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There are two things that you must do while you’re in Paris; smoke cigarettes and eat foie gras. They’re equally the same in terms of American interpretation: they’re both completely indulgent and they’re both really bad for you. But while you’re smoking your Gauloise and eating the fatty liver of a duck, whose been destined for a life among the rich brasseries of Paris, just remember that you wouldn’t be French unless you could appreciate the fattier, finer things in life. There’s also a reason why French women are so fantastically slim and sensual. Many have proposed the theory that they’re merely thin by manner of their walking habits, the fact that they eat smaller portions, or the suggestion that their metabolism just accommodates a smaller framed-person. All of those reasons are certainly acceptable and especially plausible. But I believe that the true reason lies in their carcinogen-inhaling habits. Sure, the Parisians walk more than your average American. They have to! It’s like living in New York city. Only one in 3 (I made this number up) people own a car. But I think the true reason is dictated by a combination of all of the above: they smoke cigarettes, and they therefore have a decreased appetite. Their decreased appetite enables them to eat smaller portions (it’s also what you’re served here), and the fact that they walk all day…well, that speaks for itself.

Today I did not have breakfast--probably because I didn’t wake up ‘till 11 (damn jet lag). I took the Metro to Sacre Coeur, where I walked close to 1000 steps exiting the underground, walked all through Montmartre, then hopped the Metro back to the 5th, where I exited St. Michael, bought a “Trois Fromage” Panini, walked to Notre Dame, ate, and then walked the 20 minutes back to my apartment. After talking with my parents via skype, I walked another 2 hours through le Saint Germain, down through the Latin Quarter, past all of the fantastic Middle Eastern restaurants, and back another 20 minutes to my apartment, stopping briefly along the Seine to take some photos and pop a couple of glucose tablets. I changed my clothes, had a glass of wine (of course!) and then walked to Le Buci for dinner where I had 6 escargots bathes in garlic, butter, and parsley sauce, followed by a generous portion of steak tartare, pommes frites, and a small mesclun salad. I met a woman tonight who is a psycho analyst in France. We shared a drink and talked about life in the porn industry, in psychology, and we talked about our husband. Hers regards her as a Madonna. Mine is an addict. Neither one of us knows what to do. So, we had another glass (wine for me; beer for her) and spoke about Freud.

Today was a good day. Its always a bit lonely visiting a new place by yourself. But somehow in Paris…I don’t feel so alone.