Bloody Monday

That's bloody Monday as used in the British slang fashion (Bloody MONDAY!) as opposed to any other morbid ideas your mind can create.

Oh, nothing was wrong with this Monday, not really, except that I was terribly hungover for most all of it. "On a Monday??" You say. To which I casually nod and roll back to bed with my buttered and salted pasta - the only thing I had energy to make all day.

But I have a good reason, or at least a borderline sufficient one, and that is that I had to go to an incredibly fabulous invite only, very Paris' elite art scene kids party last night. I had originally understood that it was going to be an opening for an art exhibition and planned to leave at midnight, but then I realized that this thing was in fact a party. Which caused the full size ping pong table in the mirrored foyer make a whole lot more sense.

Of course one is not obligated to stay at a party until it's end but when I first believed I was going to an art opening (as opposed to an art party) I had made a very important to my future career goal of chatting with the gallery owner and ever so gently shoving my card in his hand. Being as it was actually, yes, a full fledged party which an apartment full of guests it was considerably harder to locate and / or talk to said gallery owner. But I did, near about 3:00am (and several hours of dancing), and even exchanged cards with him. And so all is not lost.

But now I am so exhausted, one of those kind of exhaustions where it expends too much energy to yell at the cat who seems to be eating something in the closet. So I will call it an early (ish) night and fall asleep dreaming of rooms full of fancy cultured folk surrounded by priceless works of art looking posh in the biggest Parisian apartment I have ever been in (with all windows looking onto the Seine!). I will probably also ponder what it would be like to have one of my very own white tuxedoed butlers, and how I might steal theirs.

I would probably ask him to shoo the cat and make me a hamburger. Because that's all I really want right now besides sleep.

Kinda Not Right

I went grocery shopping. I currently hate grocery shopping. I didn't used to hate grocery shopping, in fact I loved it. I loved wandering down the isles putting colorful healthy things in my cart. I loved going home and organizing my refrigerator with all the said items in their proper places. I would photograph it sometimes, because WOW food! In my fridge!

Alas there is the rub. Today I came home with my goods - far less than I should have bought but all I had space (ahem, and money) for - and began to load it into the mini fridge. GAH! The mini fridge! These are made for college students and hotel rooms, not grown adults who need to eat proper meals and on occasion would like to freeze their rests. The mini fridge has it's place, I suppose, but it's sort of a square, 33 x 18 x 20 unhelpful one.

"What is that?" I eyed a tupperware suspiciously, thinking chinese food. "Hmm, oh noodles. Well, those are old they probably aren't good anyway."

And as I proceeded to toss them into my far too small trash can (one designed for bathrooms and places one might also have a mini fridge) the contents of my now RANCID pasta spilled over onto the floor. Because nothing FITS in a tiny trash can unless you empty it every other day.

"ARG!!!!" I cried, trying to cover my nose. Who even knew that pasta could go rancid??

All of a sudden I felt so frustrated. I wouldn't say it was desperate or all encompassing, but I felt... inadequate. I was having, what I would call a "Semi-attack of not-quite accomplishment". I felt like a demi adult.

Where most people my age have apartments and ovens and full sized trash cans, I am living in a mini fridge.

I am anxious for my life to feel like it's started. I can't wait to have a reason to get up in the morning, a "real" job and a place in the city where I will be sure to choose some space with an adult size fridge and if I am REALLY lucky (but I would have to be REALLY lucky) a bathtub. For the moment, I will settle for trying to get my hands on a bigger trash can.

Hibernation

Why is it that only bears get to hibernate? Okay, I realize that humans have motor skills and higher intellect that a regular woodland creature does not, but sometimes I think all that has gotten in the way of natural mammal needs and instincts. Capitalism, pfff! Who needs to earn money (besides everyone)? This is the time of year that we should all be stocking up on soups and salted hunks of pork and hot chocolate, curled up under the covers in our dens. I think bears have it kinda right.

Oh, okay, it would never work for a human, not in today's society. We'd wake up in the spring in a dead panic, running to check our messages and go shopping for summer clothes. But a girl can dream, can't she?

I am finding it so hard to leave my apartment these newly cold days. It's bordering on hermitage - or the most I could ever become as a hermit because I admit to still going out two, three (four) times a week. Right now I'm into making warm food and hot tea, vegging out under the covers on the couch with some translated into french T.V. show and the cat. I don't want to go into Paris - even though now is one of the best times to wander around the city and people watch.

I think I will feel differently when it's really cold out. These days the highs still hover in the mid fifties to sixties meaning if I leave my apartment with my coat, gloves and hat, I am sweating by mid afternoon. Surely I shouldn't complain about that, but the confusion of the weather exhausts me. ...I am easily exhausted.

But do you know what I mean? Am I the only one craving a cozy, exclusively indoor life for winter? ...And new sweaters. Because I'll be damned if I can't find any excuse to shop - online of course. In my pajamas with some rice milk hot cocoa. You're welcome to come join me, but only if I don't have to meet you at the gate. And bring your own blanket, cause all mine are currently being used.

Bloggers, We're Like Family...Only With More Mail

I took Mr. Boo Radley to get castrated (that's such a terrible word isn't it 'castrated'?) this morning and after I left the poor stinky kitten at the vet I wandered up to the Main Street to La Poste. I had a note left in the mailbox the day before "Packet Fragile". Ooooh! I thought, because I was expecting a letter from a certain DecoyBetty and I hoped it might be that.

And indeed it was. I picked up the package which, if it had been really truly fragile, would have been quite squashed.

I couldn't wait to get home to tear it open. I knew there would be something important in it - My first and only recommendation letter for the infamous Artist Residency. Sure enough was there. I wanted to tear it open of course, but then I couldn't send it to the powers that be and so I delicately set it aside, no amount of glee hidden from my face.

With it - as you see here - was a lovely postcard from Melbourne (My first mail from Australia!) and a package of TimTams.

What, might you ask, are TimTams? I didn't know either and I didn't hesitate to open them right away to find out. They are ONLY the most marvelous, biscuity chocolately creamy cookie things I have EVER eaten. And when I say eaten I DO mean half the package in one sitting.

And then I hid them so that I could enjoy them one by one in the coming days.

Thank you DecoyBetty! You are such a peach! And now I have YOUR address...HAHAHA! So don't wait by the mail because I suck at posting things but at some point there will be a surprise for you. I am eternally indebted!

Picture Perfect, Non?

It is like this all over Paris. Not exactly with stacks of wood and pumpkins, but with that soft fall light and people bundling up against the returning cold. I pour out of the metro and, since I am never too busy to look up, I soak in the sight of broken rays of sun pouring through golden leaves. It's backed by the cold grey of the elegant Haussman's that line the streets and cast shadows on their delicate architectual quips. It is fall in Paris that makes me fall in love all over again.

Surely it shows on my face. There is a briskness to my step and a funny contented smile on my face. I notice people notice me, which makes me laugh to myself. It's funny to be in a city where a smile places you out of the ordinary.

But how can you not, really? Soon it will be Christmas and all of the shop windows will be decorated in whites and reds and greens. Twinkle lights will arrive above the quartiers and hats and gloves will join the scarves and coats. Maybe it will snow.

It makes me want to sit in a cafe and drink hot chocolate all day. I am craving pumpkin pie and gingerbread, soup and warm cheese with toast. I am excited for indoor parties with piles of woolen jackets and bonnets. I am constantly eying peoples sweaters with envy.

It's funny how this year, contrasted to last, I am so excited for the cold, for the winter for the indoors. The depression has, for the moment, seemingly passed. Moments of loneliness are broken by the attention I seem to get for giddy enjoyment of this season. I am in love. With Paris, with life - with my life. I only wish you were here to enjoy this with me...

Currently I am Avoiding

• washing the floor
• putting the comforter back in the duvet
• working on my french homework
• working on my CV
• the dishes
• hanging up the wet clothes (which sort of smell like molded wet clothes now)

Oh sweet motivation, where have you gone? He was stolen by a thief in the night during my one and a half hour nap. I didn't mean for it to go on like that. I set my alarm and everything. I thought "just a little power nap and then I'll be fit for the rest of the day." Like all long naps, the opposite was true.

I would like to break the habit but I have to remind myself this is a luxury that, after this year, I will probably never get again. Also, I do think that next year I will either be back in school (and working the required internships as well as some part time job!) or I'll be working full time at a "real" job so the lack of napping will, I imagine, come naturally. Or rather, go naturally away...

At any rate, I still have things to do before bed. Oddly enough I am still a bit tired...maybe that is one of those "too much napping" things my mom warned me about. Or maybe it's the soft jazz I finally turned on to kill the silence. Or maybe it's the kitten who wants to curl up and cuddle. Or maybe, or maybe...

Shameless laziness is called sloth in some cultures. Here in my apartment we are taking suggestions for a new name. Any suggestions?

Presently*

*Stolen from Blackbird and/or Badger. Not sure but they're both fabulous.

enjoying:

tiny yellow leaves raining from the trees
the evening light
the way my cat follows me absolutely everywhere (and insists on cuddling)
new Great Ideas for my future
planning for christmas!
M&M's
Tropicana Smoothies
girls nights
boys in sweaters and scarves
the Tudors (I know I'm a little behind)
my new leather gloves from H&M
reading in French


not so much:

sniffling
not hearing out of my ears
ironing
cold feet (literally)
not being productive enough
sleeping too much
everyone being sick
beer
men in suits
that the Tudors comes on TV on Saturday night
my wardrobe
my level of grammar in French


wanting:

some tea with cream and honey
someone to clean my apartment
an oven
EVERYTHING at H&M this season
a french press
an apartment in the city
a gift card to Sephora
thick black flat riding boots
another thunderstorm
to see my mommy
sushi

Always Keep Your Promises

I promised a weekend recap and so of course I have to provide. Unfortunately for you (or maybe not!) I don't have time to properly utilize my story writing skills because I have to get ready for my first day back in class since June. June people! I am nervous as hell.

So my weekend, in photos. That's always fun, isn't it?

After sighting Sean Lennon at le Point Ephemere near Canal St. Martin (the best place to be on a sunny Saturday afternoon), J and I and decided to make waste of the old timey photo booth.


It was covered in graffiti, posters and stickers like this. Is this like a Beach Party USA? This guy made me super happy. Because some days I feel like this:

Though, not that day in particular.

We wandered for hours discovering new bookstores and people watching in the sun. It was perfect. When we got hungry we stumbled upon a Bagel Shop. Yes. Outside of the Marais, a Bagel Shop. And so we had to test it out for the greater good.

For all you American's in Paris craving a REAL bagel, this brand new shop (just five days old on Saturday!) is over in the 10th Arrondisment and it definitely had the best bagels I've eaten in a year.

This is the owner of Ari's Bagels, surprisingly named Ari. He was an incredibly happy and helpful chap.

And thoughtful, because with the nasty flu going around we might as well provide the antibacterial liquid.


One poppy seed bagel with chived Philly Cream Cheese. OH YEAH.

It was delightful. But don't take my word for it:

Ari's Bagels
8 Rue Beaurepaire
75010 Paris

This Is Not A Weekend Recap

Although I have one quite interesting and even quite photo filled, I have to admit I am too tired today. Since I have, of late, become a relatively bad blogger I'm not even feeling that bad about this.

Instead of blogging this evening I have engaged in rather mundane homebody activities like making my cup of soup and watching Jurrasic Park Three (and liking it, ahem.) I chatted with my sister online and flipped channels and made memory cards in French because it turns out my written level of French is still beginner. This means that - even though I cheat fairly well when I converse - I can't actually speak properly either.

I've enrolled again in classes and start Wednesday which implies that most of my evenings will be spent in some such similar manner if I hope to ever become fluent in this language.

For now I leave you with this photo - a little bit of the photo project I'm actually still working on. He says what we all feel on Monday, in my opinion.

Thank God it's over.

Romeo You Nearly Gave Me a Heart Attack

Even though Boo is an indoor cat, he already has a few lady callers.

He likes older women, and who can blame him? She's hot.

Me, I'm on the road to recover but it seems that the now HD has come down with my illness, or a sweet melange of the two children's because as it turns out the older one had STREP last weekend. Huh. So I suspect I had whatever both of them were sick with. It's the only way to explain the most awful cold I've had...since last year.

Last night I slept for the first night all week without drenching my sheets in sweat. So sexy.

Thankfully I am well just in time for cleaning day.

The Nearer Our Destitation The More We're

This morning I am listening to Paul Simon, thus every single lyric is finding it's way onto my internet forums. Simonesque status updates? Check. Pauly Twitters? Check Check. Greatest Hit style Blog titles? Check Check Check.

Oh I'm still sick. Can you believe? I am a few days without fever and finally have my appetite back so I am in the clear again, but I still can't sleep without my body breaking into sheet soaking, infection fighting sweats. Damn when will the antibiotic start working? It feels like years since I've been trapped in this smelly apartment.

For a person like myself it's rather dangerous to be forcibly locked alone in one room away from everyone for a whole week. Despite my numerous distractions I still have ten jillion hours to be alone to think, and my isn't that the dangerous bit. It's not the mundane, doped up thoughts that I have to worry about. No, those are mildly entertaining. For me it's the rather disturbing "Dear-God-Please-Don't-Let-Me-Die-Alone-What-Am-I-Going-To-Do-With-My-Life-Is-It-Too-Late-For -Me?" thoughts that have convinced me that today I am going to wrap up and leave this apartment so help me God.

It's true that idle hands are the devils handy work, for sure.

Thankfully, the previous nanny needs a little company en route to Belgium and so I will be meeting her on the other side of Paris around two. I'm no longer contagious, plus the cat needs food, so I will be putting on real clothes and makeup for the first time in I don't know how many days.

I can't wait to be well again so I can wash my sheets. Won't the sun come out for me?