Let's Get Kebabs, or He Saw Me Take My Pants Off Through the Window

I’m housesitting. I call it this because, though I’m paying out the wazoo to stay here with this family, they are not here, ever, and the last thing they said to me was, “Bye, Kali, take care of our cat.”

I have yet to see the cat.

I filled his bowl once, and now it’s a little lower, and I didn’t eat that cat food, so I suppose he’s around here somewhere.

On Tuesday I had my fantastic Let’s Celebrate Kali’s New Circumstances party. We grocery shopped after school, then all the girls took the bus to my house (which, shockingly enough, takes even longer than biking—go figure.) We cooked magret de canard, cheese soufflé,
and brownies, as well as a salad of greens with Basque vinaigrette and a sliced baguette with warm goat cheese and honey. I was pretty freakin proud of myself and my cuisineering skillz.

We also had three different types of wine, all of which we finished, and then we wasted our night playing with a wig we found in the laundry room. It was fantastic.

Tonight I went on a date with my best friend. Since we're not in any of the same classes and rarely see one another, we make it a point to go out at least once each week to eat, drink, catch up, and talk shit about everyone else :) We always go to the same kebab restaurant--the Algerian men behind the counter know us and give us the VIP treatment by escorting us upstairs to the private party room, giving us discounts, and tonight--for the first time--bringing us cups of hot tea on a cold night and saying, "Pour vous, un cadeau"--for you, a gift. They also gave us "frequent buyer" cards that they double stamp sometimes, so in a couple more weeks we can eat entirely for free :) Mmmm, free kebabs....

So last week our Kebab Night fell on the same day that I had bought my first pair of skinny jeans. I was thrilled, naturally (first of all because they actually fit!!!), and just wanted to rip them outta their bag and put my grubby little hands all over them. We arrived at the restaurant, the owner took us upstairs, and I immediately took them out of the bag to show M. She oohed and ahhed, and I was suddenly overcome--absolutely OVERCOME--with the urge to put them on. M told me she'd keep guard (which really just meant inspecting her nails in the general vicinity of the doorway, listening intently for footsteps which would signify that it was too late for me anyway) and I proceeded to remove my pants.

Let me justify my actions for a second. It was raining, hard (I know, raining in Pau? Never!) I was soaked. My pants, recently unwashed, were at that slightly-too-long stage where they just barely touch the ground, then act as a sponge until my jeans become heavy with water at about knee-level. I was freezing, and the idea of having ready-to-wear new clothes at my disposal was simply too good.

I have to say, nothing is quite as thrilling as changing pants in the lavishly-decorated upstairs room of a corner kebab restaurant in France. I hope that somewhere, someday, I can find someone with whom to compare experiences. Until then, I think I'm just talking to myself.

Regardless, I changed pants, I didn't get caught, and we ate our delicious kebabs with nary a care in the world. Afterwards we biked to le Garage, my favorite bar on the entire earth, and bought each other a couple of demi-pêches. Basically, imagine the cheapest, worst beer in the world. Then, put it in an artfully blown glass, add a few squirts of peach syrup, and you've got a cheap delicious drink that all college students can afford. It's a dream come true!

The Garage is a fun place to hang out because it's owned by an Irish guy, so there's always rugby playing on the TV. Plus, the bartenders (especially the really cute one) speak great English. It's fun to go there and relax after a loooong day of learning, eating, speaking, breathing, dreaming in French, so we chose it as our Recuperation Station. It's a great mid-week pick-me-up, a way to say, "Self, keep on keepin' on! If you make it another 7 days, I'll give you a treat, and it rhymes with 'shebobs and semi-tesh'."

C'est la vie.