Bon weekend, mes amis…
Three days, huh? Let’s investigate my brief Blogvember absence.
I hung up new artwork for l’appartement. This lovely French sign means flower market. It’s not particularly centered, but just take comfort that my use of a hammer (!!!!) didn’t result in the loss of my sweet fingers.
That’s all she Square pegged. Hope you had a fanstastic weekend and welcome to Monday.
It’s the only way to explain why my bed looks like this when I wake up. I snapped this photo a day ago, moments after arising from my slumber (ah, poetry) and gazing at my bed in crusty-eyed shock. Had I participated in a dance competition in my sleep? Had I entered some kind of back-to-Math-class nightmare in which I fought an eager teacher engaged in a quest to make me understand fractions? Or had I fulfilled a secret wish to become a wrestler? Perhaps it’s the latter.
I should add that I tried to videotape myself once to determine what was really happening at REM. When I woke up, the phone that I had propped up next to me was under my bed.
Happy Saturday. May you sleep serenely, unlike me.
#12: That quote to the left about sums it up. Our sense of humor. Our laughter. Our love. (Because, yeah, I’d traipse through a fire and/or super humid room for her, fro or no.) Those times when la bestie utters words that change my life. My goals to always be there for her.
She arrived on Friday night and will be leaving in a few hours. She brought a burst of light and much-needed familiarity into this new place and environment that I’m adjusting to, both emotionally and otherwise. I don’t think I’ll be able to communicate just how I needed that.
I snapped a few photos, but she’ll hurt me if I post them. So just call your bestie and tell him/her that you love them.
#13: I bought a couch!
While furniture shopping yesterday, one of the employees showing us around the monster of the store we were in took me the very couch that I saw and saved from their website. If that isn’t kismet I don’t know what is. Delivery is next Sunday and you shall see it then.
Happy Sunday, dear reader…
Saturday night with le fro. Who’s coming around to twist this thing? Anyone?
Bon first day of the weekend…
I think this Parisienne embodies my future life in the City of Lights. In every way you can think of.
Bursting with a thousand words, and I agree with every letter.
Happy Friday, and bon weekend, mes amis.
Other than drinking copious amounts of champagne while watching the Academy Awards when I was 16 years old (how nerds “turn up”; we all make mistakes), This Square Peg can’t make it beyond one drink.
I was reminded of this during the weekend, when a friend offered me wine at a cookout. After a few, tiny sips, I was giggling like a happy fool. And that’s typically what happens: I take a few sips and I start laughing. And speaking at a decibel only cute puppies can hear. And complaining about the heat. Case in point: I went to a swanky restaurant in the city with my uncle and brother and had half of a cocktail. By the end of that partial cocktail, I was fanning myself, complaining of an invisible heat, cackling, my voice raised as I asked whether George Clooney, who was known to frequent the establishment, was in the room. The ride home found me sprawled in the backseat of the car, asleep and muttering under my breath. You can imagine how much fun my family had with me.
Apparently, the girl who sipped the foamy parts of her Dad’s beer when she was three years old (Mom is still not happy about that) can only handle just that: foam and sips. Of course, this doesn’t occur with drinks that taste like fizzy soda (i.e., wine coolers) and/or drinks where I can’t taste the alcohol. Those do not fall under the category of one and done. Maybe two and done. But the reactions are fairly the same. Anyway, in case you’re wondering:
- Fizzy, bubbly things like champagne and fruity drinks are wonderful.
- Harder drinks are out of the question.
- Wine must be sweet.
Overall, though, add my inability to take more than one drink to the rest of the things I generally can’t do: tumble, eat spicy foods, and engage in anything having to do with roller coasters and/or lifting these feet off the ground when they’re not in an airplane. Ah, well. C’est la vie.
Welcome to Monday. Onwards and upwards…
“So quietly flows the Seine that one hardly notices its presence. It is always there, quiet and unobtrusive, like a great artery running through the human body. In the wonderful peace that fell over me it seemed as if I had climbed to the top of a high mountain; for a little while I would be able to look around me, to take in the meaning of the landscape. Human beings make a strange fauna and flora. From a distance they appear negligible; close up they are apt to appear ugly and malicious. More than anything they need to be surrounded with sufficient space – space even more than time. The sun is setting. I feel this river flowing through me its past, its ancient soil, the changing climate. The hills gently girdle it about: its course is fixed.”
–Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer
All photos courtesy of This Square Peg. Quiet wonder courtesy of La Seine.
Bon weekend, all.