Better be Paris.

Better be tim.

2007-06-11T04:38:00.000-07:00

We left Paris. We arrived at Arlanda airport. Welcomed, as customary, by the smell of urine. Our rides went in different directions. Snap. Our lives are no longer intertwined. Funny how that word didn't come to mind until we were separated. Intertwined. Maybe they weren't. Maybe I'm just making it up, in retrospect. I don't think so.

I met her yesterday. It was her birthday. I came to celebrate. We hugged and spoke of the weather. It's been sunny and hot for some time now. The spring flowers are dead and dry since long. I wonder if she remembers me. It seemed like she did. But she was always the shallow type. A smile, a kind word, to whomever. And like an animal, she forgets. I won't forget.

I won't ever forget.

Why you always...

2007-06-05T06:45:00.001-07:00

We're preparing our dollhouse of an apartment for the final inspection.

Upon glueing back the useless towel rack on the wall (the two of us had to stand pressed against it, extremely close to each other, for fifteen consecutive minutes)...

Mousse *clearing throat*: So when's your birthday? Sunday?
Marty: Yeah.
Mousse: Shit. I'm so totally going to ignore that.
Marty: No! Won't you at least give me a call?
Mousse: I don't think so.
Marty: I hate you.

Back to cleaning, packing, glueing, fighting, eating, shopping... Laters.

Primitive (the way I treat you).

2007-06-04T05:04:00.000-07:00

Time is running out on our stay in Paris, which means we've frantically tried to experience everything the city offers. Also, buying presents for loved ones, something which proved more difficult than we thought. Mostly since we can't seem to stop prioritising ourselves.

Marty: "This is a nice shirt. For me, I mean."
Mousse: "Of course."

.............

Mousse (a propos absolutely nothing): "It'd be mean to drown our neighbour's cat and hang the body next to the stairs."
Marty: "What are you talking about?"
Mousse: "With a note. 'You said you'd make us dinner! WE WERE HUNGRY!'"

Now that we have more food than we could possibly eat it might seem petty to kill a cat for the promise of dinner, but Mousse remembers.

Saturday we had dinner at a greek restaurant which reminded us of a school cafeteria, but with nicer wall decorations. And very cheap wine. (6€ for a litre!)The food held high standards, but the joy of chicken was somewhat diminished by the fact that I didn't have time to finish it, because they closed the restaurant.

We then made our way to nearby club The Hat, which kicked some serious ass! Mousse told you about the good parts, no one mentions the bad parts, everyone rejoices. I awoke too early without a cover, lovingly hugging my pillow.

Now I'm going to go have mousse for dessert.

Flames to dust, lovers to friends...

2007-06-03T09:25:00.000-07:00

Allow me to be emotional. It only lasts about 70 hours for us in the city of lights.

Oh, if only I would allow me. Meh.

A dramatic week has passed since last I deigned to update this godforsaken blog of ours.

First, Wickedheart (i.e Marty's computer, our lifeline, a bitch) sort of crashed. She emptied all the maps, deleted all our installed programs and changed every personalized setting she could find. We were very sad. Music and pictures from the past is what we live for, and they were gone. Darkness. But then, after more than twelve hours of despair, Marty made up with Wickedheart and she in turn taught Marty how to retrieve deleted maps. We rejoiced, and felt as if life had been given anew to us.

Then, I worked my last days at work. They were wonderfully rainy and cold and allowed me to eat large amounts of ice cream and socialize with my nice colleagues. Also with my boss, who showed me another, a little more casual side of himself. One day, he mentioned something about dead people, make-up and American. I put the three together and guessed that he must've bought the DVD box of Six Feet Under. I smiled at him and hoped he wouldn't try to say anything more. I seem to only know the ice cream French. Say anything outside that specific field and I am pretty much lost.

Furthermore, there have been ominous signs. Apart from the rain that has been pouring down lately, a mouse visited the café. He almost jumped onto the shoulders of an unbeknownst customer and then tasted our expensive English bonbons. Boss wittily named him Mickey and put out glue traps. Mouse Mickey was never to be seen again. Later the same day, I had just closed the café for the night, and on my way to the metro, heard an impressed American girl say: Look, they're huge! pointing at a gang of five or more rascally rats, just outside the Centre Pompidou. Rain and rodents - definite signs of the doomsday. In other words, we're going home.

This is not the only drama I'm experiencing right now. There is also anguished gift shopping, a cheap Greek restaurant, a blue goodbye party from which Marty was excluded, cheating, drunkenness, the Hat night club and Morgan, whose pick-up line "Hello! You're a woman and I am gay, let's dance!" worked on both Marty and me. I have his number, would anyone feel like dancing.

But if you'll excuse me, I must now go clean something in this apartment.

Better be excused.

2007-05-27T07:17:00.000-07:00

So our internet has been giving us hell, simply by not working. Meanwhile, I have. Very much, at that. But I am the stronger one in this household, so I'll live. At least for now. Marty's been taking walks, I hear. Apparently she's going to post something on that. But the light-footed smartass is having dinner at the moment, and wants me to join:

Marty: Your food is rottening!
Mousse: I don't believe that.
Marty: In fact, all food is, at some stage.
Mousse: *sigh* True.

Lately, she's been more obsessed with food than usual. We're leaving this place in less than two weeks and Marty, who hates throwing food away, has been feeling the need to empty our well-filled stores. She's repeatedly been stuffing herself to the point of nausea. I don't mind. It's for a good cause. If only she wouldn't whine so much about it.

What else...

Yesterday, we decided to act a little more like not us. What we did was that we went to a café and ordered a bottle of wine. Normally, we sit at home, we sink a one-euro bottle or two and call it a pre-party. This time, the wine cost more, but in some way, we still felt very much like ourselves. Don't know if it was because of the same barbaric yet determined way of finishing a bottle in no time or because of the fact that when the bottle was empty, we somehow managed to overturn the table and thus made the two wine glasses and the ashtray fall and loudly smash against the stone floor. The incident was closely followed by other people's staring and our awkward "Check please!"

The night went on with my drunken vintage clothes shopping, Marty's drunken Nutella pancake shopping, more wine-drinking, and us deciding that generally, we don't like people very much.

Peace, folks.
..............................
PS. Finally watched Family Guy the movie, and it was a disappointment. Not true to the characters and milking their otherwise original and appreciated traits until boredom. Stranger Than Fiction, however, was a good one. Refreshing, even, with refined characters and great acting. Young Tom Cruise!

Be better.

2007-05-21T14:23:00.000-07:00

You'd think someone with as little to do as me could find the time to blog more often. But no.

My father and sister was here. The followning conversation took place in the restaurant (obviously):

Dad: Did you also get lemon-pieces on your skewer?
Marty: Yes... Why?
Dad: I think I'm eating mine.
Marty: Dad! Spit it out!
Dad: Too late.

(I'm uninspired.)

Better be Wednesday May 16

2007-05-16T06:31:00.000-07:00

Snapshot no. 456 (maybe I should've washed my hair)

This morning, after Marty's sister had left us to go back to mother Sweden, and we had finished an important rendez-vous at our beloved La Poste, we decided to go to the local Wednesday market and look for fruits and vegetables. We came home empty-handed...

Mousse (To Marty, in Swedish): Oh, apples! But they're not overly cheap.
Salesperson (pointing in another direction): There are the flowers!
Mousse (in Swedish): Why is this man showing me tacky plastic flowers?
Salesperson: There are the flowers!
Mousse (in French): I want fruit, not flowers.
Salesperson (still pointing): Flowers!
Mousse: Nevermind.

Snapshot no. 46 (it's official, my blond spray works)

Later today, having spent the day shopping cheap Belleville clothes, we went home for lunch...

Mousse: Gah! My soup is gone!
Marty: You can have some of mine.
Mousse: Your soup is contaminated. This water i contaminated. Tee-hee. What film?
Marty: What? I don't know.
Mousse: SIGNS!
Marty: Haven't seen that one.
Mousse: Oh. It's with that annoying little girl. You know... And her name is not Denzel Washington.
Marty: You mean Dakota Fanning?
Mousse: That's the one!
Marty: Well, you're excused. American states, both of them, who can keep track anyway.
Mousse: Denzel is a state?

Snapshot no. X (have we perchance been watching too much Family Guy?)

Dinnertime.

Marty: My sausages look like the Elephant man.
Mousse: ...
Marty: Too soon?

This has been a good day. And tonight, we have been promised to be on a certain guestlist at this nightclub. Apparently, a free Cosmopolitan is included.

Be gawd!

..........................
Sidenote: We later found out that Dakota Fanning was nowhere to be seen in M. Night Shyamalan's movie Signs, but starred in the somewhat better doomsday movie War of the Worlds directed by Spielberg. She will later this year appear in Winged Creatures together with Kate Beckinsale. Denzel Washington keeps away from the tedious topic of world crises, stays local, and works with Ridley Scott in American Gangster. Lastly, Tom Cruise. Enjoy!

Snapshot no. 375

2007-05-14T03:43:00.000-07:00

Heated discussion, ended in...

Mousse: You know what your problem is? Huh? YOU HAVE NO PRIDE!
Marty: Yeah, THAT'S WHY I'M LIVING WITH YOU!
Mousse: ...
Marty: Touché.
Mousse: Yeah, actually.
Marty: Maybe not...
Mousse: Yes, Marty, it WAS touché.
Marty: I don't know...

And there really wasn't anything anyone could say to prove her wrong.

2007-05-09T12:02:00.000-07:00

Dinner convo, about how pathetic we are, and how we wish we could at least reach nerd status...

Marty (Knowingly. In English): The only difference between us and nerds is that nerds is smarter.

Je t'emmerde, Sarkozy!

2007-05-09T02:29:00.000-07:00

As everyone knows, the French president was elected Sunday. Mousse and I were feeling the acute disappointment (well... we had been hoping for the lesser of two evils) when we heard a cheery "woho" outside our window. I got curious. Turned out it was a couple of guys from across the street, who were not cheerful at all, but also bitterly disappointed. They tried to communicate.

Marty: "Je suis pas Francaise."

I was immediately demoted to imbécile. I tried to engage Mousse in the conversation, but she shook her magnificent head, put on "Hungry Eyes" and started cooking dinner.

Guys: "Tout le monde pleure." (everybody's crying.)

We closed the window.

The point is: we have spoken to French people about the outcome of the election. We're involved.

Also, prompted by me, Mousse bought a very large jar of Nutella. Life is sweet.

Gosh!

2007-05-05T11:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we were cut off from conversing with our group because of logistic reasons as well as general social ineptitude.

Mousse: "It's because we want to communicate on our level, in quotes and high-fives. We should high-five more often."

Tomorrow the museums have free entrance. Maybe then.

Tu m'as trahi ce soir!

2007-05-02T14:54:00.000-07:00

Said my boss to me when I refused to work overtime tonight. But I had a concert to attend. The Whitest Boy Alive played at La Flèche D'Or.

"Did you see that? He was almost too weak to open the bottle of water. I love this band!" Marty, while they're playing...

And they were good. They gave the impression of super nerds haphazardly put together to form an unsynchronized pop band. The drummer looks like a blond Napoleon Dynamite and the organist produces corny tunes and no one seems to know what the other ones are up to. Then you realize that it's actually music they're creating, and that it's pretty good. Had Erlend Öye (the singer) not refused to sign my cd at the end, I would probably have liked them more. Rejection does not sell.

Or... I did buy their cd, after all.

Damn!

Anyway, why didn't anyone inform us about Anna Nicole Smith's death?

Ode to Ape.

2007-05-01T04:19:00.000-07:00

A week ago, when Marty marks that I have, more or less involuntarily, copied one of Ape's gestures...

Mousse: I miss Ape! She's my cuddly bear!
Tiny: Do you really miss her?
Mousse: She IS soft.

Today, upon reading her comment...

Tiny: I miss Ape!

We miss a lot of people. But today, our thoughts and words go to Ape. (And also to my mother, because it's her birthday.)

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

2007-04-29T08:51:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-25T15:56:00.000-07:00

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..."

2007-04-24T09:20:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-17T11:12:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-04-13T02:59:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-04-09T05:25:00.000-07:00

"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.

Snapshot no. 845 (whoever invented hygiene?)

2007-03-30T07:35:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-03-29T15:25:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-03-26T14:20:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-03-25T03:28:00.000-07:00

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.

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

Better be adult.

2007-03-22T16:26:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-03-20T07:25:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-03-09T13:19:00.000-08:00

Craigslist is a site where Anglophones can find work.

Domination is not prostitution.

Snapshot no. 833 (gourmand, not gourmet)

2007-03-08T05:24:00.000-08:00

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...

2007-03-07T15:06:00.000-08:00

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.

Better be Barbie.

2007-02-28T08:40:00.000-08:00

Snapshot no. 374

Today we bought a used barbie doll for 50 cent.

Marty (fingering our new friend): These aren't real undies! They're part of her body!
...
Marty: She's got a butt crack though. We can do lots of stuff with that!

Later, same doll...

Marty (poking the doll's butt in Mousse's face): She likes it that way! She likes it that way!
Mousse (defending herself): No, Marty, it's not right. Talk to her face.
Marty (still trying to connect the doll's butt to Mousse's face): No, she likes it that way! She likes it that way!
Mousse (taking the doll, bending her to upright position): There, now talk to her face. Her face!
Marty: No, she wants to talk to you! With her butt! She likes it that way!
Mousse: But it's wrong, Marty!
Marty (impersonating doll): I like it that way! I like it that way!

Better be tolerant.

2007-02-25T13:42:00.000-08:00

This weekend we had parts of my family living in our home. It was exciting. But as I am still a bit sad about their leaving, I won’t blog about it.

We met up with a conversation partner today. A French girl wanting to improve her spoken Swedish and two Swedish girls wanting to improve their French. A truly brilliant combination.

This is part of the French convo...

Frenchie: So, do you have boyfriends (copains)?
Marty: Yes, we have boyfriends (copains).
Mousse: No, we don’t. Or... Do we?

Frenchie patiently explained to us that she meant copains as in boyfriends, and not friends in general. She then repeated the question.

Frenchie: Do you have boyfriends (copains)?
Marty (still desperate not to come off as lonely): Yes! No, wait! I mean... I have a girlfriend (copinne)!
Frenchie: You have a girlfriend?
Marty: What?
Frenchie: You know, it’s ok if you are homosexual.
Marty: Merci.

(Marty later blamed this incident on the, as she put it, extremely potent hot cocoa she had.)

We then moved on to discuss the prospects of adultery, the ages of parents, and exactly how humble the cathedral in Lund really is.

It feels special to finally have had a conversation with someone who isn't repellant, or a possible employer, or the gas man. A real person, voluntarily talking to Marty & Mousse. Now that's something.

Better be yourself.

2007-02-20T09:10:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Mousse used all her connections, i.e my slightly repellent boss (why not call him Sugar Daddy from here on now?), to be introduced at a bar which was hiring...

Upon entering the bar:

Sugar Daddy: I told him you'd worked at a bar in Sweden, so if he asks.... you know.
Mousse: Um... okay.

During the introduction:

(after the prospective employer laughed at Mousse's past as a caretaker at a cemetary):

Employer: So you've worked in a bar before, right?
Mousse: No.
Employer: You have no experience?
Mousse: Nope.
Employer: ....
Mousse: Or, I mean... No.

Afterwards Sugar Daddy had a little pep-talk with Mousse about honesty, and when to be less, shall we say, sincere. Meanwhile, I got 16 € for last night.

..........................................................................................................

I guess I'm not the only one who lacks the ability to be suave.

Better be different.

2007-02-19T07:37:00.000-08:00

Another penniless weekend has passed and we've spent it well. For the first time, we had more than half a glass of wine for dinner. We had several. We had so many we got a bit drunk. Yeah, three or so.

However, we had a good reason. Our mission: To post 131 ILLEGAL ads, ILLEGALLY all over Paris. We felt illegal. Very illegal. And it was night. It was late, at least. Half past ten. Did I mention illegal? Because it sort of was. Marty's still slightly repellant boss, who entrusted us with the mission, said it was...

"Ne parlez à personne! Personne!"

We trust the man.

See, he gave us chocolate. We call it hush chocolate. Other people might call it Swiss. He called it Catholic.

(By the way, this, what we're doing right now, is not talking about it. Because that would be breaching of trust.)

The morning after...

I wake up early and decide to take a shower. Need underwear from Marty's room.

Marty (waking up): H-WHAT?
Mousse: I'm taking a shower, need underwear.
Marty (wheezing): You're such a dirty girl.
Mousse: Go back to sleep, Marty.

And another pointless convo...

Upon watching the Sunday morning cartoons.

Mousse: Where did Bruce Wayne get all his money? Did he inherit?
Marty: I believe so. Also, I'm pretty sure he invests.
Mousse: Hm.
Marty: You know, factories and companies and all.
Mousse: Speaking of, is this even Batman we're watching? I mean, where is he?
Marty: Charity. Shaking people's hands, writing cheques, you know.
Mousse: Oh.

Snapshot no. 96-733

2007-02-16T08:36:00.000-08:00

As money disappears, our obsession with food grows stronger.

Walking down our own street a couple of days ago...

Marty (aghast): Oh my God, a perfectly good onion, carelessly thrown on the street!

30 meters later...

Mousse (pointing at a strange puddle): Marty, look! That must be soup!

Marty: Oh, it smells divine!

Mousse: And what volumes! It must be a liter.

Marty: More!

Today, walking home after having done groceries (a much beloved chore, may I add)...

Marty (sighing): A lonely egg on the sidewalk. It’s terrible how people treat their food around here.

Snapshot no. 733

Our toilet lacks locking abilities.

Marty: If you ever come in while I’m there, I’ll kill you.

Mousse: I know.

Marty: No, listen, I would really kill you.

Mousse: I know. I would never do that to you, and you would never do that to me. It’s about trust.

Marty: Do we have that?

Mousse: We should have that.

Marty: Or we could buy a lock.

Better be love.

2007-02-14T12:34:00.000-08:00

It’s Valentine’s Day and Mousse doesn’t want to snuggle.

“Aiiih, noo! Actually, this is kinda cosy.” Mousse receiving hug at breakfast.

Marty: “Agh, you don’t wanna snuggle!”

Mousse: “You’re not clean.”

Marty showers.

Mousse: “You’re too close! You smell nice, though.”

“Aïe, I hurt myself on you!” Marty snuggle-attacking Mousse with bad results.

“Det handlar om respekt, älskling.” Marty to Mousse, yesterday at bedtime. Reason forgotten, words forever imprinted in our minds.

Snapshot no 68

Our French is improving. Today on our way home from the métro:

Mousse: Donc... et voilà. Donc?

Marty : Havre-Caumartin.

Later at home:

Mousse: Donc, et voilà. Donc.

Marty : Havre-Caumartin?

.....

Marty: Havre-Caumartin.

Mousse: Donc, voilà!

For those of you who don’t know, Havre-Caumartin is a métro-station.

______________________________________________________

Last Friday we met a seemingly dubious man outside the American Church who offered me a job. It resulted in me vaccuming for an hour and a half in a dusty renovation area, borderline banlieue. Mousse came with for safety reasons and ended up conversing with my newfound and slightly repellent boss, eating his cookies, enjoying non-working.

Mousse (watching me work): "I could help you, you know. But you wouldn’t make as much money. I mean, as it would go faster. M-hm."

But all’s well that ends well: I made 15 € and didn’t even have to take my shirt off.

I don't know if any of you (2 readers, right?) appreciated that input, so we'll end this with another snapshot.... no 301

At dinner tonight, we were drinking wine and listening to Tracy Chapman's For My Lover:

Mousse: "This song is about us. You and me."

Marty: ...

Mousse: " They don't understand us, Martina. They don't understand our love."

......................................................................................

Everyday I'm psychoanalyzed

For my lover for my lover

They dope me up and I tell them lies

For my lover for my lover

Better be downhill.

2007-02-11T09:26:00.000-08:00

We’re still highly unemployed, and money i.e. time, is running out. We’ve realized that we might have to go home at the end of March. Realized, not accepted.

Yeah, it’s been a rough couple of days. This state of blue started this last Thursday and it is best explained by us presenting a three-part snapshot.

Snapshot no. 399.1

It’s Wednesday evening, we’re discussing tomorrow’s job rendez-vous...

Marty: It said “test” in the ad. What do they mean by that? A test!

Mousse: Nah, they won’t test you. What could they possibly test? It’s a cleaning job!

Marty: It also said ironing. Ironing and cleaning. I can’t iron.

Mousse: How hard can it be? Everyone knows how to iron. Cool down.

Marty: I cannot iron.

Snapshot no. 399.2

10:55 Rendez-vous at Adomo

Employer: So you’ve never cleaned houses before?

Marty: Only my own.

Employer: But you have ironed.

Marty: Yes. Yes, I have ironed ...in the past.

Snapshot no. 399.3

At a café not too far from Adomo, Mousse was enjoying her coffee when...

Mousse: What!?

Marty (newly arrived, shocked): They made me iron!

Mousse: What are you saying?

Marty (hysterical): A test! In ironing! And I failed!

Mousse: What are you saying!?

Marty: I CANNOT IRON!

11:07 we’re on the métro home, still jobless, and it’s official - Marty can’t iron.

Snapshot no. 578

Two weeks ago, hunting for a two-room apartment...

Mousse: This would be so much easier if we were lovers.

Marty (dreamy-eyed): Yeah.

Mousse: We could rent a really cheap studio with one bed and make love all day long.

Marty (even more dreamy-eyed): Yeah.

Snapshot no. 88

Yesterday, in a very, very, very crowded métro...

Marty (aiming for her mouth, hitting her chin): Maybe this isn’t the ideal place to eat pears.

Snapshot no. 11

It was last Monday, we had just returned from grocery shopping and scored gold. One kilo of pears and one kilo of bananas, for less than 1 € each.

Mousse: This is a good day, right?

Marty: Yeah, not entirely fruitless.

Mousse: Ha.

Marty: Ha.

Mousse: HAHAHAHAA

Both (desperately): MWAHAHAHAAHHA MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA WHAAA WHAAAA HAHAHAHA

Let’s just say that panic and despair, as well as great joy, is always close and strangely intertwined this very uncertain time of our lives.

Better be cheap.

2007-02-07T07:21:00.000-08:00

Snapshot no 132

About a week ago we were shopping for cheap food, as usual, and complaining about the over-priced vegetables, as usual. Suddenly, a revelation. Endives. For 1€79/kilo. Or a bag of endives (also one kilo) for 1€49.

"We should buy the bag, it's cheaper."
"But endives? We don't even know what they taste like."
"But they're everywhere! People must love them!"
"A kilo? What if they taste awful?"
"They can't be disgusting, look it says on the bag you can even eat them raw."
"Eh...?"
"Yeah, I'm buying these."

Later, Mousse trying her endive casserole:

*Silence* (Walks over to the trash can and throws the remaining away)

"It's kinda bitter."

Snapshot no 16

On the way here (Dune, our favourite café, free wifi and water) today, we tried to find a place where we could use a printer. The first place said the printer wasn't installed, the second simply "sorry". The third:

Mousse: "Do you have a printer (l'imprimeur)?"
Man: "Do you mean printer (l'imprimante)?"
Mousse: "Sorry. Do you have a printer (l'imprimante)?"
Man: "Sprechen Sie Deutsches?"
Mousse: "No."
Man: "Ok. Well, I'm sorry, the printer is broken."

It could be paranoia, but I think we might well be discriminated against.

Snapshot no 628

Our Swedish playboy blonde, the apple of our eye, Victoria Silvstedt was yesterday spotted as decoration on a French televised game-show. Her job was to smile, stand and point.

She spoke once.

Gamehost: "Do your thing, pretty girl! ...what was your name again?"
Victoria: "Victåååria!"

Moving in party chez Marty & Mousse!

2007-02-07T07:09:00.000-08:00

Place: Ours

Time: Sunday Febuary 11th at 1900 hrs

Dress code: Casual/nude/casually nude

Bring: Tea bags, pillows and old newspapers (for papier mâché fun!)

God, how we wish we actually knew someone in Paris. Anyone. At all.

Or do we?

Better be Thursday.

2007-02-06T07:18:00.000-08:00

Snapshot no. 456

Yesterday I made a new attempt at getting that ever so alluring job at Soup & Juice. I called. I spoke. In French.

It all went well until, once again, my French skills were brought up. All the while I thought I was being complimented. I think it went something like this:

"How is your French coming along?"

"Thank you!"

"Um... It's ok?"

"It's ok. It's working."

We said goodbye shortly after this, but, after less than an hour, he called back and I, Mousse the Slick, now have a real-life job interview on Thursday. Or so I believe.

Snapshot no. 3901

"EEEEEEEEEK WHAAAAAAAAAAA WHAAAAAAA EEEEEEEK OH MY GAAAAAWD!!!"

- Marty, after having had sex. With me. Mousse the Slick.

Ugh. Sorry, all non-readers.

For real this time:

- Marty, today, after having called a man about a job and, despite terrible French mixed with giggling and confusion, gotten a rendez-vous. Also on Thursday.

Snapshot no. 15

"You're peeing right now, aren't you?"

-Mousse, to Marty, sitting next to her, eating dinner.

Snapshot no. 53

Parisian traffic is confusing. Especially crossing streets. Apparently.

"Help!"

Alone and miserable, Marty stands frozen on the sidewalk, trying to think of a way to cross the street, while Mousse, standing in the middle of the street, in front of a car whose driver is waving for us to cross, waving encouragingly to Marty and using her sweetest voice:

"Come now, Marty, you can do this! Come on, honey! Yes, yes! YES"

"Victory's mine!"

I Love You For The Man You Used To Be

2007-02-02T12:03:00.000-08:00

No, that has nothing to do with this post. It has to do with Me and my relationship with Mousse. She's changed.

Oestrogen.

It's not for everyone.

On a brighter note, we are presently sitting in a bar/café with internet (the wireless kind, boys and girls. Yep, that's right. Livin' large in the CITY OF LIGHTS.) sipping expensive wine and watching the inspiring profile of Frank. Confused? Well, you're not here, are ya?

Snapshot from walking down Our Beloved Street earlier today:

"This must surely be the new bohemian quarters? I mean, it looks cheap, kinda dirty, lots of struggling artists, us included..."
"Yeah. Apart from Monoprix and all the halal butchers this is so turn-of-the-last-century Paris."
"Oh yeah."
"Yeah..."

Otherwise it's been quite an eventless day if you discount Mousse completely ruining her chances at working in a fantastic soup & juice bar (what a combination! Am I right people?...person? anyone?) by saying she wasn't sure if she could take a soup and juice order in French... in French. Meanwhile, I sat terrified and trembling in the bed after the stress of someone actually calling... What if they had wanted to speak to me? It's a terror I'll never forget...

I needed cookies, and cookies I had. It all ended well.

Another damn good day in the CITY OF LIGHTS!

Better be woeful...

2007-02-01T07:46:00.000-08:00

People have requested more woe and misery, snapshots from our Paris.

Let's see...

Snapshot no. 1.

Tiny tried to apply for a bartending job today. They asked for someone "cool and motivated". Tiny tried. Oh, how she tried.

Marty loudly composing application:

"I consider myself somewhat of a poet."

Later: "I once dislocated my shoulder."

And then finally "I like soup".

I later rewrote her application so that she came off a little more suave.

Snapshot no. 2

Three o'clock, one hour after we've consumed our lunch, we're lying in bed, resting:

"So what are we having for dinner?"

Thirty minutes later:

"How about a snack?"

Snapshot no. 3

This happened about a week ago, as we had just left our prospective future apartment and politely said our goodbyes to the landlord who we thought went the opposite direction. Upon discussing electricity bills, Marty loudly exclaims, in English:

"Where are we gonna get that kinda money!?"

Closely followed by:

"Nude pics!"

Closely followed by: Our landlord strolling past us. It was awkward, but apparently he doesn't mind such business since he later decided to rent us the apartment. He's a humble man.

Snapshot no. 4

This morning...

"Marty, I know where that strange and penetrating foot odour came from. It was from my legs."

Conclusion: I will now try and make my personal hygiene a daily habit.

Snapshot no. 5

We're looking at an apartment. Marty is in the bedroom while Mousse is small-talking with the owner's friend. Owner: not present.

"We are really interested. But I suppose they all say that, right? Right?"

"Um... No, of the forty who's been here only four left their dossier (necessary papers)".

"Oh, really? Well, we are really really interested, aren't we, Marty?"

"Yeah, totally", says Marty while checking out the porn flicks, the black satin sheet-covered matress and the tasteful oil-paintings depicting naked women in various postions.

We didn't get the apartment, but Marty, being impressionable, still walks around mumbling about soft anal massages, as promised by some DVD cover.

Snapshot no. 6

In the métro...

We're in the process of moving our extremely overweight suitcases, Marty is struggling to get down the stairs with hers and Mousse, carrying only a backpack at the moment, is walking unworriedly behind her, speaking English:

"Are you gonna fall? You are! Aren't you? You're totally gonna fall. And break all your legs. You're gonna bleed. Bleed all over the stairs. You disgust me."

"Do you need help?" A friendly French guy has taken pity in the tiny girl with the giant luggage and her unhelpful friend. Mousse gives him the evil eye and Marty has to decline the offer and stumble down yet another set of stairs. Alone.

Snapshot no. 7

Last week...

Mousse has suddenly decided that she wants to try out the walkie-talkies acquired. With a little help from verbal abuse, she forces Marty to go out from the hotel room with the mission of finding the shower.

12 minutes later...

Marty, out of breath: "What happened?"

"Oh... Right, I forgot to turn mine on. Sorry."

"I was down in the freaking reception, making an ass of myself!"

"Jeez, I said I was sorry. Get over it."

(Marty falls silent, suffers, binge-eats cookies.)

_______________________

We are happy.

What are we eating today?

2007-01-31T07:32:00.000-08:00

Me and Marty have been to the bottom of that darkest hole that we had not even imagined existed before. I am sure other people are able to fathom much deeper and darker holes of anguish than us. Irrelevant. This was our hole and it was painful.

We got up and out and away from it and we now have an apartment in the tenth arrondissement. We are happy.

We have also discovered that we have a common interest. It's food.

But I don't have time for that right now.

I have time for nothing more.

freedom of speech

2007-01-22T02:18:00.000-08:00

19 or so hrs into our adventure, i was cencored. by the only person who has the power. the following will therefore be a description of some occurances which can happen, when on your way to paris.

1. your underwear may fall out on the floor when you try to extract your computer from your bag, while the security guard puts his hands on his head and says he's gonna take his coffeebreak. mean and mad man.

2. basic knowledge of french liquor may be required of you by other securityguard. he is a nice man. thoroughly reliable.

3. the combined weight of two lives: 55 kg. the combined weight of two people: undisclosed.

4. we were discussing keats when, lo and behold, oscar wilde's spirit strolled past and offered us The Truth and a leek (for masturbating, we suppose) for €930. we could not afford it and had to turn him down. mousse cried, but felt highly bohemian. tiny felt deprived. highly deprived.

it is our initial day in paris. we are spending it penning this post, freeriding the hostel's wireless internet and trying not to think of saucepans, hard though it is.

a good day, today is.

Suppressing, digressing, undressing...

2007-01-20T12:43:00.000-08:00

Possibly even regressing. As the obvious outcome of the above.

We're a day away from expatriating and my life is easily localized - shattered - on my floor. It's supposed to fit into a suitcase and it won't. It just won't.

WHY WON'T IT FIT?

I wonder if Marty's life fits.

It probably does. Neatly.

I joke. She's a seemingly bigger mess than I. Seemingly, because she's not truly. Messy. It's just her preferred image. Really. She could be a housekeeper. That's how unmessy she is. She'll probably end up a housekeeper. It's what she wants. Handle other people's mess for money. That's how cheap she is. And I just told her I loved her. That makes me cheap too.

We're going to Paris. She and I. And her packing will be messier than mine.

Facts: Plane leaves Arlanda at 17:40 hrs, arrives in Paris at 8:10 hrs. We have made a reservation at 3 Ducks Hostel. They're mostly known for their witty slogan (Don't worry, be Ducky!) and their reasonable prices. I wish I was witty and reasonable! Marty does too.

More facts: The upcoming week is to be spent talking to each other via our newly purchased walkie-talkies, not eating for over 6 € a day and looking for long-term accommodation. A flat.