La Coquette

A list of items found in my purse, all in some way related to the fact that my parents are in town:

-two used RER tickets
-a ticket stub from the Dora Maar exhibit at the Musée Picasso
-several dozen Lions bar wrappers
-a ticket stub reading "Fat Tire Bike Tour"
-this week's Figaroscope
-matchboxes from the restaurants Le C’amelot, L’Avant Gout, and La Fontaine de Mars
-a receipt for three mint teas at La Mosquée de Paris
-a plastic knife
-a map I drew of the Père Lachaise cemetery with x’s at the graves of Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf, and Marcel Proust
-a corkscrew
-babywipes
-10 used metro tickets
-toilet paper

It's called, Les Guêrets

Me, Mémé, Jeanne, Aimee, Lise, Claire, Jean, Pépé, Etienne. (Cousins not yet born--Jennifer and Louise)

The farm was:

• Light suppers--milk straight from the cow, with morsels of french bread, eaten like cereal from a bowl
• Outdoor lunches that lasted three hours
• "Summer reading" on the terrace swing during la sieste
• A heavy cloth napkin, your own, tucked into a wooden drawer for the next meal
• Climbing barn ladders
• The place my father was born
• The place my grandmother was born
• The place I visited every other summer of my childhood
• Cherry picking
• Wheelbarrow rides, pulled by a work pony
• "Telephone" with my nine cousins at the kids table
• Card games with the adults, Bouchon!, until bedtime
• Hearing our parents laughing and staying up late
• Summer of '89--Sleeping on the floor of the old nursery, the room where my father once slept
• Summer of '93--Graduating to a bed
• Making rounds to see relatives I could never remember, but who remembered me, squeezed me, and kissed me.  Wetly.
• Picnics; hiking to french marching songs, "Un Kilomètre à Pied"
• Sparklers on July 14th, instead of July 4th
• Waking up in the middle of the night to watch calves being born

Today, there's no kids table.  Today, we used paper napkins at lunch, not the country-style cloth ones (I loved the cloth ones).  Today the farm is still owned by my tonton Roger and tata Marie-Line, but someday soon, it will be run by my cousin Etienne (Jeanne's brother).  Today, I turned twenty-five at my father's (far-off-but-steadfast) home, Les Guêrets.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go climb a ladder and see some kittens.

Things Overheard While Entering/Exiting Fashion Shows Last Week

French woman (breezing past line at Léonard): I’m with the press. 
American woman (waiting in line):  It’s a FASHION SHOW.  We’re all with the press.

Editor 1:  What’s [Stella McCartney's] obsession with the egg shape?
Editor 2:  She did just have a baby. 

Plus sympa, plus faut attendre. (More you are nice, more you must wait).
-Good-natured doorman finally taking my ticket, after 11 people with no common courtesy have stomped past.   
 
I have a three-year-plan to get out of the fashion business.
-Stylist in my row at Chanel.  (Whom I wanted desperately to hug). 

Eets like they soaked it in meelk.
-Italian editor tiptoeing her crocodile heels through the snow-slushy red carpet in the Jardin des Tuileries.  YES, THEY ACTUALLY ROLLED OUT THE RED CARPET IN A MUDDY GARDEN.  It was awesome. 

Things I need to do in the next fourteen hours:

(the time is currently 1:30 am Thursday, and yes I am posting from McDonalds again).

1.  Take the dog’s Sherpa to the luggage-repair shop to try and fix the hole that she chewed in it today.  (The owners return Friday).
2.  Attend five fashion shows--Stella McCartney, Léonard, Marongiu, Cacharel, and Celine
3.  Make sure the dog relieves itself at least four times.
4.  Wash my hair.
5.  Orchestrate THE PERFECT OUTFIT WHEN ALL MY CLOTHES ARE DECIDING TO MOCK ME WITH THEIR INAPPROPRIATENESS.   
6.  Sleep. 

Music in My "Kitchen"

Today’s previously scheduled fashion-y post, (It involves pictorials of my wardrobe.  It’s going to be awesome, trust me), will simply have to be bumped to Monday.  I’ve been infected tapped by the fetching Clotilde of Chocolate and Zucchini for my first meme!

It’s a game called Music in My Kitchen that has been going around in the food blogging world.  Don’t misapprehend, I’m a foodie at heart (as Clotilde knows), but at first I was afraid I’d have to forfeit, given that I DON’T HAVE A KITCHEN.  Then, my sister reminded me that it’s all in the presentation, n’est-ce pas?  By her reasoning, I shouldn’t say “don’t have,”  but rather, “happens to include.” 

My sister's pitch sounds something like this, “Coquette's kitchen happens to include a shower.”  And here I was all the while thinking I have a college refrigerator and a hot plate IN MY BATHROOM.  My sister should truly consider a career in real estate. 

Okay, on y va? 

What is the total amount of music files on your computer?
Practically rien.  It’s all on the iPod (thank you, Santa).

What is the last CD you bought?
Manu Chao’s Clandestino.

What was the last song you listened to before reading this message?
I had just been jogging in the Jardin du Luxembourg.  My private joy (private, up until now) is working out to the a cappella stylings of a group from my little sister’s university.  You see, I find their upbeat “Wamp, wamp, chhh, digga diggah,” man-made percussion just the perfect thing to keep me going.  I envision these guys bobbing their pimply heads from side to side and snapping their earnest little fingers, and for some reason, it makes me want to sprint.  Sweet Home, Alabama--THE A CAPPELLA VERSION.  THE BEST RUNNING TOOL A GIRL CAN HAVE.   

Write down 5 songs you often listen to, or that mean a lot to you.

1.  Every early Paul Simon song.  I am a whore for good lyrics. 

2.  Joni Mitchell’s River.  Is she trying. to. break. my. heart?  Yes. 

3.  Barenaked Ladies’  Brian Wilson.  I challenge anyone not to get goosebumps listening to the voice of chubby lead-singer, Steven Page, live in concert.  Plus, hello, they have a chubby lead singer!  Who does that?  Furthermore, let it be known that I think Steven Page is S.E.X.Y., and I totally want him to be my valentine.

4.  Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean.  Because it gets everyone on the dance floor.

5.  Dave Matthews Band’s Crash.  I know, I know, conventional wisdom says: DAVE MATTHEWS SUCKS, MAN.  But I was a 16-year-old girl when this came out?  I CAN’T HELP IT.

Apologies for the walk down dorkity-lane.  Redemption time: In my “kitchen” these days, you’re most likely to hear Belle & Sebastian, The Flaming Lips, The Shins, Coldplay, and Interpol.  Especially now that I have that rug.  CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW, MADAME L?  Good. 

Who are you going to pass this stick to (three persons) and why?
Pismire because she’s a Chicagoan and I love me some polite Mid-westernerners (No, please! After you).  Gloria from L’Absurdité because she is a samurai shopper (do I really need to explain why I dig that?) and Jecca because she owns The Fact Checker’s Bible.  Yes, there is something that exists called The Fact Checker’s Bible, and I sort of want one, too.  Why do I keep admitting these things?

FIVE POSTS

THAT YOU MIGHT WANT TO READ IF YOU ARE COMING FROM THE BLOGGIES SITE AND WILL PROBABLY NEVER RETURN BECAUSE YOU WERE EXPECTING STORIES ABOUT PARIS, AND...inhale, exhale  EVERYTHING I’VE WRITTEN ABOUT PARIS LATELY IS IN THE PAST TENSE, SINCE I WAS IN THE USA FOR THE LAST FIVE WEEKS TRYING TO GET MY PAPERS SORTED, SO THAT I CAN LIVE IN FRANCE LEGALLY.  (P.S. PLEASE DON’T TELL THE AUTHORITIES THAT I'M HERE).

1.  End of The Plastic Bag Era

2.  Children (and The Elderly) Never Lie

3.  A Very Special Thanksgiving Story, or Vive la Sainte Catherine

4.  Stop Touching Your Hair

5.  Madame André and the Love Graffiti

French Superstition

In honor of Halloween, les choses qui porte malheur.  (Things that bring bad luck).

Learned from experience:

1.  SINGING MAKES FOR STORMY WEATHER, (ESPECIALLY YOUR SINGING COQUETTE)
Jeanne gets off the phone with her mom, who is coming to visit next week.  She says, “Please don't sing for the two days before she comes and that way it’ll be nice weather.” 
2.  SMOKING KILLS FISHERMAN
I am at Bistro des Artistes, and a friend lights a cigarette from a candle on our table.
“Merde, you just killed a mariner!” says another friend.

Reason #14 To Not Live in France: Halloween Sucks Here

There are costume-wearing people:
1. Disney World employees
2. Members of the College Greek System
3. The cast of Charlie’s Angels
4. Circus folk
5. Britney Spears

The French, it is safe to say, are a non-costume-wearing people.

After years of college Halloween parties and a particularly memorable night bar-hopping in Chicago’s Lincoln Park, I had honestly almost forgotten about the whole trick-or-treating deal, which is pretty much ALL they know about here because NO ONE'S TAUGHT THEM ANY BETTER.

13 REASONS TO FEEL SORRY FOR MYSELF FOR LIVING IN FRANCE

1.  No Pirates Booty.
2.  No Newlyweds.
3.  Lack of decent discount shopping of the TJ Maxx, Loehman’s and Filene’s Basement variety.
4.  US Weekly costs 8 euros.
5.  Crest Whitestrips are nowhere to be found (instead we have the half-assed knockoff AquaFresh PureWhite, which doesn’t work and still costs 30 euros).
6.  No Conan--if you don’t have cable.
7. I don't have cable.
8.  No one has ever heard of The Dave Matthew's Band.
9.  Five flights of stairs.  In August.  No air conditioning. 
10.  No possibility of grocery shopping after 10pm.
11.  No possibility of ANY type of shopping on Sunday.  EVER!
12.  No Barnes and Noble-type establishments where one can freely read magazines and other literature of interest that one would never actually buy from the comfort of a cushy armchair and feel no guilt, because, hey, I bought a latte.
13.  No Macy’s Day Parade.