Letters from London #8

All right, my pretties, I know you're thinking that I haven't posted recently because I had a craaaaazy St Patrick's Day here in Paris and I've been recovering ever since, right?  Wellllllll, no.  I did go out for St Paddy's with a bunch of Irish people and we did go to some Irish pubs, but at a certain point we just got fed up with the crowds and ended up at a champagne bar instead.  Not very authentic, but far more relaxing...

Anyway, my absence was not caused by too much partying (unfortunately), but rather because I've been in London and my internet access there was very sporadic and I just didn't get a chance to post.  But since I'm mentioning London and since it's late and I just need to post something, how about another Letter from London?

Written somewhere around July 2001

Well, after the overwhelmingly positive reaction to my last letter, I've decided to turn over a new leaf.  Yes, I'm ready to become a kinder, gentler Miss K.  From now on, I shall be nauseatingly nice, sickeningly sweet and a beam of sunshine in the lives of all those fortunate enough to come into contact with my saintly-yet-humble being.  I will forsake malice, spite and cynicism in favour of graciousness, charm and generosity of spirit.  People will come from all around simply to bask in the warm glow of my goodness... Okay, did anyone buy that?  What, not even for a second?  Oh c'mon... Anyone?  Friends?  Relatives?  No one? Really??

Anyway, I don't have a theme for this letter, so here are some random thoughts about nothing terribly interesting.....

New Experiences (A) - One of the many things I like about London is the opportunity to try things that I might not have done in Toronto.  For example, I took a ballet class for the first time in my life a couple of weeks ago and thoroughly enjoyed it.  For those of you who are rolling around on the floor laughing hysterically at the thought of me doing anything that requires grace and coordination, go right ahead.  Your mental picture is entirely correct - I galumphed around the room like a drunken lumberjack, sending willowy ballerina types fleeing in terror, and I made a total fool of myself.  Like I said, I had a fantastic time.

New Experiences (B) - Another thing I just tried was floating.  Huh?  What's that?  Well, it's a bit hard to describe, but basically you hop into a sensory deprivation tank and float in water that has about 800 lbs of salt dissolved in it.  And that's all: you just lie there in the dark and float for an hour like a cross between an astronaut and an embryo.  Question - why?  Answer - Because it's quite possibly the most relaxing thing you'll ever experience.  Strange but true.  Once you get the hang of it, you totally lose track of your body and you just feel like a big ol' head floating around in the dark.  I know, it sounds weird, but ohhhhhh, it's soooooo gooooooood....

Music - I've always been a fan of the blues, and it amazes me how well songs from the 1920s translate to the new century.  I recently picked up a Bessie Smith CD and really, you'd think she was singing about my life.  For example, here are some of the song titles: "Me and My Gin", "No One In Town Can Bake A Sweet Jelly Roll Like Mine"(if you know what she's saying, and I think you do), "Empty Bed Blues", "I'm Wild About That Thing", "A Good Man Is Hard To Find", "You've Got To Give Me Some", and my personal favourite - "Put a Little Sugar in My Bowl".  Sing it, girlfriend....

Fashion - Ladies: I hate to tell you this, but London fashion has clearly lost what passes for its collective mind.  You can be totally in style this season if you wear any of the following: 1940's floral prints, army camouflage, disco diva, cowgirl, or any combination thereof.  I've always prided myself on my eclectic style, but this might be a bit much even for me.  We shall see.

Work - I'm currently employed in Hell, which means that I work for the Devil.  Yes, the Devil has many names.... Satan..... Beelzebub..... Lucifer.... Stephanie. You might not have been aware that the Supreme Evil Being in the universe is currently incarnated in the body of a petite woman from New Zealand, but now you know.  Consider yourselves warned.

Today's Story - I thought I'd share this experience with you even though it has absolutely nothing to do with London.  When I was in Los Angeles a couple of years ago, I visited the famous slutty-lingerie store Frederick's of Hollywood (much to everyone's surprise, I'm sure).  As I was browsing, the following happened: a young English couple skulked into the store, clearly embarrassed at being there.  They approached the salesgirl next to me, and the English girl (who had a huge rack) shyly asked her: "Excuse me, but do you sell minimizer bras?"  An ominous silence fell.  The ultra-sassy black salesgirl (who had waist-length blonde braids, four-inch fingernails and more attitude than Madonna) looked at her with the undisguised contempt she might have shown for a urine sample and drawled, "Giiiiirl....this is Frederick's of Hollywood.  We MAXIMIZE!!!"  Hee!  Heeheeheeheehee!!!

Shamrocks and shenanigans

Oops, sorry, my pretties - it's been rather a while since I posted, but I hope you'll forgive me as it's all a bit of a blur at the moment while I deal with all the things I have to do before I move away!  But Miss K has plenty to tell you - in addition to running around Paris like a maniac, checking things off my "must-see/do-this-before-I-go" list, I've been on road trips to the Loire Valley and to Normandy on the last two weekends, and as soon as I sort through the bajillion photos I took, I'll be sure to tell you about those rather fabulous adventures.  

But in the meantime, here we are on St Patrick's Day, and as it's my third (and final) one in Paris and I've posted about the last two (I still can't believe there was reggae in 2010 and  The eyes have it. Well, they used to in 2011, which happened right after St Paddy's Day, so let's count that as my entry from that year, shall we?), I should probably keep on with tradition and post about this one too.  Well, gentle readers, pray for me and my liver, because this year, I am spending St Paddy's with actual Irish people (and plenty of them)- which bodes extremely well for a good time, but I shudder to anticipate what sort of state I'll be in tomorrow!    Well, as long as there's no black eye this year, it will all be grand.  I'll let you know how it turns out as soon as I can string together a coherent sentence, so....probably somewhere around Tuesday? 

The eyes have it. Well, they used to...

I got an email today from one of my readers - it went like this:

When you say "I'll tell you tomorrow..." on a Thursday and then wait until the following Monday, what are your loyal readers supposed to assume?

A) Four-day hangover?

B) Rugged Irishman?

C) All relevant photos involve you wearing (exposed) green unmentionables?

D) All of the above?

Well, gentle readers, that's an excellent point, and my apologies for the delay.  Sadly, it had nothing to do with A), B) or C), far less D)!  I only wish any of those things had been the reason... 

St Paddy's evening on Thursday was good fun, but Friday night turned out to be a different story.  I  went to a party on a boat on the Seine, which was also good fun, right up until the end.  Unfortunately, when I was about to leave, I attempted a dazzlingly complicated feat of physical coordination: walking up the stairs and putting on my coat at the same time.  Yeah, this might be easy for you, but Miss K is well-known to be the clumsiest person in the world - especially on a moving surface. Even moored, the boat was bobbing up and down in the river, and the wash from a passing bateau-mouche hit our boat just as I was putting my arms in the sleeves of my coat, and that's when I tripped up the stairs.   And how did I break my fall, you ask?  Well, with my face, of course.

More specifically, I broke the fall with my right eye.  Now, Miss K is ever an optimist, and I am extremely grateful to have not broken my teeth or my nose, but not only do I have one hell of a black eye, the impact ripped off most of the lashes on that eye as well - aieee!!!  Never mind the cuts and bruising, never mind that I woke up on Saturday with blood all over my pillowcase and my eye puffed up like a blowfish, never mind that it hurt like the freakin' bejaysus - I don't care about any of that.  What I care about is this: my eye is bald!  I have a bald eyeball!  I'm eye-bald!  Wahhh!!!

And I can prove it - see below for before and after photos of my poor eye...

Before:  Not too shabby, right?  Nice colour, decent lashes, perfectly presentable.

After:  Saturday morning.  Eye-bald!

After:  Today. Still no lashes, just applied a little eyeliner -verrry carefully!  Notice how the bruises are turning neon-green on the left?  Yeah, that's going to be sexy...

But will there be green wine?

Gentle readers, those of you who are long-term readers of this blog may recall that my St Patrick's Day festivities last year lacked a certain....something (I still can't believe there was reggae).  So this year I am taking no chances - I have tracked down a venue which is hosting a St Paddy's Day party that nearly every expat in Paris will be  attending and I'm going with my friend Southern Belle.  So, fun is definitely on the cards but will anything of interest happen?  I'll tell you tomorrow...

I still can't believe there was reggae

Okay, I am reporting back about St Patrick's Day in Paris and the news ain't good.  There may have been good celebrations of this holiday somewhere in this city, but not where I was.  You might think that an Irish pub would be a good place in which to celebrate such an event, correct?  Well, not if you are in the worst Irish pub in the world (and I have been in Irish pubs everywhere from Sligo to Singapore to  San Francisco, so trust me, I have a pretty comprehensive basis for comparison). 

I still had a good time, because I was with a really fun group of people, but really, an Irish pub which wasn't even playing Irish music on St Patrick's Day?  Disgraceful.  Personally, I think the real high point was when the band (who were all as French as beret-wearing poodles) played a reggae version of "Englishman in New York".   Let's just think about that for a moment, shall we?   FRENCH band playing a song written by an ENGLISHMAN about another ENGLISHMAN in NEW YORK.   Played REGGAE-STYLE.   On St Patrick's Day!!!  I just, I.... really, there are just no words, so I will  just leave you to imagine the horror of it. 

To be sure, to be sure...

Ahhh, sure and 'tis the 17th of March, the day when St Patrick drove all the snakes out of...erm...Paris?  Wait, something's not right there...  

Anyway, yes, it's good old St Paddy's day here in Paris and I am wondering what to expect (and for those of you thinking "Miss K, you're an idiot, why would there be anything in Paris to celebrate St Patrick's day?" I would respond that I wouldn't have expected much here regarding Burns night, either, but scroll backwards to find that post, should you feel so inclined.).  So I feel that it behooves me to go forth and check into it for you - I'm going to an expat party tonight and I will report back.  Unfortunately, as much as I like to get in the spirit of the day, my great Moving-Countries-Wardrobe-Cull of 09 means that I will no longer be clad in green from head to toe as in previous years (which is probably a good thing as I looked like an oversized and slightly deranged leprechaun).  So I will make do with green earrings, and hell, my eyes are pretty damn green, that will just have to be good enough.   I'm afraid I won't be able to tell you about the green beer here (I can't stand beer, regardless of what colour it is), but if there's green wine, I will be all over that action.  Only so that I can report back to you - honestly, the things I do for you, gentle readers...