19ème

O meu quarto, 13h43
22 January 2010
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. . . . . . . .This was my first morning waking up in a new apartment in a (re)new(ed) city. It's almost 2PM. Because I don't have any furniture with drawers, I can't figure out what to do with my underwear. This is as good a reason as any to put off unpacking.

The apartment is old. Like, hella old. Though it's equiped with hardwood floors (well coveted in New York), the landlady has decided to lay bamboo mats all over the place, sticking them to the floor with double-sided tape. Where the mats lift up there's no sign of damage. She's also chosen to cover the tiled bathroom and kitchen floors with that fake, plastic roll-out stuff.
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There are also bamboo mats all over the kitchen counter. Errant burn marks decorate the kitchen table, cupboards and curtains. My roommate tells me the former tenant was not particularly "neat," sending the landlady into a tizzy about what the next tenants might be capable of. (I've been tryin to figure out if he didn't actually set the place on fire at one point. It would seem ...) There's also a second bedroom, which I failed to notice the last two times I came here (way to be observant, Sam). The landlady keeps this room for herself: Behind the locked door (of course it's locked) lies the overflow of beloved possessions too dear to let go of and yet not dear enough to keep somewhere the owner actually has access to them.

I tried to take a shower last night after moving. I tried really, really hard. The water temp is fickel as hell and there's really no pressure to speak of (at one point the duck spigot was literally dribbling water onto the floor of the tub). After about half an hour of work, I did succeed (sort of).

I've taken to constantly reminding myself of how much this place costs (with utilities it comes to truely ridiculous $440 a month. Truely ridiculous). It's absolutely neccessary, too. After the financial falls at the very beginning of my trip, I cut down to eating once a day.
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It's amazing how the golden lens of desperation can color any living situation.

Last night after moving, I went grocery shopping and bought a veritable smorgosboard for about 7€ (organic brown rice and ratatouille and eggs and wine and bread and cheese).

Since classes don't start until the 1st, I'm spending the next week until then doing just about as much nothing as I can handle. I did go for a brief walk today through the park and bought a large chocolat chaud at the cafe on the corner (which makes caiparinhas btw, which I'm planning on checking out). Tonight, I'm visiting a bar at Bastille Anna and I used to frequent when we were au pairs. By "visiting" I kind of mean visiting the bartender side of the bar. (Don't judge me -- this is still as close as I've come to doing nothing in a long time.)

I do have two plans for this week, at least: One, is to write another blog entry with photos from the quartier (because, merde*) the other is to meet one of my favorite Parisiens for a drink a some point. I like how this blog has also kind of become a laundry list of things I intend to do. You don't get more quotidien than that. Speaking of I should do laundry. And maybe buy some sort of makeshift drawer to put my laundry in.

Oh, and as far as my roommate goes, well, on verra. What she has going for her: She's super sweet, she seems to enjoy cooking and going out (dancing, which is definite extra points) and has a more than decent taste in music. And I can speak English with her when my brain is fried (upon waking/just before going to sleep/many, many of the moments in between). Against her: Well, not much. She likes to keep the sponge in water (there's a whole race of people that think like this. I don't get it) but even that I can very easily learn to live with. Otherwise ... well, while "perfect" is begging for proof to the contrary, let's say that the way it looks now, I couldn't have been luckier.

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*Meant in the good, American sense of "shiiit."