I began my most recent babysitter day at Cafe Flore, where I drank a crème and flirted shamelessly with the waiter -- and by that I mean I got my skirt caught in the chair so when I stood up it pulled halfway down my ass. That's how I roll when it comes to flirting, I have no patience for subtlety.
After my blatant display of sexinesss, I went shopping. I walked into stores I've had my eye on for a long time, then ran out again when I realized I would never, ever pay 700 euros for a cocktail dress unless it came with a lifetime supply of cocktails.
I went into one store and a salesguy attached himself to me. If I touched a blouse, he ran to grab a pair of pants to go with it. If I looked at pants, he was suddenly at my side with a blouse, a belt, a pair of shoes and a long-stemmed rose held between his teeth. This guy was really selling the shit out of me.
He followed me into the changing room. Literally. And it was one of those changing rooms I hate -- the kind where there's no mirrors in the actual dressing rooms so you have to walk out onto the sales floor to see yourself in a mirror. All the other shoppers stare at you and voice their opinions as to how well/how horribly the pants fit your bum.
It got a little cramped in my mirrorless changing room because my salesguy kept coming in to visit, pushing past the useless curtain to fix a strap, or belt the pants "correctly" (I am apparently an idiot who doesn't know how to work a belt properly), or fuss with a collar.
Then he'd bring me a vest or a blazer and say something like "When you're at dinner, you can wear it with the jacket, but when you go dancing later at a club, you can take it off and you'll have the sexy blouse underneath" I gasped and said, "Oh, you know me and my lifestyle SO WELL! OH, and what do I wear with it when my daughter is throwing handfuls of banana at me because she doesn't like her lunch? Do you have a banana-colored blazer? Preferably with an avocado-colored sexy blouse underneath because.... well, she doesn't seem to like those either....."
Salesguy brought me a pair of five-inch heels and told me to try them with some skinny black pants. I did, and I have to admit I looked awesome, but when he told me to walk around I said "No way in hell, bub." I'll stand there teetering on stiletto stilts but I'm not going to try to walk in them. I know myself quite well -- I will fall over and split the skinny black pants up the back in front of my shopping audience.
I left the store with some nice stuff and promised my salesguy I'd return so we could do it all again soon. I'm not sure that I will but I think that I might.
After shopping I swung past Gertrude Stein's place. As usual, I stood outside and wondered whose leg I had to hump to get inside the building. I would hurt many, many people to get inside the apartment where Gertie used to hang with my man Hemingway.
Oh come on, people, just lemme in already.
There's some work being done on the apartment directly across the courtyard from us. At the end of each workday, a rather ridiculously good looking drywall guy who takes really good care of himself strips down and changes his clothes right in front of the window. I've taken to sitting in front of our window with a tub of popcorn waiting for the show at quittin' time. If Alex is around, he'll yell from the kitchen, "OH MY GOD, would you stop looking at that guy?!" and I'll say "No."
One more thing. I often get weird emails requesting I mention something-or-other on my blog. I rarely pay them any attention because I'm not interested. I don't write this blog for money so there's no need to pimp it out. But this guy.... this Damien.... this guy was different. He had something special. Here are the most important parts of his email --
Damien: "I've just visited your dazzling blog..."
MJ: You have fine taste. I'm listening.
Damien: "....and thought I would contact you. My name is Damien Luce. I'm a French pianist & actor. I'm a former student of the Juilliard School and the American Academy of Dramatic Arts."
MJ: OK, impressive credentials, but where exactly are you going with this...
Damien: "In January 2012, I will be performing Cyrano de Bergerac as a clown..."
MJ: Bam. Done. Damien, I'm yours. Forget Alex, forget the guy standing in his underwear at the window. It's all you all the time from here on out, you clown with wacky awesome ideas.
Go to this website if you want to know more about Damien. He's trying to drum up funds to produce his project. If we were still going to be here in January 2012, I would give him five million dollars right now just to make sure this performance happens. Actually, I couldn't do that, because we are going to have zero dollars soon because salesguy sold the shit out of me and coffees at Cafe Flore are expensive.
This was the picture attached to his email. Pure awesome.
Best of luck, Damien. I really hope it works out for you.
Phew, is it just me or was this post super sexy?