out of history, jealousy, personal issues, I don’t know what. But I do find it telling when people are nicer to strangers or acquaintances than to the people who are supposed to be most important in their lives, i.e. partners, family, close friends. It’s also telling when you see people who can’t hold onto friendships over the long haul. You know, the ones who have a new “best friend” every few years or have had a falling out with just about everyone from their past.

It boils down to respect. You hope that someone you’re close to respects you enough to treat you as well as you treat them. But it’s not always the case—and that stems from a lack of respect for themselves, I’d say.

TOP 10 SIGNS THAT YOUR FRIEND/FAMILY MEMBER SUCKS (OR IS A SELFISH TWAT):

10) They miss important events in your life (graduations, weddings, milestone birthdays, baby births) because it’s inconvenient or uncomfortable for them, i.e. they can’t put aside their own issues and realize the event is not about them.

9) They’re always taking, never giving—from a sympathetic ear to a thoughtful gift “just because.”

8 ) They really have no clue what’s going on in your life because they’re not really paying attention. All those “Uh-huhs” on the phone meant “Uh-huh, I’m doing something else while I’m talking to you because you and your petty problems aren’t worth giving my full attention to.”

7) They do sometimes call you, but it’s solely because they need something.

6) They give away the gift they gave you for Christmas because someone else stopped by the house and they didn’t have anything to give that person. They then tell you about it because they “feel bad,” but never even replace the gift.

5) Along the same lines, they borrow money, which they insist they can’t repay because they’ve got too many bills—yet they find the cash to go away on vacations that they brag about.

4) They’ve always got some sort of excuse or sob story as to why they’re not a better friend. “Times are really tough for me right now.” If they’d actually paid attention to someone besides themselves, they’d realize that times are tough all around.

3) They preach spirituality, good vibrations, expansive consciousness while at the same time gossiping behind your back and sniping about how you’re not doing enough for them.

2) They can’t genuinely be happy for  you, especially if they think you’re doing better than they are, i.e. you got that job promotion, you bought a new house, you’ve found your soulmate, etc…

AND THE NUMBER 1 SIGN OF AN EGOMANIACAL, SELFISH PARASITE THAT YOU NEED TO GET RID OF—FAST:

1) They never apologize because they’re never wrong, i.e. it’s always your fault. Always.

Gee, My Ass Really *Has* Gotten Bigger

Among the many changes you go through when you’re pregnant—and they’re not all pretty, folks—the one that’s surprised me the most is that my ass has, yes, gotten bigger.

I’m sure this isn’t a revelation to most pregnant women, but I’m Asian and generally have no butt to speak of. Imagine my astonishment when I tried to pull on what I consider my “big” jeans this morning and found that I had to do some serious wriggling to get them over my expanded hips and butt. The thighs have gotten fleshier, too. Sigh. I was prepared for my already poochy belly to get bigger, but the legs, too? My skinny, don’t-ever-put-on-weight legs?

I know this shouldn’t be a shock; I’m 7 months pregnant, after all. And daily ice cream and/or dessert has become a thing with me for the past couple of months. So I’m making a half-assed (ha) effort to cut down on the sweets and start working out with some of the DVDs I got in NYC, including the Perfect Pregnancy Workout. Check out this woman’s abs 8 weeks after giving birth. Um, my abs have never, ever looked like that my entire life!

But I’ll consider it motivation. Or as Dman might put it, “A pipe dream.” (Fortunately for me, he actually likes that my butt’s a little bigger now.)

Oh! And I do own a pair of maternity jeans from Topshop, but it’s true that I mainly live in leggings now. Thank God for stretch.

God, I Loooove Ikea

I know I should have grown out of Ikea by the time I graduated college, but I still love going there, looking at all their perfectly organized rooms, eating their sugar doughnuts and dreaming that my house could actually be that uncluttered if I just bought the right storage unit.

Actually, I think the French Ikeas have something over the American ones just because they never seem as crowded. Dman and I usually head to the one just south of Paris in Evry. Yesterday (maybe because it was such a gorgeous Sunday), there were less people than usual, making the trip even more pleasant. Much like libraries and bookstores, Ikea is a place I could happily wander around in all day. Same goes for Dman.

When we first moved into our apartment (way before the engagement/marriage), we spent many, many days there. I joked that we should get married at that Ikea since our shopping trips somewhat cemented our relationship, one Allen-wrench turn at a time. Nothing like bonding over slabs of plywood furniture! 

So this is my ode to Ikea. And here are the things that made me happy yesterday and are taking up space in the house today:

1) Storage for our bathroom towels
2) Lanterns and candles for our garden
3) Bathmats
4) Tons of bakeware, including a measuring cup with American measurements (yay!) because I’m feeling this real urge to bake—cookies, cakes, cupcakes, muffins… Did you know that in Europe, people bake by *weighing* the ingredients on a scale, not by measuring!

And of course, there’s always one thing you screw up for not paying careful attention to the pictures on the box (<cough>Dman!<cough>):

5) We wanted the lounge chair, but came home with the table instead: 

Oh well, that just means a return trip…

My Pregnant Pause

Now that my tour is over and I’ve turned into something like a petite baleine (little whale) in stretchy pants, I’m officially announcing the impending arrival of my petite fille.

Since my brain can’t seem to handle much besides Harry Potter and everything baby lately, you may be seeing some more blogs about being pregnant in Paris. Now that I’m a MILF/Rocker Mom-in-training.

Ooh la la… look where life takes you… (well, when you don’t use birth control!)

Not Again, North Korea… Really?

My Facebook page is littered with links to stories today about the two American journalists who were just sentenced to 12 years in North Korean labor camps. My heart goes out to them (they must be terrified) and their families, though I do believe this is probably another showboating stunt on the part of North Korea.

I was fortunate enough to be able to visit the country a couple years ago. Spending two weeks there opened my eyes to what this communist (they prefer to call themselves “socialists”) country is about: its bizarreness, its pride, its beauty, its isolation, its fear, its yearning to be recognized, its similarity to every other place when it comes to the people, who were kind, generous, curious.

There is so much history when it comes to North Korea vs. the United States and I can see how for the majority of the world, North Korea seems like a place filled with crazy troublemakers stuck in the past. That’s not necessarily a wrong assessment. I’m not kidding when I say that the North Koreans believe a US attack on their country is imminent. And perhaps it’s what the people truly believe as filtered through their government (it’s hard to know whether the government truly believes it) but the country is fully prepared for an American invasion, any day now. 

I wanted to laugh when I heard that sentiment for the first time. Hadn’t they heard of bin Laden? Afghanistan? Iraq? Didn’t they realize that the US had far more pressing problems in countries where they had far more pressing interests? Barren North Korea offers nothing compared to Middle Eastern oil. But perhaps the North Koreans are still more consumed by the ideologies, as opposed to the economics, of war.

At the same time, I don’t believe the rest of the world (including, or especially, America) has it right when it comes to their opinions about this oddball nation. Over and over again, I heard about their dreams of reunification with South Korea. I finally understood what that oft-repeated statement about them having the 4th largest-standing army in the world really means. (In NK, after finishing your compulsory education til 12th grade, you go into the military, unless you’re physically or mentally incapable. Their military serves as National Guard, policemen, firemen, etc… They fix dams and build bridges and highways. Not exactly what our military is trained to do.) Like all Koreans, they’re incredibly proud—to their detriment, I’d say—and they know how to hold a grudge, when it comes to the American atrocities committed during the Korean War (which were numerous and horrendous.) And with the US calling them part of the Axis of Evil, threatening with labeling them as a terrorist nation and so on, is it any wonder they do believe an attack is imminent?

What most affected me, though, was the opportunity to get inside a completely different way of thinking, the Bizarro world of a capitalist democracy. The way the North Koreans have translated Soviet socialism is incredibly interesting because it wasn’t a direct translation or application; they processed it through Confucianism, which is why I believe the country still stands as the last real bastion of Communism. North Koreans honor their leaders and their country the way all Koreans are supposed to honor their parents and family. Hence this unwavering, unshakeable and unquestioning loyalty.

Quite frankly, they just don’t think like we do. The emphasis isn’t on individual glory or achievement as it is in the West; it’s about what you can do for your family and your country (which is essentially the same thing.) When I could get past that, I could start seeing North Korea the way North Koreans do. I think it’s easy to judge anyone else if we look at them through our own ideals and experiences. It’s so much harder to think, “Wait a second. They do not believe a single thing I believe. That doesn’t automatically make them wrong and me right—or vice versa.” 

Which brings me back to these journalists. Someone posted a comment, “This is terribly sad news about the sentence, but what were they thinking, trespassing into North Korean territory?” Of course, we don’t know yet what exactly happened, but if that is in fact what went down, then yes, what were they thinking? When I heard about their arrest months ago, I wondered what the circumstances were and if they believed that American journalists accidentally (or not) crossing the border or refusing to stop filming would bear no consequences in a country like North Korea? Once again, a crisis that goes way beyond politics and diplomacy; it’s about what happens when American liberalism meets North Korean socialist ideology. Like oil and water, they’re never going to mix, much less understand each other.

For the sake of Euna Lee and Laura Ling, though, I hope some sort of agreement can be reached—as well as for the sake of the North Koreans. One thing they could learn from us Americans is the almighty power of good PR.

In the Name of Love

I ran into a woman recently who I met last year and found wholly unpleasant. She gave off bad vibes, quite honestly, a mixture of angry, sullen and brusque. I saw her again last week and she was completely different, happier and warmer, and I had no idea what caused the change until I casually asked if she were dating anyone.

Turns out that when I first met her, she’d just broken off a two-year relationship with a guy who she caught cheating. And yes, she was dating someone new now. Hence, the improved personality.

It made me think of all those times I’d been a complete mess, somewhere between psychotically angry and sub-clinically depressed, due to my (many) failed romances. I’d snap at bartenders for making me a crappy drink then tearfully apologize that my heart was recently broken. I’d spend hours crying, curled up in the fetal position while hugging the pillow that still carried the smell of the most recent ex’s hair. I’d dully go about whatever work or activity I was supposed to be doing, barely conscious of my actions. The only good thing was that I got lots of songwriting material out of these dark times.

I wonder, though, if there isn’t a better way than making you (and everyone around you) miserable just because love didn’t work out? How can love , or the ending of it, so radically change who you are?

I honestly don’t know. I haven’t felt the pain of a broken heart in awhile now (thankfully), but I can remember the traces of it, and it’s still a little distressing. I can almost understand those people who never let themselves fall in love again rather than risk the awfulness of it not working out. Although I’m too much of a masochist (or a romantic?) to not want to fall in love… again and again… whatever the consequences.

Anyway, I’m now doing a shameless plug for my new album, Love Like Everyone, which is available on iTunes. This is my album of love songs, all autobiographical, so you can believe me when I say I’ve been in love and had my heartbroken many, many times…