I realize that my ass is like marble from climbing the tour Eiffel, but please refrain from touching it.

Yesterday after overdosing on "So pesto!" pasta from the pasta place on rue Vavin, and after then getting a horrendous headache during phonetique (not sure whether this was caused by the pasta or Jean-Thierry's style of teaching), I was surprised by a Norwegian who had found her way into my school and proceeded to slurk around waiting for me while the guard tried to talk to her in French. For anyone who doesn't know, said Norwegian is Marie, my friend from sophomore year of highschool who I haven't seen in four years. Her mom had a conference in Paris, so she decided to come down for a few days to hang out and visit.

We went out for coffee, crepes and the timeless art of coveting shit we cannot afford. We also tried to find headphones at Monoprix, and failed. Then I came home, where Valerie and Edouard were busy packing and cleaning to get ready to leave for vacation today. I'm pretty sure they didn't go to bed last night, but just stayed up until 5:20 this morning when Sophie came to pick them up to go to the train station. They took the cats with them (even though I offered to take care of them here) and they (the cats, not my family) were pissed off all night because they weren't allowed out of the house for fear that they wouldn't come home in time. This wouldn't be a problem with any normal cats, but Daphne and Bart Simpson have a habit of throwing themselves against the door when they want to go out. Which makes a lot of noise.

So anyway, today Marie came over and we decided to buy some pain au chocolats and head to the Eiffel Tower to be as touristy as possible. Thank god Marie is freakishly good at using the metro, or we totally would have died. We got to the Eiffel Tower and decided to pay the 3.50 euro to take the stairs so the 2nd observation deck, which is as far as you can go without having to pay 12 more euro to take the elevator to the top. Not having worked out properly since I've been here, the stairs were pretty painful. In fact, I am still in pain. But whatever, it was worth it.

After the tower we promptly got lost on our way to the Tour Eiffel metro, but we eventually found another metro, around which there was a market full of antiques, furniture, clothes, and other assorted junk. From there we took the metro to Sacre Coeur to meet Marie's mom (Ingrid! Ingrid who is married to Lars! Whose kids are named Thor and Helga Marie! So Scandanavian!). We then hiked up to the church, which was gorgeous and actually having a mass. We spent way too long staring at the six nuns who were singing, trying to figure out if there was also a hidden choir somewhere, or just a really great speaker system. I actually still have no idea, but either way, those nuns had some pretty nice voices. Made me want to be a nun for about .03 seconds. Not really.

Then somehow Ingrid decided we should walk from Sacre Coeur, through Montmartre past the Moulin Rouge all the way to the Galleries Lafayette (the real old one, not the one in Montparnasse). Don't get me wrong, I love walking--especially in Paris where everyone should and does walk all the time--but my feet are killing me. But it was a nice walk on which we saw Picasso's house (we think), and a store full of the craziest, most quirky jewelry I have ever seen. Too bad it cost more than my life.

Galleries Lafayette was just as ridiculous as I thought it would be--jam packed with people, lots of whom were carrying several shopping bags each, which was astonishing seeing as they were from brands like Dolce & Gabana, Ralph Lauren, Dior and whoever makes those 130 euro bras I want. We spent way too long there, wandering around in a daze looking at all the shiny.

From there we went to dinner, at a little place on the rue Mouffetard where we had racklette (I actually have no idea how to spell that). They give you a plate with pieces of cheese and meat, and a heater-ma-bob with little tiny pan things. You put a piece of cheese in your little pan and let it melt on the heater while you cut up a potatoe and some meat. When the cheese is nice and melty you pour it all over the potatoe and meat, then let another piece of cheese melt while you eat. It is freaking delicious, and everyone should go there and eat it. But don't order the blueberry tart, because it was icky.

After dinner Marie and her mama walked me home. During the walk Ingrid decided that she was obsessed with my neighborhood and should move there.

Now I'm home, and my legs hurt. But in a good way.

Oh, somewhere during the course of the past two days Marie decided that crepes, or pancakes as she calls them, are the new pizza. Because they are flat. And because you can eat whatever you want in them. And because every country makes them a little differently--for example, America's are the fattest. Just like with pizza. Pancake: the new pizza. Possibly the best thing Marie has ever said.

Lastly, we saw a woman carrying a cat in a box in the metro. Don't know what that was about. I love the French.