All I can remember is "Je t'aime"

That's a lie. I remember much more of my French. But it's a good line.

I was thinking about my trip to France last year, how it was like the best thing ever, and all the good times we had, and how I felt sick for a bit of it, and how my ears hurt, and how I couldn't hear very well because I think I might have had an ear infection but it went away when I looked at the Venus de Milo's butt, and going to the discotheque with Yoann, and the kickin' French soap operas, and climbing the stairs of Notre Dame, and the view from the top of the Eiffel tower, and every delicious meal except for the one at Yoann's grandma's house which made me want to die a little bit but I had to be polite because it was my host brother's grandma, and the plane rides, and Chicago, and smuggling wine, and running around cobbled streets with my buddies, and feeling at peace, and exploring the most beautiful city in the world, and wanting to listen to cello music.

I feel like that now. Missing the cellos. It's like a violin, but more sensual or something. I dunno, I like to pretend I know things about music.

Anywho, my new favorite thing to do is make Ramen in my collegiate mini-fridge microwave. Boil water on a stove-top? Ha! I'll pop a noodle patty into my special microwavable pokemon bowl I got by sending in the Easy Mac tabs we collected, (I say 'we' because my parents assisted in my acquisition, I don't want to take complete 'I' credit because that'd be rude) make a stop at the drinking fountain around the corner outside my door, pop it into my ever so nifty microwave/mini-fridge unit and three minutes later I've got steaming msg goodness while I watch Conan.

Welcome to college.

It's hard for me to watch Conan without Ramen. Perfect midnight snack? Ramen. Perfect midnight hilarious? Conan O'Brian.

I can't remember a time when Ramen wasn't a huge part of my life. Some of my earliest memories involve my brilliant four-year-old-Paris culinary masterpiece I lovingly called "Egg Hairs" which was... eggs in Ramen. Cause the noodles are like hair. For the eggs. Clever, I know, sometimes I think I was wittier fourteen years ago.

I also remember when the flavor of Ramen I grew up with, "Spicy", could no longer be found in any store. The first time I tried what has since become my new staple, the Maruchan Chili Flavor, was seventh grade. With The Fellowship of The Ring in one hand and a fork in the other, I boldly tried this strange new flavor. I remember thinking it wasn't as good, but now I love it and can hardly even remember the old Smack Ramen Spicy.

Kinda breaks my heart a bit actually. I can't remember this thing that was such a huge part of my life and introduced me to the wonders of an inexpensive sodium heavy diet. I want to taste that flavor someday and have one of those moments, you know? When you get that rush of old memories you haven't strolled through since God knows when and you sigh reflectively because you're just so content but at the same time exhilarated!

Now I'm just thinking about the wet French air that was so cold to my sick ears and that feeling of standing on top of the Eiffel tower and looking out over the whole city and thinking to myself good God is there anything more beautiful, and how I'd trade that memory in a second for just one more bowl of that Smack Ramen Spicy my mom used to make me.

Unreasonable?

Well then, you must not have had that flavor.