My 2011 Christmas Card**

**sent to friends and family, printed and folded in my handmade holiday cards, with the inscription "Bonne Fêtes! Bonne année! Bises!". 

An American Christmas

December 2011

Copain and I landed at LAX on December 17^th, stopped in at Yogurtland for some American frozen yogurt goodness and promptly hopped back on the congested LA freeway until we arrived in my Christmas-light bedazzled childhood neighborhood. Ah, to be home for the holidays!

My Dad had branched out from the usual single strand of red and green alternating lights, adding some lamp post décor and a lit up angel near the front porch. Now that’s what I call holiday spirit.

After treating our suitcases for any potential bed bugs picked up along our travels (you may think I’m crazy but read bedbugger.com and you’ll never want to be near a traveling suitcase again!), I was finally able to enjoy all that is Christmas at our cozy house - a gigantic illuminated Christmas tree, the decorations from my childhood (life-size Santa doll, the tie I accidentally cut while wrapping for my Dad, which has now become the annual piece de resistance on our Christmas tree, the little light-up snow igloo and peppermints in bowls all over the house…). But the part that I had forgotten was the American Christmas card. 

My Mom had started collecting all of the 2011 cards that our family had already received in a large brass bowl.  My brother and I took them out, one by one, and started reading about the people we grew up with, their kids, their kids’ kids and all that was going on in their lives.  Copain sat next to us on the couch, utterly confused - what on earth were these narratives, printed on holiday paper and sent with a photo?! After spending every Christmas in France until 2011,  I realized that he had so much to learn about the American holiday season - so much beyond the succinct French New Year’s Card which generally consists of the following:

Bonnes Fêtes! Bonne Année! Bises! (Happy Holidays, Happy New Years, Kisses)

I fully plan on filling Copain in on the following American amazingness (in no particular order):

Egg nog - leave it to us Americans to mix up raw eggs, dairy fat and spices and call it a holiday drink. It will be hard to explain this one to the vin-chaud drinking Frenchman, but I fully intend on doing it.

Christmas lights, Candy Cane Lane style - I’ve already told Copain about the most-decorated street in our neighborhood and about how we all drive around in a big circle admiring the lights. Copain has already expressed his disgust in the fact that this activity is a driving activity and has requested that we actually park, get out of the car, and walk. We are considering his request, but with this cold California winter we’re having, we may not make it outside for long…

Sees Candy- it’s a well-known fact that a home without Sees Candy over the holidays is Scrooge-ville - or is trying to make it through the holidays on Atkins. Thankfully, with my Dad’s police department hook up to the Sees Candy seconds store (the ugly chocolates that don’t make the cut!) there’s never a chocolate shortage Chez the FCC clan. So far, I’ve introduced Copain to Milk Chocolate Butter Creams, Scotch Mallows and Dark Chocolate Butter Chews. Perhaps if I’m feeling motivated, I’ll take him to the real live Sees Candy store for a free sample - the Frenchman in him, the part that wants anything for free five hundred times more than if he actually had to pay for it, even if it’s just a newspaper at the airport or the free socks on Air Tahiti Nui, will LOVE me for it.

Secret Santa - now this has been a very hard concept for Copain, but we’re trying to be patient with him.  Lists, secrets, waiting for actual Christmas day to open a present? After 28 years of knowing his gift by December 10^th and having no one to buy presents for but Maman and Papa, this whole Secret Santa thing with the FCCs has thrown him for a loop. Wait until we make him put on red and green pjs on the 24^th - he won’t even know what hit him.

The Schedule - would you think any less of my family? Of course there is a Christmas day schedule! This is how it has been from the beginning of time, and this is how it will be until the end of time. It goes like this:

1. The first one to wake up runs around waking up everyone else. This used to be my little brother and sister, but now it’s the old farts who can’t sleep.
2. Make the coffee. You are not allowed to go into the Christmas Tree And Stocking Area until Mom has her coffee. This rule now also applies to all of the other coffee-addicts in the house.
3. Once coffee is running through our veins and Dad has turned on Nat King Cole and made a fire - even if it’s 80 degrees outside - we can open our stockings.
4. When stockings are done, it’s time for breakfast which always consists of: more coffee, orange juice, bacon, and Pillsbury cinnamon rolls from the can that makes the scary pop when you open it.
5. Fight about who gets the cinnamon roll in the middle of the pan with the most frosting.
6. Only when breakfast is over may we open presents - one by one- until there are no more presents to open. Dad gets a cheap thrill by filling up a trash bag with wrapping paper and ribbons.
7. Getting dressed is not an option. Pjs stay on for the rest of the day.

Christmas Movies - American Christmas 101 would not be complete without making Copain watch Elf, Christmas Vacation, and The Christmas Story. If he does not know the significance of “You’ll shoot your eye out!” by the end of the December, I will consider myself an utter failure.

So in true multi-cultural form - and in honor of our first Christmas in the U.S of A, we present to you the Franco-American holiday card:

We are loving our Parisian adventure in our mini-apartment, nestled in the 11^th arrondissement.  Copain has begun his CPA training while he works as a financial auditor, and I continue to work (at my non-blog-able job) in the Marais. We spend our weekends testing out the endless Parisian restaurants (which I love writing about on my blog), buying fruits and veggies at the crazy Marche at Place d’Aligre - (where Copain loves bartering - everything for one euro!!), and exploring the nooks and crannies that make up the City of Light. We are avid bike riders and use the public  bike system called Velib - FCC the American wears a helmet and Copain the Frenchie does not.  Trying not to die is the goal as we ride alongside the crazy Parisian drivers. We zip up and down the Seine river and still have to pinch ourselves when we stop on the Pont Neuf bridge and look out over the beautiful ville de Paris.

Our life is not all baguettes and cafes, we’ve also become pros at the art of living in small spaces and have resigned ourselves to the fact that we will never be homeowners in the fabulously expensive French capital. Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing, since most apartment windows are still from the 1800s and exploding pipes and the subsequent water damage that ensues, are de rigueur. We have thus invested in a super duper dehumidifier and are hoping that we both get Snuggies this Christmas - insulation is not our apartment‘s strong point.

In happier news, I got French nationality in November 2010 and Copain came back from 6 months of travel and study in the United States. Our new favorite hobby is to play “My country is better than yours“. Don’t worry, I usually win. Mostly because I can fight to the death and Copain would rather watch a French political satire show on his Ipad that continues to poke fun at the American political system and Americans in general. We are a happy home.

So as you gather with friends and family for the 2011 holiday season, we wish you all the strange American holiday goodness in the world and the good ol’ French standard:

Bonnes Fêtes! Bonne Année! Bises!

Love,

FCC and Copain (who thinks this card is really weird and way too long.)

A Very Rude Thing - So Says Copain

After almost seven years together, Copain and I know each other pretty well. However, it does happen, as it did today, that we experience the cultural clash that is bound to happen when a Frenchie and an American decide to create a life together.

I was coming home from my Lai Thai massage, when I saw Copain fly by on a Velib and park it in front of our apartment.  I was sure that he hadn't seen me so I yelled out his last name.  He didn't turn around, so I did it again, this time louder.  Nothing. Finally, I yelled out his first name - Copain! And this time, he turned around and said, "What did you just call me?!".  He was clearly very pissed off.

My excitement to see him dissipated as he told me how rude I had just been to call him by his last name and how much he HATES to be called by his last name.

Wait - what?

When we finally got over being mad at each other - him for me calling him by his last name, and me for him being mad about something so stupid - we sat down to talk it out.

Copain tried to explain that in France, calling someone by their last name is a Very Rude Thing to do. Then I tried to explain to him that in America, it's definitely not a Very Rude Thing to do.  Even as I type this, I'm having a hard time comprehending that calling someone by their last name can be considered rude. In the states, when I was in college, it was almost like a fun nickname we gave to people. And still, today, I call my good friend over at My Riviera Wedding by her last name! She usually joins right in and calls me by my last name...

So, I need help from any Frenchie readers out there - is this really a Very Rude Thing in the land of wine and cheese?  Have I been a rude American for the past seven years without even knowing it?  Help!

Effortless

Much to Copain's chagrin, I haven't highlighted my hair since September 2010.  That's almost a full year sans highlights after over 15 years of blond.  C'est fou n'est pas?


I've always been annoyed by the never-ending root issue and the obligation to shell out 80 to 100 Euros every 3 months, but what really got me thinking was the effortless française.  Somehow French women have mastered the art of effortless - breezy, chic, pulled together with what looks like very little effort. Makeup is minimal,  hair is fairly natural and clothes are subdued, elegant. Moi aussi, je veux être comme ça!

During a massage my desire for effortless was really driven home when the masseuse told me that where my blond hair may look cheap, at least I didn't have wrinkles. Yay for the glass being half-full.

That was it, I thought - plus de balayage! Plus de blond! Effortless would be mine. Unfortunately, I'm still waiting for effortless because my blond has yet to completely grow out (I'm currently sporting the two-tone look), but I do feel like I am on my way.  En plus, this effortless thing does not come naturally to me - which is supposed to be the point n'est pas? Can you blame me though? I grew up in Southern California, home of Botox and boob jobs.

The big beauty difference was made clearer to me during my recent trip to the land of highlights and acrylic nails. I don't know one French person with acrylic nails, and while some of my friends do color their hair, very few choose blond. Take a trip to Cali, however, and you are in blondie-acrylic-nail central. Nail salons located on every corner (and in every mall) offer 10 massage chairs to anyone and everyone needing a mani/pedi toute de suite. 

Okay, perhaps more like 20 chairs 

(merci to my oh-so-sly partner in crime who "posed" for our awkward nail salon photo)

Just one of many...

Perhaps I'm stereotyping and generalizing but.... ehhh, well...

Cleavage is another phenomenon that is presque non-existant in France. Bare breasts are okay for the beach but les françaises keep them elegantly hidden in their soutien gorges at all other times. Fly into LAX however, and you are basically boobified from the runway. I know I sound like a grand mère when I say this, but after almost 7 years here in France, the site of cleavage anywhere but la plage shocks me quite frankly.

French fashion and elegance has been talked about for ages (and let's be real, the Frenchies also have their fair share of tacky country bumpkins), but overall, there is a certain je ne sais quoi here in France.  Something that les françaises have mastered (for my Frenchie readers, as a fairly recent française, I'm certainly open to pointers :-).

About two more haircuts and I'll be that much closer to effortless - which unfortunately has taken me a good amount of effort to achieve...(On multiple occasions I've literally had to talk myself away from the home hair coloring kits sold at Monoprix. NEVER a good idea FCC. NEVER a good idea.).

All is not lost however...when I came home from California with a French manicure (suggested by the nail lady who did the manicures for the women at my brother's wedding), Copain took one look at it and asked me, "why did you do that?!" - which is exactly what I was (guiltily) thinking while the woman was doing it.  I thought that I was being snotty, but it turns out I was just being française.

My very American nails - why do they call it a French manicure anyways??

Behind the Times en France

Not to be all pro-America or anything but why is it that France is always behind the times?  I know, I know, Internet was first invented in France and la mode is always popping up in Paris first, but in all other arenas, America takes the gold.

I don't always keep track of examples of this slow advancement in France, but while grocery shopping on Saturday I noticed this:

You may not be able to tell from the photo, but that entire blue section is all gluten-free food. Gluten-free is a new thing in France whereas it has been a Trader Joes staple for I don't know how long. Back in Toulouse when I thought I may have Celiac disease and tried cutting out all gluten from my diet for a month to see if it made a difference, the only places with gluten-free foods were mini, expensive health food stores.  Well, gluten-free has gone mainstream! It only took France, oh, six years?

In some ways I like that France is not keen on jumping on the bandwagon right away to make a buck.  Heck, frozen yogurt has just made its appearance and look what a money-maker that has been for America.  But France stays true to itself I guess...if it's not broken, don't fix it. If it's not bad, why make it better? While France is slowly but surely following America in its path to being the ultimate "culture of convenience", I am fairly convinced that France will never actually get there. Yes, you can now make an appointment for the Prefecture online, but only in Paris, not in province.  Yes, you can buy Smart boxes (themed-gift cards good for use in multiple establishments) but you can't buy a gift card at your favorite restaurant for a friend's birthday. Yes, you can spend 450, 000 Euros on a one-bedroom apartment in the middle of Paris, but you may have to walk up 6 flights of stairs to get to your front door. And yes, you can wash your clothes in your own washer but you'll probably have to wait a day or two for it to dry because only the lucky few have dryers.

Everything is a process, everything is a song and dance. But then again, if it were easy, I am convinced that France would quickly fall into the trap that America has already fallen into - that's to say, fast food,  immediate satisfaction, car dependency, TiVo mania, and a pace of living that leads to high stress and higher expectations.  Neither country has found the balance - and I can't say that they both don't frustrate me in their own way. But the longer I live here and the more "out of the loop" I am with regard to the new things coming out in the states, when I do hear about something new, the more I realize à quel point la France avance à deux pas.