Author: Rasmenia

Right, then…so, I've been here in Paris for almost a year & a half, now.I've learned a few things in that span of time. Just a few.Of course, being from a relatively small town in northern Colorado, living here is quite different…people aren't spread out – there are millions of people condensed into a city that really isn't all that big.I suppose it's sort of like living in a really big clown car…Maybe it's just me being an ignorant foreigner, but now that I have spent some time here living among the natives, I now see that I didn't know a damned thing when it comes to living among one another & being neighborly. I mean, I had always thought it was all about being polite, quiet & minding your own business - but, I obviously don't know as much as I thought I did.So, here's what I've learned:1. Don't walk - STOMP. Throw all of your weight on...

Right then. Someone hung a piece of paper on the wall downstairs. Down there in the stairwell in a not-so-obvious place. Something about the water being turned off for 3 days. Yeah…from 8:30 am to 5pm with no running water. Fuck yeah.Being the bright & clever creature that I am (but haven't always been) I realize that the only solution is to peel my baffled, bewildered & befuddled body from the bed at a halfway decent hour for a change.In another life, this was something that was easy – too easy. So easy in fact, that I had the opposite problem: if I slept past 4am, it had been a good night. If I actually slept for more than 3 or 4 hours, I had a chance of getting through the day with the ability to discern what was a dream & what had really happened.Indeed, it was another life.But, that was living alone…as a reclusive drunk, reeking of cigarettes &...

I'm not really sure how it happened...there I was, safe & sound in the dark, snuggled safely with my bottle of Guinness in another Smalltown, USA. When I awoke, I found myself ambling along the streets of Paris, dodging landmines comprised of doggy poo while simultaneously keeping a safe distance from the fearless pigeons. I make my way to the subway station. Sometimes, my metro card works. Other days, there might be an incident that provides me with the opportunity to demonstrate my mind-blowing athleticism as I jump over the turnstile.I sit in the train, my nose buried in a book - something I've gotten in the habit of doing not only to pass the time during the trip, but also to make avoiding eye contact easier.Whoosh - out of the train, out of the metro station...strangers approach, asking questions that I don't understand. Maybe they're inquiring as to my unusually large feet...Sitting in class at the language school that will...