Last Dance

Paris for the day was the best idea I've had since... well, it was a good idea.

I rolled into the Gare du Nord, fresh off the Eurostar, and it was beautiful outside. I had just stepped outside and paused to let my heart recover from seeing beautiful green trees everywhere, and a French person asked me for directions. And I'm back in the game!

It was such a relief to have my bitch face on, not worrying that people on the receiving end would be offended. When you look at strangers on the bus in Paris, they don't bat an eye if you growl at them.

Strolling along the Boulevard Magenta, I walked over to my former apartment to get a look and take a picture of the façade. While I was focusing the camera, a boy on a scooter rode back, backed up, and then idled in front of the building with a huge smile on his face. It was hard not to smile back, except he was in my picture and I had things to do.

Madame was in high spirits, of course completely having forgotten when I was coming. She made me an espresso and we chatted. The new girl staying with her (my replacement), came out to say hi and then she and Madame got into a heated argument about the morality behind prostitution. I just sipped my coffee and tried not to roll my eyes.

One of the highlights of the day was getting up to Montmartre to see Pete Doherty's exhibit: the man had sent a selection of blood and other mixed media paintings to the gallery, and innocent people like me got to come nose-to-nose with used syringes and the like. Half the time, I was impressed that Pete was doing something other than smoking crack and getting arrested. The other half, I was cackling out loud.

I was a bit nervous, to be frank, about being in a room with all that blood. Several of the paintings still had syringes in them, and one memorable one also had a spoon that Pete had used to cook up something special. I was actually into the scribbled poems and lyrics, because the man is a genius when it comes to writing music. However, the store at the end was really tacky-- why would I want to buy a t-shirt with Pete's portrait in blood on the front?

I also managed to see some of the sights, and it was a gorgeous day. Walking past the Notre Dame, through the Louvre, or around the Sacré Coeur is a bit silly when it's sunny and all the foreigners are in town. However, I got some great pictures and felt like I was back home again.

Walking through the Bastille and around Oberkampf made me very nostalgic-- things are a bit different, though. My favorite bar had all the windows and doors opened onto the street, and people were having wine in the big, brown leather sofa with their heads leaned back toward the sun.

At the end of the day, I made it back and collapsed on my bed. Girls down the hall were having a small finish-the-liquor-so-we-don't-have-to-throw-it-out party, so I hung out for a while.


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Last dance in London, I made it count. Moving out of my room was quite sad-- I had to say goodbye to my beautiful view of the Royal Albert Hall, and then sent off all my flatmates. Moving my suitcases down the road to the hotel was a nightmare and my arms still ache when I remember it: it took two trips, and then I had to lug my laptop around because I was not going to leave it before check-in.

Met up with some friends at Borough Market, the usual Saturday morning stop for me. I bought some yogurt-covered berries, as usual, and then had a sandwich from Roast To Go, as usual. The weather was gorgeous and we all sat in the sun and ate.

A few hours later, we met up in Camden to get a drink and ended up staying in the area for dinner. Then it was back to the lock for another drink, and went back to Jess's hotel in Mayfair. We toasted London in the room and headed out to do a tour de Oxford Street-- Bourne and Hollingsworth for a hot minute, then to a sweaty, sweaty Blow Up at Metro.

I danced for a while and then when the Gossip faded out, I left. It was very sad to say goodbye to people I won't see for at least 2 months, even more for some. I'm proud I managed to get all my bags to the airport and checked in without significant fines (it was 25 pounds in the end, which was 80% cheaper than shipping it). There was a scary minute when one of my bags wouldn't fit onto the luggage belt dealie, but when the lady looked away I shoved it down and then kicked it for good measure. We're fine.

Getting into Chicago, the customs man was a total asshole. He practically yelled at me for not having listed every single thing I bought over four months, with the dollar value next to it. He kept going on for five minutes, acting like I was a prissy girl for having been abroad and not filling out a stupid form in great detail. Jackass.


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It's weird being back, of course. It's also bizarrely normal. I unpacked most of my stuff, threw everything in the wash, and then jumped into the MINI to get Chipotle. The weather was beautiful, so I drove with the windows down, sunroof open, and music blasting. I saw my sister's soccer game last night, and she started in goal. Soo proud.

Today I'll go about things normally, I guess... waking up in my bed was wonderful. The house looks great, too. The bathroom feels like a hotel, my bed is enormous and fluffy, and having what seems like a palatial closet is going to be very advantageous.

This is not the end, it's the beginning.