My birthday falling at the end of January is really just the culmination of a shitty time of the year. It's cold and rainy. It caps off a season when people are supposed to be lolly jolly, which raises expectations that there will be lolly jollyness, which sets one up (perhaps just me) for predictable disappointment.

Expectations suck.

Take, for example, Wall Street bonuses. The Wall Street Journal and other news sources have been reporting that Wall Street bonuses were expected to be good this year, potentially back to 2000 levels and definitely up from last year. Upon my hiring, I was given a range to set my expectations. My review went very well. Yesterday, we learned what our bonus number was. Dude. What up? Let's just say it didn't come near to my expectations, and I don't mean that in a "yippee skippee - free drinks for everyone" sort of way. Had the number provided been equal to the top of the range I had been given, I would have been satisfied. I guess. My dissatisfaction isn't really with the number itself. (Well, maybe just a little. I've been making an effort to upgrade my lifestyle, treating myself a bit more often these days. Yesterday, I went home and pulled together a few luxury goods that were bought in anticipation of the bonus that I'm now taking back to the stores.) The core of my disappointment comes from the expectation that was set, and the company's inability to meet that expectation, despite my having done everything expected of me to reach the top end of my goal.

With the big 33 approaching, I also realized that my driver's license is due to expire. I hadn't received any sort of renewal notice in the mail, so I've spent the last two days calling the DMV. While I didn't have the expectation that my call would be answered on the first ring, I did expect that once I got through to someone, they would actually talk to me. I was hung up on twice. Twice! TWICE!!

Originally, I was going to be taking tomorrow off and heading out of town on a mini-outdoors adventure. The event was on the calendar. Seemed reasonable to expect it would actually happen. Plug was pulled.

I scrambled to pull together a birthday fete with friends. Too many people couldn't make it or are flaking, so I will attempt to do something else. Perhaps simply sleeping will be luxury enough to satiate my desire for some semblance of celebration that is genuine.

I don't know what it is, but I really have a history of horrible birthday karma. Best time in recent history was two years ago - a particular individual made it nice. Gotta give credit where credit is due. On a positive note, I am very much looking forward to my dinner plans on Saturday evening. I have heard fabulous things about the restaurant. Oh damn. There I go again, setting expectations.

I made it to Paris just fine, though it was looking very sketchy. Here's a tip that is like an annuity - it will continue paying over and over. NEVER fly out of Dulles on a Friday afternoon before a federal holiday. My GOD!!! The man standing in back of me in the line at security estimated that there were about 1000 people waiting to get through the line. United had a guy stationed at the end of the line with a balloon to indicate where people should queue. Sheer madness. I sprinted through the airport, totally realizing I can be really fast when I need to be, but the speed is just not sustainable for 30 gate lengths. I boarded the plane 8 minutes before take off and was so relieved to sit in my seat, totally blowing my plan of attempting to stay as fresh as possible for my long flight and long day ahead.

Cooking school at Le Cordon Bleu was INCREDIBLE. I learned how to make 4 stocks, one cold sauce, and 5 entrees with complex sauces.

I have had fabulous luck meeting incredibly cool people in my two solo trips in the past few months. Yann is a total hottie I met in the elevator at CDG airport. He showed me how to get into the city and is super nice. Sarah was in my class cooking next to me. She's an expat from the US on month 4 of her 12 month stint in Paris. She invited me to stay in her charming, beautiful apartment with her, and we've been hanging out having a great time. She's so fun and has been so generous and kind. And, I don't even mind her dog, despite my general fear.

Paris is an amazing town. Duh! It's also a very cold town. I've very successfully fought off jet lag, staying up until midnight local time my first night, despite sleeping only 2 hours on the flight over. I think my body is just used to being punished, with an odd sleep schedule.

Yesterday after cooking class, Sarah and I did some shopping and took a long dog walk, passing some great sites. Today, we went to the markets, then walked to Jardin Luxembourg, I'lle St. Louis, and the Marais, where we met up with Yann, who was passing by the packed Muji where Sarah and I were shopping, looked in and heard my voice, or rather an American english accent. Paris is such a grand place for being such a small city.

My Spanish skills came in handy a few weeks back. In the pre-Christmas rush, a little girl had been separated from her dad at Marshall's. She was shy and afraid, and she seemingly couldn't understand a word of English. Taking a chance that she spoke Spanish, I started speaking to her. I figure my language skills were perhaps almost as good as a 4-year-old's. The reaction I got from the store staff was amusing. They looked at me as if I were some alien. I should be speaking Tagalog or angry sounding Cantonese, like every other Asian person who shops at Marshall's. Incidents like that crack me up. I know, it doesn't take much. Well, looks like next weekend I won't be using those recently fine-tuned Spanish skills, for I will be in Paris.

Yesterday, I discovered that I get MLK off. Quick to capitalize on an opportunity for world exploration, I set up a business meeting on the East Coast. Being the opportunist that I am, I made sure to schedule enough time to see my friend Peter, who I haven't seen in years, and to take off for a solo adventure to Paris.

I know very little about Paris, except that I want a small Longchamp black tote, a le petite bateau white t-shirt or 10, and I will eat so much foie gras I will come back tipping the scales a bit heavier than when I depart. And it's all good.

I arrive into CDG at 7 in the morning, though it seems as though my flight more consistently arrives at 6:30AM. I'm now hoping to be able to get through customs as quickly as possible and, Amazing Race style, rush like mad to get to Le Cordon Bleu where they are teaching a short course on sauces. The one-day course is only offered a few times a year, and the morning I arrive happens to be one of them. Score!

For the rest of my time, I will stroll the streets, see some sites, eat like crazy, and spend all of my bonus before I know how much it will be. Ah Paris.