Land Lines and the Nostaglia that Follows

I did it, I have a land line telephone. I know what my American friends are thinking "only grandma's have land lines!", and I totally agree with you but here in France it's a different story. I don't have a land line because I lack of a cellphone or good service, quiet the opposite. France is the home of the world's most affordable telephone providers.

Just how afforable? Ready to tear up your AT&T bill in an envious rage? Ready to go beat up that Verizon  pimp at the kiosk next to Cinnabon?  Good. In France I am paying €20 each month for unlimited talk, texts, calls to the USA and data! So for 27 dollars a month my unlocked iphone is well  equipped for the numerous google map routes in which it will guide me down. To an American who thought T-Mobile's 60 bucks a month unlimited everything was a steal this was as big a victory to my wallet as the introduction of El Pollo Loco's dollar menu.  France also kicks booty with at home Internet service, for 30 bucks we have unlimited Internet and a telephone line is included.  Most Frenchies my age have the option of free land line and decline.

So why need a land line when you have as many minutes internationally as you could ever want? Simple, nostalgia. The same thing that makes you miss that shitty job sometimes, or that crappy person you once dated. Its wasn't very functional, there is a reason why they were replaced but once in a while you can still look back at them as simpler, happier times.

Examples:

• Not having to wonder "where did i put my phone?", cause its attached to the wall.  
• The satisfaction of hanging up on someone during an argument by slamming the phone down on the base with great force. 
• When was the last time you heard the analog ring of a house phone and screamed "Ill get it"?
•  Do you remember what it feels like to twirl your fingers in the swirly cord of the phone while the person on the other end is making you blush? Or how snug your fingers feel in the shallow holes of the dial on a rotary phone? 
• How about the great liberty of someone calling you and when you don't answer, simply leaving you a message and waiting patiently for you to call back. Not calling you 5 times in a row or texting you.

This past weekend William, Alex and I went to a street market in Paris. It was like a swap meet back home, knock off designer products, beauty products that must have "fallen off the back of a bus", horrible jeggings nobody should ever wear, bedazzled and jeweled iphone cases, T-shirts with "SWAG" all over them...to say the least I was in heaven.  In a small street next to the larger vendors where the yard sale type of places. People who just lay out a tarp, and dumb out all their goods/junk with what looks like little, to no organization. You have half used cans of spray paint, rusty tin boxes, ugly grandma broaches, a huge tangled up ball of chords leading to several different electronics doomed to never be separated, you know, your basic swap meet/flea market treasures.

Among all these gems I found the perfect reason to actually utilize the free telephone line that comes with our Internet service. A vintage, two toned grey, rotary phone, with a separate receiver for ease dropping.

I fell in love, the vendor asked for 10 euros we talked him down to 8.

I have now officially joined the old lady club: I adore cats, I like Werther's Originals, I find myself stopping at store windows to coo over small, porcelain  figurines of animals and I have a land line telephone. Let the golden years commence!

The Most Technologically Challenged Parisien

So has you may have already noticed I SUCK when it come to techonolgy and my blog therefore is pretty damn basic and ugly. In order to not have a completley "mental instiutuon white" background I chose one of my favorite photos of myself in Paris, the city of lights!

Lovely isnt it? This photo was taken aboard the TGV, the worlds first (and as many French people would say, best) high speed train. This train travels at 200 miles per hour, thats the same speed as a commercial airplane during take off. This train knocked our travel time in half, and me out as well. Once the train started going the smooth, rocking motion took me back to simpler times being cradeled in my mama´s arms. I passed out within 10 minutes and didnt wake up till 50 minutes later when we arrived in Paris.

So please be patient with the crappy template, backgrounds and loads of type-os that are to follow. In exchange I  will give you a couch to sleep on and a shower to pee in when you visit Paris.

El Matador and Le Digestif

France, as you may have guessed, has many cultural differences to my beloved United States of America. One sees the differences  vividly when  it comes to the area of alcohol. French people can drink! And when they do they dont have a feeling of guilt or caution to it, drinking is just what you do. A beer at lunch time? Sure, hell your boss is buying. Ricards at 3pm? Why not? Its good for your cholestroal. Two cups of wine for dinner every night? Is there anything wine is NOT good for?

A girl can get use to this. And I dont mean to make French people sound like uncontronable alcoholics, its far from that. I have spent a total amount of 9 weeks in France (collectivly) and have to say that I have never seen a druken "hot mess" like I so often have seen back home. I dont believe that problems from alochol steam from how frequently you drink but instead in why you drink, and how you act when you do. The French seem to have a healthier relationship with this sweet nectar than most Americans.

Let me walk you through a typical French dinner party: you start with the apertif, which is kind of like our cocktail hour (I guess, aside from weddings Ive never been to one). The Apertif is a small cocktail or two when your guest arrive. After the chit chat you move to the dinner table where there is of course...wine! A cup of white wine  to go with the entree (which is a starter here, i know...), then a glass of red for the main dish. After the meal we have desert which is accompanied by champagne of course! So here you are, about 2 hours in and you have already had 2 cocktails, 2 glasses of wine and champange and you know what? Everyone is under control, nobody is slurring their words, acting rude or stumbling. How? I dont know, I cant explain it.

By the end you are feeling warm and and tipsy and everyone is having a pleasurable time. But the booze are not over yet, we still have my favorite part, le digestif.

Le digestif is a concept that once I heard about made perfect sense. You know that "I ate too much" feeling you get when you stuffed yourself silly? Well the French have found a solution to it, it is le digestif. A small amount of strong, flavorful alcohol at the end of the meal. Usually a cognac like Remy Martin, this small portion of potentency served in a tiny glass cup really does seem  to help you digest and feel less full. The French swear it does, I have no medical proof but I can testify it at least feels that way.

So knowing and loving this small ritual you can imagine my excitment when I found these vintage, tacky spanish digistif glasses. All four for 50 cents. Now all I need is cognac, I can skip the whole dinner party and just go straight to the end.

Packing For Forever

As of tomorrow it will be 2 weeks since william and I stressfully threw out the rest of our trash, dontated the last of our unwanted clothes, and frantaticly packed the only possessions that would follow us to our new home.

This makes me sound a lot more minimaliste than I really am. Im at the same time embarssed and proud to say that we had 150 pounds worth of luggage, not counting my cat, and yes, mostly mine. Embarassed because we took up the whole back of a Ford Escape (with the seats down). I always wanted to be (want to be) one of those people who can travel for months with only a backpack, someone who can fit everything they own into a duffelbag  and be satifisfied. No clutter, no over indulgence, and simply satisfied.

BUT I also want to live pretty damn comfortably. I get cold easily so I need to bring sweaters. One or two sweaters wont do, you see i have various varitations of cold. A hoodie for the underlining of a much nicer coat when its just a bit nipply, a light cardigan for those summer time breezes, a wool sweater for those fresh, early fall mornings, a large, ugly pull over for roaming around the apartment, a well fitted button up sweater for when I would like to stay warm and still maintain some sort of a figure....and sadly, I can go one. Same goes for pants. I want baggy ones, but I need tight ones,  and one in between. I need leggings, and slacks and courdoroys because they are not as cold to slip into as jeans on January mornings. Duh! I dont even want to get started on shirts and dresses! One thing I am not really crazy about is shoes, I only own 7 pairs of shoes. Two in which I adore but never wear since they are heeled and I look strange because Im taller than everyone on the metro and I walk funny. Ive hauled these two pairs of shoes between Los Angeles, Montreal, Back to LA and and Montreal and now to France, and I have NEVER WORN THEM more than 3 hours twice. Why do I keep them? Cause I have this weird child like thinking that once I turn 30 I will be able to wear them. Once I hit the big 3-0 I wont walk awkwardly in them, I wont stumble or look way too tall, I will be graceful and natural in these beautiful shoes.

Anyway, the sorting process of what clothes, books, hair accessories, kitchen supply, gagets etc. that you will take with you for the rest of your life is pretty exhausting. I wish I had the will power to throw/give/sell even more than i did but I have to admit I am pretty happy with the downsizing I made. " Youre like a snail, you have your whole home on your back" William would affectiontly tell me while I was packing. And its true, for not having anything back home in Los Angeles (aside from a blanket, doll, and journals with great sentimental value) Im doing pretty damn well. All I own can fit into two (very large) suitcases, and although its not the small duffle bag I wish I could obtain its still a damn good start.

So here I am 2 weeks in France and I have already bought a bunch of crap! You couldnt help it either if you loved thrift store shopping as much as me, Europe is a gold mine. I think mostly because aside from a rather small percentage of 20 something year olds nobody really is into vinatge. A lot of people only want antiques or modern. In Los Angeles and Montreal finding a lime green and brown roatry phone in great conditon for 5 bucks was a find, a steal, something to write home about! An electriv blue, leather makeup box for 2 dollars!? You kidding? Here there is a very fine line between vintage and tacky. Lets just say I will have one of the tackiest Apartments in Paris.