Parislog 18
April 24, 2006

Sunday, I went to a street show and on the way a guy started to talk to me. He was very polite so I continued to talk with him. He ended up going with me to the street theatre. The show was hilarious with a strange mix of star wars and love boat as you will see from the pictures. It was very short but worth the trip. Then we took a walk over to Pere Lachaise cemetery, which is probably the most famous one in Paris. It is where Jim Morrison is buried. The guy was smitten with me but I didn’t return the feelings so I didn’t contact him further.

Last Monday H* loaned me a sewing machine so that I could have one at the house and start to work on some of my ideas for my clothing line. I am a bit of a slow mover at times though as of yet haven’t done so. I will. One little baby step at a time and you eventually get to your goals.

On Tuesday, I went back to the library that specializes in arts and browsed around the shelves. The inside is really amazing with stonework banisters and steps. This was the one that was built in between 1474-1519. It is sometimes such a thrill to know that you stand where centuries of others have gone before. It has a really excellent library of art books and fashion books but I have to wait until I have been here for 3 months to be able to sign up for a card to bring the books home with me. They also have a huge quantity of magazines and the ones with patterns still have the patterns in them because there is such a strict policy about check in and out. You are responsible for counting all the pages and if anything is wrong you must say so or you will be held responsible. Sheesh. But it keeps the magazines available to everyone.

On one of my walks, I inadvertently found myself in an area populated by Indians and the smells on the street were amazing. You could get really hungry smelling all the curry in the air, that is if you like curry, which I do. Almost all the faces were Indian and the clothing stores were Saris. For those of you who care to know it was on Faubourg Saint Denis right besides the Gare du Nord train stations. This is very close to Montmartre.

Okay, I just can’t figure this one out. I have seen so many people picking their noses in public here that it is almost starting to feel normal. We are not just talking about a quick discrete attempt to get rid of a problem. We are talking about total rooting around at times. The one that I saw this day was a woman, late 20’s, true blond and looked of a middle class level. She was right in front of me on the seat facing me and it was hard to not have to see it. I just don’t get it.

When I was walking in the Montmartre area an old guy was begging on the street corner with his hand out to the passers-by. He was dressed in a nice white robe and had one of those sorts of pillbox shaped Muslim hats on that was also white with gold embroidery. He didn’t really look like he needed money but what do I know. Anyway, I just ignored him as I do all the beggars and as I walked past he actually put his hand out further and shoved me. Like that is going to convince me to give him money. What it did do is piss me off and I turned around and the middle of the street and threw my arms up in the air at him and put an angry look on my face. He decided there were better pastures elsewhere.

I hit the peak of my grief cycle on this Tuesday, at least I hope. I really fell apart then but I had been expecting it so I just rode it out. I think that I am now on the upswing from it.

April 20 I finally got up the courage to call another person whose name had been given to me. I had been so nervous about calling because I thought that she was only French speaking. I plunged in with a written speech I had prepared for the answering machine and she picked up…and started speaking accented but really good English. I felt like such a silly. Y* was very nice and invited me to a dinner party she was throwing that night for her friends and her belly dancing students. It was a fun night and I got some more practice at speaking French. Her friends were very nice and welcoming too. Still waiting for those nasty French, not really.

Friday, I forgot it was Friday. In fact I thought it was Saturday. Oops. I went to a street antique show over in the 8th. This is a higher end neighborhood in Paris and quite nice. The antiques were nice but way out of my league. Duh. It was lunchtime while I was there and Park Monceau was there so I decided to go grab a bite and sit on the grass. I went to the counter and ordered my crepe and the counter guy said I big string of something to me. I looked at him blankly. I said another long string of something different and pointed towards the back of the building. I started walking around the side thinking that maybe there was a pick up window and there was nothing but the back door to the kitchen. I walked further and there was another order window but no pick-up window. I honestly felt like crying. Sometimes I just can’t get the gears to move in my mind and understand what is being said.

I hadn’t realized that there was a lack of airplane noise and helicopters until I was reading that over Paris has been declared a no fly zone without special permission, like for the national holiday. It is so nice to have that one layer less of noise especially compared to the nightly helicopter hovering over my place in Hollywood.