"I don't understand... You must have the Devil inside you. You're just not human!"

Marty has been acting more or less depressed this weekend. I believe it started when she was referred to as racist when we were out Friday night. We were sitting by the Seine (here) enjoying some bubbly wine, strawberries and cigars, when Marty asks a sane-looking man to move after he's taken our friend's seat on the riverbank. This man explains to her that "that's not how it works in Paris", swiftly labels her Racist and refuses to give up the seat, as well as the disputing thereover. Before we leave, her title is upgraded to devil, but still feels slightly unreasonable. Perhaps even subjective.

No matter, this whole incident struck Marty very hard, seeing as she wants to regard herself as a fairly open-minded and tolerant person.

Me, I didn't care much. I mean, the girl had it coming (tolerant, my ass!). But when she still hadn't gotten over it (or anything else) the following night, spreading depression in every direction, I decided to take refuge in a Finnish dancer party nearby. They were much lighthearted and they gave me food.

Anywho... When I got home from work today, Marty was wearing her brand new white dress and had been doing some laundering and tidying up in our, lately quite messy, apartment. She also mentioned God.

She is going to be all right.


Now singing: The KKK took my baby away - The Ramones

Better be the highlight of the night

Nouvelle Vague was at Grand Rex tonight and so were we. It was positively awesome.

Much less awesome is that, apparently, Marty and I come off as Russians.

The first time it comes to our attention, we're walking down a street after the concert. We're looking for qualitative fast food when a guy on a moped tries to contact us with the help of some hastily composed Russian pick up lines. I am shocked and appalled, and can but ignore.

Ten minutes later, I've found the ultimate chicken with mayo/ketchup/mustard and french fries-sandwich place and we're waiting for my food to get ready...

Food guy (after having tried some unintelligible phrases): Are you not Russians?

And there endeth the conversation.

Nothing wrong with being Russian. Nothing wrong with pooping on the street.

Just not cool.


Note to self: Be less Russian tomorrow.

"But I have nothing to post! Unless someone wants to read about all my dark thoughts..."

A week has passed, summer heat is upon us, and we have had my mother staying with us for the weekend. Together, we bought twelve pair of shoes, ten bottles of wine and spent a day at Disneyland. And we made Marty tag along through it all. She's patient.

Lately, it seems my boss has taken a liking in me. And this is not because I look mildly retarded or because my French is charmingly crude but simply because I'm tall and Swedish. Just like his wife, I might add. Anyway, this gave me an excellent real-life opportunity to teach my mother how to say thank you in French after my boss had decided to let me offer her a free ice cream.

Mousse: There he is. Do it, mom! Do it now!
Mother: MERCI! *laughing nervously*

What more...

We have decided to go home. Mostly because the state of this blog is deteriorating as you read, but also because I have things to do in Sweden. Graduations to crash, weddings to plan. Marty, on the other hand, lacks money due to joblessness and is therefore also forced to leave the country. Marty may score the more precious bohemian points, but mark well how much more of a general success I am.

That is all from me.

Worried friend sent sms threatening to report receiver to Interpol

Maybe we should keep this blog more updated.

The thing is, our lives are not overly eventful these days.

Let's see...

Yeah, Marty forgot to mention that she managed to get herself a new sugardaddy. He runs a small business next door and claims to have once worked for Chanel. Anyway, he gave her chocolate, told her to stay away from Arabs, and said he'd get her a "job". Let's just call him Sugardaddy 2 from here on, shall we.

What more...

The flame has gone from our water heater and the water heater people won't make it here until Friday. The water is positively freezing.

A filthy Marty, experiencing a crisp quandary...

Marty: I can't eat ice cream before I take a shower, and I can't shower before I eat ice cream.


Lately, I've started to dislike sunshine, weekends and work. Or more correctly, the combination of the three. Last night, handing over a sloppily made ice cream to the very last customer...

Customer: Wow! Thank you! And what a nice view you have from here, don't you think?" *pointing at Centre Pompidou*
Mousse: What..?
Customer (still pointing optimistically): Centre Pompidou, isn't it magnificent?
Mousse (walking away): Sure. Thank you. Goodbye.
Customer (finger drooping): Goodbye...

Better get better soon.

The other day, the towel rack fell down and hurt my foot. When I finished laughing and whining about my injury I set about looking for the screw. There was none. The towel rack was glued and taped to the wall. I sighed and told Mousse.

Mousse: "This apartment is like a doll house. And it's falling apart."

I agreed. I now have to go out and find super-glue and super-adhesive tape. Sounds expensive.

Last week, I had somewhat of an unpleasant experience as well...

It started with a limping elderly neighbor asking me to help her go to the store. I did. It became fairly obvious fairly quickly that she was a bit crazy. She screamed at everybody in the store "IS THIS THE CHEAPEST PRICE?" but wouldn't listen to me trying to tell her that it was.

Anywho, I got her and her groceries back to the apartment and said I had to leave. She wanted to show me her stuffed animals. I told her they were cute. She brought out a white cat and asked if I liked it. I smiled a little. Then she turned it on. Green glowing eyes and strange sounds. I froze. She put the cat away and pulled me close. She tried to kiss me on the lips. I barely managed to turn my head away. That old woman was strong! Too strong. She wouldn't let go, she kissed me on the cheek, but really just pressed her cheekbone into mine. It hurt. It actually hurt. I finally managed to pry her hands away and left hastily, rubbing my sore cheek.

Why do things like that keep happening to me?

Better fuck Jesus.

"I love our neighborhood! Even if everybody here hates us..."

...Marty, coming in from baguette-shopping, having realized that practically everything is open, despite today being a jour férié.

We've come to understand that we are as misplaced in Belleville as vegetables are in a fruit salad. Not entirely wrong, just unmistakably conspicuous. People stare.

So yesterday, we tried Montmartre, but ended up ill-adapted. We were having coffee at a café. People stared.

Today, we're heading towards Jardin du Luxembourg. I hear they offer pony rides.


Snapshot no. 598 (better be blasphemous)

Yesterday, enjoying a fancy Easter dinner while listening to Queen...

Marty: He's the man.
Mousse: Hush! Jesus may think you're talking about him, when really you're talking about some gay singer/song writer from the eighties.
Marty (stops eating and looks at me severely): Freddie Mercury *pause* was not gay.
Mousse: I... I was...
Marty: I quote, "Men, women, cats... I'll fuck anything."
Mousse: He is the man.