Still on the fuel of the previous night’s onion soup and admittedly feeling a bit guilty about it, Erin and I opted for a non metro day. We took an understated “stroll” to and through the Père Lachaise Cemetery. We were well advised by everyone who has been there that it was worth the trip. It would have been a horrible shame to have not come. It’s the type of place that makes you appreciate life. Not so much from inevitable mortality but in the fact that we love to the point of such grand monumental tributes. It was the cemetery of horror movies and fairytales alike. Seemingly going on forever, hills and roads densely packed with old and new grave sites side by side. Two hundred years of memories and monuments to life. Some shiny and polished others overgrown and hardly identifiable but everyone as beautiful as the last. I could have lost my mind and photographed every plot. Thank goodness to sanity, I did not. 
Now officially starving we went on a goose chase through the suburbs of Paris. Refusing to pay $20 for a salad, we opted to go far from the tourist path and find a local spot. Unfortunately for us, that only works in Paris when you are in fact a local. We found a spot, sat down. Read over the entire menu…mouths salivating…to then have the waiter come by and hand signal to us that we could not order. We surmised that meant there was no food? At a restaurant? Hmmm…the people next to us caught his attention and made a face like “are you serious.” The waiter made a mocking face and a shove off hand signal. Make your own assumptions but I gather that means. “I don’t care to serve these American’s today, I don’t speak English and I don’t care to try.”
We did finally find a spot, just a block from home that turned out to be absolutely delicious and very well priced. The waiter even brought us cold water. What a dream. Only down fall was that we had 3 cackling old brods sitting next to us. They were painted up like circus freaks, spilling drinks like lushes and making spitting noises for effect. On any other day without starvation and dehydration lingering, I would have laughed and thought good for them, enjoying life. Today it felt like stiletto heels being drilled into my temples. It did kind of remind us of being in the food court of the International Mall, a part of home I mostly block. It’s a bit like an indoor, third world flee market. Air-conditioned at least.
I may have mentioned before that I had been buying new clothes to avoid the laundry situation. Well, the gravy train ended and I was forced to go to the laundry mat. It costs me $15 per load to wash them and wait for them myself!! What the hell is that! No wonder there is such a natural musk here. You have to really think twice. At home I wash twice a week sometimes. That’s a $120 a month habit. There may be rehab here for such madness.
After work was all done, we head to Chatelet and stumbled upon quite a jem, Le Baiser Sale. An awesome little Jazz bar. We missed the jam session but they kept the place going with awesome recorded picks. The drinks were nothing to be ashamed of either. We chat it up with pals all night. Something about this city or this time that has me rather pensive. It’s nice to have an outlet in the very real people here. I almost had to take a life for getting too close to my lady but all is fair in love and war.
Convos from Paris: Part 2
Erin: These two with the bowl cuts?
Maris: Straight.
Erin: Guy with the skin tight superman shirt?
Maris: Straight as an arrow.
Erin: Guy with waist length wavy Jesus hair. Gay or straight?
Maris: Totally straight.
Erin: This one with the skirt and the knee high boots?
Maris: questionable.
Maris: I counted 5 exclamation marks in the invite.
Erin: Tell him "I'm not going to come if you are whatever about it.”
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