Une Claque

Every time I see this commercial I get chills. It's good marketing when something as mundane as the internet can make you feel the urge to share it with the world.



Translation: (Although it's pretty obvious I think.)

"A wave.
A wave.
An encounter.
An encounter.
A craving.
A craving.
A slap.
A slap.
An impulsive act (or literally here: 'headbutt').
An impulsive act.
A fight.
A fight.
A scream.
A scream.
A slap in the face.
A slap in the face."

The plays on words are fabulous, cinematography lovely and the music is sublime. Not bad at all for a cell phone/internet company...

Unicorns and Rainbows!

Oh the rain! You know that the darkened sky dripping out it's upset is more than you can take when the sun peeks from beneath the clouds and you rejoice. I'll take all the minutes I can get.

In my head I've been playing this over and over, hoping that the whiteman 'fros in this video are enough to scare the clouds into submission. Seriously Mama Nature, don't mess with ELO. (Because really any band that can make a synthesizer go "beebidee bop, doo bee wah bop bop wow wow." and has more than six members on stage at one time should be able to take over the world, in my book.)

I can't wait for February to be over. It has been a particularly trying month. Things go up and down, up and back down again. I've been hibernating, watching a ridiculous amount of T.V. and trying not to drive myself mad by stirring up my own demons.

I took a break from the job search this week while waiting on news from The Possible Job - not because I've pinned all my hopes on said opportunity but rather because I am just sick to death of the whole application process. And I don't even have it that hard. I have to admit that I am, somehow, glad that I don't have such a defined career on the line.

So, with some free time on my hands, I turned my focus artistically for the first time in a long time. Which is why I now have to introduce you to the book of which I was speaking earlier in the week. Book, here is the interwebs, Interwebs, please meet my book located to your left just above the "Donate" button. I know, the sidebars are a catastrophe but I swear it's there. Take a look, see if you like it.

And, because I promised Unicorns and Rainbows....

I am pretty sure I had this Trapper Keeper as a child. It totally rocked my socks off.

New Works

This week has been particularly uninspiring for my job search and, on some days, for my heart. So I have done what any reasonable woman would do and had my friend change my password to Facebook and not tell me what the new one is. This is sparing me the unfortunate moments of public embarrassment I've become so fond of.

Similarly, it has also given me free time. It's amazing how much of my mental and physical energy was being spent on that social network. Not that I'll never use it again, but a well needed break isn't hurting me any.

For instance today, instead of wondering what all those other people are doing with their lives, I spent several hours working on art projects. You can see what I've done over at my other blog. Because I updated that too.

Qoutidien

I went grocery shopping only to find that my closest Franprix and my favorite Boulanger will be closed for travaux (renovation) for months. Sigh. So I climbed the hill to the Monoprix and as per my usual visits there I spent more than I should have. This week I am going to make chicken parmesan in a pan.

But the sun came out for a brief moment and it was so warm I had to take my raincoat off. Yes, raincoat! I hadn't even taken out my wool coat.

On the way back I turned the corner to see one of my favorite neighbors. Nicolas, an old Italian man, lives in the house he purchased on this street in 1970 with his adorable wirey haired wife. All last summer we would spend a few minutes chatting as I passed to and from. His post is in napping in an old barcalounger on his front porch and he tells me the same story about France, Italy and the second World War every single time. He wants me to marry his grandson and always invites me up for a coke.

I missed him all winter. I will miss him more when I finally move from this neighborhood. Must remember to get some good photos of he and his wife and their sweet house.

Lower Expectations - A Love Song

Here is the promised explanation.

I had a delightful revelation after my lovely Valentine's Day. One of the reason's that day was so wonderful in comparison to all my other V-days Past was because I hadn't planned one single thing. The year before, with Toady, we hadn't planned much but I had in my head some kind of extravagant fancy Parisian dinner, ending with candles and sweetly scented kisses. When that dream didn't come to fruition (I didn't know at the time how little the French even care about the holiday) I was decidedly let down. And even though we had a wonderful day, I was left disappointed. Strictly by my own imagination.

This year my plan was to pretend that the stupid holiday (because it IS stupid, after all) didn't exist. I did a pretty good job, actually, only making the effort to buy heart shaped pastries for C and I. And it was perfect.

I think it was my lovely blog friend (Hi Deidre!!), actually, who pointed out that this is a good way to approach this dating site I just joined, and I took it one step further and said "It's also a good way to approach this job search we're on too."

And it is. While my search is quite fruitful I admit it wasn't coming close to solving my long term problem of needing a new visa to stay in France. It wasn't until I conceded that my desire to stay was greater than my desire to become a gallery assistant and that I could really do many things (ahem I have books to write and art exhibitions to produce!) given a proper apartment and a real salary. And voila! I finally have a promising lead that could actually solve the problem of my visa. Perhaps. (Fingers crossed!!)

So I'm trying to transfer that attitude to my life. Animesh says it's very Buddhist. Thus far I'm not doing too great at it.

Back to the dating site. Because oh my word it's so weird. I feel a little like I am fourteen again, chatting with boys on AOL. I find myself with little crushes on virtual men, waiting for responses, getting excited when they sign into chat. And I have to remind myself that I have never met these people and they could all turn out to be ax murderers.

I suppose that's not funny - it's happened.

On Friday I came home from my evening relatively early and chatted for several hours with a guy who lives in the U.K.. At some point we both became hungry and so we "shared" a little midnight snack which is when I asked,

"So, does this count as a date????"

"I guess!" he replied.

"Although yogurt isn't the best dinner date, I've ever had."

"I suppose not," he 'lol'ed.

"Lol", I 'lol'ed.

We caught up with each other the next afternoon (as we'd both gone to sleep near 3:30 a.m., we both naturally slept in.) which felt slightly like "the morning after", although we didn't make a second date and he didn't even "promise" to call. I felt so used.

Oh but the adventures continue. I don't think I'll keep at it for long because here is how the men can be classified thus far: Not in my country (Hello MICHIGAN?), not in my age group, has children, has a divorce, uses the letters 'u', 'r', and 'b' as words in his introduction email, is five inches too short or looks distinctly like a serial rapist / pedophile. In fact his "personal" ad is over there on craigslist where he offers, in two languages, a relationship of dirty sex and no commitment. Click, click, click, delete, block profile.

Which is why, HELLO LOWER EXPECTATIONS.

Because if you go in assuming he's an ax murderer, you can only be pleasantly surprised when he turns out to be a really nice guy. Right?

Hello?

I was talking to Sister L this morning and we were discussing how strange it is that we used to use dial-up modems. And then I turned on this song which was just so gritty for it's time.



There she is all angsty about "How can I reach you?" and something about a disconnected modem. Ha! There's your problem darling, you need some wifi ("Weefee" as the French call it). Can you believe, people? This song was before text messaging. Oh the horror!

(Also, check out throwback Number Two at the beginning of the video. Who else remembers 120 Minutes? - Way back when MTV played music!)

Well, of course the topic naturally turned to how strange all this instantaneousness has made the bulk of our society ridiculously impatient. We can't even send an email anymore without expecting that the person will receive it in seconds let alone wait an entire day for a response back. (And notably, by "we" I am certainly referring to "ME", you all can add yourselves to this category as you see fit.)

I have an old computer and it takes damn near fifteen seconds to load a new page and oh my the things that occur if I am running Skype, Messenger and Firefox all at once. Don't open iTunes, she may explode! And you should see the frustration I feel at this lack of speed. It's almost embarrassing.

An acquaintance of mine, while we were waiting for a Metro one night, told me about how in Japan people queue for the Metro. There are arrows pointing at where the doors will open and people will line up two by two inside these arrows in a completely orderly fashion, entering the train car just like this. People are hired to sort of shove as many people on as possible but it is all done very neatly.

I take that image - which just baffles me completely - and I translate it to the Metros of Paris. It's like people are fleeing the damned Apocalypse trying to board at rush hour, cussing and shoving - riders standing inside holding onto their coveted places indignantly while two or three people push as hard as they can onto the mass so as not to be squashed by the closing doors. It's almost scary (certainly enough to give me an anxiety attack).

That scene was translated again last night at the vernissage for Pergola at the Palais de Tokyo. By eight thirty a line had amassed to enter the exhibition (or the party, as it were). I mean "amassed" in the truest sense of that word. Imagine a cows going off to slaughter, dressed in chic hipster versions of the Parisian "black" and that is what you had in the entry hall of the Palais. There was absolutely no order, save two huge black men at the front narrowing down the people to what I imagined were "safe" amounts for entry. Once at the front of the line people pushed and bullied to be the next in that chosen group. We were a jumble of terribly chic heathens.

Naturally, this all ties back to my current job search / life transitions. When I put it into perspective I have only been searching for a job for two and a half months. I have an interview per week and have already received a second interview for one of the jobs. And it sounds fairly positive! But I can't help but feeling so impatient, wishing I just had something already and that I could settle again.

It's all so silly. Because I am settled, aren't I? Yes, things are changing but in comparison to the rate which other periods of my life have changed (The seven-something months where uprooted from Texas and moved here, I'm looking at YOU) things are really quite normal. I should be thankful for that. They are going neither slow nor fast and the anxiety I feel about each next step is the self inflicted enforcer of said impatience. I want to get it all over with. I want to "start my life" in some sense - to quit being a nanny and make a real living again. To quit washing toilets and work at something I can care about.

Thinking like that though, is just exactly like getting angry at my slow internet and lack of email response from people who have real jobs and better things to do than sit obsessively on their inboxes. It's a waste of energy distracting me from all the things I should be thankful for. Like even having internet at all! Being able to keep in touch with people across the planet so that I don't feel so far away. Like, um, being here for instance. Being here at all blessing so not worth being pissed on. I've said it before and I'll likely say it again, but my life is so incredibly charmed. I'm one helluva lucky girl.

So, along with my new chosen mantra for 2010 of "Lower Expectations" (more explanation on that later), I will try to also include my one of my favorite all time quotes.

"If you live with one foot in the past and one foot in the future, you end up pissing on the present." (Dr. Frederick (Fritz) S. Perls)

Hello? You know I'm right, don't you.

Photos of a Sunday

So the Sunday happened to be Valentine's Day, but who's counting?

After a night of far too much drinking, my friend C and I woke leisurely(ish) and had a lovely little breakfast. Yes, that is a heart shaped French pastry. And they were both amazing.

C got out her pink china and some satiny pink robes for us to be girly in. The serving set read Toi, Moi and Nous (You, Me, Us) for each respective peice. It was adorable.

Then, because we could, and because I love to eat, we wandered over to the Bellevillois for a second breakfast disguised as brunch.

It was so sunny! The sky was blue and under the skylights we started baking just a little. What a welcome feeling in winter.

I followed this plate by a cheeseburger. Oh yes, I did.

Then, on the way to wander through Pere Lachaise we quite literally stumbled upon a group of women carrying a huge puppet. It turned out she was going to the Karnaval Parade! So we followed her.

We were greeted by a mass of people in colorful costumes and some Oomp Pa-Pa music to start the ceremony. Look! Giant dancing puppet things!!

Paper maché cats and confetti vendors!

And a guy with an owl! I think the conversation went something like: "Dude! That guy has an owl!" So couth, I am.

Unfortunately she didn't like to be touched. So pretty. And she made the best little squawking noises. I don't think Boo would like her very much.

This child was just not having it. I couldn't properly capture his pout but trust me it got better than this. I do believe we witnessed a child being scarred for life.

A drum band. Because who the heck needs those other instruments!

This man is playing the Cuica (or Qweeka) - my favorite Brazilian instrument. I've decided I want to learn to play it. If anyone has one lying about, let me know.

That is some kind of toucan, I think. Not a penguin. (Though that would have been great.)

We followed this band till the end. They were one of the best. Great costumes, no?

After I left C at her house to chat long distance with her Amour, I wandered over to le Marais to meet a couple of my other girls for a little stroll through the various open galleries. It was "Screening Sunday" and though most of the stuff was a tad too contemporary for my taste (or just plain too long) this guy wowed us all.

(Violette, from "All My Girlfriends", Ivan Argote)

I can't embed any of the films, but let me just say it takes a lot of guts to break through to Parisians on the Metro (as well as on the street). That is why I photograph them sleeping. His work was funny and poignant. Go to his website. Click the "x" to close the information. Watch the videos. Catch his exhibitions if they come to a city near you. Love.

For a day I had not planned anything, I couldn't have thought of a better way to spend it. With some fantastic women in the city I love, spontaneous and fun. Which is my favorite kind of Sunday, Valentine's or not.

Oh Tuesday, You Devil

For those of you just biting your nails and waiting on baited breath to know (because my life is just so important, I know) my Valentine's Day was wonderful. In fact, it was beyond wonderful, it was the best Valentine's day I have had in years.

It's not that last year wasn't special - I was in love with Mr. Toady and we had a sweet day wandering Paris - but this year I had so few expectations that I wasn't for one minute let down by the delightful spontaneity of the day. And I think that's what each year needs, whether it be with a man or my family or on my own. Lower expectations. After all, it's really just another day isn't it?

I have several dozen photos from my day that I will post tomorrow but at the moment I feel like I need to share my latest news: I've joined a dating site. Because for all my talk about my girls being my family and being perfectly happy living alone (all true!) at the end of the day I miss having a special someone. So I've signed up to a not well known but possibly promising little dating site.

Quite frankly I'm not even sure if the thing is legitimate. It's layout is awful and as user friendliness you can just forget it. They offer compatibility testing and supposedly use it to find your matches but I am pretty sure that all mine were the same people that I found in the "online now" category. But it claims to be one hundred percent free and I was able to pop of a quick email to a supposedly single guy living in Paris that looked suspiciously like Jude Law. (Don't worry, I refrained from making the any reference to being a Nanny and wanting to have his babies.) Not sure I'll here back from him, but I certainly received a response from a much older man using the Romeo line. In his defense, he admitted that he knew he didn't have a chance, so at least it wasn't creepy, but perhaps his type are the only "real" users on this thing? Well, him and me obviously.

So here I am again, back on the interwebs looking for love. Unlike last time you all won't be privy to the details, but I'll be sure to let you know when I inevitably flub up like the pro I am so we can all have a good laugh.

And thankfully, in addition to maybe getting me a date or two, I now have something else to obsess over besides my job search which is trotting along at a handsome canter even though I'd prefer for this horse to finish the goddamned race already. Lord knows I always need another reason to be physically connected to my laptop!

Won't it be a sad day for me when they discover that iBooks cause cancer? Oh well, if I'm lucky by then I'll have be happily married with a great job!

Weak of Love - Day Five: This One's For The Girls

Although this week, for me, has the air of something much more akin to sucking on a rotten egg than one of lofty ideas of romance, I don't see why I should spread the negativity. Because the truth is aside from my terrible awful no good luck with dating my life is quite wonderful. So, I'm sharing the love instead by blogging about some things that make me truly happy (even when love stinks.)

(I am lucky enough to say that this collage of photos in no way comprises the total of my girlfriends.)

One thing that has always kept me afloat is my girlfriends. I have very few good male friends (though those I have are dear to me). I've never been one of those girls that can hang with the boys. There's always some sexual tension somewhere - whether it's them or me - and though I wish my mom were wrong I personally believe it to be true that women and men can never be "just friends". Well, it's true for me anyway.

Through my adult years I have prided myself in forming solid friendships. I'm a good friend - I'm an open ear, forgiving, thoughtful, fun. Even when I have a boyfriend I try very hard to keep said friendships cultivated. It's healthy, I think, but for me it's also paramount.

My girls are my other family. Spread all over the world, these are the women I call with my news. Be it happy or sad, I share with them all the important moments of my life and they do the same. Men, they come in and out of my life with frequence, but my girls are always there no matter what time of day, no matter what the weather, not matter who we're with. We share laughter, tears, glasses of champagne, cups of coffee, craft projects, nights that wander into the morning, mornings that dance into the dead of night, dinners, boyfriends, lessons and love.

The women in my life have my heart. They are the package deal that comes with me when any man enters my life and they are the final say on if he is good enough. They are the litmus test, they keep me in check and hold my hand through all the parts of my life I could never face alone. These women are my many Valentines, my blessings, my loves.

To them I raise a glass in toast on this stupid red hearted Halmark holiday. Even though convention and commercialism wants us to be with "that special someone", I turn the cheek and say I've already found them, in multitudes. I can't buy you diamonds and God knows you can all take care of the chocolate bit but my ladies - near and far - Happy Valentines Day! Without you I am nothing.

Weak of Love - Day Four: In My Dreams

Although this week, for me, has the air of something much more akin to sucking on a rotten egg than one of lofty ideas of romance, I don't see why I should spread the negativity. Because the truth is aside from my terrible awful no good luck with dating my life is quite wonderful. So, I'm sharing the love instead by blogging about some things that make me truly happy (even when love stinks.)

It is a well known fact that I love to sleep. I mean, I LOVE to sleep, as in this post could be about sleeping, napping, dozing in the sun, curling up in cars (on lunch breaks - the best!), and generally escaping for a few lovely minutes hours of repose. But it's not about the sleep, it's about the activity I enjoy while sleeping. That is, of course, dreaming.

I've always been one of those people who remembers their dreams. I still can recall some from when I was five years old in near perfect clarity. There was a nightmare about the Pound Puppies, so gross that I won't go into details here. Suffice it to say I must have been ill with the flu at the time.

My dreams, most days, stick with me well into the morning. The sharp images form my moods. You know the way a good kissing dream can make you want to stay asleep in the dream all day? Or the way a nightmare can make you feel uneasy and a death dream leaves you mysteriously sad. There are some days I force myself back to sleep just to clear the slate for the day.

I consider it a great luxury, of course, to not only be able to sleep long hours but also to be able to remember my dreams in great detail because at some point in my life I started analyzing them. It was probably because of a book my mom had (along with her iChing and palm reading books that I devoured), but once I started I couldn't stop. As it turns out my dreams are simply wrought with symbolism.

(Carl Jung. I trust him with my dreams, don't you?)

I'm not a particular fan of Freud, leaning more towards the Jungian side of the analysis, but mostly what I've discovered - after so many years of decoding - is that you can read a dozen dream symbolisms but usually your subconscious leans towards whatever it is trying to show you. And, oddly enough, if you care to listen it can be a pretty good guide.

Last night I dreamed that my family was walking back through a field on a low path flanked by tall trees. I looked up at one of the embankments and saw a baby moose coming over towards us. "Watch out," I said, "The mother can't be far behind." And sure enough over the embankment came four more animals - the mother moose, a pale white adolescent male moose and two horses. One of the horses was a strange breed with an odd ball of a nose and the other was a thick, muscular dappled brown stallion. They were running together in a pack and as we soon found out we were in no danger. They pranced and played around us, letting us follow them all the way to a clearing.

At the clearing there were tourists of some kind. Understandably frightened by this herd of strange animals they began to scream, spooking the horses and causing one of them to injure the child of a Japanese onlooker. The herd fled and we were left to try to calm the tourists who wanted to hunt the beasts for injuring the child. It was all a misunderstanding.

(Moose: To see a moose in your dream, represents long life and longevity. It may refer to the elders around you. Alternatively, a moose may also indicate that you can be both powerful and gentle.

Horse : To see a horse in your dream, symbolizes strength, power, endurance, virility and sexual prowess. It also represents a strong, physical energy. You need to tame the wild forces. The dream may imply that you have been horsing around. Alternatively, the dream indicates that you need to be less arrogant and "get off your high horse". To see a herd of wild horses in your dream, signifies a sense of freedom and lack of responsibilities/duties. Perhaps it may also indicated your uncontrolled emotions.)

Later in the morning, I was living next door to a friend in a house on the beach. During high tide the surf came straight up to our doors and forced us to stay in. Before we were trapped he left to get us drinks and snacks for the evening and I stayed behind, snooping around his house. There was magic in his apartment - books of secrets that I nervously flipped through, mezmerized by this man I thought I knew. I wandered from room to room, knowing that behind one of his closed doors was his talisman - a great white bird.

Just as I found the bird he came home, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight and whispering in my ear that he was so in love with me and that we were soul mates.

"Why would say something like that!?" I said. "How do you know?"

He pointed to a small scar on my left hand. "That there, this is where you saved my life from the Great Owl."

I laughed then, because I remembered the incident but didn't realize that he was related to it. I had saved his life! We held each other because we were soulmates.

(Home: To see your home in your dream, signifies security, basic needs, and values. You may be feeling at home at your new job or you finally feel settled and comfortable in a new environment. Alternative, the dream represents your basic needs and priorities.

Bird:To see a bird nest in your dream, symbolizes independence, refuge and security. You need something to fall back on. Alternatively, it may signify a prosperous endeavor, new opportunities, and fortune.)

And that was how I woke up. Feeling in love. Much preferred to the third or fourth dream I remembered starring Freddie Krueger and a fair amount of blood...

...Now, for fun - what are YOUR interpretations of my dreams. (I like this website here.)

Weak of Love - Day Three: Fingers Crossed!

Although this week, for me, has the air of something much more akin to sucking on a rotten egg than one of lofty ideas of romance, I don't see why I should spread the negativity. Because the truth is aside from my terrible awful no good luck with dating my life is quite wonderful. So, I'm sharing the love instead by blogging about some things that make me truly happy (even when love stinks.)

Since starting my job search in earnest I have been talking about it a lot. I talk about it with friends, strangers, cab drivers, party goers, adminstrators - pretty much anyone who asks what I am currently doing.

"I want to stay here," I say. "I don't know exactly what it will look like but I know I want to be here."

In French, a typical response is often "Courage" - which translates just like that. "Be brave, you can do it." They aren't so positive as to say "Bon Chance" - that would be giving some one false hope to admit that they might actually be lucky.

There is, as well, the expression "Merde!" Yes, that's right, it means "shit". It's somehow akin to saying "Break a leg" - something you don't actually want to happen to someone (particularly on stage, where said phrase is most often heard) but perhaps if you say it, this will get all of the bad juju out of the air. Regardless, I admit I haven't heard much of this either.

What I do hear, with frequence and fervor is "Croiser les doigts!" or "Fingers crossed!" There's no need to explain what it means, because it's often followed by an animated gesture held in the air, proving their point. They've got their fingers crossed for you, you can count on it!

But what I love most about this phrase - motion, as it is - is that it's universal. It translates into any language and it's not held captive within the boundaries of any particular culture or sect. It's a hopeful gesture of solidarity that neither requires the person offering be religious or superstitious, but means only that they are rallying behind you. It's positive without being cloying; hopeful but realistic.

And oh, how I've needed all the fingers crossed I can get these days. Slowly, anxiously, I'm inching forward to moving on to the next phase of my life. If I have my way it will be here, with Boo Radley, in a tiny flat with a balcony overlooking some courtyard in Paris. Fingers crossed!!

Weak of Love - Day Two: Beware of The Cute Cat Photos

Although this week, for me, has the air of something much more akin to sucking on a rotten egg than one of lofty ideas of romance, I don't see why I should spread the negativity. Because the truth is aside from my terrible awful no good luck with dating my life is quite wonderful. So, I'm sharing the love instead by blogging about some things that make me truly happy (even when love stinks.)

Yes, I'm talking about Boo Radley. Who, by the way, was found out by Host Mom this weekend. He's discovered how to pull back the curtains so he can peer at the crows in the garden and cry jealously at the outdoor cats. Finally, after six months "hidden" in my apartment she saw him looking out the window and figured it out. Apparently the thing she is most concerned about is what they will do with him once I leave.

Well, I'm taking him with me, of course.

His green, slightly crossed eyes are looking at me when I wake up and blinking at me when i go to sleep. This is the man I come home to.

The other day he discovered that he can get in the laundry basket and this was no end of fun for him.

"Oh woe is me! Stuck in this miserable cage of eco-detergent scented wash!" ("I wish mom could take a well lit picture...")

It was all fun and games until he unbalanced the basket from the chair and toppled out. Toppling is what he does best. (After hiding things under the couch and cuddling with me, of course.)


And he loves the camera. I am tempted to start putting things on his head and photographing him, Dooce-style. See how perfectly still he is posing? "What?" He says, "I'm helping you hem this skirt!"


Only it sounds more like some domestic breed of apartment monkey when he talks. "Mee-yah-a. M-yah? M-yah? Mee-yah-a-a?" Such a weeny whiner.

Alas, he is my weeny whiner, the best Valentine a jaded, single girl could ever have. Don't you agree?

Weak of Love - Day One: Paris

Although this week, for me, has the air of something much more akin to sucking on a rotten egg than one of lofty ideas of romance, I don't see why I should spread the negativity. Because the truth is aside from my terrible awful no good luck with dating my life is quite wonderful. So, I'm sharing the love instead by blogging about some things that make me truly happy (even when love stinks.)

(I stole this directly from my fabulous bloggy friend in Australia, Master of the curly crown, perveyor of Timtams, Decoybetty.)

I don't know if I ever told you the story, but I often - especially recently (in interviews) - get asked what brought me to Paris. Yes, there was The Frenchman. He played a major role in that move, but it started a lot longer ago than that.

When I was somewhere around the age of eight, my mother used to take me with her when she went yard saling. I hated it. I hated driving around in our un-air conditioned cars and I hated sifting through peoples old clothes for what would be my new ones. But for my (im)patience my mother often rewarded me with a trinket of some kind - a used purse or some costume jewelery; a book or a neat toy.

One day I stumbled on it. I didn't know much about it at all, except that it was so unusual and I'd seen it in movies before but I knew I wanted it. I approached my mother with the little metal figure of the Eiffel Tower and asked if I could get it. She said yes.

This decoration - sold by the thousands each year by street vendors and souvenir shops throughout Paris - became somewhat of an obsession for me. I didn't know why, exactly, but I knew that I wanted to go there - to the place where the Eiffel Tower lived. I became the owner of Paris sweat shirts and posters and books. Any movie that featured Paris, I had to see. My notebooks were littered with sketches of the only monument I knew existed in the city of my dreams.

In high school I began taking French - much to the dismay of my Spanish mother - but after a year I gave it up, quipping that I would most likely never go there anyway so why bother learning the language.

At twenty one, after reading Shutterbabe (Deborah Copaken Kogan) - the personal account of an American photo journalist who is based out of Paris and her adventures in love and war - I decided I would move to Paris. My family thought I was nuts but I researched jobs, looked for hours a day at apartments, plotting. Ultimately I didn't know the first thing about how to move to another country. And so I didn't. I let my dream die.

Flash forward seven years to last Sunday. It was bitter cold when as I crossed the bridge from the Louvre. The wind was merciful, though, and a thin haze hung over the darkening city as the lights began it illuminate one by one.



I paused and took a couple of photographs, laughing to myself that this visit - on free museum Sunday (first Sunday of every month) - was only my second visit to the Louvre. I recalled a time when I swore to myself that, if I ever lived in Paris, I would visit the Louvre once a week at least.

Sometimes Paris is just a city to me. That is how it happens that incredible national monuments lie just inches away from me at any given moment, completely unnoticed. It's just a city, like any other big city, where people struggle to live, people come to visit, people come to work.


But then there are moments like Sunday when I the simple act of crossing a centuries old bridge gives me pause and takes me aback. This is Paris. And it's My City. And the light of the Eiffel Tower circles in the sky above the Musee d'Orsay reflecting on the Seine and my heart flutters and tickles. I live a life that many people dream about - one that I once dreamed about - And I've fallen head over heels in love with it.

(Blurry self portrait, it's the best I could do.)

Some Girls Have All The (Un)Luck

I don't generally like to write about my relationships or dates. It bit me in the ass a couple of times - after all you never really know who's reading. Oh but sometimes a girl just needs to bitch to her friends, and so I will. I'll be basically vague and refrain from doing things like comparing my dates to James Bond villains.

So I'm back out on the market. Not like before, not my rebound phase where I was unscrupulously snatching up anything good looking that came across my path. No, as a sort of turn of the page I've returned to "traditional" dating - the kind where you might kiss on the first date and then if all goes well you will see each other again the following week.

This slow process is torturous for me. I am impulsive and spontaneous. I like to take what I want. I realize this has a kind of air of self destruction about it, and so I'm turning the page on that old me and giving this a fair try. People still do this, right? People still just date?

I've met a few people that I like since January. And I've even gone on dates with them. And the dates even went well. And yet?? What am I doing wrong? Because if it isn't the guy who can't find time for me in his so busy schedule (of seeing other girls I assume), it is the amazing time I had with the guy who admitted at the very end he had a girlfriend. It seems that still, after all these years, I am attracting unavailable men.

It's always been like that for me. It's my pattern, I'm fully aware of it and I try really hard to work against it. I've spent plenty of years in therapy, I don't need anyone to write in and tell me about how "It's the energy you put out that you receive" or that "You subconsciously don't want someone who's available" or blah blah blah. Because I have to tell you - right now more than ever in my life - I really am putting out the right energy and both consciously and subconsciously I really truly would like to date someone who's available. Emotionally, physically, metaphysically, consciously and subconsciously available.

This, for the record, is why I don't date. I'm not normal, I'll admit. I am one of those crazy romantics who falls in love every other day. When I am going out with a guy it's because I am so into him and not just because "Eh, why not let's see", but unfortunately society (and other "normal" people) dictate this process. This painful, ridiculous process of calling and not calling, waiting hours and days to respond to not seem too eager, of putting on our best perfumes and shoes only to fall flat at the end of the night - hoping for a kiss but receiving a kiss-off.

I do it because I have to. I am learning the ways of the detested "game playing", carefully crafting nonchalant emails and texts so that I don't come off like a crazy (which, ahem, I have been known to do), dressing up while at the same time dressing down, waiting, waiting, waiting. Inevitably there comes a rub. I blow off. A "Hey, you're an amazing girl, but..."

If I am such an amazing girl, what, then, makes it so difficult to want to see me again? What does "that other girl" have that I apparently do not?

Okay, go ahead. Throw you're best "He's not good enough for you anyway"s and "The right one will come along when you least expect it"s and "You have to stop looking to find it"s. I've posed myself for that line of fire. In the meantime, I am going to bury myself neck deep in visa process', job hunts, art projects and cleaning the cat litter. And I'll leave you with this little gem that sort of sums it all up.

(Let's go camping! While we're camping let's take some pictures of us camping to hang up in our cubicles to remind us of that time we went camping. That will be a cherished memory.)

Not at all related? This is my new favorite album. They played in Paris last night while I was on my apparently-not-at-date. ("Apparently", because apparently he didn't realize it?) Anyway, this is my theme music for the month of February. It is somewhere between Portishead and Air, and reminds me of really cold winter months and driving through the desert in the middle of the night.

("I'd rather die than to be with you." Love them. Buy the album February 23.)

Wednesday

I am listening to the combined sounds of my cat trying to burrow into some dark corner of my closet and a new band I discovered today, reveling in the same lazy sensation of yesterday evening.

Today was specifically less fruitful as far as job hunting but positive steps forward have been made by way of inquiry. There is so much on this deadline, and somehow I am remaining mostly calm in the face of it. Then, talk to me again at the end of the month!

Days are sort of beginning to fade in and out of each other, marked only by outings with my friends and the weekly interview. One of these will be the one, I keep thinking. Which is, of course, followed by a waterfall of thoughts about what the hell I will actually do when that moment occurs. I've started applying for job jobs, not just internships, because I have to. Because five months goes by so relatively quick when you don't want it to (and so slowly when you do).

But I'm looking forward to tomorrow. It's the semi-official beginning to the weekend and I have a get together with someone very interesting to me. It involves two concerts and a recently hemmed skirt, and I'm praying that my stitches keep thing together for the whole of the evening. It's exciting to meet new people and even more so to share in the common bond of music and combining of friends.

If I sound trite it's because I'm tired. I apologize. I want to be all deep and philosophical but the truth is I am just preparing for a good nights sleep - thinking about last nights regular barrage of strange dreams and getting ready to brush my teeth. You're okay with that, aren't you? No pearls of wisdom or letters of prose this evening. Just contentment.

On Staying In

Days like this I shock myself. Really? I have this much motivation in me? I have this much drive?

There has been so much in my life that I have left undone (ahem, SCHOOL) that I look back on moments like these with sheer awe at my own will. When I want something, Goddamnit I'm gonna get it.

At the end of today I had sent out ten resumes and received one call back, keeping with my ratio of every 8 resumes gets an interview. I wasn't even tired. I did my regular house chores and went back to the little house to make good use of the borrowed sewing machine on my table. I didn't turn on the T.V. - just made some dinner and kept moving.

The cat helped me alter my old navy skirt into something less matronly, amply proving that kittens just do not understand that eating straightpins is hazardous to their health. (He did not succeed in his attempts to at becoming kitten pin swallower extradonaire, by the way.) I helped a friend with her resume and cover letter. I chatted with Justin on the phone. I exchanged long distance messenger conversations with a couple of adorable French boys who, unbeknownst to them, are the best French classes I could ever not pay for.

And by the end of the night I was wiped out. There's not much more I wanted than sleep, eyes drooping lazily as I typed, clever words escaping my worn out brain. Vaguely, I planned for the following day. Two days after that. Friday's lunch.

But nothing for the weekend. Because even my motivation has limits.