I’ve been reading expat blogs for several years. In my experience I have found that there are two things that will kill a Paris blog.
The first, and this is instant death to a blog, is having a baby*. The simple truth is that other than very close friends and family no one cares about your newborn. Just as no one cared when my cat vomited on me while I slept because she was angry that I moved her food. I’m not saying I don’t understand- I will be the #1 offender when K- squeezes out a little bean. After that you might as well stop coming around because this blog will be loaded with pictures of the adorable little tyke and a detailed description of each crap and vomit. The entire blog will be done in baby talk. “Ohh little baby-wabby pukey- wukeyed on the kitty-widdy.” I will, of course, be incensed when you loose interest in baby-wabby and my bloggy-woggy.
The second thing that will temporarily kill a Paris blog is the inevitable hometown visit. I'm going to my little corner of the Midwest for two weeks. I’m guessing that I won’t be blogging. But I can give you a quick run down of what I’ll be doing.
1. I will be delighting my friends with an affected French accent and pretending to struggle for English words even though I've only spoken 6 words in French since I've been here.
2. I will enthrall my friends with constant comparisons of the Midwest and Paris. When I complain to the waiter about the bread, I will let out a sardonic laugh and sadly shake my head. "This would never be tolerated in Paris."
3. I will talk about "my cafe" and how much better the coffee is in Paris than it is in the Midwest. (Strangely, this is not true.)
4. I will be certain to use words like “provincial” and phrases like, “that is sooo American” whenever anyone tells me their opinion.
5. I will be certain to explain how Americans live to work while the French work to live-because that expression never gets old.
6. Anytime the word "French" is used to describe something, I’ll say, “That’s not French." i.e. “That’s not French coffee.” “That’s not French bread.” “Those aren’t French fries.” "That's not French kissing."
7. And when everyone refuses to give me a lift to the airport because I’ve been such a pretentious jerk I’ll mock his or her big American car.
*The one exception to this rule is Michelle's new baby because that is one cute kid but her blog is blocked so I guess you’ll never know.