desperado

I am sitting in our flat in the fifth arrondissement of Paris, soothing my hangover with a desperado beer. why they actually call it a beer is beyond me, it reminds me more of a sweet smirnoff ice or something. beer my arse.
I've now spent my first week here, which has been, honestly, fucking spectacular. This city is just unbelievable, i mean, everywhere you go, there is something amazing around the corner. Like, there is a park behind our place, and we thought we would check it out after a couple of days. There is a fucking zoo in the park. a zoo. Kangaroos and little pandas and lots of wierd stuff i didnt even recognize.
My dad and Lauri (8 months) and Tea came here this morning. My little brother is 8 months old, and this is the third time he is in france. beat that. the little critter has a massive flu, and leaves snot trails on everybody's shirts. poor thing. As dad came, we got our first shot at a restaurant - mustles (?) (moules) for the whole crew. that is some good grub, them mustles. Julia has also planned to take dad and his visa card out shopping. go sis!
I am not sure if i should be writing this chronologically or by subject... I got a first contact with french bureaucracy as i tried to register myself into my school. There was a massive line, and registrations were done alphabetically. it was monday morning, and letter S was on thursday afternoon or something. I thought screw that, i passed the line and asked if they would take me, even though it wasnt my-letter-day. the girl behind the counter whispered affirmatively. So i cued (?) for half an hour. Everybody else had their documents printed and filled out. my turn came, and i told the lady I didnt have any papers whatsoever. 'you have to download them, fill them out and come back then'. 'Yeah, but i dont have a printer, this is the registration desk - surely you have some registration forms i can fill out now'. 'Registration forms, here..? no.. I don't think we have any here'. Right, that makes sense. But the lady was nice enough, she took all the copies she needed, and filled out what she could (i didnt leave it at that of course, i insisted on knowing what the forms were and what i was supposed to write on them), and then she told me i could mail the rest. I did all of this, so i was relatively easy. Not that my inscription was complete when i called there yesterday. But, three lessons to learn from the infamous french bureaucracy: 1. Everything is complicated, and requires a million forms. Everything. Complicated. 2. BUT, they are FLEXIBLE, and just by arguing your case and being annoyingly (and politely) persistent, you can actually achieve veryvery much. So i think finnish people in particular take the bureaucrat's requirements too literally and get frustrated. 3. everything takes a LONG time. so pack some patience baby. Or like, i went to the bank, and they needed proof that i was living somewhere. Well, the only name on the rent paper is my sister's. 'Well, make a paper where your sister states that you live with her?' i go back to my school, write the paper, forge my sister's signature, and my bank account is open!
Well, my desperado is almost finished, and tragically enough, we have to be off to another restaurant to meet dad (Le dome. you can look it up in the michelin guide.hehee, eat your heart out).
Ciao!!