And Then There Were Two.

Two nights left.
Two friends saying goodbyes over champagne and cigarettes.  A random puppy in my lap...and being groped by a drunk, homeless man. 
So perfectly Parisian.

"There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lives in it differs from that of any other...Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it"

If this is true, Mr. Hemingway, then I must have brought my very best to Paris, because what it's given me in return is quite immeasurable.  Looking back through journal entries from the past three months is like reading someone else's life.  One that is far more thrilling, scandalous, and altogether intriguing than my own.  Sometimes I don't even know who this girl is.  

But I'm finding that I actually kind of like her.  

So I thank you, Paris for bringing her to my attention, and Mr. H for reminding me that there's much more where that came from.

Oh, the noise in my head these days.  Louder by the second.  Deafening at times.  Pretty sure there's not enough wine in France to quell it...but what the hell, it's worth a shot.

This is really all I want for today.

Addressing the Rumors.

Despite the often exaggerated and overused stereotypes associated with the French, believe it or not, even the overall bitchy sentiment (not a stereotype) of Parisians has started to grow on me just a bit.  At times, all you can do is smile at the utter ridiculousness of it all.  It's as though they go out of their way to make things difficult, only for the opportunity to throw a tantrum about it.  And take it from me, these people love to throw tantrums.


This being said, they have some incredibly endearing qualities...a few that I will especially miss.


They adore their wine.  Seriously.  I've witnessed people drinking un verre de vin as early as 10 am.  Not to mention, it accompanies nearly every meal.  This is a lifestyle I feel most confident I can adapt to.  Come on Americans, get with the times...didn't you hear that wine is the new water?


People-watching could easily be considered sport in Paris.  This is serious business folks.  If you've ever wondered why French women seem to always be so impeccably dressed, even for mundane everyday tasks, it is because they will surely be checked out no less than 37.5 times in the 3 blocks it takes them to walk to the grocery store.  The peak season for people watching is springtime when cafe terraces fill with onlookers sipping kirs and chain-smoking cigarettes.


In the US, it's common practice when one goes out, to sit across from the person you are sharing a meal with.  In Paris this not the case.  Here, everyone faces the street, turning the sidewalks into a makeshift runway for women eager to show off their printemps fashion and the newest shade of Chanel lipstick.  At first, I found this to be more than slightly intimidating.  However, I must say that it kind of grows on you.  As it's nearly impossible to evade the gawkers, I've learned to stand up a little straighter, dab on some red lipstick, and give my best Kate Moss impression.


Bitches or not, Parisian women are classy women.  Though they may be donning designer duds, there's a good chance their hair and makeup will be understated (yet somehow always perfect).  And when the temperature goes up, you won't see half dressed women prancing around in too-short shorts and cleavage-bearing tank tops. They've mastered the art of leaving certain things to the imagination, while still being incredibly sexy.  Take note American girls...


They say things like "Oh la la," "sushis," "chewing gums," and my personal favorite "It's not grieve" (Ok, so that's from 4-year old, but still).  French is an incredibly beautiful spoken language, but some of my favorite phrases are those that they've borrowed from other cultures and adapted to their own tastes, which they do quite often.


McBaguette anyone? (Yes, it exists)...

    

Indeed.

As it's just recently begun to dawn on me that my time in Paris is coming to a close, I've been feeling especially nostalgic these days.  As a result of much time spent scrolling through pictures and blog posts, which I realize have been painfully vague at times (but trust me, there's a reason for this), I've decided to dedicate a post to some of the highlights of this crazy adventure that I'm infinitely happy I chose to embark on...   

Day 1: Reunited at last (he's thrilled, I swear) 

The realization that this is my city.

...and that this is the view from my room.

Aubs in France!

          

         Mornings in Bretagne...relaxation at it's finest.

          

Despite an incident that included throwing up into a bowl next
to my bed, this week spent in the country was incredible.

If this isn't happiness, I don't know what is.

Ok, maybe this...

Paris, you've been good to me. Very, very good.

Yes. Yes, I do.

http://charleskinbote.tumblr.com/

And then there are days that I hate it.  And I hate myself for hating it. The frustration is overwhelming.  The city is out for revenge, no doubt for one of my countless indiscretions.  Why must it be so difficult?  Nothing is simple and everything feels wrong.  The wind torments my already disheartened self, and the sun burns my eyes.  The tears are angry, not sad.  Angry that I'm succumbing to the pressure.  Angry at the world.  The days that I want to run home, pull the covers over my head, and scream. 

Loudly.

Because sometimes we just need to be reminded that it's there.