La Coquette

Bits and bobs

My camera is broken so you’re just going to have to take my word for it, the Jardin du Luxembourg is the most beautiful place on Earth right now. 

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I have signed up for Meetic.  It’s strange to be online dating for the first time on foreign soil.  But I have to show you a gem that made me feel better:  It’s a forum (from a few years ago) where French expats talk about dating in New York. 

Après 10 ans d'étude de ce #$ de mot de "date" j'en suis arrivé à la conclusion suivante:
- Date est un verbe et un nom.
- Il n'est pas forcement un préliminaire à une relationship. 
- To Date: "L'acte d'être dans (de vouloir) une relationship elle même"
To go on a date: "Rencard"
Maintenant, on ne peut pas dire à son partenaire:
"I would like to date you"
"Let's go on a date"
(Généralement la réponse est: "I am not looking for a relationship")
Mais après fixe un RDV on peut dire: "It's a date then"

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Aren’t windy spring/fall days the best?  Instead of tucking down into my scarf like in winter, I lift my chin to the wind and squint.  Like a Golden Retriever.

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I was blog of the semaine this week at Paname Ensemble.  There is a short Q and A with me. 

Mama's favorite little accessory

If you had asked me 24 hours ago if it was possible for a child to wear too much Petit Bateau I would have said no.  But that was before I saw the 8-year-old girl in a striped shirt, striped skirt, and striped knee socks walking down the rue du Rocher with her mother Sunday afternoon.  The only body parts not covered by stripes were her kneecaps and her hands.

What made this worse?  The stripes were all navy blue and white.  If there had been some variation in color, it could have had a sort of happy Scandinavian, Oilily effect.  But no.

How is the mother going to explain that outfit down the road?  “Chérie, I wanted you to look like a prison escapee?"  or "I thought it might be interesting to watch you give people seizures?”

You could just tell that the mom thought the kid looked adorable; this outfit was no accident. 

Striped knee socks.  Some people are sick I tell you. 

It got me contemplating which kiddie fashion crime is more liable to induce nausea, The Petit Bateau Striped Assault or, on the other end of the spectrum, The Baby Mohawk.  I think the mohawks win.  You know, that unpleasant celebrity aftertaste does it every time. 

A woh, two, three

1.  It's a little late to be mentioning this, but I wanted to thank everyone who nominated me for a Bloggie, that feels awesome and I won’t pretend otherwise.  And congrats to my real-life friend, Clotilde, who is also in the running for Best European Weblog.  Watch your back, Clo!  (Voting ends today.)

Last November, the week before I left Paris, Clotilde invited me to her pad in Montmartre to test a recipe for the cookbook she’s working on.  I can’t wait until I can turn the glossy pages of her book and see the fantastic meal that I ate.  She’s been writing updates about the cookbook writing process, which you can read on her blog. 

2.  Also, waaay back in November (How rivetingly up-to-the-minute this blog is!), a very cool journalism student asked to interview me and I said Oui.  I’m all about helping out the kids, you know? 

If you read French you can see the article here.  If you studied French in the American school system, you can look at the gibberish and feel depressed.

3.  I should tell you that I’m in Florida through February 15th spending some time with my American family.  (And getting my French passport!  For real this time!)  I know what you’re thinking: Get your ass back to Paris, bitch!  You have a good point. 

Over drinks at La Palette

Me:  The boys here all have long hair.
Alex:  Yeah, but what’s strange is that it looks blow-dried.
Me:  As opposed to the Oberkampf boy who has long hair but uses “product” to make it look dirty.
Alex:  As opposed to boys in my neighborhood who have long hair that actually is dirty.

Rogue doggy strikes again

You ever carry a cute dog who is brandishing a big pink erection through a grocery store?  You get some pretty funny looks.  My favorite was the lady who didn’t notice the boner until she leaned in to coo, "Oh la la le petit chien!" and then she looked down said “Dis donc, il est content!”

Song of Chuck

And lo, with the Fall, there arose great change in the closet, and the espadrilles were put to slumber, and the Chuck Taylors emerged from the dark recesses, triumphant once more.   

The Weekend Before the Weekend We Just Had®

Original title kick I am on, yes?  No internet for two weeks, thought constipation, you know how it is. 

So, The Weekend Before the Weekend We Just Had® was a lovely weekend, perhaps just as lovely as The Weekend We Just Had.  I watched a pug; I went to a fashion show; I ate some quiche.  Surprise--I took some pictures for the Blog World at Large >> 

No captions this time.  See TWBTWWJH® Cliff Note summation below:

1. Friday night of TWBTWWJH®, I went to a fashion show produced by Gaspard Yurkievich, the designer my (American) friend Alex interns for.  It featured the collections of several new talented designers and was held at the Palais Brongniart Place de La Bourse.  It was a nighttime fashion show and afterwards...open bar!  Normally I am intimidated by the bluster and stiletto-stomping confidence of those who work in fashion, but the open bar helped enormously, in an enormous way.  The highlight of the evening though was absolutely seeing reality star Marlène, of Top Model 2005, walking in the show.  This is, in fact, my second French reality T.V. star viewing--I once saw Patxi from Star Academy near Place Saint Michel and told him I was his biggest American fan in the most broken, crappy French you can imagine.  I think I had lived here about five weeks.  He gave me a high five.

2.  My sister Aimee is back!  (Those are her legs in the picture above!)  Back from being a summer au pair for a very nice family in Avignon.  And guess what?  Now she’s going to be a teacher’s assistant at a lycée here in Paris, so we went to visit her school The Weekend Before the Weekend We Just Had®.  This means, yes, she will be here the entire academic year.  Of course, we here at La Coquette are very excited to have her in town and after intense contract negotiations, it seems that she will be providing us with a delightful amount of sisterly hahas and the occasional Chekhovian drama.  You’re delighted already, I know.

3.  My favorite line from the whole weekend of having the puglette® Napoleon® (all trademarks belonging to Gentry Lane), was when I went to eat falafel in front of Notre Dame and watch the fire eaters with (American) Alex.   A large greyish dog wouldn’t stop barking at Napoleon and Alex said to the dog, “Oh hush, you come from a long line of mutts and Napoleon here comes from a long line of...panties.”

Maybe they think that something will grow

Loving the France Telecom guy that I talked to for a half hour this afternoon--he insisted on speaking English with me and after a formidable rant on my part, he said, “Wanadoo, zey are part of our company and I really should not be saying thees, but zey spread sheet everywhere.”

I like being single. Gives me more time to read magazines.

I’ve been straightening up my apartment because the repair man is coming over to install a new gas heater.  It has been over a week I’ve been living without hot water and let me tell you, I can't believe my luck that it has ONLY been over a week.  I mean, my hot water heater had the acrimonious gall to break down in AUGUST in France.  Did I mention that my very friendly neighborhood merchants have all put up signs saying “See ya sometime before Noel, suckers!” and hightailed it in their Deux Cheveaux to eat apricot-filled beignets in the countryside with their poodles?

Okay, I apologize for that last sentence; there’s something about broken plumbing in the dead of August that brings out the repetitive use of clichés in me.

The thing that I am most looking forward to with the Return of L’Eau Chaude (besides no longer having to shower at my cousin’s) is that it will mean the Return of Le Clean Sink, as the pile of dishes living there have SO surmounted the point where cold water and soap could possibly do the trick.

And all those dirty dishes just can’t be very good for my chi.  Whaaa? you ask.  I'll tell you!  I've been thinking of my chi of late in no short part due to my friend Elizabeth MacCrellish.  She has written a sweet wonder of a book called Dorm Room Feng Shui. Does it read like gangbusters?  Hell yeah, it does.  Is the author knowingly wise to the constraints (budget, space, and time) placed on your average college student?  She is.  Did she write it light, funny and irreverent?  Why yes.   Would it make a really great gift for the college student/high school graduate you know and love?  God, you guys are so on my wavelength. 

So, according to feng shui principles, your living space is divided into nine separate boxes, each representing an aspect of your life. This is called your bagua.  I had this idea to show you a shocking picture of my desk clutter  (located in my third gua--family), but I would have had to spend such an enormous amount of time making the clutter in that box look attractive, until I had achieved a sort of Joseph Cornell precision to the disaster....and I only tell you this to provide, still further evidence that I am insane.  So instead, I’ll give you with these tidy piles of magazines, attractively existing in my relationship corner! 

Pretty or not, I suspected one could contend they were clutter, and therefore a blockage to my relationship potential, but I just did not want to go there--oh magazines, I love thee too much!  And then I read this on page 3: anything you love is not considered clutter.  And I said, Yay!

Your extended forecast

This morning, I went to my favorite produce stand at Place Maubert to buy some tomatoes and a nice, sweet, melon.  Melon is similar to cantaloupe in the U.S., only comparing the posturing hack that is "cantaloupe" to the French Charentais melon is like comparing Johnny Hallyday to Elvis.  Except in this case, the French version is the king in the glorious white jumpsuit.  Yeah, I'm pretty passionate about the melon.  You do not even want to get me started on the melon-jambon combination....mmm, ham.

Anyway, en route on blvd. Saint Germain, I ran into Madame L, wheeling back her groceries from Franprix.  I don’t see her very often, so I braced myself for a sour comment about my recent run of guests and the accompanied noise level (yes, even despite the rug), but instead she just complained about the construction, tourists, and heat.  Then, she told me that thank god she was leaving Monday for two weeks in Corsica with her daughter and grandchildren. 

Looks like SCATTERED BOUTS OF SHOE WEARING WITH HEAVY CHAIR SCRAPING ARE ON THE HORIZON.