I Hate Goodbyes

I realized fairly recently that I am the only one out of my current group of Paris friends who is going to be here all summer. Eloise leaves in July, Astral and Bea in late spring, and Ellie and Jane have already left.

A couple weeks ago, Ellie told us she was thinking about leaving her au pair family due to, ahem, creative differences. Sometimes I don't think I appreciate enough how lucky I got with my situation. Even if V was completely nuts, I still have my own apartment to hide out in. No little kids wandering in, no getting woken up at 7:30 in the morning, no judgment if I don't get home until 4 am. But Ellie was not so lucky and soon after she told us she was thinking about leaving, suddenly she was gone.

At this moment right now, I imagine that Jane is starting her first day at her new job. I vaguely knew that Jane was leaving around this time but I didn't really expect it to happen so soon. We sent her off with a farewell lunch of onion soup and waffles and ice cream on her last day. And just like that, another one bites the dust.

Is this like camp? You form these intense and close friendships for a couple months and then when the summer's over you never hear from them again? Like Cindy at Interlochen. I loved Cindy. She made chocolate chip banana cookies and wore men's pants and her mom knew one of the guys from Fallout Boy. And we promised we'd email and write letters and call and visit, and I haven't spoken to Cindy since I left Interlochen eight years ago.

Well that is just not happening here. I'm more grown up than that, surely. I don't just let friendships drop just because we no longer see each other every day!

So I'm planning a Grand Tour of the UK this summer. I will get to visit all the friends I met in Paris who moved back home, plus I get to see England which is the nationality of my soul. Or at least my sense of humor.

The tentative schedule looks like this. Early/mid July I go to London and stay with Bea. From there I take a train (or bus or something) up to Leeds to see Jane. Then on to Scotland to see Astral and Eloise. I'll finish near Bristol where Ellie lives. And then I'll try to convince her to go to Dublin with me because I've never been and I'm really trying to suck the marrow out of this living in Europe thing.

So this goodbye thing is really only a goodbye-for-now, since I'm going to see them when I definitely for sure no question about it go to England this summer. And who knows, maybe I'll like it so much I'll move there next...

City of Love, huh?

Well, here's what I'm thinking about the "city of love." (Please keep in mind that the flash is outdated on my computer and so I have no idea whether this video is the right one or not.)

and We Goin' Gorillas

I know, I know. I suck. 

Anyway. 

So most nights, after eating whatever mess I made for dinner with V and Le Petit, I go home, download a movie I've already seen a hundred times (The Departed!) and settle in with a sleeve of Oreos. I'm usually up until about 2:00, at which time I turn off the light and attempt to sleep. 

It has been suggested that passing my evenings this way is perhaps not entirely conducive to experiencing as much of Paris as I can. Yeah well, I'm lame, what can I say. I think that part of the problem is that I just don't know where to start. I keep telling everyone about how in Chicago I was different. I knew about everything in Chicago. I could give you bar and restaurant recommendations for any situation. I know secret places. I know which not-so-secret places to avoid. I went to shows and clubs (okay fine I never went to clubs but only because I don't own anything sparkly or short enough and I never feel like paying a cover charge). The point is, I know Chicago. I was in a long term relationship with Chicago. We share a toothbrush and know about all of each other's gross habits. That alluring mystery is gone, but it's more comfortable now, and I have to admit I'm still in love. 

I guess that means Paris and I are having an affair. (Has this metaphor gone on long enough?) You see I don't know much about Paris's night life. There's so much, and I'm so poor, I wouldn't even know how to start having one of those nights out where I stay out so late I catch the first Metro home at 5:30.      So basically, I never have any ideas for where to go or what to do on the weekends, and instead tend to wait until somebody else makes a suggestion. Again, I know. I suck. 

So when Eloise suggested we all go to this Metro Party, I immediately agreed, despite not being entirely sure what a Metro party entailed. It's pretty simple as it turns out. Everyone meets up at a metro stop with their booze of choice, and then we all get on the metro and ride it for about 2 hours, ending at a bar. That's it.

Well, I'm up for anything, so I bought a six pack and met Eloise and two others at the Nation stop, where about 100 other people were already hanging around. Other than one guy who offered us a biscuit and another who asked us for pot, we didn't interact much with our fellow metro partiers. To be honest, they all looked a bit weird, and Eloise and I began to wonder what exactly we were doing there. Was it obvious we were totally uncomfortable? 

Eventually it looked like the crowd was moving so we followed everyone down into the metro and then we all just got on the train. The poor people just trying to get home from work or meet their friends for a quick drink suddenly found themselves swarmed by a loud, raucous and slightly intoxicated group of young internationals. I was packed between my friends, a group of English girls, and a few dudes with shaved heads who I'd seen doing acrobatics on the sidewalk before we boarded. The organizer had brought a sound system which he propped on a seat that blasted hip hop through the whole train. Clutching my warm Heineken and bobbing as gracefully as I could (not easy on the best of days, nevermind on a lurching train in close physical contact without about 11 strangers) I sang along to Outkast and tried not to completely crush Bea. Poor Bea is approximately half my size and was unfortunately positioned directly behind me, so whenever the train lunged to a stop Bea fell into the seat behind her and I fell onto her lap. Every now and then a stage-diver passed overhead. Or metro-seat-diver I guess. It was usually the same guy, dressed in a fuzzy blue Halloween costume. I think it was Sully from Monsters Inc, but I can't be sure since the best view I got of him was while I gingerly supported his warm, furry ankle as he floated above my head. 

The whole event was hot, uncomfortable, smelled strongly of body odor, and weirdly fun. So take that Kanye and Jay-Z. N****s in Paris indeed.