The first picture I took, taken the day we arrived. January 1, 2009
I'm going to miss the little things about Paris:
- Hearing French all around me all the time.
- Being able to understand a slightly higher percentage of that French than when I first arrived.
- Elderly men in old suits riding bikes with baguettes in the front basket.
- Tourists dragging their flat-tired Velibs to Velib stations with mangled baguettes in the front baskets.
Look how little he is. Look how Seattle I am. January 2009
- Adults who ride scooters to work -- the foot-powered kind.
- The adult man who rides a Segway through Saint Germain and doesn't give a sh*t everyone thinks he's an idiot.
- The early morning smell of baking bread in our apartment, compliments of the boulangerie below.
- The early, early morning sound of the garbage trucks -- every morning -- that always let me know it will be an acceptable time to wake up in two more hours.
- The beauty of French men -- thin, perfectly tailored suit, floppy hair, scarf.
- The way those beautiful French men act as my mirror. French men will flirt with anything. So if they look at me like they want to devour me, I know I look semi-OK. If they pay me no attention at all, I know I look like a hideous beast and should return home and hide in the closet for the remainder of the day. It's a good thing I've never looked really, really good or else they would probably rip off their clothes and chase me down the street howling like wolves.
- Feeling safe, even when walking home alone late at night.
- Never having to choose between drinking or driving because duh, no car, let's drink like motherf*ckers.
- The "Europe smell," that smell that's in the air as soon as you walk outside. Tough to describe but kind of smells like history. (Seattle smells like teen spirit HA HA totally awesome Nirvana joke)
- S.O.S. Medecins. I don't know what people do when their kids get sick late at night back in the U.S. but I bet I'm not gonna like it.
- The maitre d' who wears black pointy-toed shoes with hot pink laces.
- That same maitre d' who suggested I take off my shirt when I spilled wine on it and then I almost did it because FRENCH MEN, PEOPLE, FRENCH MEN.
June 2010 God help us all
- Narrow streets full of strolling people holding hands.
- The freedom to push those stupid strolling people to the ground if they're in my way and I'm in a hurry.
- Jazz bands playing on the street for no darn good reason.
- Beautiful French men peeing on buildings in broad daylight for no darn good reason because hello, there's a cafe right there stupid.
- Men wearing brightly colored pants. (Today I saw one in yellow and one in brick red.)
- Me wearing brightly colored pants with zero self-consciousness. (Today I wore green.)
- The people in our neighborhood who say "bonjour"every day, like boutique man downstairs and the hairdresser up the street, who both think the sun rises and sets on Coco.
- The people who say "bonjour" when I walk into the grocery store -- and by "saying bonjour," I mean scowling and glaring at me with contempt. They don't give a sh*t where the sun rises and sets.
- Sitting at "my" cafe early in the morning and watching all the cafe workers on the street setting up shop, calling out to each other and waving.
- Waking up and thinking, "Holy sh*t I live in Paris."
- Waking up the next day and thinking, "Holy sh*t I live in Paris."
OK, looking at all those pictures just about did me in. Jesus Christ, who else needs a motherf*ckin' drink around here? Sorry about the language, Mom, but I'm VERY UNSTABLE RIGHT NOW.
Feelings are a real bitch,