IT NEVER ENDS

2 years and some change later.....I've made a rule for myself to get over my phone calls in French fear so I have made myself pick up EVERY phone call. Every last one. Known number or not. Doesn't matter. Face the fear. ROCK the fear.

TODAY
5:21PM

Cell phone rings.
I look.
Private number calling.
Gulp.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
Crap.
Crap.
OK, OK OKOKOKOKOKOKOK.
DO IT.
PICK IT UP.
YOU CAN HANDLE THIS.

Feeling particularly ballsy from my triumphant return to my French Savate school today.....I OOOOOOOWN THIS LOCKER ROOM! RAAAAARRRGH!


......I pick up the phone and for some reason decide to go with an exaggerated shrill American accent about two registers above my normal voice...
"HEELLO?"
Silence.
"HEEEEEEELLOOOOO????? HEEEEEEEELLLLLOOOOOO?????!!!!"
Silence.
I realize that I just screamed into the phone which would be startling no matter what country or language this was in when I hear a voice clearing and a quiet woman's voice says...
"Ah, bonjour Madame, je....."
And that's about as far as I got before my listening skills clicked to the OFF position, my conversational French really kicked in as I interrupted her by shrieking in English "I DON'T KNOW! I'M SORRY I DON'T KNOOOOOOOOW!!!"

Dial tone.
She hung up.
Gee, I wonder why.
Sure hope that wasn't important.
Sigh.
Two more points for team IDIOT.

GREY

February is the best month ever in Paris.

WHAT? WHYYYYYY?, you might ask....it's cold, rainy, snowy, wet, and the days last roughly 3 hours....what about the beautiful springtime breezes and the sunshine and the flowers and the little children who laugh and frolic in the green, green parks? Or the early fall with the days still long and the leaves begin to shed their green for golden shades of red and orange while you sit in a bustling café with a steaming hot chocolate carefully mulling over your book of poetry...and oh, isn't it WOOOOONDERFUL to be in PAAAAAAAAAARIS?

No, it's not.
I prefer February. Why? Because I live on the beaten path of tourists in the center of the number one tourist destination in the world. In fact, the street I live on may as well be called BEATEN PATH and I guarantee if they opened a TGIF on it, it would THRIVE. Beginning in early spring, my neighborhood is descended upon by the 15.6 MILLION annual visitors per year (World Tourism Organization) and does not let up at ALL until January when my spirits rise as it fizzles out mid month. Then comes the month I have been waiting for all year. My precious, beautiful, adored month.....FEBRUARY! YESSSSSSSS.....




I can walk along the Seine without meeting anyone and play pretend it's olden times, like, before 1950....sometimes I try and pretend it's WAY OLDEN TIMES and what shoes would I wear if it was like, 1700 something and would I smell bad? And how would I be moisturizing? Could I drink the Seine then? Would I still be tall with teeth? Would I walk like THIS or like THAT...the possibilities are endless when no is around....


The tourist boats are empty....


I can walk the five minutes to the Louvre and enjoy the art minus the throngs of commentators.....


But mostly I like the low grey sky that rolls in and out like a never-ending ocean. It makes me feel dark, pensive and somewhat dangerous. Then the city belongs to me in my own pretend olden times way, with my own pretend dagger in my own pretend shawl as I pretend dance along a very real river.