I’m feeling a bit disappointed at the moment. OKCupid guy just canceled. Normally, I’d shrug this kind of thing off; it happened all the time to me in New York. But a few days ago I realized how great it would be to have a French boyfriend. (I actually have this reverse fantasy of being in a relationship with one and getting into fights, him yelling in French and me in English. Followed by post-argument sex, bien sûr.) That night I had met up with a girlfriend from college who has been living here with a Parisian boy for the past few years. Her French is now impeccable. Becoming fluent is one of my top goals for the year, and hearing her talk made me face the unfortunate reality that my French is good, but, um, not that good.

These government-sponsored condom ads have been causing a bang in Paris (heh, heh). Translation of the dog-themed slogans: “Man’s best friend.” And because France is so egalitarian: “Woman’s best friend” too. OK, boy, now lie down!

My first week in Paris is coming to a close, and, generally, I’m feeling super positive about things. My apartment could not be more perfect. It’s incredible teeny, but has two windows overlooking the Seine (eeee!), and at night the tourist boats pass by, illuminating the entire room for a few seconds with their lights. (See some pics here!) I spent the first two days alone, running all over town to take care of paperwork and get things for the house. I had been feeling pretty lonely up until last night when I went out with a mutual friend, whom I’d never met before, to have Vietnamese food and see some French pop bands at a grungy-yet-hip underground club in Belleville. There were many, many cute boys there who definitely have improved style since the last time I was here four years ago. Now, instead of wide-leg jeans and ribbed turtlenecks, they’re sporting leather jackets, thick-rimmed glasses, and the type of sweaters you know you’d steal if you were dating. It goes without saying that I will be frequenting this place a lot.

Most summer vacations for teenage girls involve getting a job at the local Dairy Queen or tempting skin cancer at the beach. But in France, hundreds of girls disappear each summer when they are sent abroad and forced into marriages with men they’ve never met. Most of the victims are Muslim and of Asian, African, or Middle Eastern descent, so the government has generally considered it a cultural or religious issue. But since other European countries like England have governmental units that track down women who are forced into marriages in their countries of origin, we’re happy that France is just starting to keep up with the times. The French school system is working to set up an alert system for these girls who never return to school in the fall and last year they published a guide to help officials suss out forced marriages. The government is even making efforts to protect girls who want to annul their marriages. [Reuters]

I can’t believe I leave for Paris tomorrow. I haven’t slept in two nights. I’m so wired. The past week has been a complete whirlwind. Between packing, last-minute doctor appointments, and taking care of arrival details, I’ve also been organizing tons of goodbyes. I’ve lived in New York City for most of my life (I was born here and grew up in Manhattan), so I didn’t think I’d feel sentimental about leaving this city that feels so normal. And normalness, as you may know, is my pet peeve these days. But all of a sudden, I do feel a pang of sadness, not so much for my surroundings, but for the people in them.  My whole family is here, and we’re very close. My biggest fear is that I’ll come back from Paris a year later to find everyone’s changed. Who knows—by the time I return, Big Sister could have a baby, or my parents could suddenly be old.

Nothing spells quarter-life crisis more than turning your world upside down to move to France without much thought as to how it will affect your career, happiness, relationships, or bank account.

I am about to turn 24 in a few days. And a few days after that, I’m packing up my life into two suitcases (somehow) and moving to Paris for a year. While I don’t quite fit into the mid-twenties bracket when the quarter-life crisis traditionally sets in, I knew about six months ago that it was beginning to happen.

Two years out of college, the regularity of my life had become puzzling. On the one hand, I realized how I was settling in with the idea of being a “grown-up.” On the other, the lack of transitions was starting to get to me. It’s ironic how you spend the first 22 years (if not more) of your life in transition with markers of beginnings and ends. Change, to me, was a comforting constant.

During this two-year period, I began dreaming of Paris. I’d spent my junior year abroad there. It wasn’t the most fantastic year of my life, and I even left the city thinking I’d never be able to live there again, but, yeah, I changed. A lot.

Forget the crotch shot ... what’s up with those rad shoes? [Ladiesroom.fr]

Jack, why are you lying on the sidewalk? I understand that you are on vacation in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, France, and I am sure you are feeling very relaxed, indeed, and I hear that the mechanics were working on your boat, but a public nap? Well, you are Jack Nicholson. So, I guess that means you can do whatever you want. [Splash News, 8/11/09]

Ahh, oui, gay Pareeee, citeee of l’amour where we Parisiens smoke les cigarettes and drink ze wine all day is, how you say? Bohémien?

Maybe not anymore. France, the country once known for indulgence, freedom, and luxury has been doing some legal housecleaning in the past few years that may change its image permanently. What, I cannot smoke here? Non! Picnic with my wine? Non!

After thinking a lot about that crazy singles map of the US and how all the ladies on the East Coast are screwed, I got back to my navel gazing about what it means to be single. (I have plenty time alone to think about these things.) I moved on from my bubble of self-absorption (played out) and started wondering what it must be like to be single in other countries—not that I’m thinking of fleeing or anything. Is it better in France where fidelity is not a cultural moray? Is it worse in India with the caste system and arranged marriages? And what are those cold singles in Iceland doing to stay warm? Well wonder no more, because Liz Tuccillo (Mrs. “She’s Not That Into You” and former “Sex and the City” writer) is travlling the globe to demystify singlehood in an awesome web series called, “How to be Single.” Um…amazing! After the jump, a few of my fave revelations from single sisters around the world. [Your Tango]

Toward the end of last month, French President Nicolas Sarkozy addressed Parliament, stating his position on burqas. He said the face-covering, body-length Muslim veils are an unacceptable symbol of “enslavement,” and that it’s not a religious issue, but simply a “sign of the subjugation, of the submission, of women.”

This discussion has resulted in threats from Muslim groups outside of France, but Parliament hasn’t made a decision on the matter just yet. A committee held its first meeting today, and Jean-Francois Cope, the head of the governing conservative party UMP, suggested a two-stage ban of burqas. Meaning there would be “six months to a year of dialogue, explanation, and warnings” before the ban would go into effect.

The French seem to do everything better. They’ve got awesome healthcare, don’t get fat, and have closets full of Chanel. Apparently, they also know how party on the 4th of July—with a city-wide treasure hunt in Paris, called Les Trésors de Paris (the treasures of Paris). The day-long experience leads groups through sets of riddles that take them to destinations that even Paris natives might not know about like secret gardens and historical buildings. Along the way, you get to meet shopkeepers and other participating business owners. If you make it to the secret final location in time, you’re entered into a ballot from which you get the chance to win rad prizes like swank dinners, hotel stays, or special Paris walking tours. The grand prize gains the winner entrée into an annual secret cabaret that’s one of those invite-only events Parisians clamor to get into. Two other awesome things of note: the hunt was organized in part by the city itself (props to the French government), and in part by a company that specializes in making treasure hunts, which might possibly be the raddest job ever. Except of course, working for TheFrisky. [Tresorsdeparis.fr, English translation available by clicking the U.K. flag item at the bottom of the page]

What’s better than the real Carla Bruni, dressed head-to-toe in Dior, as the first lady of France? Carla Bruni, 16 by 24-feet tall, dressed head-to-toe in nothing, as the subject of a 1994 nude portrait by American photographer Pamela Hansen.

Called “Carla Bruni in Bed,” the photo is, not surprisingly, an image of Bruni, well, in bed. But we’re not talking about the sort of “in bed” that you and I practice, complete with rumpled pajamas, day-old makeup and quite possibly a dirty sock static-clinging to the sheets. We’re talking mid-‘90s-supermodel-dating-Mick-Jagger-at-the-time “in bed.” It’s totally different. And totally hot.

Some female bloggers call the U.K. paper the Daily Mail the “Daily Fail” because the paper likes nothing more than to bait its readers, especially on its women’s interest “Femail” section. It’s the go-to source for incendiary articles about how bosses should distrust women who don’t have children and you can’t have a family and a career. Nope, we weren’t making those up.

But nevertheless, the paper is fascinating to us—especially a recent article about what it is supposedly like to be a French wife. We romanticized about the sexy accents, and yummy facial hair, but zut alors!, it sounds a bit like being the captive of a very demanding tyrant.

Read on for more tips from French wives…  [Daily Mail]

While Europeans are known for spending the summer lazing about the beach topless, we Americans have more modest sunbathing practices, which involve covering up our boobs and bums. But if you’re taking vacation in France this summer, you’ll be able to test the topless waters without showing your peaks to the entire Riviera. Starting in June, Sephora France will stock 50 of its stores with Nippies, those little stickers cute shapes like stars and hearts that cover up your nipples and are normally worn under clothing that don’t allow for a bra to prevent “wardrobe malfunctions.” While Nippes are for sale in the states, Bristols 6, the company behind Nippies, is marketing their use in France as a way to avoid unintended nipple slips at the pool when wearing teeny bikinis, and on their own as an alternative to tops (yes, the adhesive is waterproof). “While topless sunbathing is de riguer in Europe, Nippies are a chic cover-up for less courageous Americans desiring a cool Euro vibe. ... Undercover or exposed, Nippies are a patch of freedom you won’t need to hide,” reads a promotional email. Would you wear these sparkly stickers in place of your swimsuit top? [Bristols 6]

Sometimes Bill Cunningham, the New York Times street fashion photographer, takes pictures of French women, and they always look so damn sexy. Granted, the Times is going to choose the best photos, but somehow French women always manage to look more seductive than the average American woman.

Now, it’s silly to stereotype and say that all French women are sexy, but there are definite cultural differences between French women and American women—that’s undeniable. It also seems unarguable that these differences are responsible for that thing French women seem to have. The thing that makes them seem fashionable and cool and charming.

After prohibiting smoking in bars in January, the French government is now cracking down on other vices by banning open bars and happy hours. The measures come after rising binge drinking trends among its country’s youth. This may come as a surprise to Americans accustomed to college kid-culture which traditionally stands in contrast to Europe’s seemingly refined youth who have profited from liberal attitudes on drinking. But, it appears weaning youngsters on beer and wine is no longer working as alcohol-related visits for minors rose 50 percent in the past five years. The law will also raise the drinking age from 16 to 18. While wine and cigarettes might be health threats, they’re also staples of French culture. If the government continues this trend, what’s next? Better start clinging to those croissants for dear life. [Reuters]