on Paris and the surburbs

In my last post I mentioned AZ's new Chanel purse.  She bought it a few weeks ago at the original Chanel boutique - 31 Rue Cambon in Paris.  Beyond the beauty of the purse (which can be found here)  the story of how she ended up in Paris in the first place is a good one.  About 2 months ago, we had gone to Double Zero (sausauge and lentil pizza + 5$ happy hour wine = friday after work happiness) and then on to Craft  (Stiegl radler ... yum).  Whilst at Craft, we were approached by a guy, who, in a totally non-stalker way, indicated that he sees AZ everyday getting coffee and commented on how much he likes her shoes.  It was such an unthreatening pick up line that we assumed he was gay.  Turns out, not so much.  AZ had given him her number thinking he would be a new friend, who was a boy, while what he wanted was to be was her new boyfriend.  So they go out a few times, they hit it off, and as is the normal custom for a 4th date, they went to Paris.  Yep - Paris.  Oh and to Champagne for a few nights too.  Because, really.  Why not?

Anyhow, besides giving off an ever so slight non-hetero vibe, this new guy (let's call him "Scott") seems to be a great match for AZ.  They start spending a lot of time together - laughing, drinking, cooking dinner, talking fashion, and of course, all the other stuff.  But AZ sees a potential flaw.  He spends all of his time at her place and is evasive when she questions him on his.  And he's away on the weekends a lot.  The obvious conclusion of course is that he has a wife.  If you are confused, dear reader, I am too.  Because I don't see the jump that AZ made there, but to her it was logical at the time.  Did I mention that at the time we were on bottle number 5 of wine at a lovely bbq hosted by the always gracious SS?  "Scott" decided to spend an extra night out of town with his father and brother (on father's day I might add) and AZ decided this was shady.  She indicated in a text that they needed to have "the talk."

So how did this drama end you ask?  Well, turns out he doesn't have a wife (or a current wife at least - he is divorced.  And she lives in a different country).  The simple answer is that he lives in the suburbs. I don't know that I've mentioned my dating zone rule - it really is worth it's own post - but I have one and he falls well outside.  AZ lives 10 minutes from downtown, while his place is a solid 25.  Maybe even 30.  And so, mystery solved.

Are there any lessons to be taken from this?  I would think two.  1) Always say yes to Paris.  And 2) It's more convenient to have sleepovers in the inner city.

majordomos for everyone!

On Friday night I watched the documentary Valentino: The Last Emperor. Great. Beautiful clothes (duh). Everything is sewn by hand. It really is something to see. The amount of time, effort and money spent on creating beauty - it's astonishing. Plus he has quite the personality. And he has quite the life. That is his house outside of Paris. It's a 16th century Chateau. Not bad. And he has a majordomo. I want a majordomo. I've often said that I need a nanny, even though I have no children, but now I realize what I really need is a majordomo. It sounds much more sophisticated. And I am nothing if not a sophisticate. According to wikipedia, a majordomo is a person who speaks, makes arrangements, or takes charge for another. Apparently they went out of style with the end of feudalism, but I guess no one told Valentino.

my younger self

On my recent trip to "home" (where my parents live), I found a couple of diaries, hidden in plain sight in my bedside table. Am guessing my mom has probably read them, which is pretty embarrassing because the diaries themselves are somewhat mortifying. Running intermittently from September 1997 to December 1999, they are an account of my inner most thoughts as well as the events and travels that happened when I lived in France in 97-98, back in Halifax for my last year of university in 98-99 and then back to France for a year of teaching in 99-2000. I was a young 21 year old ... I was always thought I was quite mature for my age, but looking back, not so much. Naivete is a good word to describe my mindset. Although it's interesting because the majority of the entries happen as I'm taken far out of my comfort zone, living on a different continent, speaking a different language and meeting people from all over the world, so I probably shouldn't be too hard on myself. A few gems are below, as well as what they mean to me now are below (there is also plenty of introspection, but I think I'll keep those entries to myself for now):

• October 11, 1997: "Last night we had so much fun ... our wine only cost $4. Then we went to Bugsy's and everybody was there. We got a beer and hung out but we decided we wanted to dance - so we went to Honky Tonk's to bust a move." Um, everybody? I have no idea who would be considered everybody. Nor would my 34-year old self drink $4 wine. And what kind of town has bars called Bugsy and Honky Tonk? Although I do still use the term "bust a move."

• November 11, 1997, discussing a boy I had a crush on: "I broke off our relationship, not that we really had one, but after the events of the weekend, my crush has faded, although I still like flirting with him - he is a great friend even though he's a slut." A little harsh perhaps? Also, I love that I broke up with him even though we weren't dating. The funny thing is that we are still friends. I wonder if I should tell him how mean I was.

• November 23, 1997: "Last weekend we hopped on a train and went to Barcelona. Wow - it was so much fun. I couldn't believe how many people were out on just a random Saturday night - 8PM looked like Ottawa on Canada Day or general admission at a U2 concert. Shopping was like the last hour on Christmas Eve - absolute chaos. But I got some new boots and a sweater." I'm guessing we also saw all the Gaudi architecture and went to a few museums, but I obviously wasn't that interested. And I still own those boots.

• December 21, 1997: "We went to Paris and KM peed on the eiffel tower." I laughed out loud reading this entry. In her defence, she has a very weak bladder and I was probably taunting her.

• January 23, 1998: "Wow, it is so beautiful out right now. I am sitting on a park bench - it is 4:30 in the afternoon, in the middle of winter, I am wearing only a sweater (well, pants too), the sun is shining, there are people and dogs frolicking in front of me, I'm listening to that cool Bjork song and wishing I were in a movie." Cool Bjork song could be any of her songs really, I'm gonna go with "It's Oh So Quiet."

It goes on and on, but is really only funny to me. So let's just leave it there and ponder the all important question: what the hell ever happened to Bjork?