Friday, May 24, 2013

Bloomin' Gorgeous

A few months ago, my favorite florist, Amy Merrick, had a pop up at Steven Alan. (Favorite florist, is that even a thing? Whatever, blame Instagram.) I hightailed it over to Tribeca on a weekend—on a WEEKEND—to get an arrangement. I named a price and she created the most GORGEOUS, MAGICAL bouquet that has ever been seen. I took it home on the subway, obviously, and people open mouth gawked at the beauty.

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What. Even.

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And it died as it lived, getting prettier as it drooped further to each side. Until its spirit moved on. RIP O you flowers, who warmed my cold, black, not-at-all melodramatic heart.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Paris Part II: Les Monstres

Let us jump, friends, into part deux.

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We hopped up to Montmartre on the way to the Puces de Saint-Ouen.

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An excellent brunch at Marcel. Probably excellent because we just wanted eggs smothered in Hollandaise. And hoo boy did they deliver.

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Les Puces. What a strange, strange place.

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A mint tea at the Mosquée before heading into the Jardin des Plantes.

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Galeries d'Anatomie comparée et de Paléontologie. This was the motherload of bones and things in jars. Heaven.

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Les monstres!

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Fetuses!

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And then it was over. Adieu Paris, till next time.

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Monday, May 13, 2013

Paris Part I: A Baguette A Day

One somewhat unexpected and incredibly rewarding finding from our Paris trip was that my French had not gone away. No, we landed and I hit the ground "running."* Not literally, but metaphorically! I was speaking French and I was doing it a-okay, everybody.

Paris, and France in general, is a charming place to an extent. At first, it was adorable that I had to pay 70 euro cents to enter the bathroom in the Gare du Nord. So I popped upstairs to the magazine stand and bought a Paris Pratique in exchange for les pièces. Upon realizing I still didn't have exact change, and neither God nor the lady running the bathroom would help, I popped into the downstairs magazine stand and flat out asked the man for "bathroom money." By the time I got back to where the boyfriend was exchanging money, he had had to queue in three different lines because... someone moved them. Paris!

The "but" of that whole story is that, while charming for a few days, France eventually becomes a weight on your shoulder that only American-caliber internet and tacos can solve. I did it for four months when I lived abroad, but it's funny seeing it through fresh eyes.**

There, I've just prefaced the second part of this trip. (Boyfriend explained the difference between English and French cultures with: "France is just a lot less... evolved.") But keep with you the fact that I got by—nay, triumphed!—with my French. Huzzah.

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Our first night in the aforementioned house boat was hilarious, amazing and possibly sea sickening. There's nothing quite like dozing off in a rocking boat with bateaux mouches sailing by.

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His first look at the Tuileries. I think he likes it, folks.

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