Ikea

I could hardly contain my excitement once we walked though Ikea's glorious sliding doors. I had been informed (via my sister) of the general set-up: there would be a sort of "exposition" area - with complete Ikea-furnished rooms - where you could wistfully mark what you wanted - and then another floor where you would pick it up later. Upon arrival, I realized that not only are these "expositions" just the greatest things in the world, but that you can actually walk through them, touch stuff, and pretend that this kitchen with such great cupboards is actually yours, all yours!

I had honestly been expecting the exposition rooms to be roped off. Can you imagine my excitement at the possibility of playing "house" for the first time as a grown up? Yes, I certainly did pretend to be cooking in that American-style kitchen overlooking the stylish yet airy living room just beyond the kitchen's breakfast bar. Didn't you?

Creative ways to save office space? I'm all about it. Funky towel hangers? Bring it on. Boxes that stack differently to create new bookshelf arrangements? Hell yeah!

Without going into details, Pennsylvania Boy won by having spent the most, but I was a close second. And he had the excuse of having moved into a new apartment last week. Nevertheless, I managed to exceed my predefined spending limit by only nine euros. Nine! I have never forced myself to hold back so much. While I don't necessarily like the look of an entirely Ikea-furnished home, I do believe that I was sorely mistaken in not having bought all of my kitchen utensils, picture frames, rugs, lights, curtains, and pillows at that creative home furnishings shopping wonderland.

Our plan had been to go to Ikea early, beat the crowds, and head back to Paris by afternoon to pick up two other friends. From there, we would head out to the 'burbs for awhile, and then drop off one member of the rather full carload at the airport by 8 pm. Unfortunately, Ikea sucked the Three Americans in for so long that we had to skip the 'burbs entirely, and we still almost missed the airport.

I love Ikea. We just couldn't part.

One last thought: driving in Paris is a funny thing. Everything is fine if you are on one street/boulevard/avenue that goes straight. But why do seven streets have to keep converging at once? And why is it totally unclear where exactly you're supposed to turn? My friendly navigators would say, "Go straight" and I would respond, "There are two straights!" And how does everyone else seem to understand this? And why did every turn I made have to be a leftwardly one?

The mysteriously devised French system was most pronounced when I boldly drove through the Place Charles de Gaulle-Etoile. For those that aren't familiar with it, it's the big circle around the Arc de Triomphe that you see in pictures or on postcards only as lines of thousands of cars' headlights. Those lines of cars are coming from eight? nine? ten? different huge avenues that all come together around the Arc - the biggest avenue of which is the Champs-Elysees (which I managed not only to drive down once, but up once as well). There are two things to know about that circle: 1) there are no rules concerning right-of-way. Everyone is out for him or herself in a speeding circle ruled only by survival-of-the-fittest and 2) Because of this, all insurance is void in the circle. If an accident happens, it's your own fault, whether somebody ran into you, or you ran into them. Car insurance just simply does not apply. To anyone, in any situation.

This is fine when you are not particularly concerned about keeping important limbs intact, or if you are driving your parents dinged-up Pinto that they were thinking about chucking anyway. But when you are renting a Mercedes for the day (it's the only kind EasyCar has to offer - I wouldn't have paid the extra price for a Mercedes. And it comes with an atrocious EasyCar orange adverisement along both side panels, as well as along the back window. But at least now I can say I have driven a Mercedes through Paris...doesn't that just sound snobby as hell? And another note - those are damn nice cars to drive), you know you're pretty much screwed if you fuck up.

I am proud to say that there were no terrified screams from the backseat at any point during the day - including our two visits to the Circle of Death - and that I was honked at as many times as I honked at someone else (one). My honking karma has therefore remained intact.

And my house looks a lot prettier, too.