My name is Katie and I'm addicted to the internet (Hi, Katie)

Bonjour mes amis! I meant to write in this thing earlier, but I have been in that dark scary unknown of the wi fi free apartment. It's a sad, scary place. Whenever I go multiple days without a home Internet connection, I'm alarmed by the desperation that consumes my life. I go to bed at night wondering, what did Barack Obama email me about today? Did Michelle email me, too? What about Joe? I haven't heard from him in awhile, is he mad at me because I made fun of his verbal diarrhea again? I'm sorry Joe, I have that problem, too. I'll stop judging you. Actually I won't. Because a world where I can't mock people regardless of my own abilities/personality is a world I have no interest in. It's okay, though, because I accept mockery in return. Belittling is a two way street, it's only fair. And anyway, it builds character. So suck it up, Joe, don't be such a Jerry.

That being said, I'm still without Internet. Fortunately I found a bar/restaurant with free wifi. And since it's 5:30, it's moved from coffee to wine time (that happens at 3pm, for future reference), so that's the activity of the evening. I have decided that tomorrow is the day I investigate internet. My faith in my language abilities has rendered me nervous to try. However, last night I found myself saying at 11pm, "ok, I'm going to put on some pants and walk to that corner where I know there's an unlocked wireless network I can access until I feel creepy/unsafe". Self check 101: if you find yourself engaging in this kind of self-talk, it's time to change something. Going to a corner at 11pm to get a fix of something makes me feel I have too much in common with a hooker, something I'm just not comfortable with at my age. I gave myself a pep talk last night, though, I told myself I'm a grown ass woman, I don't need to be afraid of the cell phone store. Kind of like how Kevin McCallister talked himself down from his fear of his basement/furnace. I'm imagining the cell phone store as a talking furnace and I'm going to go all Kevin Mccallister on it, if you know what I mean. If you have to ask me who Kevin McCallister is, I don't think we should be friends. At least do some googling so you don't embarrass yourself.

I thought my french was decent, but I realized that the topics about which I am most able to converse are not conducive to completing adult tasks, such as finding apartments, setting up bank accounts, making friends, etc. Mostly any topic not having to do with what color house one lives in, if they enjoy riding bikes on Sunday afternoons, or if they feel strongly one way or another about ice cream is pretty much off the table. I do believe you can tell everything you need to know about someones character based on their feelings toward ice cream, but that doesn't change the fact that it won't help me procure an internet connection. There were situations where I would order food, but then the waiters would ask me something I wasn't expecting and I'd be think, "Nooooo! You're deviating from the script!!!!"

The only reason I have abandoned my drifter lifestyle is that I have a guardian angel, and his name is Jean-Pierre. I showed up to his office last week, a half hour late due to my inability to properly locate anything (my lost wandering technique has it faults, this I am finally willing to admit), he gave me the keys to the apartment of his friend, who is on sabbatical this year, then took me to the bank and cosigned on an account with me, since I was otherwise unable to open one without an official address. He had known me for 45 minutes when he volunteered to be financially responsible for me. As we were leaving, he invited me over for a big french dinner. When I lose faith in humanity from here on out, I will think of Jean-Pierre and that will get me through anything Kim Kardiashian or Guiliana Ranic does. Guiliana is shoving "exclusive" pictures of her "miracle baby" in my face again? Whatever, Jean-Pierre's probably helping some lost American find an apartment right now. Take that, Guiliana. Speaking of Guiliana, because I just can't help it, she needs to stop calling her baby "the miracle the world's been waiting for the last six years". For a miracle baby, he's pretty boring.

In other news, I have been in my apartment for a week and have already consumed two huge loaves of bread, two wheels of brie cheese, and half a container of nutella. I started to worry I was going to show symptoms of malnourishment/vitamin deficiency, so I ate 5 bananas this afternoon. I coated 3 of them with nutella, but that is neither here nor there. The vitamins are at work.

 I have to go now, because I have some googling to do before I leave this heaven of Internet access. Suri's Burn Book is not going to read itself. I'm starting to do this work thing now, so I'll report on more than my eating habits next time. I did get my schedule, however, and I only work Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. COME VISIT ME. The end.

P.S. The restaurant I'm at is showing Animal Planet on 5 big screen TVs. I just saw a bunch of antelope get theirs at the hands of some bad ass lions. This is an interesting choice for dinner time background TV. But I guess we should all be aware of the circle of life before participating in it.