A Photo Journal Through my Paris Journey

What. A. Whirlwind.  

Seriously.  We were watching some movie (I can't remember which... and I don't want to waste time trying to remember...) where the setting was France, WW II.  I don't know what it was about the movie, yes I do... it was FRANCE... we were just suddenly inspired .... we HAD to go to France.

S and I had talked about going to Paris several months ago, but the timing with work, school, and kids was never quite right.  With her job at The Company getting a flight there is nearly free and not too difficult at this time of year.  So, it was decided, on Sunday evening around 9pm that we would go to Paris - the next day!  Our flight left Monday evening at 6:30pm.

It seemed okay at first.  I'm an online, distance learner.  As long as we found a place to stay with internet access, I could take my exam that was due on Tuesday at 11pm CST.  That's right, we hadn't had a place to stay.  We were just getting on a flight.  To another country.  With no place to stay.  With no guarantee of internet access.  And I had to take my first exam in nearly 24 hours... with a 7 hour time difference.

I started to freak a little on the ride to the airport.  I got a little queasy.

I was very relieved to have my nausea pills on the ride there.  And after about 18 of them I started to feel better.

S did okay drinking fizzy water - that was so very Parisian of her.

We laughed because we were practicing our French Accents by pronouncing the name of the water: LaCroix.  I don't speak French really... but I speak French Accent.  That's basically English with a really snotty French Accent.  Turns out that S and I travel really well together.  We both like to laugh, a lot.  Mostly at ourselves.  And it's mostly things that I'm sure no one else would laugh at.  Sometimes I blog about it... I wonder if anyone else gets a chuckle.  But there is a LOT I just keep to myself.

So on the flight there, I got an upgrade to Business Class.  I declined it, of course!  I did not want to fly for like over 8 hours up there in Business Class by myself!  The point of the long, overnight flight, I thought, was being inappropriate underneath the little airplane blankets.  I even wore a dress.  ~Shrugs~

I mean... Don't those First and Business Class seats look like weird Alien Pods?  I'm actually afraid of them a little.  On our flight home, I was upgraded to FIRST Class, and I declined that too, and I thought S was going to either A.) have a heart attack or B.) cry a little.  Both would have embarrassed me, so I'm glad she refrained.  She said no one else in her life ever would have done that "for her."  Isn't that ... ... ... I don't know what that is.  Maybe sad.  Who wouldn't want to sit next to their wife?  She said, "Give it a few years.  You'll take the upgrade eventually."  I don't know about that.
Once I explained all of this to her, the under the blankey cuddling, a smile widened across her face.  Another "a'ha moment" I think Oprah calls it.  (S loves Oprah... it's a source of contention between us at times.)

What can I write about the flight?  It was long.  Boring.  There were a few flight attendants that S knew, and of course I made fun of her... until we got a First Class blanket and a First Class dessert from one of them.  I studied Pharmacology for like 3 hours.  I have never studied anything that long in my life.  I watched two in-flight movies.  Oh!  I'm almost leaving out the best part.  The very sour looks we got from the man sitting across the aisle to our left... and the blatant stares we got from the man sitting across the aisle to our right.  It was funny at first.  I wanted to photo them.  Then it was annoying.  Then I think S just got pissed by the end of the long flight.

 

We found a super-affordable place to stay in a neighborhood only a block or two from the train station.  Very convenient.  Here's a little peak at the view from one of the windows.  Nice right?  Mhm.  Fucking noisy as hell.  The second night we asked the owner for a room on the other side of the building.  Off the street.  Where our window faced the courtyard.  Much wiser.

It was a pretty modest place.  But I really did not care!  We were in Paris.  No work.  No kids.  No school.  OH FUCK.  It's TUESDAY!  (And I left my nausea pills in S's car at the airport.)  Yes.  School was waiting for me.  But so was the bed... I needed a nap in the worst way.  And nap we did.  S woke up twice to yell at 

1.  The maid.

2.  Some worker men doing electrical work in the hallway.

When it was just starting to get dark out, we got up and I decided I really needed to finish my Pharmacology studies.  The hotel claimed to have "Wi-Fi" in the "lobby," and S went to check to make sure it was reliable.  We were both in desperate need of coffee.  I asked her to bring back something... latte... espresso... anything...  And apparently the only thing you can get "take away" (that's French for "to-go") is at McCafe.

I am not even laughing kids.  

This is serious shit.

My first fucking night in Paris, France and I'm in a fucking "modest" hotel room, studying Pharm, and drinking a goddamn McCafe

The lobby's Wi-Fi service proved reliable, and I was able to log into my school's secure server and access my exam.  I scored an 86% even though there were Frenchmen smoking cigarettes, eating smelly sandwiches, and watching French news programming at a volume level that can only be described as MORE THAN DISTRACTING.

The next couple of days and nights are a blur.  We mostly slept all day (thank god we got the quieter room after the first night) and would stay up all night fucking.  We tried really hard to do cultured things like go to museums.  But I found a way to make even that inappropriate.   

Exhibit A:  The loo and Le Louvre:

I thought it would be nicer.  Although, given the other public toilets I visited on my trip... this one was suitable.

Exhibit B:  Extended Breastfeeding.  

I think this kid needs to wean.  Seriously.  And that girl in the photo wouldn't smile and almost ruined my shot.

S wanted to get those headsets so we could have that guided tour in English.  I said no.  Instead I made her pretend we were at a gallery picking out things for our new home we were moving into.  She agreed at the end my way was more fun, but incredibly inappropriate.  I tried to get her to climb on top of the Winged Victory of Samothrace for an incredible photo shot.  She wouldn't.  She's so shy!  

Anyway... it was a good time.  We laughed until our sides hurt.  We stayed until we were bored... and thirsty (not long).  

The wine was fabulous.  We enjoyed this little refreshment in the park right before we caught the train to Pigalle, which is Paris' red light district for anyone unaware.  Yes, I did see Moulin Rouge.  It's like if one goes there... that's what one must see... like when one visits the Louvre one must see the Mona Lisa.  LOL!  It's the Mona Lisa of Pigalle.  

What did we do in the Red Light District?  

1. Buy lube of course.

2. Buy amazing mini cupcakes filled with delightful, creamy goodness.

3. Eat snails.

4.  More wine.

5.  Visit Sacre-Coeur Basilique.  We lit a candle for our very special friend Bebe's sister who is very sick right now.

6.  Shopped like tourists.  We bought - socks, hats, magnets, a watch, chocolate, a bottle of wine... 

7.  Ate a Panini sandwich while walking to the train.

8. Asked a waiter to cork our wine because we had no opener in our room!

9.  Brought a small Greek pizza back to our room, with our wine and chocolate and had another amazing feast!

 

10.  Tried our lube.  All night long.  We weren't disappointed. 

It feels undescribable.

But I will try anyway, to describe what femme feels like...  to me at least.

Femme feels like brand new baby skin.  Soft and a little squishy... almost like a puppy's skin, but brand new babies smell like fresh baked cookies for about a week.  Then the smell is gone.  Forever.  However, while finding my Femme, don't ever worry it will disappear in a week.  It's here to last.  Forever.

Femme feels pulled in a million directions.  Daughter-Sister-Mother-Friend-Lover-Secretkeeper.  Cook-Maid-Nurse-Therapist-Comedienne-Student.

Femme feels hard and soft at the same time. Femme feels like every emotion is right on the surface, but if I let them see, then I might be considered less than.  Femme feels good in the arms of someone strong.  Femme feels good to me. 

Femme feels like a cool autumn night, windows open, crickets chirping, sun-setting earlier and earlier each evening.  Femme feels like the chill on my sweat laced skin as the night breeze rushes through the room.

Femme feels invisible.  Unseen.  Unheard of.  In my very rural community to be Femme is an advantage probably.  Therefore, Femme... is isolating.

I don't know what the fuck Femme feels like, but I know that I'm the expert on whatever the fuck it feels like to me.  Femme doesn't really give a shit and is done wasting time wondering if you do too.

Femme feels like soft, warm skin ... fresh after a bubble bath. 

My favorite part of this is when I can finally stop.  I can stop everything I'm doing and the world seems to stop too, and S is there to make sure of it.  Without fail, she's there...with her oil and her strong hands.  And I can just be.  I can stop.  I can be.  I am Femme.

Femme is wearing that because I like to.  Femme is taking care of myself.  Femme is taking care of her.  Or all of us.  Femme is the smell of the laundry that I've taken off the line... Sunshine.  Femme smells like sunshine.  Femme is doing her fucking laundry every week because I WANT to, not because I have to, or because she asks me.  There is something incredibly satisfying about doing her laundry.  Especially when I can dry it on the line.

Femme is sitting in a salon chair and not a barber chair.  This is complete torture for me.  The two and a half hour procedure of "getting my hair done" requires me to premedicate with xanax or ativan or both.  I'd rather sit in a barber chair.  I have nothing to say to the women there.  They have nothing to say to me.  Usually, I try to talk about my job, because... oddly.... we all birth the same.  (Note that is sarcasm.)  But I like my long chestnut hair and without the said procedure my hair is less than spectacular.  So off to the salon I go.  I dream of the day I can take my son to the barber - just for the experience alone.

Femme wears her girlfriend's cowboy shirt when they are apart.  S's shirt on my skin, nothing else.  I can smell her, and smelling her is remembering her.  Sometimes I wear the shirt out and about and sometimes I wear S's shirt to bed.  She doesn't know this.  Sleeping alone, in that huge bed, feels very lonesome when I can smell her so close to my body.  I shut my eyes tight and make myself come, alone, but in her shirt.  And I wonder if the next time she wears it, she will know.

Femme is wearing heels, all year, and yes... sometimes when the weather determines one might should wear other shoes.  I've worn heels with the usual skirts and dresses, but also with jeans, capri pants, and even shorts.  I've worn heels to bed (and kept them on).  I've worn heels while 9 months pregnant (which probably looked ridiculous... I'll give ya that).  I've worn heels in airports and at at the zoo.  I have high heeled sandals and boots.  I will never own enough high heeled shoes.  If S is smart, she will never question my choice in footwear.

S has asked me, a few times, about how I came to understand the world in certain ways, or how I became who I am based on where I've lived my entire life.  This is a compliment.  Really.  The only thing I can tell her is one of my strongest memories from childhood... is my mother's voice telling me, 'You can do anything you want to so long as you set your mind to it and work hard.'  Other values she instilled in me were that of equality.  Equality between genders... races... etc.  I grew up feeling equal and of value... that I had something of worth to offer the world.  My mother made sure to tell me that there were others that did not believe this were true and that someday I might have to fight for equality.  I learned about others before me, before us, that did fight that fight.  I grew up feeling pretty proud of my mother.  I grew up feeling very goddamn proud of womanhood.  THAT feels like Femme today.

Breaking Up for Dummies

Where is that book?  I am sure with all the Dummy books out there, one exists.  And specifically... "How to Break Up with Someone You've Really Only Had Two Dates With... But You Went Around The Block With Her... For Dummies"  Fuck.  Where in fuck's sake is that book?  Or blog? 

So... I am trying to have this very important talk with T, about how we are just incompatible in a dating sense right now... and perhaps we should just try to be friends for a while, then see how that goes.  (Uhhh, give me a break.  I've never done this before.)  And she tells me she has to say something to me or she will regret it, and she expels out, "I love you."  WTF am I supposed to do with that?  Remember way back, the awkward silence *I* experienced after asking for a kiss...?  Yeah... most definetly awkward.  Things not to say:

That's nice.

Thank you.

Why?

You shouldn't.

So soon?

The list could go on... I think she meant that she's starting to fall in love with me... or that she wants to... or that she could allow herself to.  But she can't be in love with me.  Really.  This chick and I are so completely incompatible.  We cannot even have a conversation about anything.  It feels like an interview.  I ask her questions and she answers.  So this "conversation" got off to a real fucking great start.

I asked her, "Why do you love me?"  which I ask often.  I find the responses so... interesting... so telling.  You know?  Well her responses were more of non-responses, if you ask me.  They were not really reasons.  And that's because she doesn't really love me.  Not in the way she thinks she does. 

Why am I even blogging about this?  Does anyone even give a fuck?

My favorite responses to the question are the ones that have to do with A) my body, B) how I fuck, or C) how "good" I make them feel.  **Giant dramatic sigh**  Those are not the correct answers, FYI.  (Those weren't really her answers either... so strange and awkward.)

So yeah... here I sit.  With this card she left me that has a handwritten note that I absolutely cannot read.  I mean I cannot read it.  The words are illegible.  And I laugh at the irony.  What does it say?  Does it hold all the secret emotions and feelings about our Two Date Relationship that she wants to impart on me before the final band aid is ripped off?  It is a perfect symbol of what it is like between us.  Illegible writing... which leads to poor communication... or a lack of communication... I guess.