“Quit staring at my Waffle!”

To start, airport security hates me. I have the worst luck everytime I fly. I’m pretty sure that my name is flagged and that they have me on a list. I was patted down, searched, and delayed by security for almost 10 minutes. Maybe I just have a mischievous face that makes me look like I’m up to something? Nah, that’s not it.

The border free Schengen Area allows travellers within certain European countries to skip customs when they land. It’s a great concept, but they don’t give you a stamp in your passport-which sucks. I paid a lot of money for that little booklet, the least you could do is give me a pretty stamp.

On the bright side, if the French really do hate Americans they do an excellent job of hiding it. I probably would have ended up in the Seine River without the help of a few locals pointing me in the right direction. And incase anyone is wondering, I was NOT drunk on the tour bus this time.

It was my first time staying in a hostel and it was quite the experience. Finding it was the biggest pain in the ass. Thank God for free wifi in the city or I would have ended up setting up camp on a nearby bench.

Throughout the weekend I spent an unhealthy amount of money on gelato/sorbet. I also bought a nutella banana waffle by the Eiffel Tower. It was the best decision I made all weekend. However, it drew in a lot of attention. Everyone that walked by me was staring at my waffle and watching me. I couldn’t tell if they were jealous or judging me. I’m gonna go with jealous. It did get irritating since I was trying to eat in peace and not make a huge nutella mess out of myself. The words, “Quit staring at my waffle!” did come out of my mouth. There was no shame.

Saturday night, after our 11 p.m. dinner, I was invited by an old toothless man, to go out to the bars and have a few drinks. The temptation was strong, but I passed.

Paris really was spectacular. It’s a beautiful city with a lot of beautiful policemen patrolling the area with their guns at the ready. It really is sad that recent terrorist attacks have caused the city to arm the streets. At least they are easy on the eyes so they don’t ruin all of your photos.

A select few will be receiving a postcard from Paris. Consider yourselves lucky, because again, stamps here are mucho dinero.

One quick rant: If you want me to buy your cheap miniature Eiffel Towers do not walk after me yelling “Lady! 1 Euro, buy this!” First of all, I will be nothing close to a lady if you don’t back off. Second of all, no I do not want a pink Eiffel Tower. Merci.

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