Last night I responded to an ad on craigslist, offering a free backpack. It's from LLBean, and looks perfect for day trips, and much better than the crappy one I bought for 10€ last year at Decathlon. I met the woman at her metro stop, and we chatted for a few minutes. It turns out that we're both children's book editors, and have worked at the same company!
She's a bit older than I am, so we worked there at different times, and know different people, but we ended up getting coffee and exchanging story ideas. It's just such a small world! I can't believe that this random woman and I are from the same, relatively obscure, field.
So, Louise, if you're reading this, hi! It was lovely to meet you, and I'll be sure to take the bag on many grand adventures. And I think I might actually start working on that story finally . . .
When guys use extraordinarily flattering photos on dating sites, so that you literally do not recognize them on the street, despite being the only two people on the appointed corner at the appointed time.
I truly don't understand it. Do you think you're going to trick me into being attracted to you?
I do not like creepy-crawlies. I kill bugs left, right, and center. I don't feel any qualms about it. They freak me out, and I want them gone.
And yet, I have been totally unbothered by the night visitors I get in my new place.
In New York, my apartment had screens on the windows. I had the occasional small spider in the summer (which I would kill. I know they supposedly eat other bugs, but they also eat me. Dead.) but I never had anything flying around.
Here, I have two beautiful, big windows that open into my apartment and give me a view of the courtyard, with its grey roofs and rust-colored chimney pots. These windows, that make my apartment look a lot bigger than it is, have no screens. I can't recall seeing any screens on friends' windows, either. If I had screens, I couldn't water my plants or pluck basil for dinner from my lovely window boxes. And I couldn't shake out my bathmat or kitchen rug into the courtyard below. And I couldn't make my friends lean ALL the way out the window when they smoke at my housewarming party.
But these screenless windows let in lots of winged creatures. I have what looks like miniature mosquitoes that don't seem to bite, flies, big flies, bigger flies, microscopic flying things, ladybuggish things, and even a big-assed moth once. I only notice they're here cause I can hear them beating their gross wings against my ceiling. And it just doesn't bother me.
Okay, the flies bother me. But those are here during the day, not at night. And I have a lot fewer now that I bought a pitcher plant. I wonder if it's because, somewhere in my New Yorker mind, bugs are more acceptable in Europe? Is nature invading your space an "old-country" thing to anyone else?
My dad just sent me scans of a couple of photos of him and my mom from 1967, two years before they were married. This summer, August 31st, will be their 40th wedding anniversary. Which is insane. Forty years!!!
When they married, my mom was 19 and my dad was 25. When they started dating, my mom was in high school and my dad was in law school. My sister and I make fun of our dad all the time for being a creepy old man.
He likes to tell a story of how one day he borrowed his movie director friend's fancy sports car to pick up my mom from school. My mom was kind of a quiet girl, and despite the fact that she was prom queen (she maintains that her friends stuffed the ballot box), not overly popular.
So when she walked down the steps of Fairfax High and there was my dad, who was really quite gorgeous (dad, you're still extremely handsome, I'm not saying you're not!), leaning against this red convertible*, you can imagine the looks she got!
Anyway, here's them, two years before they got married. I've never seen this picture before, as an old friend just found it and gave it to them. People who know my mom well say that I look just like her. I wish!
Weren't they just amazing?
I'm sure I'm biased, just like parents who think their baby is the cutest thing in the world, but I can't stop looking at this photo!
*I'm not actually positive the car was red OR a convertible, but in my imagination it is.
EDIT: My dad just corrected me, saying: "it was a black convertible Jaguar XKE and my friend Tom Pollack, a law school classmate (later chairman of Universal Pictures) was driving, but it's true I was leaning against it waiting for mom." I think a black Jaguar convertible is just as good as a red one!
I went to Lisbon for a long weekend a few weeks back, and met a guy in my hostel. We hit it off, and spent the whole time together. Aaron took two months to travel around Europe and take a break from his normal life in northern California, where he's going through some changes. Now that he's back to the usual, he's kind of taking stock and considering a greater shift.
So we just got off the phone, and he asked if I think it would be crazy for him to sell all his shit and move to Berlin to get a bartender job. I said no, but you're talking to a girl who sold all her shit and moved to Paris for a teaching job.
And then I realized, wow. I did that. I sold all my shit: bed, bookshelves, couch, rugs, kitchen appliances, electronics. I boxed up books and vintage dishes. I gave away bags of clothes. I bought a one-way ticket. I live in Paris.
This might seem incredibly obvious to you. I have, after all, lived here for over two and a half years now. I am in my fourth Parisian apartment. But every so often I'll have a moment where it hits me: Oh. Right. I live in Paris. Huh, how'd that happen?
Aaron asked if the romance has worn off, if I regret my decision. But I really don't. I love that I can go to Portugal for the weekend. I love that in the past week I've been to one of Napoleon's castles and the cathedral where all the monarchs of France are buried. I love that I buy my produce in a market from the 1700s. I just, every once in a while, wonder how I got here.
The last time I felt this way was about six months ago. I was in Monoprix, buying groceries. I had chosen some spices, to help with my advancing cooking skills. And as my cart was rolling up the automatic ramp next to my escalator, I looked over and saw my bags of flour and my jars of spices and the new cake pan I was buying. And something about the spices, their longevity, made me aware that I'm building a life here. Cause you don't buy oregano unless you mean it.
