Tag Archives: paris

My first French mother.

When I go to Paris I am going to spend some time with my adorable cousin’s exboyfriend and mother. Will it be a small apartment covered in vines with chipped blue paint and pictures of her as a young woman standing next to a new bike that she was too scared to ride anywhere other than the country side? Will she have curly black hair and no makeup with large dark eyes that crinkle into a the warmest mental hug I have ever felt? Will she be able to understand me and my nervous studder? Will she serve us pan au chocolat and raspberry tea she got from the sweet gruff man who has a stand at the market? Will my feet hurt from the beautiful cobble stones that I spent the previous day floating over? Will the chair I slump into be soft from all the years her husband sat there next to the record player as she watered her tulips that live outside her livingroom window? Will she shake my hand or wrap her soft tan arms around me and kiss me two times on the cheek while bumping her glasses against mine? Will she smell like something so beautiful that I have never had the chance to smell before? Will she be small and thin?  Will she have spent the entire day cooking for our arrival? Will she be large and loving and anything like Julia Child?  Will I leave there that day finally having had learned how to be genuine and sweet and warm and no longer awkward and finally stop thinking “what next?” and learn to look people in the eye and ooze amorous enthusiasm without being loud and touchy like all the little girls I have schooled with for so long? Will she tell me stories about raising her children and “the old Paris”? Will she teach me how to pronounce my words deeply? Will she teach me new words to coo to the ones I miss?

I will take the metro to see her, and during holiday season I will send her and her son presents that are genuine and warm like the new me.

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What can I say? I love boys with red(dish) wavy hair who don’t always make much sense. I especially love when they wake up super early for me. Especially when the reason they’re waking up super early for me is a ghetto-ass garage sale. Ya, it didn’t go that well but I did end up finding out the name of the nice old bag lady who lives down the street- Carmella. Such a pretty name.  The last time she bought something from me was when I was selling old records. Amongst the ones that she purchased were a highly passionate pastel woman and some punk band from some city that I never cared enough to figure out. Today she bought a bag of old jewelry for $5. My first costumer. She lives in a big house down the street filled with (seemingly) Italian thirty or forty something year old children. When I met her raspy voiced daughter she gave me a huge hug and wished me luck with my trip to Paris (which I bought my ticket for, did I mention?). I feel like they’re my only connection to this neighborhood. I still can’t tell if I’m going to be sad or not when I move. I applied to Mesa. Nerves. Nerves. Nerves. All of it makes my anxiety flutter. Fuck you Future.

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I haven’t been here in so long.

On Saturday I belonged to three occurrences that I’d like to keep in a Joseph Cornell box:

An old Asian couple at 7:30 AM on Pollock. Bending her knees, him marching in place. Jackets and hats and cold weather.

An old French man with a pipe asking me if I was from Paris. My heart threw up with gratitude.

A bum in a shopping cart, which was connected to a bike being ridden by another bum, cruised past our car on Tropicana and Eastern.

I haven’t been blogging because I’ve been doing gigantic math packets, talking with Brandon, watching movies, sleeping, constructing hands, making new people out of swift ink lines.

Yesterday, I fought with my ex boyfriend. He owes me money, which he says he never signed anything saying he had to pay it back. It’s ok though because he will never make it to a University or get signed or married to anything but a bitch or write a book or amount to anything really. He is the definition of white trash.

You can keep it, Michael Roeslein, being that you got evicted from your house which obviously means you’re too poor to even pay me back.

Anyways, our current project is to make a Joseph Cornell boxes i.e.

I’m distressingly excited.

I finally found the school I’m going to in France. I’m just getting nervous because I don’t want to leave Brandon. I know the time apart will make it easier to see each other in a clearer and fresher light but the thought of not being within an arms reach or at least a twenty minutes drive is stomach churning. I’m nervous and scared and excited and contorted and young and curious and soon to be heart sick but this has been my dream my entire life and now it’s a few months away. I wish more than anything we had enough money for both of us to go.


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In 7 months I will (hopefully) be in Europe. Originally I was going to stay in Paris for 1 -1/2 months and then travel the other 1 -1/2 months but, thinking about it, I think that maybe only one month in France is sufficient. I want to go from France –> England –> Belgium –> Netherlands –> Germany –> Denmark –> Sweden. Maybe one month in paris and 2 everywhere else? Ah, the choices! All I know is that I will probably be couch surfing. The whole point of this trip is to open me up, make me more alive, and find friends all over the world.

If anyone out there has any advice or could maybe even lend out a couch please leave me a comment!

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