KayDee's review of Paris (through a bottle of champagne)

Pics: First kiss at 35 (midnight at Notre Dame), yellow rose @ Tour Eiffel, Scotch looking at the Tour, My birthday present, Scotch doing his very best French Impression, The Eiffel's light show via our night tour bus, the control panel for the Printemp's toilet, scent bottles @ Fragonard Musee, us @ Sacre Cour, Scotch being, you know, Scotch @ Le Hotel Notre Dame, flowers behind the Musee Rodin, Scotch in the gardens @ musee Rodin, the locks of lovers on some damn pont, the world's most amazing hot chocolat, macarons, us on a pont somewhere in Paris.


Ok, here it is (with typos because I'm too tipsy and tired to proof read). When visiting Paris you MUST: go to Notre Dame late at night when no one is there, it's the only way you'll truly experience The Rats. Pixar was NOT effing around about Parisian rats. Those SOB's do not give a f*ck. They were all over the grounds of Notre Dame, squeaking and... you know, gettin' it on.  Seriously, I have photos.  As if that wasn't enough, Scotch kept trying to get me to go to Paul for a croissant. This should be simple as there are like, 80+ Pauls laying around town but we could never find one when we needed it. Then one night, well after it's closed, we happen upon a Paul, and I'm about to agree to go the next morning until I see a mouse running through the front window.  I'm not usually racist, but damn, the front window?! Get the mice out of there and I might consider it. Mr. Wichmann, on the other hand, who wouldn't dream of entering an LA restaurant with less then an A rating, turns to me and says, "well, at least it wasn't in the kitchen!"

So, as I write this it's just barely into September 4th which means that all of yesterday was devoted to celebrating my birthday. As all days should be.  We went to the Pairs flea market aka Les Puces (the flea) which was an adventure to say the least. When we arrived we walked into.... hmmmm... let's  call it Los Angeles. It was stalls and stalls of clothes made by Levii's and Guci and Dolce and Banana (the last one is delicious, by the way) and it was scary and crowded and, like all Americans, I do not like to be touched. And I was being touched from every direction. BACK OFF, BARGAIN-HUNTING FRENCHIES!! Fortunately, due to my innate sense of the more expensive things we found our way to the antique portion of Les Puces and proceeded to not buy everything we wanted. That was fairly easy since I reek of American and most shop owners wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. Hurrah?

Anyway, we finished the evening by going to dinner and seeing a cabaret show at The Crazy Horse Paris.  To clarify, cabaret in French means boobies/ b cup if you're lucky. It was a really fun show and dinner was divine. Obviously, it was french.  I tried duck foie gras. Did I feel cruel? yes. but I used my vintage mink stole to wipe away my tears and hid the remaining evidence in my rabbit muff.  As a side note, I probably wouldn't order duck foie gras again, but I would order a giant vat of French butter even if someone told me it was made of baby unicorns.

Scotch mentioned in his previous post that he's been having trouble with The Gypsies. This is all true. It's amazing to behold and no matter how many times I say "no" (but in French, so, "no") and try to drag him away he continues to fall for their wily ways.  He once told me of a friend of his who was robbed because she fell for the old "look at what's down my pants!" trick that a gypsy supposedly pulled on her. I used to mock that person every time I heard the story but now I'm beginning to believe that if you're a kind enough soul you will fall for that crap. Needless to say, they haven't bothered me in the least.

We also went to the Musee Pompidou today which was incredible, structurally, as well as the art it held.  I could do without the hippies trying to sell me crap out in the courtyard though.  Seriously, the older I get the less patience I have for this bs.  Do I care that you managed to string together some 3 cent beads with a piece of dental floss while stoned out of your mind? no, no I do not.  Scotch, on  the other hand, has some lovely new handi-craft jewelry.

You MUST have noticed the shoe photo, and yes, they're Italian.  Did it seem wrong to buy Italian shoes while in France? DID I JUST EAT AN INNOCENT DUCK'S LIVER?! Sacrifices must be made, people. And so, Scotch made a sacrifice and I now own the most incredible pair of shoes I've ever laid eyes on. Karl Lagerfeld for Fendi for Paris Fashion Week...Carrie Bradshaw eat your heart out.

It didn't really matter what size the shoes came in because they just had to fit on my leg stumps.  What the hell?  In Pairs you walk a lot.  But here's the thing -- you're walking, let's say, 100 meters to get to the next Chocolat Marche... but in reality you're walking 300 meters because of all the effing "locals" you need to veer around to avoid being run over.  These people DO NOT CARE. They're not going to take on one additional meter.  They can't afford to as their lungs would collapse from that much additional walking on top of all the CIGARETTE SMOKE.  Lung Cancer be damned, really. If anything, a Parisian is going to die of being appalled by my presence well before they can get the big C.

Ok, seriously, I have to go to bed. It's 1:30 am here and we get on the road tomorrow to drive to Aix-en-Provence.  At least the freaking cars drive on the right side of the road. More pics and "stories" soon. Thanks to all who've wished me a happy birthday and most of all thanks to Scotch for giving me a birthday I could only have dreamed of and will cherish for the rest of my life.

xo
kd