It's Friday night..

...and for the life of me I can’t remember what “Friday” is in French. I go from Thursday to Friday in my mind. I am thinking of going to Harry’s Bar, as in Harry’s New York. I refuse to use the word lonely. I believe that implies an attitude problem. I love it here. I just feel…tout seule.

I discovered this great, kitschy little bar/restaurant down the street. Everything, from the chairs to the beams, are covered in animal- print fabric. And I mean that liberally; none of the prints really match, and they are in fact faux. Also, they played bad bar-mitzvah dance tunes like "Celebrate," and a cover of Will Smith's "Miami" in French, of course. Oh and dancing red x-mas lights strung among fake cobwebs on the ceiling. The walls are dotted with black and white photos of Hollywood icons like Marilyn Monroe. Her picture is comforting.

It is here that I realized that my “gay-dar” does not, in fact, work in Paris. Probably all of Europe. Because, as the name might imply, everyone here is “Euro.” Two “Euro” guys who I, (ego-centrically) were of course checking me out, turned out to be, well, not checking me out. This was made obvious when they began caressing and kissing one another. I still wanted to be their friend, but I don’t think they were looking for friends at the moment…

SO.

To be a Hermit, or not to be a Hermit. That is the question on this chilly Friday evening.
My feet are cold.

Oh an I still can't work the damn dryer. I think I'll go read my book of French swear words.

Oh, and for another time, I'll tell you about the coolest art-book store I happened upon this morning.

I love the blue door to my apartment.

xoxoxo,
Lauren