Vanves

Marché aux Puces, 08h25
30 January 2010
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I don't know that I've ever really met anyone surrounded filled with as much (positive) energy as Maritza. Everytime I mention something that would be cool to check out or do one day she immediately suggests a date for actually doing it (there's a list of things on our fridge just now of dinner items to make, places to go eat and places to grab a drink/go dancing. Ambitious ? Why, yes, we like to think so, too). So it's Maritza to thank for helping me to get me out of bed at twenty after six this morning to go to the Marché de Vanves (even though my tired ass had barely been under the covers two hours). Thank ... blame ... whatev's.

I can definitively say, though, that we were even later, arriving at the flea market at 8:15, under the first drops of sunlight, forced to swallow gulp after gulp of bitter cold air while trying to navigate the long street of antiques vendors. (Perhaps more than even, in fact.)

The Marché de Vanves is one of my au pair family's favorite places to go to buy antiques (it in all likelihood would be mine as well had a wallet to support). It's one of the better quirky spots on Paris, je t'aime short list (even more so when it's not so effing cold).

We managed to waddle our frozen feet through the mess of mirrors and fans and photos and candle holders from the late 1800's and games and figurines and accordions and matchboxes from the early to mid-1900's and furniture spanning both decades (with some really nifty mod-style head scratchers from the 1960's) in about two hours, with only one (albeit 20 min) break for coffee and the prevention of frostbite. After a petit chocolat chaud (made with real chocolate no less !) Maritza and I went our separate ways in search of text books and that really good Indian curry sold in some obscure shop in the 6ème, respectively ).*

After a successful completion of mission food-aholic [phase P19], I walked over the Seine to the Marais and continued along until I (for the umpteenth time) started to be concerned about ever feeling my extremities again.

When I came back to the apartment I took a nap for about an hour, then spent the subsequent hour having a (mini) exestential crisis and lapsing into a bit of depressed state linked partially to the passage of time, predominantly to my not wanting to go to the bar to work last night, and also significantly to the settled weight of comprehension of physical distance and my inability to reach out to my network of friends in my state of loneliness and anxiety over the uncertainty of life in coming months.

(And to think -- all this without leaving my bed ! That's the thing about anxiety, it's wonderfully convenient, available anytime, anyplace.)

In short, I miss you.

The big, steaming bowl of red lentil soup I ate in front of a QuickPlay viewing of Annie Hall helped.** Which was important because work really kicked my ass. While the situation seemed to have improved with my collegue and the language and whole French bartending-schtick, the barmaid decided the other night that I was unneccessary and has now devised a list of ways for making me seem useless and expendable -- pushing past me take orders, clear tables and even diving in front of me on several occassions to grab the one rag used for drying glasses so that I'm left standing there with nothing to do but look cute (which I do very well, but still ...). In response, I've taken to saying "suck it" all bright-eyed and smiling like it means "ok" in English slang (there are more pro-active ways for dealing with this situation, I imagine, but I prefer to remain ignorant as to what they are).

I guess I've also not been feeling the Franco-love in that I haven't seen one of my Parisian contacts in the last week and half. Logically, I know people are busy at the start of a new year, but emotionally ? Come the fuck on people ! Not one of you has time to grab a drink or even a little 3/4 oz espresso ?! Ce qu'on aurait fait pour reçevoir la bienvenue. I like time to myself but there comes a point ... well, let's say that I'm luckier than I realized to have a roommate I get along so well with -- who doesn't mind me crashing her Wednesday sortie with her friends. (Which was friggin' awesome btws-- people that know how to do it up until 4AM on a Wednesday, are a rare and precious breed.) It's that dose of socialiblity that saved me the last time I arrived here. God bless her for it.

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I start at Beaux-Arts Monday. I'm interested/excited/more than moderately terrified to see how things will change in my well-established, week-old, Parisian life.

* Because I know for a moment there you thought I was the one buying text books.***
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** How do we feel about posting recipes ? Interested ?
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*** It's really cute because she even sent me a little text that was like, "Happy curry shopping !"****
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**** Can anyone even read this f-ing tiny text down here ? should I not even
bother ?*****
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***** What's with all the meta-metatext and need for reassurance ?******
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****** This question was actually rhetorical.