Snapshot no. 845 (whoever invented hygiene?)

It was my day off, so we took the opportunity to pay the rent.

In the post office, standing in line (always makes me nervous)...

Mousse: Damn, I forgot to look up what "deposit money" is in French. It's been a whole month since I last used that phrase!
Marty: Maybe you can use "deposition"?
Mousse: What does that even mean? No, Marty, this won't work! And I haven't even brushed my teeth today!
Marty (guiltily): Neither have I.
Mousse (desperately): Fuck!

It did work. And although the lady at the desk handed us suckable candies while looking at us meaningfully, she was really nice. She was even kind enough to advice us to move, after having asked where we live and how big our apartment is. Apparently, our beloved street is "sale" and our rent excessive. We thanked her and wished her a nice weekend.

La Poste has yet to let me down.

Better be a little more before we go.

I forgot to tell you, but a couple of weeks ago, my chin fell off. It was all highly fascinating. It fell down into the bathroom sink and underneath, I found a brand new chin. As angular and spacious as my old one, but smoother, and a bit pinkish. I experienced an inescapable mismatch there for a while, where my chin would go about as well together with the rest of my face as David Hasselhoff does with puppies. It's better now. My chin.

Snapshot-wise, I can tell you that Marty hates her job.

Last night, when she came home from working...

Marty: I held a thousand Euros in my hands tonight. That is a lot of money.
Mousse: Oh, yeah.
Marty: It's a whole lot. I was tempted to just run off with it.
Mousse: Oh, yeah...?
Marty (passionately): Think about it! With that kinda money, we could start a new life, you and I!
Mousse: Um... Yes, Marty, we could probably pay the rent for one whole month.
Marty: ...
Mousse (reassuringly): You know, I bet we could afford the rent for at least two months down in Perpignan.

I said I'd go to Paris and sell Marty's body -Didn't think it'd be that easy.

Marty had something of a hard time last week. It started out with her finding out that Sugardaddy actually was nothing more than a sugardaddy. And not a fancy one with a smooth voice and a shiny car, but a short, moped-driving Dominican man who enjoys eating mango, flashing his round belly and being in the company of Marty's body.

I, too, enjoy such simple pleasures, but I have never offered to pay for that last one.

“Adulte? Adulte? What does that even mean?” Marty, afterwards, regressing.

A couple of hours after this - in retrospect, not overly shocking - revelation, Marty spent hours roaming the dark streets of Paris, alone, posting 500 semi-illegal ads. It rained on her, the monotonous finger-work made her thumb bleed (real blood), but she still wasn't cleansed.

“It was cold.” Marty, coming home from roaming, dispirited.

However heart-breaking this story may seem, it has something of a happy ending. Marty now has a real job, as a waitress. And her dear mother and sister spent the weekend in Paris and our home is once again filled with costly sweet stuff. I don’t have to go on about how extremely demanding her job really is or how she, because of her job, couldn’t spend very much time with her family. No one likes a tragedy.

Meanwhile, I enjoy my ice cream occupation. And the sunshine. And the fact that I soon will get my pay cheque. An actual pay cheque. It’ll be awesome.

Better be someone else's words.

I've put together a little compilation of quotes frequently heard in our home. Take a guess and name which film (or, in one case, sitcom) the words come from.

You can win. Our very desirable respect.

1. WE WERE ALWAYS GOOD FRIENDS! *sob* Anytime when we're feeling emotional.
   .
2. Who are "they"? When we're feeling like our own pretentiousness is more smothering than a plastic bag from Monoprix pulled tight over our heads.
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3. Awesome! Oh wow! Like, totally freak me out! When the pretentiousness no longer bothers.
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4. I feel so optimistic. This quote was frequently used in the beginning of our Paris stay. (That is, before we experienced Anguish.)
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5. Wake up, you fucking dyke! Marty, when she thinks I've slept for too long.
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6. Renoir! Me, when I think Marty's being generally irrelevant.
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7. Todd! Followed by exchange of suggestive looks. - Anytime when we're feeling... suggestive.
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8. Honey, that ain't gonna break my bank! Marty, when faced with what may seem like difficulties. Or when cooking.
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9. C'est le destin de Lisa, le destin de Lisa qu'il tient entre ses doigts... Anytime when we feel like singing.
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10. If only we were among friends... Or sane persons! Me, when Marty's being painfully nonrational.
    .
11. Do me now. Mouth. Anytime when we're feeling needy.

Better be adult.

I have had some kind of day. And it was all Sugardaddy...

First, something funny to get you through this:

Sugardaddy: You and your friend, what's her name?
Me: Mousse (her real name mustn't be spoken!)
Sugardaddy: Yeah, you're not engaged, are you?
Me: No...
Sugardaddy: Bon. Bon...

May you Choke on your Laughter.

I'm not sure how to explain this, but I think it's fairly obvious what happened. Unable to communicate efficiently in any language, I politely, albeit a bit confused, said 'thank you' for what I thought was compliments. He spoke of what we would do next time, I tried to say 'maybe'....

"Not every day of the week. Maybe two days a week."

What, exactly?

"You're a grown woman."

WHAT? I had no idea how to get out of the situation so I pretty much said 'until next time' and left. My first instinct was to run to the Swedish Church. (Odd, no?) My next thought was to go home and blog about it, begging (stranger) Cam to help me.

I didn't.

Instead I went to Mousse's job and talked about it for... a good long while.

I'm going to have to do some serious lying in the near future.

Because I'm not

No.

Better be Mousse.

It's been long.

Two Mousse-situations:

One (1):

This Friday, we were out partying for the first time since we got here, at La Fleche d'Or. On our way to the métro (slightly drunk)...

Marty: What kind of lipgloss is this?
Mousse: It's pink.
*Pause*
Mousse: Like your COCK-SUCKING LIPS!

Two (2):

Last week, we went to the park on Mousse's day off. It was a wonderful spring day.

Mousse: I love Paris.
Marty: Mhm.
Mousse: I really love it here, you know. Love Paris.
Marty: All right...
Mousse: It's so beautiful.
Marty: Yeah. It is.
Mousse (grabs my hair menacingly): So why won't you SHAVE?!

Life with Mousse is a many splendid things. But sometimes just weird.

(Oh, and Ape I didn't really get your message for me but I hope you like this. Mousse hates it, but I laugh every time the cat-girl comes on.)

I have a job. Now let's find one for Marty.

Craigslist is a site where Anglophones can find work.

Domination is not prostitution.

Snapshot no. 833 (gourmand, not gourmet)

Today, having just finished lunch...

Marty: Mmm, that's the good stuff!
Mousse: Oh yeah. We cooked it last Saturday, no?
Marty: No, Friday.
Mousse: No, we had chicken casserole with mustard last Friday.
Marty: Yeah, this was chicken casserole with mustard!
Mousse: No, Marty, what you just had was sausage jambalaya with chili.
Marty (looking at her empty plate): But...
Mousse: Honey, that wasn't casserole. And it wasn't mustard.

Better be scorned upon by corpses...

We have now had two wonderful weekends with visits. We have been spoiled rotten with foods containing protein (I'm talking real chicken here), chocolate, cookies, clothes, spam, dvds, leek, a flower, love, love and chocolate again.

"I wonder if the pigeons have learnt French." My father, walking down the street, frustrated about not knowing any French.


Snapshot no. 20 (the salesman)

"Now listen, Karen, two will do! Two! Will do!" My brother, in the kitchen, intensely wiping the table while explaining to an impressed Marty exactly how efficient our cheapo kitchen paper really is.


Snapshot no. 3741 (making an effort)

Last Thursday night, at our métrostation, we welcomed Ape and Lolita with special outfits (That is, me with my face painted white and Marty in a black/purple wig):

"Can't you see who we are?"
"No...?"
"It's obvious! I'm Liza Minnelli and this here is Kate frickin' Hudson!"


Snapshot no. 449 (Oscar Wilde probably wouldn't mind)

The Oddballs, last Friday, at Père Lachaise, picknicking... Inappropriate?

Mousse: It said on the sign that we should pay respect to the dead.
Ape: Hm.
Lolita: We're just eating, it's not a sin.
Ape (knowingly, stressing the last words): It's not a sin as such. It's just that it's the ultimate sign of being alive.


Snapshot no. 62 (we ARE deep)

Last sunday, on our way out from Musée D'Orsay...

Ape (smugly): Lolita and I have agreed that we appreciate wings and boobs the most. How about you guys?
Mousse: I like cherubs.
Ape: Right... And Marty?
Marty: Can I choose boobs as well? No...? *hesitantly looking around* Well, then I prefer... portraits.


Snapshot no. 107 (ultimate Paris experience)

Sunday night, pre-partying, before visiting Musée de L'Erotisme...

Lolita (by the computer): What do you want to listen to?
Mousse: Eurodisco!
Ape: Power ballads!
Mousse: Eurodisco!
Ape: Power ballads!
Mousse: EURODISCO!
Ape: POWER BALLADS!


If you want someone else's version of this last weekend, and perhaps watch some pictures, you go here, or here.