Faux Pas

Have I told you recently that I love you?

Oh, I haven’t.  Well, that’s a shame.  I’ll put it on my to do list, right under this one that says, “Get some more cough drops.”   I guess I’ve been too busy magnetically attracting all of these stylish and refined French people!  

I often hear people say, “You are a French Magnet.”  I often hear this because I often tell myself this while looking in the mirror each morning applying my facial wax hair remover.  It brings me confidence to say this to myself and frankly, c’est vrai!

IMG_0836Last night, one of mon nouveaux amis et I were at a very cool party.  We knew it was very cool because we were dressed up in costumes, there were tea lights lit on all the tables and we were drinking red wine out of mason jars in a lovely, white tent.  Since I am very French, I brought a scarf.  You see, I had dressed up as aIMG_0834 Matador and used the pink scarf as the red cape that I would theoretically use to fight a bull.  If there had been any bulls invited, I would have fought them  There were not any bulls, but there was one shark.  However, I am not a shark fighter.  Additionally, I also thought I’d bring the scarf because I was going to with my chic French friend (she has lived in Paris!) and I wanted to use it if I needed warmth and style later.

Let me take this time to introduce you to a French word I hardly ever use because I hardly ever need to: faux pas.

I am sure you are familiar with this definition, so I will not waste time explaining it, but rather tell you an interesting small diversion story that humbly brags about how well I know wine.  I write to vineyards and they write back.  Let’s just leave it at that.

Anyway, I experienced a small faux pas last night when I placed my scarf on the table.  Then about six people asked me if I could be in their photo, which obviously happens all the time, costume or not, so I of course, agreed.  Then, I strangely started to smell a rather pungent burning smell.  My chic French friend and I quickly realized that my scarf had caught fire from one of the tea lights.  Oh mon dieu!

I quickly extinguished it with my bare hands and then told my friends that I had many scarves at home.  This was to take the time, where I almost burnt down the entire party, to prove how French I really am.  I don’t just own one scarf.  Pff!  No!  I own six.

IMG_0854 So, I have included a photo of the damaged scarf and I think it will really be quite pas chic to wear this again, but as Vincent always says, “C’est pas le bout du monde!

And, of course, it isn’t.  Now, I must run out and get those cough drops.


Metro, Boulot, Dodo

  IMG_0682  IMG_0666


I’d offer you a glass of red wine, but I just inadvertently finished this whole bottle by myself before you got here and I don’t think we really need to go through two bottles of wine tonight, do you?

I take your silence and the fact that you are putting your coat on to mean you don’t either and that you agree with me that we need to be responsible drinkers and to be much more moderate.

However, before you go, let me just grab your arm in a hostile way and aggressively tell you about my life: it’s all metro, boulot, dodo.  Oh mon dieu!

Oui.  I am essentially a Parisian living in Buffalo, except the fact that I am an American living in Buffalo.  However, I really think people see me as being “nearly French.”  Especially in my French class, where the other students are astounded by my marvelous ability to raise my hand and volunteer to decline a verb even without having a sincere knowledge of -er verbs.  I also think they are impressed by my rather red lipstick.  I don’t think you have to look modern day French to be French.  I think you can look World War 2 era French to be French.   I’ve included a photo of me in the lipstick and my new pleather jacket.  C’est belle.

Anyway, yes it’s all work for me here, but part of that work is learning this incredible language.  I also like to study all of the French people I know and then use their personalities to describe why the French are infinitely superior to all other nationalities, including my own. 

Here is a list of things I am learning by very subtly studying the French around me and now very subtly writing it on this public blog:

Okay.  The French has exquisite taste in glasses.  I’ve noticed that a popular style in glasses is a frame that is colored and then has clear lens.  I wear glasses that make me look like a French scientist, which is a good look.  However, the French-French wear glasses that make them look futuristic and advanced.  When they talk, I trust them more because I perceive that they are from the future.  The future is France.

I have witnessed three French people who have these kind of glasses–Vincent is one of them (black).  Another is a French friend (yellow with inter-changable color frames).  And a third is my French teacher (pink).  


There is this certain way French people say they don’t know something.  They do this kind of jazz band on their lips–like a raspberry.  They kind of puff out air in an exasperated way and then shrug their shoulders and say something like, “Puhh.  I don’t know.  I didn’t make the rules!”  My French teacher tells us this a lot.  Also, when I try to go into the French embassy in Buffalo for lunch and they say I am not actually French, they tell me the same thing as they are closing the door.


Okay, French bisous is pretty awkward for me because I never know who is going to do it to me or who I should do it too.  For instance, Vincent and I met Vincent’s French colleagues and friends for a coffee.  They are both young woman who I know a little bit.  They are both extremely cool.  However, when the first one came up to me, I gave her this strange side hug.  She gave Vincent bises (in a polite way).  I realized I should have kissed her on both cheeks.  I then did this to our other friend and it worked out well.  However, I don’t really know who I should be doing this with and who not to.  I think when I was in France I kissed Vincent’s older brother on the side of his mouth.  This was uncomfortable and also revealed the fact that I am not really French.  In the history of Alexis David, this was not the most glamorous moment.  Je suis desole!  These bises are making me crazy!  We don’t do this in America.  I need to take a class in this.


One word: cool.
One more word: scarves.

Okay, the list is over.

Anyway, this weekend Vincent’s work colleague who is now my legitimate friend (I will definitely be bisousing her in a totally cool, normal way) is coming over for a French dinner.  I have a million questions to ask her.  I think I will ask her to look at all my clothes and then ask her for advice on how to make myself look more French.

Okay, my hand is really hurting me because it is tightly gripping your arm still and you seem to have a panicked expression on your face and you are prying my hand off your arm with your other hand, so it’s probably a good idea to go.

Can you throw this wine bottle in the recycling on your way out the door?  Merci beaucoup.