Mirror, Mirror, on the wall...

"There is a great importance in working with trains", I kept hearing Audrey Hepburn say in her dramatic yet eloquent way of saying things as I was waking up to the sound of my alarm simultaneously with some toots from a train this morning. I don't know whether it was just one train or several, but it seemed to go on for hours. And I wasn't annoyed, which is highly unusual for me in the morning as I'm not tolerant of any noises, movements, or sounds until about 10:30 am. And it was 6:30 a.m. As I lay in my cozy bed with one eye half open and looking at the picture of Barishnikov I have mounted on the wall next to my bed I was insisting that I stay in bed because it should be illegal for anyone to have to get up in order to go to work while it was still dark out. I was very convincing, and managed to convince myself to stay in bed for another half hour before I realized that that train I had been placing so much importance on doesn't run itself. There's someone driving that train; someone, just like my granddad so many years ago, who has been up and driving that train for many lightless morning hours. I got up.

Ms. Hepburn was still lingering in my head enough for my morning shower song to be "Without You" from My Fair Lady. This has been my theme lately. La vie sans les hommes. I haven't had very much luck in the love department and with each distasteful experience I have even less interest in seeking it out. Yet, for some reason, the more difficulty I have finding someone the more I believe in the concept of soulmates and there being just a select chosen few you could spend your life with. Is that crazy? All this trouble of the dating world will make you appreciate a special guy (or gal) that much more.

A couple guys have crossed my paths lately, and it's been more of an awkward clashing of paths versus having him join my path (cause it's always my path -- maybe one day some boy will convince me to forge a new path, but it will have to be closer to my original route than his). I'm fine with the awkward clash and getting it over with so he can easily rejoin his old dirt road instead of the mess of him following my path for a while and then realizing it's not for the best and having to clamber through shit back to his old path. This is what I think about. This is why I'm going to die an old maid. I'm already 22 (in 4 days, at least)

I was still singing "Without you" until I remembered that Audrey didn't sing her own songs in My Fair Lady, which made the song a bit sour, so I switched to Moon River for my last rinsing. That song suits me better anyway because I have a terrible voice and I feel I can sing songs that are sung by mediocre voices more earnestly. I love terrible voices. Perhaps this is why I view Bob Dylan as my estranged husband, touring the world.

Being in a relationship is all about sharing a bed, isn't it? Let's put the sex thing aside for a second. When you get to the point where it's habit and an unspoken agreement that you can have slumber parties all the time, that's when you're in a relationship. It's so exciting. It makes going to bed and getting up that much more fun. I don't mind being single at all, I rather like it, it suits this stubborn independent lady quite well, but I wouldn't mind having someone in my bed that I could turn to at 6:30 am and announce "There is a great importance in working with trains" with one eye half open before dozing back to sleep for a half hour. He could then maybe grab me around the waist and boa-constrictor spoon until we absolutely have to get up and shower where he will have the important intensely-focused job of cleaning off my boobs. Let's face it, my boobs just go filthy without a man to frequently spend 5 minutes soaping them down.

I maybe the only hetero girl in the world that gets the fascination with boobs. They are part of the creation-creating aspect of the female body, which is what mystifies and intrigues. I know, that's what I see every time a boy says he loves me upon seeing me naked. They are my favorite body part, even if they are itty bitty. Perhaps I like them because all boobs have the same amount of nerve endings and so the smaller ones have more per. Why would any small-breasted woman want to ruin that blessing and god-given treat in order to get implants and ruin all those nerves? Counter productive, if you ask me. But I suppose not everyone wants to look like a 14 year old boy like me. I even dress like one...that was a dumb paragraph. I hope if anyone's reading this, it's only ally.

So why am I writing this? No clue, it's 8:52 and I have to be at work til 5 and I thought I'd kill some time, since I have no responsibilities as the admin library secretary. I smile and say good morning to everyone who passes through until noon, and then I'll switch it up to "Hello" and maybe "How are you?" in the afternoon after I've seen everybody. I sit at a desk all day. People wouldn't know if I didn't have pants on. This was my argument for why I shouldn't iron my pants this morning. I am wearing two bows today, one placed at my boobs on the collar of my shirt, and one bow-belt at my crotch. It looks like presents to be unwrapped for christmas! I thought I'd have this little joke to myself the last day I'm at work before christmas. My job description consists of answering phones, making copies, I sell office supplies, I sort mail, and I look at craft projects and recipes that I print off instructions to but never actually do.

Sometimes, though -- but mostly the cooking thing. I've been commissioned (of sorts) to paint naked pin ups of my friends. Last night I completed one of my cousin and his two best friends naked on a bucking mechanical bull. I drew his name for christmas (we have about 20 cousins), and that's what he wanted. It's odd how much fun it is to paint people you know naked. I don't think anyone is more self-absorbed than me, but, I have thought about how funny it is that so many people my age are interested in having a naked picture of themselves. Our generation is a self-obsessed one. All you have to do is look at how much we log into our own facebook, myspace (or blogger) accounts -- it's like looking into a mirror. And kids spend hours on facebook adoring themselves and all their photoshopped pictures and all their photoshopped friends. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? I'm just as guilty as the next person, but the future does frighten me with this crop of kids, with all the self-entitlement there is little room for manners, consideration, and neighborly love. But despite, I still have an optimistic view that we'll do great things, we just have some growing up to do.

Anyway, thank god for blueberry muffins. I had it in my head this morning that I would have a croissant for breakfast. I miss parisian croissants. I miss Paris. I'm too in love with Paris to be away from it for this long. Anyway, the non-flaky croissant at the library cafe was $2.10. I had a five and two dollars, but not 10 cents. After the thought of how many tips that always exceed 10 cents I've given those baristas passed through my head, and after envisioning the pile of change I have on my desk at home, I reluctantly bought a blueberry muffin for $1.60 instead. This is difficult for me because when I have a craving, I Have.A.CRAVING., ...but! It was 8 in the morning so the muffin was still warm and the berries were melted like chocolate. Maybe it is ok that it's legal for people to get up and go to work while it's still dark out.

In honor of my recently deceased g-ma boop

Quiet, you.

After copious amounts of margin-doodling and no paying attention in class today I thought I'd cook when I got home. When I can't shut up my mind, sometimes cooking does. I can't quiet it today, it's like I'm on aderol, designs flash in my head like a strobe light and I couldn't doodle them fast enough while I was in class. Sometimes when things are dreadful and most inconvenient I go on these creative rampages. I suppose it's because when I can't control the $h!t that's going on in my life, creating something is my only means of control. It's sad but it's true -- it's the only thing where I have complete control over the outcome.

Let's take a shot at making seaweed salad. I have sesame oil and white vinegar and tamari at home to put on it. Yes. And maybe some miso soup. Craving decided and I was drooling at the thought until 2 p.m. when I was released from class and able to go buy my supplies.

I went to rice & spice. I was put into my place by a little man who insisted that this $15 dollar bag of dried seaweed would expand 8-10 times. Indeed it did, I watched it grow in water like the blob. Me and amanda were watching the tentacles unfurl and we couldn't help but exclaim, "It's ALIVE!"

You know what would go well with this seaweed salad? I have quinoa at home and I could stir fry some shrimp, mushrooms, and broccoli. And throw in a little minced ginger and garlic. Avocado goes well with shrimp. Vinegar and ginger and avocado? Sure.

The pan I stir fried in had burnt-on remnants from the maple candied walnuts I made the week before, which offered a bit of a tang. All in all it was a tasty lil morsel. What the hell am I going to do when I'm pregnant and have monster cravings? I shutter at the thought.



Breakfast today consisted of a salsa-bruschetta with drizzled olive oil on toast. I like food a little bit. And my mind still wasn't quiet. So I tried doing a blog entry...still didn't quiet do the trick. Huphalump.

Mamie et Papie me visitaient

I got up early on Saturday to pick my mom up from the airport, with my wake up call of a freezing shower, which was typical for me by that time because our apartment building hadn’t had hot water since Wednesday, and weren’t expected to until Monday. It’s like being washed by someone spraying a hose at you on a cold day. Naturally, it makes me more grumpy than I usually am in the morning. There were a couple of events that happened the few days before my mom arrived that were really trying to test my patience, but nothing could bring me down because I was so excited for my parents to come visit me.
I took the wrong metro to the airport and had to switch to the right one halfway through. After a little wait at Terminal 2F, I saw the little munchkin and we headed back to my apartment where she took a post travel nap. When she woke up, we went up to Montmartre and climbed the more picturesque parky side of the hill to Sacre Couer. After taking in a full panorama of smoggy Paris, we found a little café where we had some locks with little red peppercorns, cheese, and a salad with a roasted camembert and a couple glasses of wine. We walked back down to the metro through the neighborhoods of Montmartre and I actually found a vintage store that I liked that was relatively affordable. My mom found a baby blue go-go dress that I fell in love with. The store shop owner looked like Yoko Ono. I bought the dress and we headed home and called it a night.

The next day, we went to the Porte de Vanves flea market. We picked our way along it, with our respective “ooos” and “aaahs” and “look at this’” and talked about how long it would take dad to get through the first few stands. I found the most petite road bike that’s in existence and had to take a picture. What is it about small versions of things that’s so awesome? The big purchase of the day was a thimble that I needed to do my extensive hand sewing homework over the break. After a pit stop at the Bastille food market where we got a kilo of strawberries, we headed to the Marais district, which mom really wanted to check out. Apparently it’s the Jewish district and we were lost until we saw a man with earlocks and a yarmulke. We window shopped and mom must be my good luck charm cause I found an even better vintage shop in that area as well and I found some even better priced gogo boots to go with my gogo dress.
Keep in mind that to get to all of these places we have to use the underground metro system. I have never gotten lost or had problems in the metro, but since my mom was here she of course had to tell me where to go to transfer to the appropriate subways. We got lost a few times, accidentally exited the system where we had to buy her a new ticket to get back in a few times, and got on the wrong subways enough times that I finally told her to just not say anything and I will lead the way. The subway that goes to my stop is called the RER B. Pronounced R-E-R-B. You spell it. I made fun of my mom after she said “rear B” a few too many times, and told her how to say it correctly, we had a giggle, and honestly 30 seconds later, “Wait, isn’t rEar B over there?” She didn’t get it right one time she was here. She’s such a Fulton. You know how Fulton’s add “s” to everything? Fred Meyer’s, Hood’s Canal. The grocery store closest to my apartment is called “Ed”, and so many times I heard the sentence, “So, should we go to Ed’s and get something for tonight?”
“…Well, it belongs to ED”

Monday we were off to Corsica, a small (and I think the only) French island. We landed in the north of the island and took the most scenic 3 hour tra in ride to the town of Calvi. On the way we cruised along the coast, went through mountains and plains dotted with small houses, and saw crumbling aqueducts along rivers that we followed. There was a lady about my mom’s age transforming her face with make up across from us on the little tin train we were on. I was hypnotized by it, I’d try to sneak peeks at the steps of the metamorphosis as she went from au naturelle to trannie. Just as I was wondering what I could do to my mom’s face with a little make up, she leaned over and whispered, “I’m so glad I never got into that stuff, it’s like an addiction”. Touché.
The Island boasts 340 sunny days a year. We got two of the 25 grey ones on our 3 day trip. All I wanted was to lie on the sunny beach but it didn’t look like it was going to happen. Ok, well, at least I can take a hot shower. We got to our very European hotel, and the shower’s pressure was like a light rainfall. I was lucky if I could get any water to my scalp. The first day we went horse back riding. It was excellent. We even got to trot. We went through the beautiful rustic European farm that had 25 horses, two donkies, one big indoor firepit, and three sleeping dogs on the couches of the front porch, then we rode through some fields, across the train tracks and along the beach. Mom thought she was such a pro because she horse back rode about 30 years ago a few times. So Amelie, the guide, gave her the big horse that mom had to practically do the splits in order to wrap her miniature little legs around and I was stuck with the small one that literally fell asleep while I was riding it and who absolutely REFUSED to walk in the tide of the beach. Amelie was telling us about some of the other horses in the crew, and we noticed one had a bell around it’s neck. We found out that it was because when she would let the horses roam out to the fields and the woods, that horse would hide in the trees and stand so still that you wouldn’t see him when you were 10 feet away. So they gave him the bell so they could hear him when they couldn’t see him. But he learned to hold the bell with his chin so that it wouldn’t make noise. And they say animals are below us.

The next day it was raining, and we thought it wouldn’t be such a good idea to rent a vespa like we had talked about so we went on a cruise of the coast instead. It went through a nature reserve and we got really close to the rocky cliffy sides of the mountain. I kept thinking of Leland cause it looked like a rock climbers dream. The boat took it's time going through the reserve, but sped back when the tour was over. Mom and I for some odd reason stayed out on the deck ever after everyone else gave up and went inside and we had the wind and rain whiplash our faces until we went completely numb. It was kind of like a rollercoaster. Later we explored the historic part of Calvi, which of course was the coolest part and the highlight of the trip, and despite the rain I had to jump in the mediterranean and go for a swim while mom munched on some olives, cheese, bread, sauce, and wine.

We came back to Paris on Thursday, went souvenir shopping Friday, and on Saturday Dad arrived fresh from what was apparently a thrilling plane ride where he got to look at Iceland for hours. He didn’t watch any movies. He was like a giddy little boy and we introduced him to the city with the cimitiere de Pere Lachaise. We visited dead Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, and Edith Piaf. The cemetery is ginormous and really easy to get lost in. The language barrier didn’t stop dad. He started talking to an old man who didn’t speak a word of English, at which point my role as awkward translator commenced. The man told me about a nearby grave and the artist it belonged to, who I actually knew from my art history excursion to the Louvre, and then he gave us directions to the grave we wanted to go to. On our way to Edith Piaf from Oscar Wilde dad spotted a fellow Rick Steve’s tourist book reader and looked at the tour plan this woman was going on. He saw that the next grave on her agenda was Gertrude Stein, at which point he was eager to have an in depth conversation about her role in literature and her influence on authors with more credit, like Hemingway. In usual Dink fashion, info was spilling out a mile a minute, until the woman asked, “And you’re a literary person?”. Then on the way out Dink was trying to have a conversation with a robin.


Sunday we caught the flea market while it was closing and still managed to spend 6 hours there. I was playing translator again, and dad was asking me to ask the vendors things like, “Is this made out of soapstone”, and “Do you have a bottle opener of the same maker?”. You know, simple French phrases.

(check out patient little mom in the background of this picture)








Monday we got a museum pass and headed out to Versailles. Museum passes are false advertising – they don’t let you skip lines. I finally did all the touristy things and therefore got a good dose of that famous French hospitality that makes American tourists loud, ungrateful, and angry. Any place you went for information was filled to the brim with assholes. It’s like as soon as you came up to the people who’s job it is to give you information, they would do anything to push you away and their voice would get increasingly louder and interrupting until you gave up.
“Where do we go if we have museum passes?”
--“A la gauche” (To the left)
“Okay, la bas ou …” (Ok, over there? Or…)
- - “A la gauche!”
“Mais, je pense qu’avec le passe qu’il n’y a pas de…” (But, I thought with the pass that there isn’t…)
-- “A LA GAUCHE! A LA GAUCHE!”


We were all peeved by the time we found and waited in a 40 minute line to get into the castle, at which point I left my parents to tour the place while I ran out to the gardens and rented a bike and pedaled as fast as I could down off road paths amongst very green very ancient trees. We met back up at the lake thing, had some ice cream, and rented a paddle boat that we each took turns rowing in. We had a picnic in the boat and dad fed a duck that followed us down the lake. I miss my ducks. After we went to Marie Antoinette’s get away country home that’s maybe a half mile away from Versailles. We were about to enter her country home, when mom asked the woman at the door where the bathroom was, and when we returned the house was closed for the day. Why the woman didn’t tell us that before is beyond me. We still got to walk around the country home garden’s, though. I LOVED it. I have nothing to compare it to, you’ll just have to see it yourself. There were bright red orange squirrels with tufty ears and tails, funny little gravel trails that wound through funny miniature hills and forests, gazebos, flowers, fat robin chickadess, and millions of annoying ass frogs that blew up at the chin and the ears everytime they ribbited. At one corner of the area is a little village (not lived in) in perfect condition from the time. Mom and I were imagining if all of our family members had one of the houses and we all lived there. My camera died so I couldn’t take any pictures, but it was one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen. Quaint little cottages with thatch roofs, towers, mills, picket fences, and so much dimension and character, and they were connected by paths that often had little vined netted tunnels. It’s better than what you’re imagining right now. Straight out of a fairytale like Hansel and Gretel. And they all surrounded a little lake with swans. I wish we could return to happy simple times like that where you had what you needed and were completely self sufficient. As me and mom were looking through the village dad was sifting through a field of dirt pretty much foot by foot for rocks and other “souvenirs”. The following picture is his collection for a day. At the end of the day at home I asked, “Where did you keep all of this”, and he responded very proudly like a little boy, “In my pAHkets”. No wonder his pants kept slipping down his butt. (which... I couldn't find anywhere. Damn, I may have accidentally deleted it when mom told me to stop laughing and rough housing and go to bed already that day)

Tuesday: Notre Dame and Sainte Chapelle. We spent more time in Notre Dame than anyone should ever consecutively spend in a church. Even the pope. I was rather sick of it after about 4 hours. I did get to see the huge bell that quasi modo got to see every day, though, which was pretty rad. And then I found out we were going to ANOTHER church. But it was Sainte Chapelle, a chapel with nothing but one room to explore. And it is completely lined with stained glass windows. It was gorgeous. It gave the effect of prisms, people were lit up allover with rainbows.

This is where I stopped, so my memory isn’t as fresh to recount the remainder of my parent’s stay, but I will do my best:

On Wednesday we went to the Eiffel Tower. We got there via a boat on the Seine river. I wanted the most possible cliché picture in front of the Eiffel tower that I could muster so I wore a Frenchie outfit of a striped shirt, a beret, red lipstick etc. etc. I’m still mad I didn’t get a baguette to include in the pic. Mom played photographer and dad played documentor that day. I personally like mom's masterful skill in taking the pic with the tip of the tower chopped off and another poser in the shot, but I will include a more perfect pic for grandma. Chuck-O took a video of our boat trip and was taking pictures of mom taking pictures of me. The thing about ol pops as a photographer is that he takes FOREVER in order to get the shot he wants, which never even is worth it. We will have places to go and yet we find ourselves posing for these bizarre pictures for like 15 minutes. I’ll see if I can rake up a few to include in the blog... except for some reason I can't find them on my computer anymore? Many rolled eyes later, the photoshoot was finally done, and before we got into line to go up the tower we ran into Mrs. Andrews and her husband and his sister. For those of you who don’t know (which I’m sure the only people reading this are Grandma and Mom so I don’t know why I’m even saying this), Mrs. Andrews was a 3rd grade teacher at my grade school and one of my mom’s coworkers. The world is ridiculously ridiculously small. A couple of my friends – one from Seattle, one from Corvallis, befriended each other independently of me as they were both in the same city studying abroad in Ecuador. It’s nuts how that all works out.
So, we got in line for 15 years to go to the second level of the Eiffel tower in order to wait in another line for another hour or so to go to the top. And there were complications to get tickets to the top. The French really don’t like to make things easy or efficient. Complicated people. Like overly cranky difficult old women. Kinda like the librarians I work with (which I suppose is a good transitioning strategy for me to get used to the States again). So anyway, we got to the top and had special moments. Was this my first time up? I actually don’t remember whether it was. We were so tired by the time we finally made it up. We had some of Tara’s yellow yarn which I wound around the fence in the shape of a heart. Tara loved Paris like me and this is about the closest we can get to a trip together. She and I had a good time up there on the tour d’eiffel taking in the city. It’s pretty cool to look around and see all the neighborhoods and be able to map out everywhere I’ve been and to see all the big monuments like the Arc do Triomphe and the Champs Elyseé. It’s just too bad you have to wait so long in order to go up there! Sheesh. We took the elevator back down to the second floor and walked down the steps to the bottom – which took three times as long as it should because our personal documentor of course, after a long day, had to take a picture of every step of the way.




Speaking of wanting to strangle a certain someone, the next day we went to the Louvre. It was inevitable. We couldn’t avoid it. We were there so long I literally took a nap in the classical roman statues section. Mom and I split away from dad and we let him go and do his own thing which meant looking at all the ancient culture sections of the museum. The Louvre has quite possibly the best collection of ancient art. Which amazed and peeved Dink. He loved seeing it, but was not happy that it is located in Paris, France instead of it’s respective home countries.

Was Thursday the night of our amazing meal? I can’t remember. We decided to splurge on a meal we know would be good at a restaurant called Le Papillon. It’s a reservation-a-few-days-ahead small intimate wine-cellar bar type restaurant with warm lighting and a waiter who really knows what he’s talking about and where the chubby cook can’t help but pop out and interact with the customers. Especially when one of them is my father. The Menu changes everynight and everyone gets the same 4 course meal with a bottle of wine – that is paired with the palette of the evening. I will try my best to remember this meal. Mom, one of the two people reading this, help me out if I forget something. First course was a carrot soup with perfectly cooked vegetables that both combined well and brought eachother’s flavor out, it had a dallop of sour cream and fresh croutons on top. Hmmm, I don’t remember the other courses, probably because I was just so naturally high off the tastiness of the meal. I do remember a block of blue cheese paired with some very good jam (which is called confiture in French), and for desert was a caramelly panna cotta with strawberries. Mom was quite happy with this investment and I’m pretty sure it was the highlight of all of our week.

Poor mom had a killer migraine all week and we were running around trying to fit in everything.

The next day, Friday, we went to the Orsay Museum. It’s a Museum that is in a building that used to be a train station. The architecture is to die for. The Louvre has art through the Renaissance, and the Orsay Museum has the next period of art up until modern art. So this is the place to go for impressionism, pointillism, rodin sculptures, and art nouveau and kind of the baroque period before art nouveau. I’m way more into this time because although the Louvre is amazing with all these masterful paintings, all they were really allowed to paint were either portraits or religious paintings up through the Renaissance. It wasn’t til the 18th century that they got into more expressive and interesting subjects. Sorry if I’m stating the obvious. So we went through the amazing impressionism section of the museum – which I really enjoyed because impressionism is what originally got me into the world of appreciating art. It’s always the first classification of art anyone learns about. And rightfully so. We left dad in the first room and while we went through the whole impressionism exhibit, and I thought I took my time, he was just on like the third painting in. We agreed to meet at a certain time at a certain place and mom and I waited at that certain place for 40+ minutes until the museum closed. We were a little peeved because we would’ve liked to go around and see more instead of waiting for dad because he supposedly “misunderstood” and went around the rest of the museum with out us.
Paintings are one of the best resources for costume design. That’s what I love about and miss about Paris museums. The garb that the subjects are wearing is so cool and I find myself looking at that more than anything about the painter’s skill. If we weren’t in pointless class all day at the Paris American Academy I would’ve spent a lot more time going to the Louvre and sketching costumes in paintings.


After the Orsay, we went to something I was really looking forward to and which later became my favorite part of Paris: the Cinema Museum (Museé Cinematique). This is where my nerdiness really shines through. Like a burning bright star with a pocket protector. I was like a little kid in a candy store. Whoah! Look at that! Oh my god! I can’t believe this is here! My favorite period of film was the very beginning. 1895-1920. And they had all the original historic pieces that came with the fast paced evolution of film. They had the original photograph’s of Muybridge setting up and taking consecutive pictures of a horse running that was originally for a bet the governor of California had going that a horse always had one foot on the ground – which not only started the idea that we can create the illusion of something moving through taking one picture after another but also changed how people depicted horses running. They also had ancient equipment like kinetoscopes, a zoopraxiscope, a cinematograph. The French were the cutting edge at the beginning of film – I already mentioned the Lumiere’s (which they had original movie poster’s for!), and they had a whole exhibit dedicated to the genius of Meleis! The original special effects master and developer of interesting stories versus just filming spectacles (well, maybe not the first, the Great Train Robbery was first). They also had costumes! Including the robot costume in Metropolis! Way too much fun, I couldn’t even handle it. Yet, still, my dad HAD to out do me and be MORE fascinated with this aspect of art/history that isn’t necessarily one of his favorites yet he still probably knows 3x more than me. He even made me weary by hanging out too long in there. I returned to this museum almost every weekend for their old movie screenings on Sundays targeted towards kids – so they were either English movies with a lot of action or very basic French movies. And they were only 5 euro. They had screenings every day, but Sunday was the only day I would actually know what was going on and I was almost always late. The ticket booth vendor knew me and I don’t know whether he was entertained by me or highly annoyed. It’s hard to tell with the French. I would go to these movies by myself despite throwing out countless invites and they lock the doors once the movie starts so I would always have to have someone let me in. And there’s no going to the bathroom once your in there which makes you have an anxiety attack if you even get the inkling that you gotta pee.

BUT, the week with ma famille was sadly coming to a close. Saturday we went to that Porte de Vanves flea market again. It was raining and the pavement was warm and wet. A disgusting what looked like a 15 year old was flirting up on me along with his whole family watching and trying to set me up at the crepe stand there. He thought it was him that I kept coming back to, but I just really like crepes. And when you have to wait for Charles D. Olson to go around a Parisian flea market you bet I am going to be there long enough for more than one meal. My mom and I actually went to a café for a while to thaw out and have a cappuccino. I actually bought an old valentino couture purse there at the market and was admiring it heavily when we were at the cafe. It was a purse I saw a couple weeks earlier and obsessed over until I had to get it. Now that I’m poor again in the states I kinda wish I had been smarter about my spending but whatever. I would much rather splurge on a vintage couture purse that I really like and that no one else has than to buy the designer purse that people will recognize is 4 seasons old in two years. Yes, below this seemingly sweet exterior I am a secret pretentious bitch, if you were wondering. That purse is pristinely hanging in my closet and I dawn the weathered ratty purse that’s falling apart that I bought at the OSU thriftstore I bought two years ago for $3 every day. My how my style changes when I go back to the country. We collected dad and I believe went on one last walk along the Seine before calling it a day and the next morning they were off.
Amy returned from her Mediterranean cruise the next day. And the next few months were a living sweat shop hell as we crammed four months of work into a month and a half of school. This is a big reason why I stopped blogging. I had no time to eat or sleep. I made 3 ensembles including 2 hats, a velvet jacket (nightmare!), a 6 meter of fabric old time box pleated skirt, a disgusting pink vionnet inspired dress that ended up looking like it was made out of lunch meat and oh so ugly for how much I slaved over it, and then a smocked top with a skirt I made in a day. During my end of the year presentation all my professors focused on was that damn “moche” (ugly) skirt and didn’t mention a thing about all the other stuff I actually put a little thought and time into. I just made that skirt so that the model wasn’t bottomless going down the runway at our end of the year show. Which was a joke of a fashion show. I started out loving that school but became pretty bitter by the end of the term. Pretty much it used to be a great school with a great president and founder who worked really hard to get great connections to supplement a great education for his fashion and art students. But that founder died with out leaving a plan for someone to take over. The current president, Peter Carman, assumed position and is just piggy backing on the connections he has still managed to hold onto and have as a bragging right as the actual academic pillar of the school is crumbling and crashing fast. And he ignores it. It’s such a waste and shame. It was so amazing to dress the models at the fashion shows, but other than that I would definitely not recommend the school. Going back I wish I had just spent the extra money and go to a general exchange program where I stayed with a host family and maybe would’ve had a chance to honestly learn French. But being stubborn little me I had to do things my own way and suffer the consequences. C’est la vie.

Un petit week-end

I had a pleasant week-end and I’d thought I’d share the happenings. On Friday Amy headed off to visit her friend in Berlin and I was contemplating just staying in and getting ahead on schoolwork and soaking up some me time. I went to the market and got some of that brebis cheese I like so much and a baguette, and some strawberries. Strawberries with melted nutella’s my new favorite treat. I had a very me meal which requires no cooking but lots of grazing snacking. As I was engorging myself with savory things spread out on a cutting board in front of a simpsons episode I had never seen (which is a rare phenomenon) that had French voiceovers, I heard a knock at the door, which revealed Kristina, who was angrily sick with boredom.
I immediately got to work on the internet because I always keep notes on what I want to do around town but it can be a chore to get people to come with me, and you can only do so many things alone.

Here was some of our options:
There’s a film festival going on right now called CineRail (which caught my attention because it had the notorious image of Melies’ “Trip to the Moon” on the advertising posters in the metro)
A free world music concert
Fleche D’Or music venue
Museums are open late on Fridays
An exhibit on the body with real bodies that are pumped with plastic type stuff!

I forgot how much of a city girl I am. Imagine I circled Fleche D’Or. I'm a music junkie. There were 4 incredible bands that night, the last one had this platinum blonde singer with hair to her butt and a flapper dress and a tambourine that she made a show out of. It was mesmerizing. It’s about the only place in Paris with interesting looking guys, but if I got so much as a half second eye contact I was flying high.

On Saturday we did the fabric shopping thing and then went to le Marais district where I had that tasty meal with the honey melty crusted cheese.

That night, Kristina and I went to a language speaking club. It was really helpful. It was in a place called “Café Livre” and the place was brimming with people in the club. It was packed and I even had to sit in people’s laps in order to get where I wanted to go. They have different tables for different languages, but it ends up all just mixing together. I talked to two French people, one who was really good with me and the other one went waaay too fast and kinda spit on me a lot so I was more focusing on when he would turn his head so I could wipe my face versus focusing on what he was saying. I also talked to a Brazilian, and then a sweaty Italian guy who speaks French but wanted to practice English. So he spoke English to me and I spoke French to him. We had a lesson on the difference between the pronunciation of “cut” and “cat”. I would say, “cat” and he would motion scissors and I’d shake my head and say, “no, that’s cuuuuht” and then he’d meow. It went on for a long time like this before we got it down. I felt like I was in an Abbot and Costello skit, …”Who’s on first!” -“That’s what I’m asking you, who’s on first?”

I had to once again turn down this girl that I’ve been trying to meet for weeks that Rhea stayed with when she was in Paris in order to go to a club called La Loco mostly for the benefit of our friend Otmara, who had family in town and wanted to take them out. She never even showed up. Summation of that place: I paid 24 euro to watch a really good break dancer and listen to some American music, and then get harassed more than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I was pushing guys hard and saying “No, leave me alone” (if you can ever imagine me doing this you know how bad it was), and I’d walk around to the other side of the room and seriously 30 seconds later they’d be right by my side doing the same thing. I had to juggle… 6 of these guys, all the same game. French girls really curse themselves when they say “no” when they mean “yes”. Lesson learned.

Sunday I spent the whole day cleaning the studio and when Amy got back from Berlin we went on a droopy eyed dreamy light lazy sunny Sunday walk. Paris is a completely different city in the sunshine. I got a crepe with feta, spinach, egg, tomatoes, and various spices at our favorite stand behind the Sorbonne and Amy and I ate as we made our way to the Seine, where we grazed the metal stands lining the river that sell souvenirs and retro prints. She bought a poster. I opted out of bringing money because it inevitably burns a hole in my pocket.

So yeah, un petit week-end. That’s about how it is. Can't wait to share it a whole week plus with ma mamie et mon papie. If only Erik could come too!! :(

Am I really here? Or is this a bizarre dream?

One thing about my trip here is that it doesn’t fit the picturesque expectations one has after watching countless romantic movies set in these old cities that are portrayed magically like what they were like 100 years ago during the golden years. I was rather excited to go to the Champagne region. I daydreamed of acres of vineyards, a sunny barrel-filled tasting room with a charming older guide with a lovely accent, large caverns of yummy smelling concoctions, and sitting around tasting various flavors as we look upon all the countryside. I got something quite different than this dream. We went to the Champagne region on a Sunday. We went through a whole ordeal debating whether or not we should go because the train tickets were very spendy, and finally decided to go – Me, Amy, Elizabeth, Hilary, Laurel, and her sister Molly, who was visiting. We got there only to find out that the tour we looked into was closed on Sundays. So a cab driver took us to the Madame Pommery champagnery (?), the woman to actually invent champagne, and the only tour open on Sundays. When we got there, we found out that the next available tour in English was at 4, so we decided to do the 2:30 tour. We had some time to kill so we went into the town. Nothing was open of course because all of Europe is a ghost town on Sundays so we did the only thing there is to do on Sundays – go to the local massive church. I’ve seen so many churches, but I really like them here because it makes me feel like I’m a little girl in Catholic school again. The churches are three times as big so I feel three times as small. Instead of feeling reflective and respectful, I get the mischievous feeling everytime I enter a big beautiful church. It’s kind of that “giggle during mass” feeling – it’s the one place where you know you can’t be naughty but you REAlly really want to. And all catholic churches kind of feel like home to me since I spent so much time around them. It’s weird being comfortable and respectful of a place at the same time. It’s fun, I think I’ll send my kids to catholic school just so that they can fully revel in that feeling, too.

Speaking of children, I have a tangent… as we were on our way back from the Elie Saab show I was thinking of the name “Coco” since I saw Coco Rocha, and recently I’ve been really in love with the name Coco Rose if I were to ever have a little girl (Ally will make scornful fun of me for this to my dying day). Then I got to thinking about the name I’ve always had in mind for a boy, Toby Orion, and I was thinking what kind of kid he would be and I flashed to him getting married and I got a little choked up. At which point I realized that a) I really am too much of a Fulton and b) I was an overworked delusional busy bee from doing so many shows during fashion week. I don’t even know whether I want to get married myself. (Even so, if any of you cousins steal those names, I know where you live).

Anyway… so we went back for our tour. The French speaking tour guide led us through what looked like purple versions of the doors into the Emerald City and thus began our darkside of willie wonka champagne tour. We went down 122 slippery weathered steps to the cellar, and into a room that had a walkway down the middle and on either side there were amps and electric guitars and hundreds of chickadee like birds that chirped like squeaky toys. They’d land on the guitar strings and take off and it would make noises. I had no idea what was going on. And we couldn’t understand the tour guide because he was speaking French like an auctioneer. After that, we went through a series of rooms that were a cross between batman’s layer, the bottom of a well, and the caves the goonies go through. They were these rounded cave like rooms that were taller than cathedrals and the only light that was emitted into the place were what looked like a single manhole at the tip top of the room. It was so dark, and each “cave room” had some bizarre artwork. There were creepy videos and mirrored hallways, an old ship that was covered in glitter, a rickety staircase that led up to a creepy shack house that was lodged in the middle of the wall, a projection of an alien jesus, and room after room of bizarre things where we just kind of had to give each other looks just to make sure we didn’t slip into a nightmare. The only thing that had to do with champagne were rows and rows of black bottles coated with a few mm of dust that lined the “halls” between the caves. Occasionally the tour guide would pick one up and hold it up to the light as he was speaking a mile a minute. I can tell you one thing: I was more than ready to have a few glasses of champagne by the time that tour was over. It was an experience. We went back to the more comfortable ambience of the tasting room (although not rustic – it was like a trendy club) and each had two/three glasses before buzzily giggling our way back to Paris. Madame Pommery must have been a very cookoo lady.

I went to the Erotica museum on the (I’m going to call it) sex block of Montmartre. I invited my friend Sebastian as I was on my way and didn’t really consider that it might be awkward. It was fine, though. I saw a real chastity belt and statue after statue of very interesting positions with characters with the funniest expressions on their faces. Each ancient culture had very distinctive faces that they’d put on their figures that were doing the deed. I want to go back to that area to get souvenirs for my immature friends and my dad J.

For St. Patty’s Day we went to an Irish Pub. The waitress gave us a free shot of whiskey and various cheesy irish freebies. I got a free clip-on skinny green satin tie. Me and a couple other girls found a hookah bar as we were on our way home, and I had to go down some weathered slippery steps again into the basement and I fell HARD on my butt, down a couple steps, and the people all looked at me like I was some vile creature as I was the only one laughing. They didn’t even crack a smile or say “Are you ok?” in French. My middle name of “Grace” is a curse. I still have a bruise about the size of a baseball on my left cheek. I couldn’t sleep on that side for a couple nights.

Amy and I had an excursion to Milan and Bellagio on lake Como. We found a free place to stay through couchsurfing.com. Our host said that he loves dancing and he could teach us some latin moves before going out to some good clubs, but when we got there he didn’t seem interested at all the first couple nights, and the last night he decided at 12:30 he wanted to go but we were too pooped. He also said he had towels for us, and we took his word, only to find out that they were still wet from whenever he used them himself. Bleh. And like most Italian showers, there was no curtain. I showered once out of the three days and tried to dry myself with toilet paper. I have a picture to show how greasified I was.

Milan is the place to shop, so that’s what we did. The next day we decided in order to avoid more shopping we’d go have a scenic day trip on lake Como. We went to the actual Bellagio via a ferryboat and I can see why it’s the source of inspiration for a place of hospitality. It was my unexpected rustic picturesque experience. The town is so beautiful. There’s nowhere to drive a car, really, it’s all just foot traffic down cobblestone roads that are a few meters wide. I wish I had about three days there because we just got a little taste and I would’ve loved to get lost in the town and discover hidden treasures. We had a gelato on the lake (pistachio is hands down my favorite flavor), and went back to the train station by bus. It was this huge almost double decker bus, and he went about 50 mph through these winding steep mountainous roads. It was kind of like a rollercoaster. We’d whip through these beautiful mountainous towns as the bus driver is perpetually honking his horn around corners because the road hardly fit the bus itself, any oncoming cars would be a disaster. The towns we passed in the flurry were perched on carved out sides of mountains overlooking the lake. It kind of reminded me of the elf towns in Lord of the Rings. They were so quiet and sweet, and each town had a bridge over a nearly bottomless pit valley. We were doing all this during sunset, so it was quite the site to see.

The ultimate souvenir I want for myself is the sheet music for the accordion in the amelie soundtrack. They don’t have it in the states, the closest thing they have is piano, and that’s no help because the base is half of playing the accordion. I know the composer, so I’ve been looking in music shops for it. No luck so far, but it has revealed some really cute parts of town. I’m excited for the two week break when my parents come so that I can actually spend more time really seeing Paris. I hate that we have class til 5, and usually we’re not even doing anything in class. I’m actually writing this blog in class because I am not doing anything else. And it’s only 10 am. 7 more hours of nothing when I could be out on the city. It’s ridiculous. We have to be in class for the allotted time, it’s not like in the states where when you get your work done in lab class you can go. I feel like I’m in grade school. Oh well, not everything can be perfect.

I’m having a really hard time finding souvenirs for people. Anything specific that anybody wants from Pareee?

I did skip class the other day to go see the Eiffel tower during the day time. It was windy and cold, but I still sat and soaked it in as I sketched for one of my classes. The Eiffel Tower is an incredible place to go if you have kids. They have about 5 different very unique fun playgrounds. One of them had a pedal car race track, and another had a carousel with suspended swing type horses, and you could crank it so it’d spin around and you’d get a little height on the horses from the momentum. Paris is all about carousels. Every square seems to have them. There are a lot of stereotypical things about the city. One weekend I awoke to carnival music, and when we were walking to go out somewhere we were eager to see where it was coming from, we turned a corner expecting a full carnival but alas it was coming from a guy who was pushing a cart that he cranked and it would boom this music. It was so loud that we thought it was a whole production, so it was funny that it came from something the size of a bicycle. A lot of the time I feel like I’m dreaming because things don’t seem real. On our way to the airport for Milan we saw a guy walking two ponies and a donkey down the street like they were dogs. Man, I have no idea how I’m going to survive back in Corvallis after leaving my dream town.

Favorite meal purchased thus far: A salad with a sweet balsamic vinaigrette type sauce with sautéed potatoes, a baguette, and (ready for this?) a honey roasted block of camembert cheese. It was a combo of all sorts of flavors and textures. We went into the restaurant right before a rain/hail storm hit, and it cleared up just in time for our check so we could go out for a crisp sunny walk.

Today I had to go buy some fabric and the best place to do so is Montmartre, where Amelie takes place. I kind of felt like her today. You know how she'd dip her hands in bags of beans and such for a small pleasure? I realize I've been doing the same with fabric. I find myself just spacing out in these warehouse size stores just petting some $50/m buttery cloth that I could never afford. It's so nice.

I think that’s all my adventures since last time. Hope all is well on the homefront and love and miss you all.

Fashion Week

This is going to be a good one.  Are you ready for it?  I don’t know whether I’m quite ready to write it, frankly.  I’m not sure whether I can do it justice.  First of all, I’m celebrating a long but very successful and fulfilling fashion week with the best cheese I’ve purchased so far and a glass of red wine that pairs quite nicely, I think.  I’m reading the label of the paper the little cake of cheese was wrapped in, and it says “lait brebis”, which is ewe’s milk.  So I’m essentially eating what lambs get to have everyday just in a different form.  Lucky jerks.  Actually, today we had a lecture on the production of accessories, and we learned that you have to calculate a 30% loss in materials when it comes to animal skin.  And the animal skin isn’t the full skin, so pretty much baby lambs are killed for about 40% of their skin to be used in a half of a bag.  So they aren’t quite so lucky.  I do like fashion, but that’s just unnecessary.  It’s funny, because this season’s collections were brimming with all types of furs and skins.  Today’s class convinced me even further that I want to work for Stella McCartney, who’s super enviro conscious and ethical, but still produces really nice stuff…specially lingerie, which is what I want to go into intitially.

Ok, enough with the tangent.  I had to ease myself into attacking all that’s been going on.  So, fashion shows.  I’m sorry, I’m going to do a lot of name dropping.  A good resource if you want to match faces and shows to the names is style.com – you can look up the shows, the models, everything.  I watched A.F. Vandevorst, Leonard, and Dress 33.  I worked at Estrella Arch, Jeremy Bueno, Veronique Branquinho, Manish Arora, and Elie Saab… I think that’s it.  The only one’s that are on style.com are Vandevorst, Veronique, and Elie Saab, but I highly recommend also looking up at least Manish Arora because his stuff was really dramatic and fun.  Estrella Arch was my first and prolly my least exciting.  I liked some of her stuff, even though some of it was unfinished and unfunctional and still had sewing marks and unfinished seams.  But they do production within like two weeks before the show in order to be trendy, so it makes sense.  Her color scheme was black and neon green and pink, with a little white.  She had some Schiaparelli influences, and then some really pretty horizontally pleated assymetrical black knit dresses.  It was my first show so I didn’t know what to expect and it didn’t run so smoothly.  I was assigned a model, Tullulah Morton, who had two outfits: a suede fringy black jacket with black heels, and bright pink leather and knit tight pants and a black loose v-neck sweater with a bright pink onesie that you had to snap at the crotch underneath.  And two pairs of shoes that were a size too small.  She was the first model to arrive to the dressing room, and she didn’t have her makeup or hair done.  I told her we were doing a rehearsal and she had to change.  I turned around to talk to someone else, and when I turned back I almost ran my head into her naked boobs (they are at eye level).  The dressing room was so tiny, and about 14 of us had to be in there.  The only “super model” that was in that show was Ikeliene Stange, who I talked to about the designer Ruffian, and she was really sweet.  Tullulah had to go and get here hair and makeup done, so I was late getting her into her first outfit for the show.  You have less than a minute to dress the girl when she gets back from her first run.  So I was waiting ready with the nylon onesie all scrunched up in the appropriate places to throw over her conehead hairdo when she got back.  But she took it from me and started putting it on backwards, so I had to take it back and rescrunch it as she put on her leather pants halfway, I reput the flimsy shirt on her, and someone was trying to help me but was retarded and started turning the sleeve inside out.  I had to kinda yell at her in order for her to snap out of her panicked fumbling to tell her it was fine and she didn’t need to do that.  Meanwhile people are yelling at me to be quicker and the model’s throwing out obsenities.  We snap the onesies, yank on the leather pants, I jam her feet into the too small pink pumps, and she’s off for her second run.  And that was Estrella Arch.  We sat around for 3 hours before the show, the show itself was a frenzy, and after 15 minutes, it’s done.  I don’t really mind the stress or the yelling because it’s kinda like I’m a part of a machine in a factory.  We have to produce something, and if we’re lacking or not working right, the mechanic’s going to swear at us as s/he fixes the problem.  It’s nothing personal.

The second show we worked at was Jeremy Bueno.  It was a lot more casual.  He is a graduate of the Paris American Academy.  His show was held in the coolest building I’ve seen in Paris.  I was so in love with it the minute I walked in the door.  It was old and unrestored with all the original doors and fixtures.  All the wood was old and weathered and exposed, but there was this juxtoposition because some things were really well taken care of.  Make up and hair was in a room that looked like the library from Beauty and the Beast.  The dressing room was like a library you’d find in an old fashioned mansion, with dark oak cabinets and a tall ceiling and heavy drapes.  And then the runway was in a room that kind of reminded me of the Holy Names auditorium or something you’d find in St. Joes.  I just knew there was something special about this place.  And then I found out that it was the place where the Lumiere bros made their first films, and they tried to keep it in the same condition since that time.  Which is SO cool, because I love the vaudeville and the beginning of film and the Lumiere brothers were some of my favorites.  To give you a little taste, they were the first to create a “movie theater”, and their calling card was the film of a train coming towards the camera where movie goers quotably jumped out of the way back in the beginning of the 1900s.  So, I was on board and stoked to be there.  There was a French filmmaker doing some sort of piece with the models before the show, and he was staging this model taking cameras from paparazzi and throwing them to the ground, and he wanted us to stand behind the camera and use the flashes on our digital cameras to add effect.  It was fun.  It reminded me of AV tech projects in high school.  We waited around for a couple hours (I explored the building as we were waiting), and when it was time to go over the outfits for the show and dress the models, we discovered some “uh ohs”.  Apparently Jeremy had never used or knew how to use organza before because some of the dresses were coming apart at the seams, which had to be quickly dealed with.  The outfits themselves were celestial themed, and really reminded me of the first film ever made with special effects, Melies’ “Trip to the moon”, the show itself sounded awesome.  We couldn’t see it because we were bustling about backstage, but they had a Pink Floyd laser show to accompany the star themed ensembles.  Dressing was really unorganized, but the walk was so long that we had plenty of time between outfits to make all the models look flawless.  I asked the designer whether he was inspired by early film for the collection, and whether the place was picked intentionally to go with the collection, but I was reminded that I’m just way too much of a nerd and he hardly knew anything about the Lumieres or early film.  There were quite a few cute guys at that show, but it’s the worst place to try to talk to guys because you’re surrounded by models and beautiful people and you’re sweating and stinking like a pig because you’re running around trying to make sure everything’s where it’s supposed to be.  And I was there for 4 hours and these people just showed up in their freshly fabulous outfits 20 minutes ago.  My point being, this is the first time in my life I can remember actually making the effort to talk to a guy and him showing no interest at all.  But, I had a great time anyway.  Afterwards my roommate Amy, me, and this new student Hillary went to Le Deux Magots, which is a famous café, and had a little dinner and hung out for a long time drinking wine and laughing about all the run ins we’ve had with the French – both good and bad.  We explained to her that we know the complete lowdown on the status of our upstairs neighbor’s relationship.  And everytime they have a little afternoon or evening delight, all of our surrounding neighbors have strategies to drown out the sound.  We turn up the music, our next door neighbor vacuums.  We know this because when there’s a hint of it stopping, all the neighbors turn down their music or turn off their vacuum, but without fail they start up again, so once again we’ll hear the vacuum going or other people’s music turned up.  It’s funny.  And Hillary has had about every thing that could go wrong go wrong.  The guy she was staying with came onto her the first night, so she had to find a new place, which she had to find within pretty much 48 hours, so it’s been a trip for all of us.

Ugh, sorry, enough with the tangents.

Veronique Branquinho was a show I was nervous about and didn’t expect to be laid back.  But it was by far my favorite.  It’s funny how thing’s work out that way.  It was in the same venue as the Estrella Arch show.  Her clothing was so classic and beautifully tailored, and it felt like butter.  It was split into black, beige, and ivory mini collections. My model at that show was my favorite.  Her name was Alina, and she was so calm and collected and positive.  I took a picture with her after the show and she wanted to even look at it, which I was really surprised by.  And afterwards she even thanked me and kissed me on both cheeks.  The pace of the show was just as quick, but a lot more organized and relaxed.  Even though I had the wrong size shoes for my model.  I had to put in three inserts in order for her to not fall out of them.  I even corrected the designer on what shoes go to what model!  I had it down.  And the designer was totally open to listening, it’s not like I was some brat trying to tell her what to do.  She seemed really cool.  After the show they had the most BOMB hors d’oeuvres.  I can’t even explain a couple of them because I have no idea what they were.  I had 4 different ones and a few glasses of champagne.  One of the hors d’oeuvres was a seaweed salad wrapped in something sushi like and it was pinned together with a tiny clothespin, and then there were these cookies that were like little sandwiches with a cream inside, and the outside was a cookie that was crispy on the outside and an almost caramelly brownie consistency on the inside.  I wish I could explain the flavor, but I don’t even know, it was kind of butterscotch/ginger.  I don’t know, it was yummy.  The models thought so, too, they were crowding round the tables scarfing down the appetizers like ravenous wolves.   I met my future husband as I was sipping some champagne.  He was this beautiful guy with well manicured dreads, miles of style, a face that I didn’t know could exist, and so much passion for what he does.  I soon found out he was a bit older than me, and I think he realized I was a bit younger, so he never put off that he was interested at all.  I don’t know whether he was even straight.  It’s so hard to tell in Europe, and in the fashion industry.  He said he designed from 1996-2002, and got spent on it, so he taught (or assisted teaching) and now he owns a boutique in London called “The Convenience Store” where he sells Veronique amongst others.  The reason I thought he was so cool besides the obvious was that he vocalized all the things I’ve been thinking about fashion lately and it was really refreshing to hear.  Very down to earth and an interpretive artistic view versus the whole “I’m a slave to the fashion gods” point of view, which I’ve been really burnt out on recently.  I like to do things in moderation, but I’m still a passionate creator.  So it was nice to meet someone else with that kind of attitude.  And it’s usually embarrassing for me to talk about fashion because so many people view it as an unintelligent subject, so it was nice to talk to someone who shares the same cultural perspective and interpretation on fashion and that clothes are such a big part of his life like it is mine.  He had a few words of wisdom because he had a few years on me, and I came out of the conversation really refreshed and ready to take on the rest of the shows.  

That night we went dancing in a way too crowded bar and I met a couple of new friends, Amine and Muegged, who my friend Elizabeth and I ended up hanging out with and playing uno with and watching the Discovery Channel until 4 am.  And I’m being 100% honest.  They told us we were going to a house party, but I guess something got lost in translation cause we just went to their apartment and hung out for forever.  Amine’s a good friend to stick around because he took it upon himself to be a French tutor for me and he absolutely refuses to speak in English sometimes in order for me to “progress”.  That and he doesn’t speak English that well.  He also decided to call me “Jennifer Aniston”, because “Hattie” is too hard (the French don’t pronounce H’s).

I have two more shows to explain!  Lordy.  I’m going to be brief.  Manish Arora is a crazy designer from India, his designs are high quality couture with the most detailed techniques and incredibly crafted structure.  His inspiration for fall 09 was butterflies, and he had these quilted pieced together pieces that looked like butterfly wings, and they consisted of velvet, leather, jewels, and lots of beading.  It was a good show, and I was fascinated to go around and look at how all the pieces were constructed.  My model was from the Seattle area.  So that’s that.

Elie Saab was the biggest of the shows we worked at.  He’s a designer for a lot of Hollywood, especially come oscar season.  I saw a lot of supermodels who were in that show:  Coco Rocha, Chanel Iman, Jessica Stam, Heidi Mount, Sasha Pivovarova (if you look them up on Style.com you may recognize some of the faces).  It was nuts to see these girls in the flesh after seeing so many of their pictures in countless adds and spreads in magazines.  The clothes were stunning and classic.  My model’s name was Ksenia Kahnovich, if you look her up on style.com, the first two pictures are the outfits I put her in.  I really liked the first dress, the beigy grey one, but they had me add this necklace to it and it was so much more beautiful with out it.  The dress already had some jewels on the border of the lace, and I feel it had so much character without the barnacle looking additional necklace.  The bare lace was so much more provocative and classically sexy.  I didn’t really agree with the stylist for the Elie Saab show, and apparently neither did the old stylist who was still on staff.  They were arguing until the last minute.  If you look at the show, I think the accessories even take away from some of the overall ensembles.  But it was really well organized, and I had the whole dressing thing down to a tee by then, so it was a piece of cake.  And I got a picture with the model of the moment, Chanel Iman, which was the cherry on top of my fashion week.

Other adventures.  I went to Fontainebleau with Amy and Hillary last Sunday.  It was the “weekend home” of the royalty of Versailles, which means that it was still the hugest building and grounds I’ve ever seen in my life.  Every room of the castle was lavishly and ornately decorated and every room had a huge fireplace.  And there were so many discreet and hidden doors!  I was thinking of “the secret garden” the entire time I was there because it reminded me so much of that castle.  I wanted to find some private corridor that led to a secret room or garden, but alas, all the doors were locked.  I checked.  I was so giddy when I was there.  I don’t remember feeling that way since I was little.  It’s a rare feeling.  When you’re an adult, you can appreciate things or think they’re beautiful, but it’s so rare to have that full blown childlike excited contentment to explore the new.  The gardens were my favorite part.  The day started out raining, which was perfect for us to be roaming about the castle, but then it cleared up when we went out to explore the grounds.  I half expected a troop of horses and hounds to come gallivanting out hunting for rabbits.  It was so nice to get some fresh air in such a beautiful woody/manor setting.  We happened upon a fountain with swans in it, and I got to feed a swan directly from my hand.  It made me miss my ducks.  This trip made me want to get a bunny and more ducks when I get back home.

Sidenote: I read recently that the rabbit is supposed to be the animal of this time because it symbolizes rebirth, collection, intuition, and quiet persuasion.  I thought that very fitting considering the economy and all the hell that needs to be figured out.

I found an incredible music venue, too.  We went to Fleche D’Or (flesh of gold) after the Elie Saab fashion show.  If you imagine Central Perk Café from the tv show Friends being transformed to a music venue/bar you arrive at something like Fleche D’Or.  It had cute comfie couches and it was just a really nice ambience and they had bands that were my flavor and the type I truly enjoy dancing too.  Not even like good Michael Jackson dancing too, but like the Strokes and T. Rex I like dancing to style.  Which I’ve never found outside of my bedroom.  The live bands that played all sang in English, though, even though they were French.  I find that a lot.  It’s kind of disappointing because French is so beautiful to listen to in song.  I was kind of even talking to the cab driver on the way home about how beautiful French songs are, and how excited I am when I actually hear them here.  And I spoke to him 100% in French, thank you very much.  I understood 90% of what he was saying, too.  But he talked very very slowly.  We had a conversation the entire time, he, my friend Laurel, and I.  One of the first things the French are guaranteed to want to hear about is Obama.  I’ve had to talk to so many people about it.  I tell them I voted for the green party and avoid any conflict as much as possible.  I was talking to this very drunk girl from South Africa about it one night and she was expressing pretty much the way I felt about the whole thing, and how nervous she was about the state of the world being in such unknown unexperienced hands, and how it sucked to watch it all because all the world depends on the United States and they couldn’t do anything about it, which got another guy from Wales a little heated, at which point I butted in and said that the thing I’ve learned from it all is that I don’t like politics because most of what it does for people like us is point out our differences when really everyone has more things in common than we have different.  And politics is not a conversation that should be dealt with in drunk minds.  So luckily that killed it, because the Presidential election is one of my most uncomfortable topics and as soon as people find out I’m American I just wait for them to ask me about something related to it all at which point I flinch.

School is going swimmingly, too.  Peter Carman, the president, mentioned to the costume teacher that I had an interest in costume (I don’t even remember telling him this), and so she offered for me to make purely historic pieces instead of modern pieces.  So I chose a time period, the 1890’s, about Mary Poppin’s time, and I’m going to make a jacket, a skirt, and now I guess an actual hat in genuine costume construction – which is totally different than the way we make clothes right now and the true secret to making costume look like it did back in the day.  But it means that I won’t be making an haute couture jacket, which I’m kind of sad about, but I don’t want to go into Haute Couture, so it’s a compromise and it’ll look better on my resume to be the assistant designer to  Colleen Atwood ;)

Hmm,  I think that’s actually it for now.  All is well and I am once again head over heels for Paris.  I gage my level of interest by nutella crepes.  I haven’t had one for over two weeks now, and everytime there’s a lull I comfort myself with one.  So as long as I stay busy, the more stories, and the less love handles I’ll have when I return home. xox