In Which the Author Does Not Quote Kanye

As I went to write this blog entry about the week of April 16th, I struggled to find an appropriate metaphor. Some people might wax poetic about silver linings and the good to be found in evil, blah blah blah.  The first thing I thought of was a Kanye quote* but that was a little weird. So I contemplated "crap sundae with the best possible cherry" or "shit storm with a fantastic calm". The point is, a lot of bad things happened that were eclipsed by something so awesome that, despite everything, I'll look back fondly on that week for the rest of my life.

Obviously, there was the bombing at the Boston Marathon. This was unacfuckingceptable. Frightening, terrible and unacceptable. Marathon Monday is for two things: running like a crazy person** and celebrating those crazy bastards with day drinking.  I think Colbert said it best:

Then there was my birthday. This was actually not a huge deal. There was the typical angst I've experienced every year on my birthday since I was 7 (I was a real hoot and a half as a kid), one glass of wine (I'm on a damn diet) and some lovely music and friends. There was also lots of looking at pictures of Helen Mirren to reassure myself about the onslaught of aging.

Then came the vomiting. Yup. The vomiting. Two and a half days of it. This was unacceptable.

Finally, I felt ready for solid food. So I ate an apple.

Then came the swelling of the face. Yup. Swollen face. Apparently, I am allergic to apples. As I stared into the mirror, watching my face contort with a morbid fascination, I may have said, "but it wath thuppothed to be my birthhhday!" (my tongue swelled up too).

But here's the thing: it wasn't really supposed to be my birthday. Not this year. There was a much more important birthday being had. That of my perfect, beautiful niece. Meet Calliope:

It's amazing what a birth can do. I mean, how crazy is it that this squishy ball of baby is going to learn and experience everything it is to be a human? Seeing her, I care a lot less about getting older and dying. I mean, I may be gone, but how great is it that she'll still be there to remember me? Babies really do bring all the hope and joy and crap that Louis Armstrong likes to sing about.

And yes, I've already ordered baby's first turban. And no, I'm not kidding. I'm Auntie Mame, bitch.




*Specifically this one: "this week's been a bad massage, I need a happy ending." Ok, so technically I quoted Kanye there, but I think you'll agree I'm still showing real restraint and growth. 
**Did you know that many marathon runners cross the finish line with bloody nipples? BLOODY NIPPLES. 

Paris: It's Just So Freaking Parisian

The Pantheon

Paris is my geographical soulmate. Everyone smokes and drinks too much and their main priority is that everything look good and taste even better.

Also it turns pretty colors at sunrise and sunset. It's inspired more artists in its history than Pattie Boyd and as I sat in a cafe with a cappuchino, a croissant and a Moleskine notebook I couldn't help thinking, "Good Christ, do I feel Parisian. Someone come hit me over the head with a baguette before I start spouting prose."

They don't know it, but they feel pretty Parisian too.

 We were there for only 24 hours, so I was determined to cram in as much le crap as was le possible. Luckily, our hotel room was tiny, had a weird bathtub and a balcony that looked out onto a creperie, a patisserie and a wine cafe, so even waking up felt French.

Luxembourg Gardens

The Boy Contemplates Rue's Distant Cousin

Good God, I love this city.

The Crypt at the Pantheon

Clothing Purchased: None. I had wine to drink and cheese to eat, man. Priorities, people.

Thought for the day.

I want that.