How to Eat a Falafel on the Rue des Rosiers:

step 1: find a innocent falafel eater who is about to take a bite and join in!

step 2: Feel so many emotions because that falafel bite was the most delicious thing you've ever eaten and the fact that there is unidentified red sauce on the tip of your nose is irrelevant during this moment of falafel bliss.

Step 3: Suddenly become a wild boar and stop resembling a human being.

step 3: Take a moment to breath and swallow.

5. Repeat.

un chat est né sur mon genou.

HELLO MY FRIENDS. Tomorrow night I leave for Paris FOREVER. Just kidding. I wish. Two friends from high school and I are going to Paris for 14 days to eat crepes and wear berets and feed croissants to pigions along the Seine. Tres chouette-- HYPER COOL (french slang I learned in my 8th grade text book, obviously.) You might be wondering what that fashion forward donkey has to do with my trip. I am too. Moving on.

If you've forgotten what I look like as a parisian think no further:

14 GLORIOUS DAYS WITH MY TWO LOVLY LADS. Wikka wikka YEAH.

so excited. more posts to come.

SWISS MISS

We all remember Heidi, the little swiss girl who ran around the Alps with her grandfather, not for her knack to befriend the casual goat who always happened to be next to her, or for her enormously puffed sleeved-- but FOR HER HAIR. I always admired her masterful ways at creating piles of braids atop her head, and ten years later, my favorite childhood book is being dug out of the bookshelf. Summer is HOT, and instead of cutting my glorious locks (you see, I have bangs now), I will instead resemble a swiss 6 year old and rock the braided 'do.

If however, my braiding fails me, I will be forced to channel Alexander McQueen and fill my head with butterflies. (I JUST SAW THIS IN REAL LIFE. OHMYGOD. EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO HAS NOT SEEN THE ALEXANDER MCQUEEN SHOW AT THE MET AND IS ABLE MUST GO IMMEDIATELY.)

But actually, kudos to this guy who realized that perhaps the Met isn't keen on lending out crucial pieces to exhibits and actually filled his head with butterflies.

summer.summer.summer.

FINALZ.

Yes you lovely ladies- I am still at school. Are all of my friends respective colleges out? Yes. Is High School out? Yes. Is the middle school down the street out? Yes. Is the freakin Northfield elementary school out? YES (actually unclear, but that's besides the point.)

In an effort to not study for my french final, i've accumulated 8 ways to escape the finals madness:

1. Eat your toes and promptly be sent to the Northfield Clinic:

2. Eat so many sandwiches that you have a food baby, and then people think you are having a real baby:

3. Say SCREW YOU. WE DON'T FOLLOW STANDARDS:

4. Blend in to your surroundings:

5. Run away:

6. Float down Lyman Lake on an inflatable pretzel only to return on Sunday:

7. Be so stressed out that your hair refuses to lay flat on the left side of your head and you will be forced to go to the Cities and deal with that situation:

8. Hide: