Ok, ok. I know. You have all so anxiously been awaiting my birthday report. If this is any indication, I have been laying face down on my bed alternately hacking and moaning since the faithful event. Truth is, I came down with a pretty nasty fever the day before my birthday, but convinced myself that it was just allergies, and that 4 hours in a smoke-filled cave would be the next best thing to a hypoallergenic bubble. In retropsect, I probably should've cancelled the festivities and gone to bed. Instead I participated in a hedonistic orgy of self-medication...caipirinhas, cosmos, Fée Vertes (that translates literally as "green fairies", and consists of flaming absinthe...). So I felt just great! I drank, I talked, I opened presents, I talked, I danced, I sang Serge Gainsbourg songs over the tech house background, I could no longer talk, I mobilized troups to another bar where many Fee Vertes were consumed (thought the Flaming Moe's song while my drink and the bar were being lit on fire, although could no longer sing). All-in-all, a good time was had by all. Oh, and get this. People here actually give presents! I was shocked! I received all kinds of fun things and was astounded by how people who barely know me were able to choose things that were so perfect for my personality...like sake in a juice box (with a bendy straw and everything) or a foot massager that looks like a torture device. But enough about presents. Everyone was thanked profusely the more and more I drank.

The next day, I figured that I was just tired from the night before. Went about my day as normal. Found that everyone was being really nice to me: the lady who offered to take my garbage down for me, the two boys who threw themselves in front of the metro doors to keep them open for me (and metro doors in Paris are not quite as forgiving as NY subway doors; they'll take your arm off)...went to a really neat restaurant with Stephane called L'Auberge du Clou, which was founded in 1883 and frequented by several generations of artists including Toulous-Lautrec, Erik Satie, Claude Debussy, Jean Cocteau...I thought it would be all touristy, but it wasn't at all. It was adorable and the food was yummy. I had the best dessert I've ever had in my life: tarte à l'orange brulée. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it was divine. And that dessert pretty much marked the peak of my birthday experience. After that I pretty much spent 4 days moping around and coughing everytime I tried to say something.

As you can guess, nothing held much interest for me (except watching Bridget Jones' Diary and reading Naked by David Sedaris) and my blog suffered. I apologize. I have been having many blog-like thoughts that I have been to weak to realize. Like introducing the "wedgie" to France via Stephane's 8-year old sister. Or thinking I could learn to love Gefilte fish and then nearly vomiting when I gave it a second chance. But alas, these fleeting giggles will not be immortalized, as Mandounette combats a nasty case of consumption.