Dear Fannie,


Is that how this is going to be? I mean, give me a break though – at least I didn’t move to Southern California (how cliché) like the Kibbles or whoever they are. Layla is the only one I remember and she definitely belongs in CA anyway. Next thing you know Monty’s going to have grown his hair all nappy and long and four of their hippy west-coast starters will get kicked off the team for possession of marijuana. Oh wait.

I, on the other hand, have fully adjusted to Parisian life without the use of stereotypes, maps, English or American friends whatsoever in three short days. I’m basically a local and definitely completely fluent. The first step was to immediately locate a chic, if not arbitrary, coiffeur who gave off a sort of “good vibe” (so easy to tell at first glance with hair stylists – eh). After requesting the first available appointment for a haircut (maintenant?, il a dit), I gave the monsieur total confiance and let him hack away with his little knife (a la the one Garcon uses to shave his chin in Beauty and the Beast – switchblade style with a rounded end) at my hair. So. Now I have thick straight bangs that hit in the middle of my eyeballs (tres parisienne and utterly practical) and lots of layers. With my new blue French ballet shoes (yes, real ones, because I’m in Paris and everyone is basically a ballerina) and my Chanel perfume (thank you, Lee Ellen, for encouraging this jump start in the states) I am utterly camouflaged as a native.

In other fabulous news, I have identified 20 varieties (genus? Species? These things are animal size) of roach living in and outside of my apartment floorboards, but they are French so are less offensive than crude American types and scuttle away when I enter the, er, well when I’m in the room (as there is only one… an apart-room). But I can see them, so I’ve contacted a pest control person and am waiting on them right now (we are talking Comcast-people speed here… slow customer service is universal), though I shall not likely be able to post this until morning as the internet box is blinking angrily at me and will not settle down to make a love connection with my computer. So close. The glamorous life, right here, people.

And to match this lovely twinkling light that sits right in my face, an utterly quaint crosswalk sign flashes its happy haphazard redness just outside my window, 24 hours a day. How conducive to my already insomniac sleeping patterns. But on the upside I did acquire a hefty amount of housecleaning supplies and groceries today (can you say balsamic vinegar in a spray bottle? Roasted/salted/prepackaged hazelnuts? A French press to use in France? Tampons WITH applicators!! – Oh, treasures untold!) but am so far existing literally entirely on bread and butter. Not kidding. The market on Blvd Raspail (one block away) is tomorrow so I’ll get my greens and cheese soon, but for now it’s the good stuff. Also, I may or may not have seen “Bright Star” by myself last night in a red-velvet lined theater a few blocks away and wept considerably at its predictable romantic nuances and yet somehow totally moving story line. Romantic poetry + French subtitles + semi-attractive girl who gets the hottie = yes, please. Tear-worthy, agreed the other entirely blue-haired theater-goers who insisted on waiting until the end of the credits to leave. Oh, come on.

That’s all for now – back to waiting on the bug man. Fannie, has the Sunsphere turned blue? Has dreamy Skylar McBee agreed to coach the football team? Have you grown out of the Disney-princess phase?

All my lovin’,


~ by soleilsphere on January 14, 2010.

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