How Do You Say "My Feet Are Going Going To Stop Working" in French?

Fucking Hannah Montana. That bitch is everywhere. If I may be honest, I did not come to France to eat French food and experience French culture and see French stuff. I came to France to get the hell away from Hannah fucking Montana. Of course, I did not know that this is why I came to France when I left America. I only noticed that this was my intention when I kept seeing that fake blonde hair with the fake (I'm certain of it.) white teeth and the weird, slightly inbred looking face of hers everywhere. I hate Hannah Montana. Make no mistake about it, if I got the chance I would throw her in the deep end of a pool with the hope that no one ever bothered to teach her to swim.

So, I've nearly been murdered twice today. And three times yesterday. I don't know what the French laws are regarding bicylclular homicide but I'm pretty sure if I had the right information about the people that nearly killed me, I would be able to get a couple of people convicted of attempted murder. I know what you're thinking. "Pay attention, Tiffany. You're in a foreign city. You must be careful." But I am being careful. I am paying attention. I am so completely aware of my surroundings that if someone were to ask me to describe the guy who sat behind me while I had coffee today, I could tell you every detail down to whether or not his pants had a hem and pleats (Hem. No pleats.) These people are just riding around in a murderous rage, targeting innocent people. They don't even ring the bells provided on every French bicycle I've seen. They aim and hope for the worst. When people insinuated that Paris was dangerous, I had no idea they were speaking of the people on two wheels. I don't want to die. Someone has to do something about this.

While we're on the subject, I would like to note that French people are not rude. I don't know who the hell put this idea out there that they are all snooty and stuck up and unwilling to help (Well, except the people who ride bicycles. They're all assholes. But that is true in America and probably everywhere else in the universe.). I just want to clear this up. French people are nice. They are helpful. And they are, for the most part, infuriatingly well dressed. Which, I suppose is why I cannot find a single pair of comfortable shoes.

I'm very seriously considering amputating my own feet. Or at least my toes. I know what you're thinking. "You should have brought comfortable shoes, Tiffany. You're in a foreign country. Don't be an idiot." But I did bring comfortable shoes. It's just, they aren't comfortable anymore. I don't even know why God bothered putting feet on a person like me. He must have known all I was going to do was complain about them.

This morning, I went to Sacre Couer. I think that means Holy Cross. It is conveniently perched atop the most astonishingly steep hill I have ever had the displeasure of traversing in my life. Now, listen, I'm not complaining. I'm just saying. There was a tram I could have taken to make my way conveniently up the hill in one sixteenth of the time but I didn't want to do that for a couple of reasons. One, there were about 500 people wearing Birkenstocks and black socks waiting in line for the tram tickets. I did not want to deal with them and it would have been absolutely absurd for me to wait for them to thin out so I could buy own ticket. That is something a crazy person would do. Also, I did not want to miss anything. So I took the Hell Steps. These are so called (by me) because this is what they place in the seventh circle of Hell. You have to walk up these steps while all of the German people on the tram point and laugh at you. The people who receive this punishment are those that kill their own mothers or purchase impractical shoes. If you ask me, the punishment is a little severe for my taste but you live and learn, ya know? Anyway. I made it up the hill and into the basilica. And it was worth it. You can't take pictures inside because, you know, the flash would offend God and the French and I know there were some Japanese tourists in there freaking out. But I understand. Flashes are a little, um, flashy for church. And besides, it's really something you must see. Put it on your bucket list. The beauty of it literally made me cry. The other thing you're supposed to do is shut the hell up once you're inside. This is a concept most did not grasp. But it was beautiful. Beautiful and hot and loud. But worth it.

Later, I stumbled upon an even larger, more beautiful cathedral. This one was completely empty but for six or seven very quiet, very reverent people. And it was cool. I couldn't figure out why there weren't more people there and then I realized, it's not on top of an inconvenient hill. Who wants to visit a cool, quiet, elderly sanctuary of bliss if it is not a huge pain in the ass to get to? Well, besides me. Sainte Germaine, I think it's called. They have an 11:30 mass on Sunday. I am so there. That may very well be the highlight of my trip. I wish I had balls enough to take pictures of it. But I'm quite terrified of offending God. Just in case He's French.