A complete 180 can have such rejuvenating effects, it's frankly mystifying... Last week, as I so eloquently admitted, was tricky, to say the very least. But no matter how lost or lonely I may have felt, I knew that there was a bright light (preferably shimmering with glitter and starstream) shining in the distance... And as the prophet in my heart so aptly predicted, I metamorphed into a week that was full of the tasks, outings, and activities I was hoping would begin creating my emerging Parisian life...
As I have mentioned, language exchange can have its difficulties, but my second attempt this week was met with much more enthusiasm and success. The guy I met with is a young burgeoning journalist who is fairly fluent in English but perfectly willing to lay down the law and make me speak French for a while. Floating on the wings of success, the next morning I actually went to the laundromat for the first time... Ever... No seriously, I have never in the ten years I lived in NYC actually done my laundry at the laundromat. I have walked in, passed over my full bag of laundry, and paid them to wash, dry, and fold it for me, but I have been inherently against spending my time in a steamy layer of unwashed goods while wishing to be ANYWHERE else on Earth... But in Paris I finally conquered this foe and was happily rewarded via a conversation in French with a jolly old Frenchman who loves America and Obama but hates the current French president. That was pretty much the extent of our conversation, but I was proud nonetheless.
Wednesday night, the Giant took me to a Chinese dumpling restaurant in the 11th Arrondissment. I have been officially forbidden to reveal its exact location, as it is a small hole in the wall that is constantly packed out the door because oh sweet Jesus yes, those dumplings are good. Ever since that night when I even sense the gentle rumblings of hunger in my stomach, I immediately wish there was a bowl of these heaven-bites by my side... Sigh...
Last night, however, I went to a concert near Oberkampf with a great friend of mine from my last time in Paris. The band is called "Icona Pop", which I realized I had heard their big hit before, but knew nothing about them... Let me describe... Two young women emoting like banshees via elements of David Bowie's Space Oddity years badly done mixed with moments of Abba greatness but tainted by modern techno pop nonsense and boxed music. I admit I was actually guilty pleasure entertained by the first half of the concert until their angst because so self-indulgent I couldn't support their moody girl power anymore... Perhaps I am just jealous that I am not yet allowed to frolic on stage in narcissistic wonder and actually get paid for it... Or perhaps they need to learn how to dance...
And amidst the glimmering social life I now lead, school FINALLY began on Thursday and I have gotten more student leads. 8am classes can be intense but I am thrilled to start having a full schedule and become fluent in this romantic romance language... Now let the money come rolling in...
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