I Am The Catch.
Its amazing to see your dreams come true. To watch them happen in real time. Its like living inside your dreams, but when you eat shit on the metro, it still hurts and totally leaves a bruise. In any case, I am going to Sienna, Florence, Leeds and Barcelona in the next two weeks. My life rules.
As I have mentioned before, Paris is not my town, and as the spring starts to bloom, I will hold firm to that statement. I will hold even when you can almost taste the 40% crème fraiche in the air and hear the grass growing green in the parks. If you are willing to look past the advertisements for American films and give a hefty “va te faire foutre” to abrasive men, Paris is a lovely shithole to find yourself in this time of year. I plan to enjoy it fully.
I bloom like flowers when the sun comes out. I feel positive. I become more aware of my body and am motivated to take care of it. My outfits become wild, my hair is cut constantly. And I fall in love with everything.
It’s strange to find yourself in that limbo between interest and affection. Not knowing where yet to place your feelings. Do you trust an instinct that has failed you consistently for the past 4 years, a judgment clouded by hurt feelings and sad songs? Or do you trust the defensiveness indicating genuine feelings; trust a resistance from the ego: sensing something lovely real in the connection like a king running away from a burning castle with a load of gold and precious jewels in arm. Maybe you trust the signs from the universe whispering a distant country’s name in your ear over and over again. Maybe you trust no one, and especially not yourself because no one has hurt you like you. Maybe.
It reminds me of the only poem I have written since elementary school that I care to claim. It was inspired by a class trip to the library and it goes like this:
I used to be an open book
but the wrong people kept checking me out
So now I remain in Special Collections
where at lease I feel unique.
Yes, the next one will have to earn it. And I will be worth it.
Your Friend,
Katy
Just a Summary
I am madly in love with many things. Mostly people, but also Paris. I am bursting with love. I never feel myself as much as when I am in this mood.
Dallas Scott, the primary love of my life, is coming to Paris. We are going to tear this town apart. We will find friends and fun as if they were not hidden amongst the lights and city buildings.
This weekend, I met a beautiful Moroccan with sweet chocolate eyes who kissed like a sunset in Casablanca. I am trying to play hard to get, but we all know this is not my strong suit. Maybe its weird, but I want to meet his family.
It is starting to get warmer. I am elated at the thought. I want sunglasses and tank tops and picnics in the park.
Paris is not a kind city, but it is a city of foreigners that know this unkindness well. Its a bond you can find anywhere.
The thing about the French and the Americans is that they don’t seem to mesh well not because of differences, but because of similarities. We reflect in each other our flaws: an annoyance at cultural relativism which we both practice heavily. Its the friend that mirrors your insecurities, and thus is nearly impossible to understand.
I will spend the day hoping my new camera is not lost in the mail, being worried about my french oral presentation on art nouveau, and waiting anxiously for the arrival of my dear dear friend.
I will post pictures soon.
I love you all.
Your Friend,
katy
La Mort de Ma Vie
The other day I said that maybe this guy was l’amour de ma vie, or the love of my life, but because of my crappy American accent and its inability to pronounce French vowels correctly, my friend Lauren informed me I had called him “the death of my life”. Anyways, I don’t know who I said this about but I actually just met him. The problem being that I met him at my bizarre social prostitution ie english conversation job at a Parisian technical school. Its a job in which I get paid to spend two hours, three times a week doing this and that with young French men who hang on to my every word (mostly because they have to concentrate to understand me). You are forced to get to know these guys, some of which are really cool and smaller portions which are also hot, but the catch: you cannot really be friends with them. No phone numbers. No facebook. No email. You cross these lines and you get canned. Its a very strange thing indeed. In my last EPITECH class of the day, it was just me and this guy going to see a movie in Paris. Second best date of my trip, although hopefully this guy will sign up for another class with me instead of never calling me just because I sent some inappropriate drunk text messages. I got paid for this one too– on fait First best date of Paris.
Looking back at my other posts I highly de-emphasized how shitty life in Paris has really been. Sure, I’ve gotten drunk with great people and had some lovely fun, but this shit is hard. I wrote this the other day:
“What if you are wrong, you know? What if all the things you thought you knew about yourself, or assumed you knew about your personality were incorrect? I guess that wouldn’t happen really, but this experience has really made me wonder a thing or two about who I actually am or think I am. Am I the traveler, the adventurer, the creator that I have always figured myself to be? Am I really going to truly enjoy this expereince of cultural immersion? At this point, all I really feel like doing is talking about American culture and speak in English because I honestly have not met any non-english speakers that I feel an instant connection with. I know this is partially a language barrier, but I have met other non-english speakers in the US that I felt akin to, but then I had the home field advantage.”
I have been going through some serious internal contemplation and assessment. I’ve fallen apart and put myself back together more than once, getting it wrong every time. I look in the mirror and see a Picaso reflection. It hurts to see the self esteem that took me three years of single-hood to build come crashing down, demolished by a little over a month in a foreign, but still western city. What happened to brave, world conquering Katy? Did I leave her with the comforts of Arizona and an apartment above the Pay N Take? Does she only exsist among friends and predictable outcomes? With the praises of instructors and bosses?
I think I might have found her tonight in the cinema sitting next to a stranger: laughing like a child at the small theatre with a ceiling of false stars, comfy chairs and the new Cohen Brother’s film projected with French subtitles. My student looking over at me while I laughed uncontrollably at the wry humor, holding my knees in my arms. My breath was taken away by the ending: one of the best I have seen in cinema. Truly masterful. I was without words, full of feeling, smiling ear to ear with glazed movie eyes. This is me. Open, impressed and emotional. I was glad to feel like myself again. I can only hope that this feeling persists as I go through a week of courses in French.
My big problem is that I feel stupid here almost all the time. I do dumb shit all day because of unspoken cultural differences both ideological and practical and then can’t understand when someone tries to correct me. I go to classes horrified that a professor might call on me for my name or area of study. My usual tactic of avoid eye contact with a professor in order to deter questions doesn’t work when I need to stare intensely, practically panic stricken into their face, watching their mouth for any language cues that I can understand. Taking a semester off French was not a good idea. This is the fear I came here to conquer and I plan to do it, damnit.
I am very lucky to have such a supportive family. I have cry-skyped with my mom over and over and not once has she suggested I come home or that I was in over my head to where I would not succeed. She didn’t even want to kill me when I said I didn’t care if I learned French while here. I am so thankful for her. Thanks Mommy!
Awesome things: Centre Pompidou, Cine-Concerts, French people who don’t give you shit about incorrect pronunciation, A Serious Man, My roommate Anna and her putting up with my crazies, Pain au Chocolat, Lauren and her wisdom, Kebabs, Shakespeare and Co and all other anglophone bookstores, the metro with a Pass Navigo, my corner bakery.
Not Awesome things: French people who are mean when you don’t speak French even if you are not fucking talking to them, my broken camera, not being able to sign up for classes online, French public bathrooms, aggressive and/or predatory men, people who won’t give you a chance, unavailability of brown rice, expenses.
I will leave you with pictures of me and my friends looking good:
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- Sexy Americans in Paris
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- Sass-a-frass!
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- No Big.
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- Adorable!
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- Couchsurfer Ian literally surfing the couch.
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- Yeah.
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- Yellow Tights.
Thats all for now.
<3katy
Almost Too Sexy
Essentially this post is for pictures, but I felt bad not saying anything so… I went to Le Cimetière du Père-Lachaise today which is were Jim Morrison is buried. It was uninteresting. Good day otherwise. I am infatuated pretty seriously. L’amour a Paris! Oh la la!
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- Our Kitchen!
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- Our Living Room!
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- Our best-shower-in-Paris shower!
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- Chambre a COUCHER!
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- Lovely hostess Anna of Taco/GnT night
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- Lauren making me love her
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- Mexicali Danny, Anna, Lauren doing something weird and myself
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- Yes.
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- Wingtip boots ie sweet kicks
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- Singing Neko Case to Anna
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- (Tara, Me, Anna) Not drunk.
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- (Me, Tara, Anna) Surprisingly not drunk also.
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- HOSPITAL PARTY! WTF.
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- Steamy.
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- Awesome.
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- Frenchie sax player with some fucking nasty rum.
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- THIS PARTY WAS AT A HOSPITAL.
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- Perfection.
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- Penis bottle opener.
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- Friends at Tara’s with some random Frenchies from across the way
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- Why, hello to you too! (in my ghetto school)
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- Tara in the Church of Balls
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- “I have a Church (of Balls) in my life”
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- “My Stupid Dog” – A bar of Paris
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- Mossy Crossy
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- Whatever.
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- Whatever.
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- I don’t know who this is, but she must have been awesome.
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- Whatever.
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- Whatever.
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- Whatever.
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- For Serious Whatever.
<3katy
PS the Church of Balls joke stemmed from our student guide being floored with laughter when he discovered that we knew the word for balls (after many an inappropriate joke on the metro) and called the church we were visiting the Eglise des Couilles ie CHURCH OF BALLS. We are going sous terre for sure.
When things are just so.
This morning I woke up at noon in my heavily ikea-ed apartment in the 14eme arrondissement without a hangover for the first time in what seems like ages. My roommate made crepes with Nutella for breakfast as I drank coffee from my Star Trek mug while I relaxed next to the radiator. Now here I sit, still by the heater, listening to the sweet sounds of the Amelie soundtrack. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m right loving you dear like I do…
Tonight I have a date with Ben, a funny Philosophy major with thick black frame glasses hailing from New York. No confirmation as of yet, but I hope we can go see an Antonioni film in the Latin Quarter after some Gelato. I don’t know if the Gelato shop will be open because nothing is here on Sunday, but it would fit so well with the Italian theme of the evening. Maybe a make-out session under the Eifel Tower? Who knows. C’est la vie a Paris. Tres Romantique.
A couple observations of Paris:
- People listen to American music from the 90′s more than anything else. In stores, bars, clubs, everywhere. Examples of a few songs I have heard UNIRONICALLY in this city – Mambo No. 5, Scat Man and YMCA. A French guy last night was talking about how much he liked Xhibit and Red Hot Chili Peppers.
- People only hate Americans on the Metro when they are being noisy. It isn’t a faux-pas to be an American in Paris especially when you are a lady and that American accent is oh so cute.
- Alcohol is absolutely essential in acquiring a new language. In class I learn a thing or two but when you are shitfaced at a party and you want to bang some Frenchie, all of a sudden you can recall all those sentence formations and verb forms – or at least you are willing to try. After and evening of drinking, Anna (my roommate and significant other of Paris) and I got a lesson in French dirty talk from our skeezy cab driver. Thanks to last night I can now say “suck my dick” and “I have lot of balls”.
- French guys love to use the pick up line “You know about the French Kiss?” Last night when this happened my friend Tara and I responded with “Do you know about an American Kiss?” He wanted to find out, but to no avail.
-There is dog shit every where. To quote my friend Lauren “Paris is an explosion of dog shit”. This phrase had a double meaning because she wrote it when it seemed as though the world was crashing down upon us the first two weeks. Also, after weekend nights there is a lot of vomit. Otherwise, Paris is a pretty clean city.
-If you want to get some action in a serious way – go dancing. Its like shooting fish in a barrel – except a lot of the fish that are biting are creepy so beware! I went to a party at a hospital (which my friends and I were invited to by a dude on the metro wearing a disco suit and a very large pink afro wig) and I saw some guy on the dance floor I thought was cute and started to dance with him. About 45 seconds later, we were making out shamelessly on the dance floor. Its almost too easy…
Basically, Paris is awesome and every night is a party. We found decent champagne for 1E30, so my life is pretty damn good right now. It will be great to start school. Saint Dennis ( Paris 8 ) is going to rule so hard. It is super liberal and looks like a Mexican high school. Its as if they just up and stopped caring about the condition of the place about 15 years ago and never picked up interest again. I am in love with it.
Now for some pictures y’all!
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- Geode at the Science Center
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- This hat is big. For Serious.
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- Anna and I looking GOOD.
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- Lauren and I being awesome.
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- Yeah.
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- Flagstaff Pride
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- This fucking guy.
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- Fierce.
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- Danny from California
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- THIS IS MY LIFE IN PARIS. JE L’AIME.
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- Look closely: He is playing with a boob insert.
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- Waterfall in Paris. Just checking it out.
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- Outside a window of the Hotel De Ville
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- INCREDIBLE GYPSY CIRCUS. One of the coolest things I have ever seen.
First Paris Blog
Hey Kids!
So this has been probably one of the scariest and trying weeks of my life so far: I got deathly ill when I was supposed to be running around Paris attempting to find a place to live, going through certain aspects of culture shock that I did not expect, and realizing that I do not know French at all and need all the help I can get. I am so glad I survived, got housing, and even spoke a little French with some locals last night!
I found a place to live with my new friend Anna (a girl from Flagstaff that I met in the program) in the 9th arrondissement. We share the apartment with Mme Taieb, an older woman who smokes and has a cat who is the “boss of the house”. Its not exactly what I was expecting for a living situation but it is a place to sleep and put my shit IN PARIS so I need to stop complaining.
Now for some pictures…
(note: I know these pictures are huge if you open them, I just figured out how to change that so next time it will be fixed)
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- Anna and I having a cup of coffee in the Latin Quarter our first night!
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- The city of lights
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- The view from temporary housing
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- My room in the temporary housing residence
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- This is the Gare de Lyon, the Metro station that was our second home.
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- Anna and I braving the Paris cold!
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- Il fait niege a Paris! Trop Belle!
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- This is me. I am in Paris and it is snowing on me.
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- This is Anna. She is in Paris and it is snowing on her.
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- Some Bikes in the Snow
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- French Breakfast at the local cafe 4E90
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- Getting ready for our boat ride down the Seine!
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- Vive La France!
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- Bateaux-Mouches
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- Oh hell yes, I did that.
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- Honestly… Kind of ugly up close.
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- Oh so warm inside the boat
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- Icecicles!
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- Artsy photo shoot in the Latin Quarter
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- Anna and Lauren takin’ Flagstaff International. Represent.
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- American Antics
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- Holy Crap! A sunny day in Paris!
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- Guess who figured out how to open a bottle with a wine key last night.
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- This is the ceiling of a famous French Playhouse
I have lots of stories from this week – getting rejected from clubs, peeing in stairwells, free popcorn, Metro rides, learning the French word for foreplay… so much. I will be updating more regularly now so I can tell you all the sassy details from now on.
<3katy
