Cassandra

I have been having issues with Taylor Swift and I finally figured out why.

I think.

I can easily dismiss any other teen popstar—Miley Cyrus (psh, besides the Climb), Justin Bieber (who?)—but for some reason, Taylor Swift got me. Her extremely catchy songs were cute and endearing and PG like the missing all american Disney princess story. The usual teenage romance and heartbreak...I'm down with that from time to time. Sometimes I need a break from Simple Plan and other all black, spiky haired, studded whiny boys. But then I realize her age, and I find her songs immature. A little idealistic and a lot cliche. So I was torn.

Bizarre.

But what was really going on...was, I guess, jealousy (this post is taking a strange turn). She writes these sugary sweet songs mostly from experience, from her own experience. Crap. My high school experience was never like this. In the way high school love should be, some bro falling in love with you, picking you up from your parents house, matching outfits at school dances and overtly public displays of affections on holidays which include balloons and generic red roses of course...I never experienced any of it. Ever. There was no fairy tale romance, no puppy love, and I guess I feel a little left out. I've missed some right of passage that I can never get back. No fault of anyone. It's just the way it unraveled. Fuck, I'm a girl, give me a break. All 284,932 movies about high school romances make it out to be so god damn fantastical I just want a piece.

So, thank you Taylor Swift, for bringing to the surface some problems I didn't know existed in me. And here's hoping your twangy guitar and angelic voice will help sooth something I missed as I blast "Love Story" and belt into my vanity mirror in my two room apartment I share with my hipster brother in New York City.

My mother does not watch hockey.
My mother's boyfriend is canadian, he watches hockey.
My mother watches hockey.

Tout le monde.

This is my last entry in Paris.  Will probably be my last one for a while...at least until I feel the need to express my angst-ier side from time to time.

My last day in Paris was spent mostly by myself.  But that's the way I like it.  Actually, I've been alone a lot the last couple of days.  Self-reflection time or what not.

I visited some graves.  Some heros, some heroines.  I find it suiting that crypts are naturally cold...you need something to send shivers down your spine.  A block of marble with a name engraved in it sure doesn't.  Maybe if you could touch it....

I looked for Baudelaire for an hour.  Walked right past him three times because a women was pruning the tombstone next to it.  I wanted to give her space, peace, and not encroach on something much more serious than my touristy ambitions that day.

In honor of my little visit today...a little line on Paris who's gripping me hard right now.

Il était tard ; ainsi qu'une médaille neuve la pleine lune s'étalait, et la solennité de la nuit, comme un fleuve sur Paris dormant ruisselait.

//

It is late ; like a new medal, the full moon sprawling, and the solemnity of the night, like a river streaming over sleeping Paris.

Probably a terrible translation, did it myself. Ah well. I've got loads of learning to do.

1. If I had a penis, and was decently good looking as a boy, I would try to seduce every girl I meet for shits.  But not sleep with them, because there are such things as STDS.
2.  Je suis folle.  Read La jalousie or Le ravissement de Lol V. Stein.  I'm the jealous husband.  I'm Lola.
3.  I envisioned my future marriage proposal.  It involves a museum.  I was disgusted with myself after thinking about it.

Other news.  My dreams have been getting increasingly bizarre.

Being harassed by my Lanvin employer.
Rooftop pools with trailing grapes ripe for picking.
Writing the ultimate poem.
Saving the world from Evil (recurring dream, some involve zombies, others, Keanu Reeves).
Lovers turning into my father (please don't read into any Elektra complexes...).

My brain is doing funny things I don't understand and I don't like very much.

List of awesome indie (or not so indie) songstresses that for some reason are all redheads: 
1. Jenny Lewis
2. A Fine Frenzy
3. Florence + the Machine
4. Ingrid Michaelson
6. Neko Case
7. Jolie Holland
8. Karen Elson
9. Tori Amos
10.Shirley Manson

I secretly wish I could pull off flaming red hair.

before 200 pages of La nausée.

 I think it's gonna be a list day.

I still need to visit:
1. The catacombs
2. Musée de Gustave Moreau
3. Quai Branley
4. Turner exhibit
5. YSL exhibit
6. Chartres
7. Gare St. Lazare

I want to revisit:
1. Nice
2. Cimetière Montparnasse
3. Musée d'Orsay
4. L'Orangerie
5. Beaubourg
6. Le Sacre Coeur

I need to see:
1. The Cranberries
2. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
3. Josh Rouse
4. A ballet

I need to find:
1. More striped shirts
2. Someone with a chateau
3. Old french books
4. The perfect white button down shirt

I will miss:
1. Magret de canard
2. Regally dressed old ladies and their pushcarts
3. Cigarettes everywhere
4. La Seine
5. Free museums
6. Well-dressed gentlemen and boys
7. Boulangeries
8. Decadence
9. Cheese
10. Cute french babies
11. Board that tells you when the next train is coming
12. My chip card

I won't miss:
1. Metro closing at 1
2. Shit and expensive taxis that you can never find
3. Air drying my clothes
4. French douchebags (which are an entirely different breed of douchebags)
5. the exchange rate

I'm looking forward to:
1. baking in the California desert for a weekend of music euphoria
2. wearing dresses without tights or bra
3. beaching
4. frolicking in the city with good friends
5. start my Mastering French Cooking adventure/enterprise
6. making a new home
7. carne asada fries and horchata

C'est tout.

I spent the weekend in London. It was almost like spending the weekend back in the states, with a little more of an accent, and a little more class. ish. Let's say, a little more history.

I bought a fur coat, I look like Cruela DeVille. I love it, though feel like a total bitch wearing it on the street when I refuse money to the bums.

Something happened between last semester and this semester. Now I'm perpetually pining/torturing myself instead of being carefree. It sucks.

I'm not done with this city yet. But I'm counting down the days when I return to New York. I have an apartment, now I just need to fill it with my stuff and delicious smelling food. Oatmeal raisin cookies. I got the master bedroom (thanks brother).

Missing is a terrible feeling. It's not even a good word for it. French is better. Manquer. Tu me manque.

Thesaurus entry for miss:

9 She missed him when he was away PINE FOR, yearn for, ache for, long for, long to see

How fitting.

I need another haircut again.  I'm thinking even shorter.  Chin length.

Clubs are not my thing I've decided.  Too many creepsters and creepers.  I feel disgusting afterwards.  Plus you meet people you never want to meet in real life.  Like Axel, or the replacement cast of Jersey Shores.

Get the fuck away from me. I can't handle you.

I fall in love so easily with you.

If you can sing, play an instrument, hit a drum, or fucking play the harmonica. Get the fuck away.



This dude I met, a friend of a friend, don't know him really that well, hung out once. Pianist. Whatever. Cute, good hair. Not interested in me at all. Did some snooping, found his myspace, his compositions. Jesus. I'm done for. Just hearing these beautifully tragic piano pieces, jazzy. I'm madly in love. I literally cursed out loud when I heard the songs. Now I have a massive boner for him, maybe not him, but his music.

I'm done. There was my school girl crush moment.

I'm not linking you guys because in fear of leaving a trail.

Goodnight world.

Good afternoon universe. Yes, I spent the entire day indoors again. Because I'm a loser.

I'm "doing homework."

So I will now do some complaining.

I need to hash this out and make sense of this. So everyone you meet can potentially be your friend. Or you can connect on a more personal level with pretty much anyone you bump into. Then things get a little messier when you deal with people of opposite sex. This is why I choose, not to talk to random boys. Because I automatically think that that would lead them on. And my roommate is my foil, who will talk to anyone and everyone, without a care. Why do I care? WHY DO I CARE? The reason I'm shy is because of my ego, apparently. Ah how twisted our brains are. I go out to eat alone, do anything alone, and I'm the sad girl who doesn't have any friends. I become super vulnerable and can't help but strategically build an invisible wall around myself. Tant pis. Alex goes out alone, and she's the super confident independent woman who gets all the phone numbers.

IT'S NOT A COMPETITION. Why must we compete? Why do I feel the need to compete? This is terrible. I'm having psychological issues. The ugly side of my female nature is rearing its head. I don't like it.

I spend too much time alone, I want to teleport some friends here with me.

First order of business, no apartment in Chelsea, deeply saddened, but prospective 2 bedroom rental in soho.

I think I'm in the middle of a crisis in the category of female hysteria.

And I'll leave it at that.

God is a cruel cruel jokester. My booty-call called me after an absence of 2 months and I ran into my one night stand all in the course of one night. Also tag on some too decadent meals, Pierre Hermé macarons, and absinthe tasting. It was one strange day.

I kept getting that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, like all the warmth of the room was vacuumed away by a powerful dyson. I used to get this feeling my freshman year of high school, like a dementor is following me around. It never bodes well.

Goals. I need to set goals. And achieve them. I'll deal with the people when I get home. Right now, I have a goal and I will make it happen.

Desperation is never pretty. I need to remember that and never to repeat that.

Pop-in, still my favorite bar. I would go every night, but I think that would make me a loser. Not many bars play soul and funk.

There's a nasty case of mold growing...pretty much everywhere in this apartment. I need to get out soon. Maybe that's why my room smells in the morning...or it could just be me...



It's a question of morality that I don't really understand. My dilemma right now. Though I don't know if morals are actually involved. I'm very confused. Why does sex have to complicate everything? I don't think it should...but then again, I'm a girl and apparently sex always comes with attachment, psychological issues, or some backwards way of gaining intimacy as a female. Life isn't fair.

Light note.

I rule at making potato gratin.