Femme on Fire

Electro Cat

Reason #3,672 that I love my mom: she has a solution for everything.

This morning my mousey alarm clock woke me at seven. Even my regular alarm clock has the decency not to wake me that early. I think I've had jobs where I've gotten off work at seven. Anyway, the pitter patter of little feet was enough to rouse me from my bed after only three hours of sleep. The positive of this is that at seven in the morning Paris time, it's only ten in the evening in Los Angeles, so I had a little chat with mom. After hearing my frustration with the situation- the combination of the mouse that runs haywire in my apartment right in front of me, and the slow agonizing death of another mouse in my bathtub that had clearly eaten the poison culminating in me donning the rubber gloves and having to pick him up and dispose of him while praying aloud that he enjoy a better end in the next life- Mom launched into action. When I emerged from giving the shower a thorough demousing antibacterial scrub I had an email waiting for me suggesting that I buy an ultrasonic mouse repeller. Awesome.

This is really the best of every world, the mouse is annoyed but unharmed, eventually choosing to leave of his own accord. As a result I am left with neither guilt nor carcass. Perfect. Of course, as with all purchases I choose to make, the biggest challenge is figuring out what it's called and where to buy it. I did a little sightseeing with my extra waking hours this morning while I formulated a plan of where to go. After the sightseeing I looked up a few key words in french- device=appareil, ultrasound= ultra-son, mouse=souris, but I wasn't really satisfied with the verbs I found for to repel. Then I went to a couple of small (tiny) household stores near me, but turning up empty handed I dragged myself with dread to the hot, crowded, DIY basement of the BHV department store.

Miraculously they had the device, but they had several different models, so I took a cross sampling to the clerk in that department and asked his advice... in French. This is where it gets even better because I actually understood him! In fact I understood him very well for about 5 minutes, but then he used one word I didn't understand and when I asked him to repeat he asked me what language I speak and struggled through some english with me. The worst part of that was that I had really been enjoying my newfound ability to understand spoken French, my absolute weakness and subject of much of my moaning to friends. Then the clerk said to me in English, "Perhaps I shood bee speeekink to you en français, beecawz eef you are leefeeng heeeeere you must bee speeeeekink zee frenshhhh." Uh, dude, I finally was speaking the french. Damn. Oh well.

More conversational excerpts in a cartoon accent include:

"Zee mouse, she is vahree clehvahr, she undehrstahnds when you are ohm and when you are not"
If my mouse is clever then she is a little daredevil because she has been flaunting her presence for days.

"I can not bee cehrtain weech mohdehl you are needing beecawz zee mouse, zey are deefehrahnt een zee deefehrahnt arrondisements and een zee subwhay."
I know I'm having a bad hair day, but please tell me I don't look like I live in the subway!

By the time I was headed back home night had fully descended upon the city. The walk between the department store and my apartment is one of my favorite in Paris, because it necessitates crossing the courtyard in front of the Notre Dame. Not only are the scenery of the river and the architecture of the church beautiful, but the area seems to draw young bohemian types doing rollerblading stunts or playing the guitar. Tonight there were guys spinning fire batons! One was really good, rolling and spinning the batons over his back, arms, and even his neck. He was attempting to throw them in the air and catch them, and he managed one or two. The other guy seemed less practiced, but they were both fascinating. Here's kind of a cool picture I took:

The swirling lights are the batons.

SNOW!

Yesterday as I exited the Pigalle metro station (near the Moulin Rouge) I noticed wet marks on the stairs beneath my feet and assumed it was starting to rain- so imagine my delight when I looked up and saw big fat flakes of snow instead! I even took a picture of it, but sadly you can't see the snow, so it was kind of a useless picture. Anyway, I spent the whole afternoon wondering around the area with a big goofy grin on my face- which most have been amusing considering the whole area is lined with sex shops. They must have thought I was in Strip Heaven. I was also considerably impressed that the forecast had called for snow and 39 degree weather and sure enough it was snowing and 39 degrees exactly. That never happens.

I woke up today to find it snowing again, so I went back to sleep. I don't know why this made sense, but it did when I was sleeping. Now that I'm awake it's not snowing anymore, but there's a teeny tiny little bit that stuck onto the ledges of the apartment buildings. It just makes me feel like I'm 10. I could tell you that I wouldn't be this excited if I lived somewhere that snows, but this was pretty much always the reaction when I was growing up in Indiana. Snow is so cool!

My roommate

I believe it was Wednesday evening. I was sitting quietly on the couch watching television, knitting, and enjoying a beer. Suddenly, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. This is where I made a huge mistake-- I turned to look. What awaited my glance was a mouse scurrying across the entrance of my kitchen and running behind the bookshelf. Then I made another huge mistake-- I got up to confirm the existance of said mouse. It was then I saw him running from behind the couch I had just been sitting on to back behind the book shelf. His presence was confirmed, now no matter how good I am at lying to myself there is no way to deny that there is a mouse in my apartment.

I shouldn't have been so surprised, it was only about two weeks ago that signs went up in the lobby saying that someone would be coming to replace the traps in our apartments. Evidently, hidden in the nooks and crannies of the five apartments within this building are poison traps designed to kill mice and their nests. But at the time I convinced myself out of necessity that the traps were just a precaution and no actual mice were present. However, Wednesday the lie was forced into the light.

After the realization settled in I started to approach a zen about it. Surely having a mouse can't be that bad, right? And here I made my third, and biggest mistake- Deciding that it can't be that bad to have a mouse I googled for confirmation using the keywords "house" "mouse" "infestation." What I learned is that house mice look for food and water, and even when you sanitize thoroughly it is often difficult to deter them, they can fit through a space only a quarter of an inch wide, they can jump thirteen inches into the air, and they can climb rough surfaces vertically!!!

That night I slept with the lights on. Had the french seen me opening my sofabed for sleep that evening I would now be a beloved comedic treasure along the lines of Jerry Lewis and Mr. Bean. I woke up several times during the night foggy and unclear as to why the lights were on, only to suddenly remember with horror their purpose. I woke the next morning-ish feeling a little grumpy from my fitfull sleep and went to the bathroom to freshen up for the day's adventures. Then I noticed something seemed amiss with my soap. On top of the bathroom organizer in my apartment- five feet tall and all smooth surfaces- was my soap. But not just my soap- no. Perched on top of the soap was a gift from my new roommate, two delightfully tiny turds. As Valerie put it in a wonderfully comedic accent, the mouse was telling me "Filt-ee Americain! I sheet on yoor soap!"

I didn't have much time to think of the mouse though, as I had a lot of pie making to attend to, and during the daylight what harm can a nocturnal mammal do? I even returned home last night unfazed by the idea of seeing Mr. Mousey. Wine will do that. The only concession I made was to fall asleep with my television on, and in retrospect I'm not entirely sure that I decided on this course of action so much as I just forgot to turn it off. At any rate, the night passed again sans souris (without mouse for my american peeps).

At this point a lazy comfort settled in. Perhaps the mouse decided my soap didn't taste very good and decided to leave me alone. Maybe my shrieks of terror scared it. Whatever the case may be, I had seen neither hide nor hair of the invader. Satisfied with my safety I settled in on the couch... and was quickly greeted by the sound of scurrying feet in the bathroom.

At the end of the day I know it's a foolish thing to be scared of, and quite honestly I prefer a mammalian pest to an insect or a cockroach. But bugs have one thing over mice, you can squish them without guilt and without much of a mess. In truth I feel a little sorry for the mouse. I don't want him to have to die, but I don't want him in my apartment either- it's too small to share. I guess I will just have to clean everything before and after I use it. I just hope the mouse doesn't start using my calling card, borrowing my clothes, or having parties without asking first.

Giving thanks, Paris style

It seems at the beginning of this week that I could hardly believe Thanksgiving was coming. I made plans for the week that didn't include Thursday's feast, sightseeing mainly, until I remembered suddenly and flew into a flurry of ingredient gathering frenzy. I didn't have to make everything, no that was taken care of by the group if american "colonizers" who had invited me to dinner, but I had offerred to make one thing- pumpkin pie. This is one thing that my family actually has an established recipe for, unfortunately it's a difficult thing to find the ingredients for in Paris. They just don't sell canned pumpkin in most grocery stores here, and I ended up having to find an "Épicirie Americain" where I spent 8 euro for two cans. But the store itself was hilariously wonderful. Think about the American foods you wouldn't expect to be able to find here- if you're picturing junk food you've hit the nail on the head. The place was stuffed to bursting with Pop Tarts, sugary cereal, diet soda, specialty potato chips, and so on. The rest was pretty easy, just deciphering which kind of ready made crust was best and which tart pan most closely resembled a pie pan. The best part, though, was when I had both pies fully ready and barely enough time to cook them and I realized the my oven doesn't really have room for two pies!

I finally worked out a strategy and carried both pies, one not quite as cooked as it should have been, in a duffle bag to the party. People on the train couldn't see my pies, but they could tell Margaux was carrying food, and it amazes me how people crane their neck and are absolutely obvious in their interest. If you ever want to make friends in a foreign city, carry food around. Although- I can't really vouch for the quality of your new friends, the smelly man with a beer in his hand on one train was the most vocal in his interest.

The party itself was wonderful, lots of wine drinking and socializing with the many people I feel lucky to have met previously, and a few really fun new people as well. It was also funny how fast Thanksgiving turned into a dance party- this should definitely be a new tradition, but I suppose it served to fill the void left by football and might not fit into the American schedule. It was nice to wine and kibbitz the night away. I spent about an hour explaining the post production process to a fellow Los Angelena in Paris, and it made me feel normal again. People complain that they're not their job, but I miss being mine. When I first arrived in Paris I thought it didn't matter what kind of work I found here, anything to stay. But even then, every time I would see a film or news crew I could barely resist the desire to follow them around like a puppy until they take me in. I can't wait to work again in post. And that's what I give thanks for- the new friends, the pie, the realization that I miss being an assistant editor, the realization that I can't wait to return to Los Angeles. I give thanks too for all of the friends and family I love- people in my life who supported, even with supreme grump-itude, my decision to move to Paris. Without that support I could never have come, and had I never come I would never have realized that I was already exactly where I needed to be in LA. Home.

And to top it all off, a goofy, blurry self portrait of me in Paris:

And you were worried about the riots

I woke up late this morning to the smell of smoke and assumed it was the bar I was in last night leaching from my clothes. Annoyed I tried to go back to sleep, but there was truck parked under my window and the vibrations from the engine were making it difficult. Trying to determine what kind of truck it was so I could guess how long it would be before it moved on I opened the window and stared down. It was not one, but three fire trucks parked around the corner of my street near the asian grocer. It turns out at some point this morning there was a fire at one of the two asian grocers on that corner or the vietnamese restaurant in between. I'm pretty sure it wasn't rioting, since that seems to have all but disappeared and has never affected my neighborhood. Also, these grocers are rich with cardboard boxes and always crowded with stuff to the point of distaster. I feel really bad for them- the one you can see into will have to throw away it's entire inventory from smoke or water damage and the inside will probably have to be gutted and refurbished at least partially. I wonder if the people who own and operate that store can afford that, I wonder if they have insurance, I wonder what will happen to them. Now the hallways of my building kind of smell like burnt vegetables and another acrid burn smell I can't place, but is probably the smell of linoleum or something like that. It's also interesting to note that the French, an all around classy people, are just as bad of looky-loos as Americans.

A Subtle Change in Attitude

I don't think I have ever been so excited in my life to do laundry. I thought my laundry excitement had reached a peak when I returned home from Ireland 11 days ago, but then my washing machine broke after only one small load- with my jeans in it! So today has been much anticipated as the day the repairman comes. I will even go so far as to say that I am excited to clean the bathroom, which may need napalming before I ever put weight on another bare foot inside that door thanks to the gook the repairman cleaned out of the washing machine and left in the tub. Fortunately, I'm pretty sure said gook is flammable even while water laden, so that should expedite the cleaning process.

Yay Cleaning! I love to clean! Yay!

What has France done to me?

The Little Things

It's gotten colder in Paris and say what you will about the French, but the homeless here lay out bedding for their dogs while they sit directly on the concrete. I saw a woman today about seven months pregnant, but she was obviously wearing her regular coat, so while the top two buttons were doable, the coat hung on either side of her huge belly. From what I've heard from friends I'm sure she wasn't worried about her belly getting cold. I find almost everything here enchanting, but there are certain annoyances- The cigarette smoke doesn't bother me, but sitting in close proximity to someone in the movies reeking of cigarettes and smelling as if they were coming off of a week long beer binge was enough to distract me from what I was trying to watch. And it's easier to feel susceptible to beggars and subway performers when I don't speak their language, but it's almost offensive to be specifically targeted by a scam that was going down in the network of alleys near me selling food today. A woman approached me saying, "Do you speak english?" and when I nodded agreement she handed me a piece of paper akin to a sign someone would hold up at an onramp in LA. I turned her down, and was glad I did when not even a block away I saw another woman doing the exact same thing with a very similar looking piece of paper. I have to wonder who organized the scam, and if the women get anything out of it or are indentured to a higher-up somehow. But perhaps what annoys me most of all is my own inability to figure out where to get what I need. Recently I discovered that I've been washing my clothes with fabric softener since I arrived. It took me three weeks to realize what "adoucissement" means. All of the soaps in the market are heavily perfumed though, so I do feel lucky to have found a natural store with natural laundry soap, but I need an oxyclean type additive, and it is beyond me to decipher which, if any, of the containers at the grocery contain something like that. I also find myself unable to find conditioner, a yoga mat, or a chiropractor. All in good time, I'm sure. At least I figured out where to buy yarn and craft supplies!

Real News

I highly recommend the daily show's coverage of the parisian riots called Burn Bébé Burn

HI-laaaaaaaarious.

Almost as funny as the fact that the Daily Show airs on CNN here.

Good Advice

I just got an email from my friend, Dayla, who gave me what is quite sincerely the best, and funniest, advice I have gotten while living in Paris:

Stay away from burning cars!

I thought I should share that with everyone in case you are faced with a situation where there's a burning car and you are unsure of the protocol.

Home again home again jiggidy jog

I'm in the slow process of organizing my photos from Ireland, but once it's done I'll be sure to make a long post recounting that journey. In the meantime, I wanted to talk about something kind of amazing- towards the end of the trip, in spite of how wonderful it was to see Dena, I couldn't wait to get home. And what I meant by that was that I couldn't wait to come back to Paris. Perhaps it's just that home to me is as simple as that last place I had a long, hot shower and a good hair day, but I like to think it's something more than that. While Ireland is wonderful, and the guys there are hot, and they speak english...sort of...Paris holds some level of comfort for me that I wasn't aware of until I left, and I still can't completely pin down. Perhaps that is what makes it so appealing- that certain je ne sais quoi.

Today I actually woke up early and headed out into the city for a few errands that needed running. While I was out in a shopping area I passed a man and his dog, a german shephard. The dog was carrying the shopping bags. I got this big grin on my face and couldn't wipe it away. Since my return this is the effect that Paris seems to have on me, everything is amusing and there is a renewed luster on that which had become mundane. We appear to be entering a rainy patch as well and I enjoy the romance of it all. Before you know it "La Vie en Rose" will be playing around me everywhere I go.