Last month I participated in College’s Greatest Weekend, otherwise know as the Little 500 at Indiana University. While out and about, we noticed a horrifying trend on the sorostitutes parading around town: neon-colored over-sized ’80s style tee-shirts over (of course) black tights, similarly neon-colored nylon baseball caps, and–I kid you fucking not–FANNY PACKS. This seemed to be a new low from the sheep who have brought us such fashion fads as Ugg boots, tights as pants, unwashed hair in giant topknots, and, well, generally looking like a homeless prostitute.*
College's Greatest Weekend for making bad decisions
This made me wonder, how do you make such hideous fashion choices? How do you walk past a mirror and not gag a little bit? Surely it must be a conscious decision to look so terrible–at least conscious on the part of the first few girls who did it, and then of course no further thought is required for the rest of them. Thank goodness. If they all thought for themselves I shudder to imagine what cavalcade of catastrophes would be defacing the streets of the beautiful city in which I live.
The claaawww chooses who will stay and who will go.
So here’s how I imagine it goes: You wake up one morning a sorority girl (like, OMG YAY!!1!). You stare into your closet, trying to decide what to wear. You systematically go through your best features, and pointedly choose to hide them. You similarly take note of the features you are less proud of, and decide to enunciate them. For instance:
I am a young woman living in a post-post-modern world.
Therefore, I will wear hideous clothes from that one decade my AI’s talk about where people made the worst possible style choices ever: the 1980s!
I fear these douche bags had something to do with it. I will tell you this is from a video about Little 5, but I am not linking to it. We can’t encourage this kind of idiocy.
Gross. I just threw up in my mouth a little. Moving on.
I have a shape!
Therefore, I shall hide this shape under a really long, unstructured shirt. I will look like a flat box, like the one my daddy sent me with my iPad. Unless I am putting on the Keystone pounds, in which case I will look like the box my daddy sent me with my refrigerator.
There are no sadder models on earth than Urban Outfitters models. Even when your shirt is smiling.
Great. What about my lower half?
Oh no! Problem area for most normal human females! (Also problem area for certain feline females who shall not be named. Pixel.)
Should I try wearing something that minimizes my sizeable downtown assets? Certainly not! I shall wear something so thin it’s hardly worth mentioning. It should be real stretchy too, so you can see every ripple, bulge, and possibly even my lady lips. That’ll keep the boys guessing.
Tights. Are not. Pants.
Almost there! I’m super duper excited about what’s happening right now.
OMG, is that why they call them feet?
I will therefore put them in goofy elephant foot-shaped fleece like my Nana wears in the old folks’ home.
No wait, Alasynne told me that is sooo last year. Let’s wrap them in an Ace bandage condom so that everyone will know about my total for reals concern about like poor people without feet and junk.
Awesome. Outfit disaster achieved. I look like total crap. Let’s go lick the underside of the bar at Sports! But wait, I totally need somewhere to put my fake ID. Since I didn’t go for the cargo tights, and I’m not wearing a bra…I know! FANNY PACK.
That Nike one on right is legit from the '80s. Too legit to quit, in fact.
Seriously, ladies? Seriously? How is this a rational decision? Is it a dare? Were you drunk-dressing? I fear, fellow upright citizens, that we are one slippery “Oh this is totally funny and hot” away from Cap-sacs. The Fannypack for your head. No really.
(Although this looks like a great way to get your cardio in while simultaneously drying your dog after a bath.)
Now, I’m not saying all trends are dumb, and I certainly have worn long tunic-y shirts myself, and neon outfits and fanny packs when I was 6, like, at the end of the ’80s. I just implore you to take a look in the mirror, take a drink of water to clear your Natty Ice hangover, wipe the smeared mascara away from your eyes, scratch the crust of vomit out of your hair, and ask yourself, “Is this really the image I want to present to the world today?” And if it is, then carry on. The world will label you as the kind of girl you can buy for a cigarette butt floating in half a bottle of Skoal to take you for a real good 18 minutes in the dumpster behind Denny’s off of Business Highway 37.
*Sorry for any sorority girls who do not subscribe to these fads and who might actually be contributing members of society. Please tell your sisters to MAKE BETTER DECISIONS.
I promise my next post will be funny and entertaining, but for now I wanted to brag about share my latest craftventures.
I know you're jealous of my vintage Lisa Frank tape measure
Item 1
Skirt with pockets. I made this awhile ago but now it’s warming up so I can actually wear it.
Ah it's too bright and saturated out!
Item 2
Beach bag. I’m not in love with this yet, but we’ll see how it does on it’s test run to Hawaii.
Note the fancy pocket and magnetic closures
I'll be in the house on the right, under the trees, by tomorrow evening
Item 3
I searched erverywhere for a straw fedora I could wear without feeling like a tool, and finally found this one at Urban Outfitters. Adorable bow, but what if I’m not wearing black?
So I took some leftover fabrics and made a new band I can button over the old one, threw together some yo-yos with some spare buttons (I have a bag o’ extra buttons that you get with all your buttony shirts. I’ve used the tiny little ziploc bags they come in to give out seeds as part of a bridal shower gift.), and Bob’s your uncle!
I’ve said before that music is the surest way for me to be pulled into the past. It’s like a wormhole–one minute I’m minding my own business, listening to one of my Pandora stations and creating endless wishlists on clothing sites working hard, then suddenly a song grabs me by the stomach and pulls me years, decades into the past. So I wanted to play a little game to see how good my music memory really is. I can’t promise this will be interesting to anyone but me, but maybe you have stored an unnecessarily detailed amount of information about every artist and song you’ve ever listened to as well. Play along. Or maybe you’ve filled your head with more useful information, like calculus, or when to use effect vs. affect (I will never get that one). Then skip this altogether, I promise you won’t hurt my feelings.
The game: I’m going to hit shuffle on my iPod and see how much I can remember about the first 8 artists that come up. (I was going to do 10 but I’m le tired.) I’m cheating by not playing in my iTunes library, because I’m convinced My Music file is a portal wherein all manner of random music flocks to frolic and live out their days in peace. I just don’t know how some of that stuff got in there. Here we go…
1. Hypnotise, The White Stripes: One night I was finishing up my closing shift at WTIU, switching to the midnight program which was Charlie Rose. He had The White Stripes on as his guests, which I thought was interesting because in my mind, The White Stripes were sort of a goth band and I didn’t think Charlie rolled like that. I associated them with Rob Zombie and White Zombie for some reason, and was therefore really surprised when Jack and Meg started to play something from Get Behind Me Satan. It was awesome. I ran home and turned the TV on to see the rest of their interview/performance. It’s been love ever since. <3 I love Jack in The White Stripes, I love him in The Raconteurs, I love him in Cold Mountain and wish he’d come to Bean Blossom to play some bluegrass for us. <3 I’m very sad to hear about the band’s breakup, but I’m sure they’d like to move on with their lives.
2. Killing Lies, The Strokes: The Strokes are a recent find for me, getting repeated thumbs ups on one of my Pandora stations. Probably the one that started out as The Shins radio, which has since been renamed to “The” Bands radio because that seems to be a requirement of the artists invited to this party. The Shins, The Strokes, The Kooks, The Fratellis (who now have their own station), etc. That’s not a very interesting story…but then I found $5.
3. The Only Way, Glass Halo: Oh hey! I know these guys! Glass Halo is an excellent band from Indy, the guitarist of which was in the QC department at Finelight off and on for the past few years. I think he started shortly after me, or maybe shortly before me? It’s hard to tell, that whole period is a blurry area of my memory purposefully erased by strategic alcohol consumption. They play in B-town a bit if you’re around here, and they consistently win Battles of the Bands. Check their immaculate grammar and spelling and also their songs: http://www.glasshalo.net/ Stalker Girlfriend is excellent, and they covered Bang Bang by Cher at a Bear’s Place concert to my utter delight.
4. Where Would I Be, Cake: Indeed, where would I be without Cake? Ok, I can’t actually remember the moment we met, but I’m going to guess it was a CD-swap party and they were probably swapped from Ms. Pitt. This song is on Prolonging the Magic, which was my first album of theirs and is still timeless. One time I was eating dinner in a cafe in Belgium when the restaurant’s string band played Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps. Which is probably a very old song, but was pretty surprising to me at the time. Do you like how I dropped in some international travel without any introduction like it’s totally No Big Deal? Like, on any given day I might be having dinner in Belgium, so there’s no need to make a fuss.
5. The Christmas Waltz, Harry Connick Jr.: He’s so talented. I was excited at first because I thought this was going to be Sinatra, but I’ll forgive Harry what I cannot forgive Buble. Harry can sound like Frank Sinatra anytime he likes. All of my Harry music comes from my dad, who had a mild obsession with the man for most of the 90′s due to his unique New Orleans jazzy jazz. I’m not a superfan, but he’s quite easy on the ears. K that was boring too…but then I landed a triple lutz.
6. Cologne (Piano Orchestra Version), Ben Folds: I only started listening to Ben to study for a summer concert I bought tickets to around 2005. I was going for the two other co-headliners, Guster and Rufus Wainwright, but wanted to know some of Ben’s songs too beforehand. And OMG. Love again. I love anyone who features the piano. And he’s funny and a nerd. And I think we’d be best friends in real life, because wouldn’t you know he’s one of the judges on The Sing Off and released an a capella album of his songs. This is my least favorite album (Way to Normal), and this song is so sad I sometimes have to skip it. But I forgive him. Because he does awesome things like cover KeSha for a good cause (even gooder than just trying to make crap sound less like crap).
7. Turn It On, Franz Ferdinand: I definitely found Franz in a CD-swap, care of Ms. Winter, and I definitely only picked the band up because they named themselves after one of my ancestors, Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria. That’s right, I’m obsessed with royals because I always should have been royalty. Damn that Hitler.* But it turns out I love the music of this Welsh band, even if this album (Tonight: Franz Ferdinand) is a little far out in the electronica space for me.
I mean how can you not love Take Me Out?
I should be in this photo. Right next to his mustache.
8. The Dynamo of Volition (From an All Night Session), Jason Mraz: Oh Jason. I can’t even…sometimes you just…I think you’re so…hearts. I get a little heady sometimes listening to Jason. I’ve seen him at the Murat in Indy with my best friend comma Gay Geologist category and best friend comma Chinese Lady category, as well as at the Indiana State Fair with my best friend comma Met Through Habitat category. I must’ve gotten his first album from a CD-swap as well, and I haven’t missed one since. I get choked up every time I try to sing along to A Beautiful Mess (because that song is like, totally about me, you guys). His blog is funny and poignant and he seems to be a genuinely wonderful, inspiring person. I hope to meet him in Hawaii so we can be straw-fedora-hat-wearing friends.
So that was fun. For me. If you read all of that, thank you. Look, here’s a cute puppy for your troubles:
*Note: I found while looking for that photo that it was a Serbian who assassinated poor Franz. Figures.
I’m working on a real post, but it’s going to require some more field research than I had anticipated…so here’s a cheap post about my cat!
Here she is. Her name was very nearly Soap, Stegosaurus, or Cow. But instead her name is Pixel.
It's actually Pixel Cowbell Smidget Cowbell. Because she had a fever, and there was only one cure.
Majestic. When I went to the animal shelter, I found her in the group play room, hiding in a carpet-covered cylinder. She had a ridiculous freckle nose. She had a silly little nubbin of a tail. She had a look on her face that cried, “Get me the hell away from these idiots.” It was love at first sight.
Yep, that was the look.
One of the chief reasons I wanted to get my own place was to get a cat. On my lunch hour I brought a cat carrier to the animal shelter, they inserted the kitty, and I brought her home. I was SO EXCITED. I got home, welcomed as-yet-nameless kitty to my apartment, and opened the cat carrier. She walked out cautiously, one paw after another. Then she kept coming. Too much cat came out of that carrier. One tail too much, to be exact.
I was HORRIFIED, and immediately called the shelter. “I–THINK–YOU–GAVE ME–THE–WRONG–CAT” I said as calmly as I could. “Oh really? What makes you think that?” Listen. I chose the one cat with a distinguishing feature. It is not that hard to pick her out of the lineup. “Well, we don’t see one with no tail, are you sure you don’t have the right one?” “YES I’M FUCKING SURE.” I brought tailful kitty back, trying to assuage my guilt for introducing a sweet cat to freedom only to take it away immediately by telling him, “You’re a nice cat. You have a lovely long tail. No one will be able to resist you.” At the shelter, the nice people did find the kitty with no tail and I took her home, crying all the way.
But all’s well that ends well. She is a silly cat. She is painfully shy until she is comfortable around you, and then she won’t shut the hell up. And she’ll probably fart on you. She has some weird quirks, like demanding that you slap her in the backend until your hands go numb. Every single night she gets lost when I go to bed, and wanders around the house crying in the dark until I shout, “Pixel! I’m in bed you dumb fatty! Same place as last night!”
She likes to help me arrange my drawers and re-purposes them for better uses.
She watches her figure…
...watches it expand.
She always poses prettily for the camera.
She’s a good study buddy.
And a good nap buddy.
She’s pretty much me, in feline form. Which, let’s be honest, it’s pretty much just me.
People say that smell is the sense most closely linked to memory (they say that, right?), but I would submit sound as a close second. Specifically musical sounds. So when I feel like being awash in reminiscence, I want to hear the songs of my youth.
If I could smell my childhood, I’m not sure what it would smell like–nail polish? McDonald’s? Catholic guilt?–but if I could hear the soundtrack to my childhood, it would certainly sound like this: Soft 90′s (Pandora station link). Through this experiment I have concluded that the ’90s, where I spent most of my formative years, was backed entirely by melancholy songs featuring acoustic guitars, harmonicas, and vowels ending in the letter “A.”
If you, too, were a child of the ’90s, or if you spent a lot of time listening to the radio in the ’90s because that was the only real option, please enjoy. I can promise repeated moments of groaning followed by “Oh, nooooo” quickly replaced by a long “Yessssssss.” You will cringe at how many songs you still remember all the words to.
You will be taken back to a simpler time: a time before iPods and the possibility that you might quite unknowingly become a pirate, but not the cool kind. A time perhaps before the Internet and email or at least of dial up modems. A time when you could open a webpage and go do something else for a few minutes while it loaded, a time when you had to shout at your sister to get off the phone because you were ON THE COMPUTER! A time when tables were an acceptable form of graphic design. A time before advertisers could follow you around for hours. A time when if you wanted to talk to someone a vocal interaction was required. A time when there were a mere 100 TV channels to choose from (or 7, if you were me without cable). A time when the most you had to worry about was your upcoming report on Argentina and how many photocopies Kinkos would let you make from your World Book Encyclopedia. A time when the worst that could happen at the airport was that your flight was delayed. A time when the world was smaller and you were insulated from the daily terrors faced by other countries. A time before you knew what a calorie was, and the most thought you put into your food was whether you could convince your friend with the pizza lunchable that they definitely wanted to trade you for your boring ham lunchable. A time when going to the mall was the best way to entertain yourself. Especially after they banned hacky sacks from school because that one kid broke his toe. A time when you read books printed on paper (like Goosebumps), a time when you played games printed on boards (even Electronic Mall Madness!), a time when your parents read the news printed on newspaper (and you read the Sunday comics for Calvin and Hobbes). A time when you watched a movie and believed someone really blew that building up and that actor really jumped off of it just in time. A time when you wanted to play guitar like Dave Matthews, be an actor like Leo DiCaprio, be a space explorer or anything at all, and it was possible. A happy time, I hope. A time when everything was “A”-okay.
As a complete document nerd, I am a big believer in Google docs. I’ve been using them for years now, and I think they are a great way to keep groups of people organized and, literally, on the same page.
However, the more I try to use them as a complete replacement for their Microsoft Office counterparts, the more I’m disappointed and frustrated. I’ve been using docs exclusively to help keep my production team organized, but I can usually only take so many frustrations before I “download as .xls”. I just don’t have the time to try and force Google’s spreadsheets to do what I want.
After one such frustration, I tweeted the following:
Ok, that was pretty harsh. But I was really annoyed. Probably shouldn’t have thrown the “mentally challenged” part in there–not classy. But I said it, and to my surprise I received the following reply:
Miss Teresa Wu, according to her Twitter description, is a “community manager at @GoogleDocs. author of @mymomisafob.” Eager to take this opportunity, I quickly responded:
Ha! Get it! Funny. Whether my jab was picked up or not, @resawu hit me back with:
Is she? Is she really? ‘Cause here it is. I wish I could embed it with SlideShare or something, but I spent an amount of time on those animations, and they’re important to the…comedic timing.
Fiance and I were discussing childhood past times the other day, and I realized how very crafty I’ve been throughout the years. Crafty as in conniving and mischievous, yes, but also crafty as in crafts. Y. Crafts-y. As an only child, my mother very smartly exposed me to a wide array of art projects and hobbies, and as is my nature I would immerse myself in whatever the flavor of the month happened to be. From a very early age I found in me a limitless reserve of focus and the ability to spend hours and hours in the singular pursuit of one great…thing. The revelation that I could make things that slack-jawed yokels bought in stores was earth shattering, and not only did such an epiphany allow me to be creative, it also caused me to look with suspicion at the value of every item for sale. “I could make that,” I’d often say to myself, and pass the object by with a smug sense of satisfaction. Whether I actually did go home and make it was another story.
On the other hand, the amount of carefully crafted Jtal-brand crap that my parents must have stashed away is likely…well, quite…an amount. Quite. I mean really, you name it, I’ve had an it phase. Needlepoint, cross-stitch, hook and latch, ceramic painting (oh the gnomes I’ve known), soap making, candle making (in the solid wax, wax beads AND gel varieties), coin collecting, coin cleaning, mug collecting, bookmark collecting, rock collecting (I still can’t help myself on the beach), fossil hunting, gold mining, rocket making, sewing, clothes modificationing, knitting (but not crocheting. Fuck crochet), clay modeling, drawing, painting, film photography, film processing, photo essaying, scrapbooking, origami origamying, video directing, video editing, creative writing, antiquing, friendship bracelet making (but who didn’t get sucked into this, really), magic trick learning, jigsaw puzzling, cosmetology…doing, lion taming, UFO sighting, vampiring, fixed-wing aircraft piloting, dragon slaying, bedazzling. Ok, now I’m just seeing if you were paying attention.
I don’t really remember what the point of this rant was. Something about having creative outlets. They’re important. Turns you into more of a well-rounded person. Lets some of the crazy out in a constructive (often constructing) fashion. Can you tell I don’t have any projects going on right now? You can? YOU CAN? That’s funny.
If you’re itching for a new hobby, just give me a ring. I caught them all. But let me just warn you, there’s no tincture for that kind of rash. That’s right, I could have said ointment or salve, but I didn’t. Because I’m crafty even with the English language.
I’ve recently been inspired by the sewing projects of my friends Aubrey (www.adventuresinaubreyland.com) and Jessica (whatiwore.tumblr.com–who is not a friend in real life, but she lives in my town and has a crafty prowess), and will therefore take on some sewing projects over Spring Break. Woo! Spring Break!
Here are some recent (non-sewing) crafty projects for your inspection.
Magnificent IU-themed Fair Isles knitted scarf
I may have made this scarf too awesome to actually be worn by humans, but Charlie can handle it.
Long charm necklace I assembled. That box opens and contains TREATS.
I’LL bet those last few posts were not very entertaining. So–I present to you: A Late Night Conversation. This was just after the Super Bowl. Timely! Contextual!
ME: Hey, why are they called the Packers? For that matter, why are they called the Steelers?
FIANCE: Well the Packers, something something about meat packing.
ME: Oh, ok. What about the Steelers though? Is Pittsburgh full of thieves?
FIANCE: Ha. Like, steal-ers. I get it.
ME: Boo. They probably have some kind of complicated etymology.
FIANCE: Did you just say “complicated etymology” to me?
ME: Yes.
FIANCE: It’s like, midnight.
ME: I’m in grad school.
FIANCE: Yeah, but…c’mon.
ME: It’s been a slow semester. I haven’t even said “ontology” once this year.
FIANCE: …
ME: …
FIANCE: It probably has something to do with the steel industry.
ME: … What does? Oh right. Boo. I suppose that makes sense. Lame. So, we’ll just name ourselves after whatever we happen to be doing most of the time?
FIANCE: I guess so.
ME: So, what if the city was famous for iron?
ME & FIANCE (at the same time! We’re such a great team!): Ironers? Ha!
ME: And what would you call a team in a city where they mine ore?
So, you’ve seen what Paris has to offer. If you’re my hairdresser, you’re yawning. You’re bored. You’re so over it. Another delicious crepe with a perfectly-made espresso at a charming cafe table on the street across from a 16th-century cathedral? Pah-lease. Find me something to do.
Well, fine. Here are some great day trips when Paris is your home base. You could even ride your high horse to some of these. But let me tell you, they’re tricky to get through those metro ticket-takers.
Some of Versaille's mesmerizing gardens
1. Versailles. You can’t miss it. It’s just a 30-ish minute ride on the longer metro line (I think it’s like, B? Or C?). Fab in any season, but if you’re coming in late spring or summer, I’d skip the palace and go straight to the gardens. You can spend all day there, just moseying around, picnicking with some swans, canoeing down the canal or biking around like a maniac. The palace is gorgeous, and you really should see it, but it was so packed this past July I felt bad for subjecting Fiance to it. You can’t really stop and look around, you just have to mooooove when the crowd moooooves (those extra “o”s were to indicate my feeling of cow-itude). You might be able to amuse yourself by cutting off, then slowing down to frustrate some old lady who bodychecks you, but you’ll be glad to get outside. If you’re there in the off seasons, take the extra guided tour through the King’s apartment and Opera house. Spend some time in gilded finery.
Just two of Rouen's thousand spires
2. Rouen. My home for a few months, Rouen is a great little city heavy on the Norman influence. It’s all kinds of Norman. It might even be the capital (of Normandy). Great little streets, a beautifully Gothic cathedral with an unlucky history (quite nearly destroyed by bombs in both World Wars), nice shopping, great cafes. Stop by the Place Jeanne d’Arc to see where Joan of Arc was burned alive! Toasty! About an hour and a half train ride from Paris.
3. Giverny. In the spring or summer, Giverny is a beautiful little town in northern Normandy bursting with blooms. Just a short train from Paris to Chernon, then a shuttle to Giverny, about an hour total travel. Giverny is famous as Monet’s final home, where he cultivated beautiful gardens just to paint them. You can stand on the Japanese bridge from his water lily paintings. The light is so soft, you might literally become a mere impression of your former self. And, hey! It’s on a train line that continues to Rouen, so you can get a two-fer.
4. Loire Valley. I know there are a number of tours that pick up and end in Paris, with trips to a couple of castles and maybe some wineries. My verbose thoughts on the Loire Valley with just three of the amazing chateaux here.
Pointe du Hoc, with Omaha in the background
5. D-day Beaches. This is a little bit of a stretch–two hours by train each way–but if you don’t have time for a proper visit to the Norman coast (I recommend staying in Caen, where there’s a beautiful abbey, 9th century castle/fortress and a fantastic World War II museum), it’s really an amazing experience that I think is worth it. On this past trip of mine, I was really nervous we weren’t going to be able to work out the details for a day trip–I knew Fiance would love it–but thankfully, we did. There are tons of private tours, just find one that suits your budget and schedule. They usually pick you up at the train station in Bayeux with a minivan, and the tour group usually consists of only that van-full. Guides are passionate about the history of D-day and love answering questions and giving you lesser-known facts. Our trip this time started at Pointe du Hoc (left as it was after the war, with bomb craters, turrets and bunkers), then went to Omaha Beach, and finally to the American Cemetery. Very powerful and awe-inspiring, though it can be a bit surreal when you see people playing with dogs at Pointe du Hoc or taking boats out on Omaha. But it’s a sign of long-fought-for healing.
Any other good day trips from Paris? We considered scooting over to Belgium, but didn’t have enough days. Hope this has satisfied you that there is, actually, plenty to do when visiting Paris.
That whole ending with StefCory has gotten me depressed, so I’m going to go back to Paris. In my blog at least. This might not be that entertaining, so you have my permission to skip it. Sorry.
Here’s the thing about Paris. Let me tell you. Are you sitting down? Here it is. Paris is big. There I said it.
So my thing about Paris is: pick your battles. I mean pick the things you must see, and then take some time to enjoy just being there. You can’t turn a corner in Paris without seeing some beautiful, important landmark, so don’t stress yourself out too much trying to see absolutely everything. You’ll never be able to leave. Which may not be a bad thing…
My personal faves?
Lookit those sexy buttresses
1. Notre Dame. If you have to choose between waiting 2.5 hours in line to go to the roofs or 2.5 hours in line to go inside (as we did in July), go for the roofs. The inside is stunning and breathtaking and all that, but there are a lot of cathedrals in the world…they all have the same layout (like, literally).
Fun fact: If it doesn't spout water, it's a "chimera."
You get the idea. But there’s only one that is situated in the middle of Paris with such an important history and such an incredible view. Plus you get such a sense of accomplishment after you climb the 200-plus stairs. Aaaand you get to hang out with the gargoyles/chimera. And feel like Quasimodo. So that’s pretty great.
2. La Tour Eiffel. Obv. You don’t need to go up this one. Just go meet it. It’s pretty hard to miss.
Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel in the Tuileries
3. Jardin des Tuileries. These are the gardens and green space outside of the Louvre. It’s so lovely to stroll and have lunch and be groovy. Bonus: everything lines up here! From the Louvre to the pyramid to the mini-Arc de Triomphe to the obelisk to the big Arc de Triomphe to the Champs Elysees.
Inside the gallery of the Musée de l'Armée, dome of les Invalides
Now here we’ll have to think about your priorities. Do you not care for art museums? Don’t go to the Louvre or the Orsay. Do you? Well then you can’t really miss them, can you. Looking for something out of the ordinary? You will never forget a tour through the catacombs. Love pretending to live the charmed life? Head to the Champs Élysées and shop among the privileged. Are you a history or military buff? A new one for me, Fiance and I took a trip to the Musée de l’Armée and Les Invalides. I wish we’d had more time, but I’m glad we got
to stop in, Fiance seemed to quite enjoy himself. And Les Invalides–the 2nd tallest structure in the city–is an overwhelming homage and tomb to France’s biggest little terror, Napoleon.
And between your sightseeing, take the time to meander around, have a café or a glass of vin, and have a long and leisurely dinner with your closest amis. I can’t really tell you anything about the Parisian nightlife, because I spent most of my nights laughing hysterically with my buddies. Doing really silly things like this:
It's the best game ever
And so in summary: prioritize, relax…profit.
Any sights I left out? Don’t say Versailles, I’m going to talk about day trips from Paris next.
