Wonderfully Real

What a terrible mistake to let go of something wonderful for something real.



Lots of belle happenings today, but unfortunately 10 BELLES isn’t one of them. After checking in with Boadicea post last night’s excursion, she made her way over to meet a friend when we got on the topic of will it or will it not be packed. It was. I can’t say I didn’t see that coming, so all the more reason to stay at home & recoup. So. Today’s blog won’t be taking place under caffeinated circumstances (and my latest, and unexpected, tea switch has left me bean-less at home), however ! If I had been tucked away in some cafe, I might have missed out on the yearly carnival that takes a dip down my street. Say what you will about my quartier, I adore it. Give or take a couple weirdos. It’s prime location for all my grungy bars, a quick stroll to loads of wonderful cafes, packed with Edith Piaf memorabilia, a melting pot of artists, foreigners & sometimes the less fortunate (which may or may not include yours truly). I’ve been looking into why exactly this whole event is taking place today, but after seeing something about it being all historique and all, I’ve decided to accept it for what it is & get started with this past week. But for more carnival info, see here

Attn : this was a week of vanity. Be wary & laugh along with it. 

The work-week this time around will be broken down into days. I’ve been making mental notes, but relying heavily on physical ones in order to be as precise and perhaps as honest as possible. Here we are :

lundi :managed to be late to class even though I don’t really have the best excuse for it. A sincere regret on my end because (1) I only have 1 semester left to be a student, so might as well make the effort, (2) I only have class twice a week this term. So, refer back to that effort thing, (3) The professor is amazing. And I’ll finally get into that today, & (4) I already sleep too much as it is. I blame the prison cell blinds in my room that I can twist all the way to utter darkness no matter what time of day or sun exposure.  

So this brit. Can’t say he’s my favorite because I’ve plenty of good English friends, but he really knows how to rid a lady of the Monday blues. His jokes never seem to cease even after 3 1/2 hours of cours. Plus his topics are enorme. He goes off on the economic rationality of marriage, divorce, having children & losing a spouse (in reference to death). The course is called ‘Happiness Economics’, which may sound a bit deceiving after the topics I just listed, but I believe he’s onto something here. Panel data doesn’t lie. Following individuals 5 years before and 5 years after the beforementioned scenarios, subjective happiness was measured & from the graphs we saw in class, they seemed to prove that marriage just really isn’t worth the trouble. Mostly for women, who at all points after marriage indicated happiness measures lower than men & who surely paved the way to divorce with the stat that 70% of them are initiated by the female.

After deriving models for happiness (which lots of people may disagree with, but I won’t get into all the details in order to save time. I am only on lundi for godssake !), I spent the afternoon in the library to get some thesis business underway. After a relatively good night with the girls (question : why is it I can only get one of them in a good mood ? Furaha threw her arms around me when I went to pick her up, while Nia sighed at my beaming face outside her school. Maybe we’ll get into the hair thing later, or the fact that she did but didn’t wet her pants at school. Embarrassing for an 8 year old), I found I’d a text from ‘Man at Bar 2’ (I prefer to call him this rather than Mister Ethnic Anglophone Man. Plus he’s even aware of his bar name after I drunkenly showed it to him). Seeing how pissy he got after bailing on him a week or so ago (for good reason may I add !), I thought ‘Why not?’. There also exists the reason that I’m making my way quickly through the 20s and I may as well take advantage of whatever thing I possess that  has men asking me out (and hopefully it’s more than my vagina). I went in thinking it’d be a drink. Two max, but for some reason I ended up at his place and left without my bra. Which I’m still convinced he’s holding as hostage. 

I’m not sure why exactly I came out of the whole situation so negative. The overall conversation starters & drunk follow ups were really quite fun. I attribute all bitterness or bad gouts to my own shortcomings as a human being, rather than anything Man at Bar 2 did necessarily. Beside be cringe as Ellie so put it. At one point when he was banging on about getting in my pants while not explicitly saying it he maintained a response to no matter what I asked/said that went on for ages. Going over various discussion topics & not asking or saying anything of the nature, he kept repeating : not your kind of beauty. Criiiiiiinge ! When I finally had to ask what kind of beauty I had, I thought he’d mentioned something along the lines of Zelda Fitzgerald. I couldn’t stop swooning for a good half hour or so, until I had him say it again. I even booped the damn kid who was then swooning in his own right. Swoonsters, table 5 ! Things went sour though because apparently drunk me heard only what I wanted & I was corrected to a likening of Nicole Diver. Well, just fuck that then. Disturbingly accurate for someone who just met me, but that’s a topic we won’t breech. After the Zelda/Nicole mix up, he went on about the possibility of being each others French romance. I didn’t really think this was the time to bring up my ex been there, done that ! but instead I almost responded with the annoyingly modern age comeback : I refuse to be anyone’s anything. 

Here’s where things get a bit naughty. Because crude stories are always fun, I thought I’d tell a few. However from every crude story springs the innocence of an undeserving man or individual that always stirs some sort of guilt in me. But, we all have to learn about these things somehow. So ! Let’s just keep all our pretty mouths shut on this one so it doesn’t explode on the web. After a couple drunk kisses I was convinced to head back to his place for : (1) jazz music (aka sex music), (2) a fish dinner & then (3) a nice walk home. I only came out with one of those. And that’s the music. When we got to his place the music went on & he jumped into bed. I followed but kept blubbering idiotically about poisson ! Mais, on va…mange–ons. Poisson ! I’m still brilliant with the french language when I’m drunk. If that goes to show as any sort of proof. Things started to get hot & heavy…but I just couldn’t manage to get, inspired. He’s a terribly attractive guy, I was quite tipsy & have been sexless for a good while now. Things should have been happening. Obviously the bedroom is a learning environment for all. Even the best of the best. But I just don’t know what this kid was working with. I guess he’s not the only boy to have done this so may as well generalize. I just don’t understand where some of these skills are taught. As if by attacking your pubic bone, the clit will hear it’s calling, move north & materialize through your jeans to the place of rubbing. Seeing as that never happens, I woke up the next day, as many before, with the feeling that I’d ran into a low cut table. Another added perk to the evening. Physical malfunctions aside, other perks included : all the lines I was being fed, the forced music & horrific point when he told me to look out his window if I wanted to see what my french romance was to look like (the view while lying on his bed. Beurk !). I finally had to lie & told him I was on my period. He kept up with the compliments but I mumbo-jumbo-ed my way to the bathroom as I heard him scrambling around the room. When I came back he was leaning in the doorframe without his shirt on grinning. Oh god. Practically 3am at this point I asked for my bra that I’d seen & held pre-him shambling around the room but he kept directing me back to bed & changing topics. I know I should have spent the damn night, but I literally wanted to vomit after everything that had just come out of his mouth. Plus I’m old enough to know these days when I do and don’t want a sleep over. So there.

mardi I made my way over to 10 BELLES. Perhaps I should have done the review then. Maybe it’s considered ‘cheating’ if I do a review of 10 BELLES  seeing as I’ve been there before & countless other reviews have already been made doing more justice to it than I ever could. Take my word for it & you’ll see it all. I think it’s a cafe you could only visit during the work-week, and even then the place fills up fast. Beautiful men aside, the coffee is perfection & the food tempts me every time. I’m a salé rather than sucré gal, but even still their pastries call my name now & again. The sandwiches, soups & salads cannot be missed at whatever cost, and thank god it’s never unreasonable. Goddamn them & their culinary gods. Later on in the day I snipped my way back to some bangs, but am now regretting my decision. Fucking whims. It must have worked some magic because instead of weird men of age whispering inappropriates, I had a couple innocent glances & a 40-something year old man lean in & say quite shyly Vous etes vraiment jolie mlle before backing out. Sometimes I get it right even when it feels wrong. Anyways. After this stint I think I’ll be going back to the no bangs. The most misleading thing about this country is the hairstyle. I always thought banged brunettes flocked the streets on this part of the world. Couldn’t be further from the truth. If you really want to be french looking, just make everything extremely simple and effortless : hair, make-up, clothes, etc. Less is always more & bangs are just too much. 

mercredi Class was a bit upsetting. Can’t say I’m any ideal student. In fact, I feel like if I were to tell someone off, no one would really take it seriously. Not that I’m not a considerate listener, I just have a hard time buckling down & taking this whole experience to heart. I know at the end of the day I’ll leave this country at some point & settle with a job in my old city. So getting on with this masters is necessary & great, but not something I’m going to spend every precious moment in France wrapped up about. But anyways. When others do jibber-jabber for an entire 3 hours & play on their computer, I can’t help but think that they’re the ones worse off. There’s a girl in my program who I don’t think has taken to me all too well. I want to call her Smirky Smirkface McGee cause the only other appropriate name that comes to mind is Bitch. And seeing as I’m trying to cater to all audiences (hah!) I’ll go with the former. She has a way of smirking after everything I say or do as if to imply Reeeeeally, idiot ? But not in the appreciative kind of way that Emile or Nils seem to hand out to me. Ironically I’ve never heard her say an intelligent thing in class, so I’m not here to get all bitter about it. But she did lean over a couple times to the girl next to her, whisper & make glances my way. If anything she should have been saying some dirt about everyone else not giving a fuck, but there I was, minding my own business, taking notes & being one hell of an avid student. In the past she’s made remarks about my absent-mindedness or underwhelming class performances, but who am I to let some little brat ruin my time ? The Nervous One kept sending me messages in class so that helped keep my mind out of paranoia land. The topic at hand however was too intriguing to let Smirk-A-Bitch or The Nervous One become overly distracting. Economics only functions with some poorly placed axioms that make the world go round. Without them, economists go bat-shit crazy & sort of blank out until the axioms get back in order. The most illogical of all axioms is that people are rational & have given & known preferences. Not even getting into the rationality bit, our lecture focused primarily on preferences using a working paper called ‘Learning to Like’. That about killed me. I feel like every big subject matter has it’s negative connotations splattered across every billboard to keep people at bay. Feminism & burning bras. Politics & false promises. Philosophy & too many questions. Economics & boring graphs. If only economics had started off by saying yea, this may suck. And there will be math involved. But that’s only because we want to show you other ways of describing your relationship to others. Maybe then more females would take over the field. Anyways, later on I texted Boadecia to see if she was up for some shenanigans in the evening. Post babysitting, I popped by with a pack of almost complete cookies (I always manage to lose something at Nia & Furaha’s house) in exchange for a couple swigs of red. We gossiped about boys, complained about roommates & toyed with the opening lines ‘I don’t even know what I’m doing after all of thi–, I mean my life…’ before we aborted mission & started up our favorite series. Some things are best avoided, & that’s why we have girls night. 

jeudi A relatively aimless day in the library attempting to work on my thesis again. I’m starting to get worried after seeing some classmates already designing their experiment. If I put even half the energy I put into these blogs towards my thesis, things might be moving a bit better. But what’s the point of forcing something that’s not there. I should have really taken more notes on that Learning to Like lecture. If only. After seeing the little ladies for a bit, I went over to Ellie’s for much of the same reasons I was at Boadecia’s the night before. We’d been texting about the state of our red tides (which always arrives the moment after you lie to a boy in bed about it) so the night was full of chocolate, tea, more gossip & tv-watching. 

The weekend started off mellow & then got a bit wild. Quite opposite from last week, & I think I prefer the former chain of events. Start off with a bang instead of blowing yourself to bits too late in the weekend. Woke up frantically this morning at 8am wondering how I got home, how long I’d been home & if I left Boadicea on her own.  eep. Flowing Friday had me laying in bed all day, cursing the world & being, basically, a woman. The last time my floods were flowing I went to the patisserie, bought 2 slices of pizza & a kings cake. What ? I’d say I was better this month around. At least I limited myself to a bar of chocolate, Bridget Jone’s Diary, & Anchorman. The only thing I had to do Friday was pick up the girls & babysit for a bit. Friday’s are the best because Furaha’s school turns off all the lights and blasts ‘Gangnam Style’ on repeat from 17h30 until 18h30. There’s nothing more special than a room full of three year olds screaming sexy lady ! while bobbing around in pink tutu’s (yes Furaha’s best friend does this in honor of Friday dance hour). I typically pick up Nia first on Fridays so we can get giddy together, snobbily make fun of the others, and after a bit of probing, yes we too like to get up & join in on the fun. And that’s about as wild as I got that night.

Soundcloud Saturday started tipsy with pre-drinks at Joshua’s place. I explained the bra situation, to a man, because we all need that input now and again. He really had some good points going for him. He went off about women throwing themselves in front of cars just so that I could have the rights to storm up to some man’s house to claim what’s rightfully mine. Nevermind the fact that they just went off and burnt them afterwards to prove yet again what a real woman is like, but at least there were principles. So. On that note. I think I might go storming the streets here soon, waving my red flag, demanding I be respected or things. Off that topic & back to the party. We were heading to a bar for a former classmates birthday. It was something colorful or hat related so I stole Joshua’s idea & put on the crown I had stashed in my bag (remember that kings cake ordeal ?).By the time we got to the bar I kept drunkingly telling everyone who hadn’t asked I’m going to wait ! which, I’ve never, ever, ever said. Ever. In a bar. So, looks like I’m getting a bit wiser these days. My age is really taking it’s toll on me. My pseudo sober stance lasted a good 20 minutes until I realized this sucks & come’on, whomikiddn? You’re just getting way too drunk tonight so the gin & I guess at some point, vodka, made their way into my emptiless stomach (minus the bottle of red that went down at Josh’s). Drink in hand, I spotted the man I would be harassing for the rest of the evening. I once read that men find it hard to approach women, especially at bars because let’s face it, sometimes we’re complete bitches. So. The male likes to wait for female initiated eye-contact. 


I know there is probably a certain amount of eye contact you’re suppose to give someone. There’s probably even courses on the damn thing. But unfortunately I chose economics, so here we are, with me blatantly staring at a man screaming GODDAMN HE’S CUTE at Boadicea or anyone else immediately available. Mind you he was about a foot away, & if he understood even the slightest amount of English, he knew his game had been set & ready. At some point I made it on the stage downstairs. There’s a camera directly pointing at it, feeding all music & the ensuing drunkards who make their way onstage, to a tv on the upper level. Before, our group had been standing right in front of the upstairs tv, the same location where I’d seen my grungy, dark haired, floppy curled, brooding eyed god. Maybe my debut performance wasn’t as great I thought.Guess they never really are, are they ? Maybe my moves were a bit too cringe. We’ll never really know the whole truth as to why that man didn’t take me home. It has been an easy week for me I suppose so there wouldn’t have been many objections from my end. But, goddamn, I’m always stuck with with sloppy stage dancing guilt in the morning. If there’s one thing I should have learnt by now concerning my drinking limits, it’s that. Goddamn. Aside from that, there were some nice Canadian students that came by and joined our group. I subconsciously took Josh’s advice & instead of registering the number as ‘Man at Bar 3’, cause that’s just sad now, I apparently put it in as ‘Friend’. They were a nice addition to our birthday bonanza we had underway & excellent commentators of all my actions. They kept giving me the you know who you look like speech, and no it wasn’t Zelda. So again, fuck that then. Every time I manage to bring back the bangs I get compared to a certain celebrity & as nice as it is, it’s starting to get a bit old. Anyways. At some point I thought I might have told everyone my farewells, but speaking to Boadicea today it seems like I made a quick exit. At least I wandered off by myself & she still had good people to keep her in company. On my end, getting from the bar to my apartment is still a bit fuzzy. Coming home & eating my entire fridge while Charlotte sat in the other room does seem to ring a bell. She’s still never seen me terribly drunk before, so she seemed to stay in her corner while I clinked, clanked & clunked several times from the kitchen to my room.


WORK WEEK : Lots of relationship insight coming from the economics department. Always coined, the dismal science, I find it ironic to be studying such a topic in the land of love. 

FLOWING FRIDAY : necessary. 

SOUNDCLOUD SATURDAY : l’international. a cheap, grungy favorite amongst a certain French crowd & former classmates.  

10 BELLES potential review to come this mardi.


I haven’t waited several years to come out with a new post, but Justin Timberlake and I are onto something here, saving ourselves for the right moment to make a come back.

Expect the Sunday return series. A weekly event in order to inform, diverge & record what has become of me since summer and my return to the land of evasive voices.