hippy trippin

uhm.....

incessantly_insatiable — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 12:07:00 GMT

so i JUST realized--now that this has been up for the past few weeks--that the WHOLE WIDE FRIGGIN world can read it!! AGH! SO much for my private thoughts remaining 'private'. i'm scaring people far and wide. ha haa!!

welcome to my head, World. my naked twisted little head....

Gallery: modesto and versailles

incessantly_insatiable — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 08:29:00 GMT

pre-trip musings

incessantly_insatiable — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 14:44:00 GMT

I'm spending the night at home tonight preparing to leave for Paris in a few days...and I always, always over pack. I'm totally the girl that goes away for 2 days and brings 8 changes of clothes: two casual shorts/shirts, two casual jeans/tops (dark and light), two dress pants/tops (short/short sleeve) and two dress pants (long/long sleeve), just in case...(you never know when you might be caught in the desert one day and a blizzard the next).

This time though...I seriously want to take nothing but my hairdryer (Paris isn't big enough for my hair and humidity), makeup bag, brush, toothbrush, journal, paints, camera, tennis shoes, two casual outfits and a jacket and my books. That's it. I think I'm seriously going to buy everything else when I get there...maybe even the tennis shoes. Shoot, now that I think about it, I'm sure they have books in Paris and paints too!

I'm all about detaching right now...I want removal of everything that I feel like I can't live without. I want to know what it feels like to go without and figure it out. I want to know what not lugging around 3 suitcases full of crap that I really don't care that much about feels like. I want to know what it feels like to come home with my heart full and my bags empty. I want to know what it feels like to bring souvenirs home by way of my eyes and my words and the colors in my art...and nothing else.

I wanted to create a space to write in while I am away...writing is such a part of me...the inner part that hides under layers of garments on the exterior, but is so open to running around naked in my words. I know that beautiful things are going to pour out of this trip and into me and through me...and I wanted to share it with those that I know will appreciate seeing it through my eyes.

VERY few will have access to this...this is really a space for those I trust most with the view of my mind and the trip that will happen in body, but also in my soul. I want to take you all with me on my journey. Here is your path...

XO,

Gallery: brussels

incessantly_insatiable — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 13:50:00 GMT

Gallery: paris

incessantly_insatiable — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 13:44:00 GMT

Gallery: london

incessantly_insatiable — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 13:42:00 GMT

Gallery: new york

incessantly_insatiable — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 13:38:00 GMT

new york 1 (continued)

incessantly_insatiable — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 09:47:00 GMT

it felt like what i had imagined new york to be like--only a little less--like when a movie gets hyped up for a month or two before opening and then when you see it, you feel like the trailer was better. i´m not saying i didnt like it--im just saying the trailer was better.

we started off at the javits center for the international contemporary furniture fair that my best friend from college, john, was an exhibitor in. it was located on 40th street although i have no clue as to why i made any reference to a street number since it doesnt mean anything for me at all. it was a black building on a crowded corner across from numerous other mid to high rise buildings somewhere downtown new york.

the building itself had absolutely no architectural draw for me outside of the interest i had in what the fuck makes an architect NOT able to see what a pile of shit is going to look like while he is making a blueprint of a pile of shit. i digress...

we entered to find the lobby alive with booths all competing for the catch of a fresh-in designers eye. mine was caught by the non-design related starbucks kiosk and across from that a table full of design infused books--heavy on the photos, light on the verbiage.

i looked around to find the registration desk amidst a field of trendy,black rimmed glasses, red lips and black high fashion. i was definitely "at home" (well...excluding the high fashion bit)--although not completely comforted by that knowledge. funny how seeing who you are by looking at those that surround you can sometimes feel like a brief but blunt kick in the ass. my ass was stinging.

i could feel some anxiety starting to grow as i neared my friend john´s booth. some of it in the good anxious way. some in another weird anxious way. i always wonder how much of the energy between he and i his wife is going to feel the reverberations of--and i always worry that she takes it in a wrong way. magnets just are...you cant change them to feathers or crayons or yarn--none of which would have any inherent magnetism but you can understand that all magnets are not meant to go together. john and i will always be magnets and will therefore always have a field of energy between us. we are not, however, the type of magnets that belong together.

how many times i have pondered over magnetism--it fascinates me and before i get off on a completely useless tangent about that, i will go back to my experience of new york.

i felt like a magnet there at the furniture show...or perhaps a paper clip and the show was the magnet...no, actually the show wasnt the magnet--that´s just capatalism--not the booths...not the very strategically lit and laid out spaces. it was the amount of artistry in the room--the intellect and brainpower behind the countless number of designs and objects. things so innately beautiful that you would swear they grew out of the ground that way. perfectly designed chairs, tables, doors, etc...with the smallest of design gestures yielding something so profoundly artful that to even consider using it in a day to day application seemed sacreligious--like it would taint the beauty of the object to use it for what it was created for.

i personally did not make it around to that many of the booths. i think there were something like 1,000 booths there...1,000+ international designer/creative minds all in one room and i felt like an ant that had just stumbled upon a gourmet picnic. where would i start? the tuna salad or the chocolate cake first? my cerebral antennae were on overload.

i soaked up the literature like a brand new towel and stopped at each booth to speak with the designers personally--picking apart their brains to get to the naked place from which they spawned their ideas. it was a designer orgasm. i couldnt get enough. most of the exhibitors that i spoke to were from other countries--some of which i couldnt understand word-wise but felt like i communicated so directly with them through my eyes and hands--through touching and feeling their designs and understanding the process of it in their mind. it was completely invigorating and enthralling--like an all night first date conversation happening over and over---and yes, i DO realize how much i am romanticizing the whole experience, but design IS my current romance--and other designers/artist fuel that passion so it really MUST be romanticized in my writing. it is the current love of my life.

but ok--enough of the ooey-gooey. my friends, who were not so much into my "moment" at the ICFF pulled me outside and onto the "must have" sight seeing tour of new york, which at this point i had no interest in, but my guilty obligatory emotions took over and i stepped out of my orgasmatron and onto the streets of a very wet and crowded new york city in may.

i have really nothing romantic to say about new york. its "america" in its finest capitalist moment--all happening over and over again in a "new york minute". everywhere you look, there is capitalist eye candy, a savings account nightmare and an entepreneurs wet dream. it dizzied me but i tried to focus on the beauty of the old streets and the sounds that came from the myriads of differently cultured peoples meandering their ways toward something--probably on 5th avenue.

crossing the street became an event instead of just a normalcy taking place in reality. peoples faces would show the inevitable question that each of us wanted to know the answer to: "which way are you going and are you gonna get in my way going there?". i wanted to bury my head in the asphalt--which i could somehow smell every where i went--im sure it was mostly exhaust, but i couldnt get "asphalt" out of my nose.

the little white shoes i had chosen to wear were taking the beating of a lifetime on the dirty, raindrop marked streets of a city that doesnt know what sleep is (or "sweep" is) but they carried on (my shoes) until we had walked from the javits center past and into the chrysler building, grand central station, the waldorf astoria, st. barts cathedral, all over 5^th avenue (on a search for socks and a raincoat—found the socks, and later the raincoat) to finally end up in front of a closing museum of modern art.

Michael and jen had given me a pretty decent little tour and now I was being transitioned back to John, Roya and “the clan” for the ICFF opening night gala at the MOMA. Only we had arrived 2 hours early.

Since John and Roya were on their way, Michael and Jen made their way to dinner with their cousin while I took some time out alone to wait on a cold NYC sidewalk for my friends.

It was surprisingly peaceful. I threw my bags down on the concrete inner corner of the MOMA and planted my ass on the cover of one of the fine furniture catalogs (humorously enough, a seating catalog) from earlier in the day. Less than a block away, I could smell a street vendor selling hot candy coated almods and other nuts which caught my nose and drew me over immediately for the purchase of a small $2 vellum made bag of almonds that had each corner twisted up like unicorn’s horns. I love tiny bags. I love that this bag crackled when I grabbed it—and that it was warm—and I loved untwisting the unicorns horns to pull out one perfectly candied almond that smelled like heaven and tasted even better. Everything about that moment was cold with the exception of that almond.

My senses fell in love with that moment there on the cold NYC sidewalk. The drizzle of the rain making my hair misty like a mornings dew on the grass and the sounds of the taxi war going on around me. Here and there the clacking of the multitude of high heels down the sidewalk and the echo of their reverberations off of the Moma’s concrete façade.

It was a good moment—-me there with those almonds. A very nice candy coated moment.

I sat and text messaged some friends for a bit—ya know, the kind that you know will enjoy that kind of a moment with you. She did.

John and Roya and a very blunt “Melissa” arrived. As much as I adore artists sometimes, there are other moments in which I would love to sit and throw my beloved candy almonds in their face—one at a little fucking time. She wasn’t one of those artist—but she was close.

She had red bossy lips that removed me from my candy coated moment of sitting in the Momas concrete crevices. One red bossy lipped demand that forced my umbrella out of my bag and my wailing white shoes back onto the pavement so we could ogle her hew presence in the Museum of Modern Art’s gift shop (she designs jewelry)—and while yes, I will admit that I would want to revel in this moment myself should I ever design anything to artistically profound that it is being sold at the MOMA's gift shop in New York City, there is just something to be said for Humility. But it wasn’t being said about Melissa.

I rather enjoyed the perusal through the gift shop artistries. I’m always fascinated at the never ending creative ways in which you can design a salt and pepper shaker and a flower vase. Really—there’s an obvious market apparently—perhaps I should retire from being an architect and design table top trendies instead.

I bought a designer raincoat. It’s white. It’s made of a soft rubbery material. It has small white plastic buttons that snap just like regular small plastic buttons. People might think I bought it at a gas station. I was happy for a moment because I bought it from the MOMA. “Artist capitalism”—the oxymoron that made me laugh out loud as I handed the lady $50 for my designer raincoat. I better look fucking cool in the rain.

We were shoo’d out of the gift shop for again, it was closing time. For a city known to always have something going on, I seemed to have caught the tail ends of most of it’s “goings on”—at least the ones that I had any real interest in.

We made our way down the street (with a courtesy guide from the ever soft-spoken Melissa—soon to become my new best friend, no doubt). In between belting out which turn to take at which street we got a full on description of her impending blister and even had to stop a few times along the way to see how it was progressing. Someone should come up with a phrase like “A watched blister pops faster” or something like that so people quit focusing on them. The thought of her blister made me think I was getting one. I think I did get one just thinking about it.

“Fellisimo” was the name of the bar we went to and upon reaching the door, we were met by 4 very sveltely dressed women with the inevitable clipboard and the down-the-nose looks that go with them. Luckily, we were on “the List”, but I had that icky feeling that makes me stomach churn everytime I realize that I am standing in a “list” related radius of any kind. “Am I about to be told that I’m not “on the list’ and have to retreat like a downtrodden dog with it’s tail between it’s legs, or instead will I be accepted into this vanity hole and there recognized as a worthy individual because my name—tiffany allen—was written on some god-damned and forsaken club list”? Yeah…you could say I hate “Lists”.

Of course, once found on the “list”, the looks of the gate keepers changed from one of questioning to that of a very fake “welcome”. “We’re so glad you’re here”. Yeah, you’re so glad that you had to double check the spelling of my last name—that’s how “glad”.

We walk into the pristinely painted white room—the new “trendy” white look where the very elaborate frames of the mirrors and crown molding all meld together in one white milky surreal space where the intricacies and elaborations are supposed to disappear into the ivory abyss. Hmm..felt like an asylum to me, but I walk on to where the very handsomely selected staff of bartenders are mixing mojitos to mushroom jazz that is being spun nearby by a Dj that looks like he came down only long enough to shower and dress for the party. Ok, maybe not at all.

I get eyed by a couple of older black-rimmed glasses wearing, obvious designer types in their early to mid 40’s. I’m like a crack pipe for these types and they were fiending for a fix.

I quickly side-step one of them whose mouth was half-way open to spit out some undoubtedly clever pick-up line. I always love to peripherally watch their head turn and watch in dismay as if stupefied by the idea that a woman of my stature could possibly not be enamoured by the presented opportunity to speak to someone with their caliber of wit and wisdom. It made me laugh a little on the inside, and then I felt a little bit bitchy and laughed out loud. His head still turned.

to be continued....

new york 2 (you gotta read NY1 first or this aint gonna make sense!)

incessantly_insatiable — Wed, 13 Jun 2007 20:10:00 GMT

I took a sip of my hip mojito—way too much “jito”, not enough “mo”—so I walk over to the lower level bar to ask for mo “mo” and get hit like lightning with a look from the soap opera good looks bearing bartender that completely left me standing there fumbling over my simple request of “more rum please”. Now,I have a recipe for a dating disaster and it goes something like this: 1) bartenders/waitstaff/artists/musicians + 2) long distance. This one was a nail in the coffin waiting to happen, but it made me re-think my claustrophobia for a moment, or 5. Ok 6.

She gave me more “mo” and I went upstairs to meet my friends walking away feeling like I had those little stars swimming around my head from just being blasted on the head with a 100 year old tree log. “Sprung” would have been a good word--if I were a man.

Sadly, our visit to coffin making heaven came to an end when my favorite jewelry designer announced that it was time to head to the party of the night: The MOMA’s gala.

I had some visions of this party beforehand--and of myself at he party--and it was all pretty much exactly like I expected, sans me in the silver tailor-made perfectly for me dress that was far too ‘dressless’ to wear on such a cold new york night. The party was that as you would expect it to be on the opening night of an internationally acclaimed contemporary furniture designer ego-infested gala, complete with open bar and gourmet flea-sized appetizers that left you wondering if you had actually just swallowed something or just an illusion of something packaged in micro-engineered designer air.

I was hungry--and drunk. Not a good look on Tiffany.

(I have to interrupt for a moment as I have just plugged in my new ipod earbuds from Brookstone—that store in the mall with terribly overpriced, undervalued trendy little ‘gadgets’—and I just have to say that this was a well spent $39 on earbuds—VERY nice sound—just FYI)

So there I am in a minimalist building with a bunch of minimalist designers that are anything BUT minimal. Large on “image”, “volume” and “self”--my favorite combo. No Really.

I planted myself on one of the very inviting concrete benches--actually it was more of a necessary “sit down” as the MOMA’s architecture was quickly taking on a very different “turn”, courtesy of my favorite “Fellisimo” bartender. I missed her already. Never had a mojito that good. Damn coffins.

I settled for a vodka infused orange juice served with a sprig of basil instead of a straw. I distinctly remember trying to sip my drink later out of that little sprig—also not a good look on me, however funny.

My friends were gathered around--everyone in their own little conversations and I’m sitting there very, very drunk and catch John staring at me to get my attention. And we have one of those “what if” looks that very quickly makes me paranoid and I look to find his wife. For whatever reason, the look made me laugh and she asks me why I’m sitting there by myself laughing---probably the 4^th “not good look” on me of the evening. And it’s only 9:00.

The trouble with me is that I like Trouble. It fucking makes me feel alive. Somewhere inside me I wanted to open up like a book and tell her about the summer that she and John split while she was in Paris when we had our little ‘fling’. Somewhere in the mischeivious depths of me I wanted to tell her how he had been looking at me like that not only all day, but ever since the first day we met and that he will probably always look at me that way until the day we both die and how it will never make a difference to me. I’ll have his look. She’ll have his Life. End of Story. And it’s honestly the end that I want. Sans the look.

After that weirdness had dispelled over some more cocktails we all had some laughs about some of the attendees and their “garb”. Really…I would like to know where these people shop. For their mirrors. Some of it was just hilarious. “Trying too hard” would be the understatement of the year and trust me, I am ALL for individuality and eccentricity—fucking all over it—but come on. Purple pants on a man?? Bright lavender purple pants with a paisley pink, blue and purple RUFFLED shirt and green rimmed glasses. I’m down with those glasses, but Austin Powers just called and wants his wardrobe back. “Standing Out” ain’t always the best idea. I digress again…

The coolest thing about the party at the MOMA was this wall by an artist who I drunkenly regret not remembering.

His palatte: One 30’ x 18’ wall. His medium: A sharpee and some scaffolding and a brilliant mind that needed nothing else.

To even attempt to describe it would ruin it. It’s was a “mess of brilliance” based around the topic of Capitalism. I was, for the second time in the evening, In Love. Had he been there I would have been down on one knee--hell, I almost was anyway, but again digressing--it was f’n awesome.

I took some photos that will definitely not do it justice and I fully intend to look him up just as soon as I have a wireless connection on my laptop.

While sitting there looking at this brilliance, I thought of a friend who I knew would have appreciated such a piece and thus decided that some drunken texting was in order. The 5^th “not good look” on Tiffany of the night.

Please friends, please—if you love me, don’t let me drunk text. I didn’t say anything inappropriate in the texts, it’s just that I was at the MOMA in New York City, with my friends from all over the world and designers galore and I’m on a bench text messaging. Someone please: Stop the Madness.

However, out of the text, I got an awesome recommendation for a dive bar in the Meat Packing District and after the gala had come to it’s ego end, we all piled into a cab and headed down to 13^th and 9^th. And if you ever find yourself there—well, you’ll know it.

Eight designer designers and one BBQ dive bar later was a match made in trouble heaven. I have no idea what “look” I had on my face when I went into that bar, but one of the very “large and in charge” bouncers wasn’t down with it.

We went in---it was perfect----without the 45 year old MARRIED black rimmed trendy designer/store owner that was in tow behind me. Again: fiend to the Crack Pipe. Gotta love em.

I got his ego schpiel. Loved every minute of that as I vomitted in my mouth and swallowed it back down again, at least three times.

I excused myself (then wondered why it took me so long to do that) and made my way to the ladies room—which was so cool because it was so tiny I could wash my hands while peeing just for the heck of it (yes, I washed again afterwards).

I came out to a line of women waiting and stood nearby looking for my now relocated friends. My favorite bouncer comes up and in his most “winning personality” tone says, “Either get in the line to the restroom, or get out of it”.

Well, while this sounds like a mild (although rudely toned) request, five cocktails later, it was just what I was looking for. I quickly turned around and said, “Is there somewhere that I can stand that you won’t be standing?”

There are some people that I supposed have such a need to feel powerful in their lives that when given even the slightest, most insignificant dose of it latch onto it and try to ride it was if it were the only chance at it that they were ever going to have. This was one of those peoples.

His next retort was “Well, Little Lady (which I just ADORE being called), I think you better decide whether you want to remain in this bar at all”.

Just a little drop of gasoline, but a hungry fire doesn’t need much. I nearly got thrown out of that bar, but at the last minute rescued by guess who? John…oh yeah…with wife in tow.

The night got a little weirder still, but I think we all have a good picture of where it was going.

New York was nice. Next time I’m sticking to Mojitos. That coffin looked far better than the one I got in.

london sunshine

incessantly_insatiable — Tue, 12 Jun 2007 11:22:00 GMT

with a sea of clouds beneath me

i see you rising in the distance

a small line breaking the sky into two pieces

with no view of you yet

only a dividing line that we call 'horizon'

and in a moment what was night

you transform into day

with a burst so brilliant

that it makes my eyes tear

to watch you be born

glowing out from beneath the sea

you rise as if to wave just to me and say

'this is the dawn of your new day'

good morning, my london sunshine.

beautiful idiot

incessantly_insatiable — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 21:53:00 GMT

Well, i hate to start out my journalings with grumblings and I must first make the disclaimer that while I'm about to list everything that went wrong with my day, I'm sitting on a train bound to Paris, so all-in-all Life ain't bad.

K, now that THAT is out of the way I'm going to make fun of myself for a moment or two.

First of all, it's not "cool" to go to Europe with no itinerary; its fucking stupid and naive and will cost you more money than you ever imagined.

Secondly, I don't care what day or for what it is for that you are arriving in London, you should be prepared for the two following things: an assload of walking and RAIN.

I began my leg to London yesterday in Newark, NJ, where I dressed in jeans, tennis shoes and jacket. THIS is how a smart person would arrive in London.

After seeing myself in the mirror, I decided that I wouldn't like the feeling I would have stepping off of the airplane in London dressed like this. So, I changed into my "cute" (aka "tight") jeans which called for my "cute" (aka 4" heel) shoes. My shirt and jacket were fine but the fundamental portions of my body that should be comfortable while trapsing around London were completely and utterly "off base".

But I didn't look like a slob.

I looked like a fucking idiot.

Add to the high heels and tight jeans 80 lbs of luggage separated into two suitcases (one large and one med) plus a carry on and camera bag and you have the makings of a comedy routine. I couldn't have been more ridiculous looking--and THIS was my idea of "light" packing!! 80 lbs of "light"!

Just FYI also, London train stations don't have elevators so when you have to go underground to get on the train, you'll find yourself dragging whatever luggage you have up and down the stairs alone, so you MIGHT want to pack lighter than 80 lbs and 4 bags later.

After pulling and pushing my "light" luggage around the Victoria train station for about 45 minutes, I finally find somewhere inside the station to store my luggage while I toured around London, and getting rid of the baggage felt so good.

I walked out of the train station to be pleasantly surprised by the fact that there was a tour bus waiting and all I had to do was pay 25 pounds to take a 3 hour tour around London. That made things VERY easy for a very sleepy, very silly American girl.

I do have to give myself SOME credit though: I did prepare for the rain with that purchase of the raincoat at the MOMA in NYC--but I left it in the bag that I had just dropped off at the station storage--which you have to pay for each time they retrieve it for you. And I was sitting on the roof top of a tour bus when I made this realization. Genius move #99 for the day.

The tour was actually really nice. It didn't start raining for the first hour--which was fun. Then, some light sprinkling--which really didn't bother me. About an hour and a half in was when London really said "hello" and for the next hour or so I sat in an absolute rainstorm.

No raincoat, no umbrella, no nothing. Actually, the bus tour company did hand out these little "panchos" for the rain that I would say were equivalent to one ply toilet paper when you really need two ply.

Again, my vanity was really paying off.

I don't know how many of you have seen my hair when it gets wet, but let me tell you in the words of my ex-boyfriend, Francis, who had asked to see it "dry naturally" one day. When I obliged him his response to this was: "Uhm, yeah--now I see why you spend all of that time on it".

Nuff said. Frizzy hair with one ply quality "Pancho" on it? Well---now were talkin' sexy!!

I get off the bus finally--fingers completely pruney from having sat in the rain for so long--and I retrieve my bags. Now I just have to find my way to the Eurostar station to get on the train to Paris. I have an hour and a half to find it, get tickets and get on the plane. Seems ok.

Well, now comes the part where the rain-drenched beauty
queen gets to haul all four of those bags UP the train station stairs alone and down the street about 6 blocks to the Eurostar station.

So, now we have what used to be a cute, blonde American chic pushing around one large suitcase while behind her she is pulling a smaller but uncooperative suitcase that is going in every direction but the one its supposed to while she wobbles around on 4" stilletos that are very distinctly screaming that they have no regard for her whatsoever.

Point taken--thanks.

I get in the taxi queue, which takes about 20 minutes (also in the rain) and have never been so happy to get into a taxi in my entire life. However, the taxi drivers in London don't help you load your baggage into the car and meanwhile while you are doing your 108 lb best to pull one VERY heavy suitcase into a little taxi car, there are about 5 taxi cars behind you and a line of London-ers standing in the rain watching you make a fool of yourself...the day was going well.

I do make it to the Eurostar station in plenty of time to make the train that is two hours later than when my friend Charlotte was expecting me in Paris. Not only that, but the train ticket cost FIVE times what I was told it would cost, so...again with the poor planning: don't do it!

Bottom line: plan ahead and make sure it includes tennis shoes, a rain jacket and LIGHT (and I mean L-I-G-H-T) luggage.

Welcome to London, you beautiful fucking idiot.

first day in Paris

incessantly_insatiable — Sun, 10 Jun 2007 12:36:00 GMT

Well, my first day in Paris was nothing short of "interesting". I arrived in Paris Monday night and hadn't slept since Saturday evening, so "rested" I was far from, and I looked every step of a 2 day old woken marathon.

Charlotte and her mother picked me up from the Gare de Nord train station around 7 pm on Monday night and although it was so incredibly invigorating to finally be in MY city (and to see my friend), I really struggled through dinner. The food I can already tell is going to prove to be the nemesis of my ass, although with all of the walking required, I may have a perfect match for eating the way that I want to.

Charlotte's place is very quaint and what I imagined to be "Paris-like". We took the train to a metro station very near her place in the 14th arrondisement near Cite Universite. She has two roommates in a place about the size of my living room and kitchen. This, however, proves to be very efficient after a long day of walking around the city. You simply turn 90 degrees to be in the kitchen, another 90 to be in the bedroom--180 and you're in the shower and voila! You've just had breakfast, taken a shower and gotten dressed all within a 360 turn (no walking required!).

She's absolutely the most generous hostess ever--just as I knew she would be. She immediately asked me what my plans for the morning were and then went into "planning-mode" (good thing someone was in one!) to map out how I would get where I was going most efficiently.

Mostly, I just needed to run errands to get things like a towel, electrical outlet adapter, key to her house made, writing tablet and sketchbook and a backpack. Simple enough, right?

The BHV, where I was to purchase these items, was half way across the city and meant that I would need to switch subway trains three times and take the tram. Might as well get right on with learning the metro system!

Charlotte's house is near this amazingly beautiful little park that I needed to cut through to get to the station. At the corner of the park was a little restaurant serving breakfast, so that morning, I stopped and took a table outside facing the little park.

I ordered orange juice and what I thought was a croissant--I guess they didn't have croissants because the waiter just brought me a big basket full of very heavily buttered bread. I'm trying to keep the size of my ass where it is right now so I wasn't all that excited to see that my breakfast was going to be a basket full of carbs and fat but it took only about half of a minute for me to change my mind about that!

The bread--WOW--I don't even know how to describe it. Besides saying that it was "fresh like it had just come out of the oven"--only it hadn't. It wasn't hot, but you could definitely tell it was "today's bread". It was soft and not too dense and the butter was--well--fabulous. Worth every calorie.

Then came my favorite breakfast experience: the orange juice. There shouldn't be any other kind of orange juice on the planet--and it wasn't even freshly squeezed! This was just the typical, bottled orange juice of France. I was in love! It tasted like sunrise in your mouth. SOO amazing.

So...I finished up my amazingly simple but delicious breakfast and headed into the park to cut through to the metro station, errand list in hand. It was 11:15 am.

First of all, I should paint a picture of myself: It's Tuesday morning and I haven't had a shower since Sunday morning. I haven't slept more than 6 hours in 72 hours. I had on jeans, tennis shoes and a t-shirt. I looked like hell.

Keeping that in mind: I hadn't walked 15 steps into the park when I notice two guys about my age sitting on a park bench to my right. They were eyeing me the whole way until I passed in front of them and was met with two very friendly french "bon jours". They seemed nice enough (from how much I could tell by hearing two french words come out of their mouths) so I said "bon jour" in return. They asked where I was going. I guess carrying around a map is a dead give away that you might be a tourist and need "help" finding your way around.

I showed them where I was trying to go and although Charlotte had given me specific instructions on how to get there (which I was following) these two "gents" told me that I was going the wrong way. I explained my path and they both agreed that I could get there that way, but that there was a much shorter way to get there and that, of course, they would be happy to show me where it was.

Now...in this moment, I had a feeling/thought that I should just continue along Charlotte's way, but then something (as usual) told me not to be rude and discount the advice of the locals (even though Charlotte was one) and so I decided to let the boys show me the "shortcut".

Almost immediately after agreeing to this, one of them was touching me on the back--like kind of 'guiding' me with his hand on where we were going. I like to be touched, don't get me wrong, but like most people--only when I want to be. This completely un-nerved me and I guess he could see it and removed his hand and looked at me and said in his best, but not good English: "Don't be afraid. Friends" and he pointed to himself and his friend. "Friends" indeed.

We had a nice chat for approximately 2 blocks. They had some nice compliments--(please keep in mind what I looked like) and then the conversation started to become very "interesting" when one of them looks at me and asks if I want to have sex with him. Yes, just like that: "Do you want to have sex with me?". Hmm...so much for taking it slow!

I obviously responded with a "no" and kept walking, trying to ignore him as much as possible--which apparently in French translates to: "try harder". For the next 6 or so blocks, I got a full on description of how large his dick was and how I could expect him to pleasure me with it.

Like myself, I know you're wondering why I endured even ONE block of this--much less SIX. Simple. I was now lost and scared. Two of my least favorite things to be. I actually "needed" these guys to help me get to the metro now since the map that Charlotte gave me was completely worthless. My third least favorite feeling: "needing" someone else--especially THESE "someones".

But I did, so I continued on with a very nervous look on my face apparently. One of them continued with the questions and marketing of his dick. He even asked to borrow my map book to use as a ruler to show me the exact length and girth of it.

Note to men: When gauging the size of your dick and showing that gauge to a potential partner, make sure you use something that doesn't have the words "pocket-size" on it. The humor in that lightened my thoughts for at least 3 blocks of his schpiel--but nevertheless, I was never so happy to say goodbye to two people in my life. They actually took me the LONG way around, but I found the BHV with the help of a very kind "Sebastian", who was everything opposite of the two I had just encountered.

I couldn't believe how weak the American dollar was--or how expensive it was to exchange money! I exchanged $400 and between the loss of value between the dollar and the Euro plus the rate of commission for the exchange, I now had 240 Euros, which is practically 240 dollars. NOT happy about that!!

I entered the BHV and was pleasantly surprised to find the coolest "all in one" store I've ever been in! It's a combo of Macy's, Ikea, and art supply store and a mini Barnes and Noble all in one!

The prices however, reflected this convenience. I paid 30 Euros for a towel. 10 Euros for the electrical adapter, 10 Euros for anti-bacterial gel, 8 Euros for eyedrops, 4 Euros for Kleenex and 16 Euros for cheap shampoo, totalling 78 Euros (about $125 dollars!) for basic necessities! AGH! But I could now take a shower and wash/dry my hair, so--THAT was a good thing!

Now I just had to deal with getting back to Charlotte's house from half way across the City. This would be my first subway experience alone and while I prefer typically to just "take the bull by the horns" and get something done, I was a little anxious, to be honest.

I remembered how dangerous the subways in Mexico were and while walking down the stairs and into the station, the sights and sounds and smells all reminded me of this and un-nerved me nearly to the point of turning around and trying to walk back home. But I realized that I was never going to get comfortable with it that way, so I pulled out my map to try to figure out which way to go.

I knew I needed to be on Metro Line 4 back to Cite Universite, but the line obviously runs two ways. That 'obviousness" not being "obvious" enough to me until I sat through three incorrect stops before realizing I got on the right Metro, but in the wrong direction.

So--I got off and went the other way. I lost maybe 45 minutes on that little mistake but realized that it's about the worst that can happen. Big deal. I'm not in a hurry and now I feel less anxious about making that mistake again.

On my way out of the station, there was a man with a nice big smile that handed me a flyer that said, "Are you good enough to get to Heaven?". As I had some time on the tramway home from there, I was curious to know: "Am I good enough to go to Heaven?".

For anyone else that's curious about it like I was, according to page four, I am, in fact, NOT good enough to go to Heaven. I'm glad that's cleared up. It only took a missed train in Paris to figure it out.

All in all, it was a very much a "learning" day. It was now 6 pm and I had only a few hours to get home, get showered and get back out and to the Smashing Pumpkins concert.

I had a new towel, an electrical adapter, a key to Charlotte's place, some kleenex, shampoo, sketching paper and eyedrops and the knowledge that I wasn't going to Heaven after all and it only cost me 78 Euros, 7 hours, a few incorrect stops on the train and two big dicks later, but I was finally "home" and "clean".

I think I'm gonna love Paris.

smashing pumpkins

incessantly_insatiable — Sat, 9 Jun 2007 13:42:00 GMT

I just really have a couple of things to say about this concert:

1) Should I ever decide to marry for a third time, it will be to no one else other than Billy Corgan. I think I came three times watching him play the guitar.

and

2) Should I ever decide to marry for a third time, it will be to no one else other than Billy Corgan. I think I came three times watching him play the guitar.

I need a cigarette now.

"family" and "home"

incessantly_insatiable — Fri, 8 Jun 2007 13:28:00 GMT

It's the 6th day of my trip. I'm staying in Brussels, Belgium this weekend with Charlotte and her family. We arrived late last night to one of the warmest welcomes I have had in a long time. I felt like a member of the family being received after a long span of time between visits.

Charlotte's mother is one of those people that you can feel looking into your soul when she talks to you. I connected immediately with her when I met her in San Diego over a year ago and in seeing her again on this trip it was as if no time at all had passed, nor was there any feeling of not knowing her very well. She just takes you in and it's the nicest, warmest feeling. One that I realized I would like more of in my life. One of "family".

The funny thing is--or perhaps not so funny--I don't feel this way very often. Obviously, because I live over 1500 miles away from my family, but also because even when I am with my family I don't have this feeling like they see right into me and "know" me.

That realization has come to me over the past few months and I have begun to take some steps toward "getting there" with them, but honestly, sometimes I feel like it's not something you should have to "work" on. It just is or isn't. Like with Charlotte's mom. She barely even speaks English and yet there is this feeling of innate closeness with her.

I love it when I connect with someone on this level. I connect very easily with many people on many levels. THIS level, however, is a very special one. Actually, (and I say this in all honesty), almost every single one of you on this reading list is a person that I share this level of connectivity with. Others I don't allow into my words and thoughts so openly. All of you I know understands me already--probably before even reading.

I want more closeness in my life like this when I get home. I want to draw in each of you to me like the kindred spirits that you are. I want to make you the family that you've all become to me.

It's funny how as I've gone through this short, but amazing 6 days, I feel one or two of you walking with me in a certain place, and another of you with me in a different moment. Not only in this journal, but truly in my heart, I carry you with me as I go. And I hope to always have you as my "San Diego Family".

I'm SO blessed in my life. I'm so blessed to feel "at home" wherever I go because I am becoming my own "home". I always have been, of course,--it's just taken this long (and coming this far alone, I guess) to realize it.

Thank you for being a part of my "home"---no matter where I am.

"flame on"

incessantly_insatiable — Fri, 8 Jun 2007 02:25:00 GMT

at some point recently, I've started thinking about what I want from my next relationship (although I'm not in any hurry to be in one) and while I've been surrounded by people that mean a lot to me that are in new fast-growing relationships, I reflect on how some of my past relationships started and ended and what i came up with is a metaphor (imagine that!) of a bonfire.

I want to build a bonfire with someone.

Not like one at the beach that you roast marshmallows over. One like they create at Texas A&M that they have an actual log cutting crew for. The crew consists of about 100 college guys that work day and night for like a month cutting logs to build the biggest bonfire you've ever seen in your life.....that literally burns for days.

What I want is a fire that burns not like a paper fire which is quick to light...burns fast and tall, but goes out in the blink of an eye and doesn't even so much as leave smoke or ashes behind it when it's out.

Nope--that's not what I want.

I want to be with someone who brings a twig and lies it down in front of me. And I will then go and bring one back to match his...and we do this for a while until we gradually start adding little limbs to the pile--each one searching for and working to bring wood and kindling to the fire that will build it in a way so as to make it burn and burn. I want to actually take something very slow with someone--getting to know the little 'branches' of their life at a casual rate, not trying to jam pack their life story into one night or two nights.

Mystery and the 'unknown' are some of the sexiest things you can give in a relationship, I think. To let someone walk around in the forest of your mind and come upon a fallen tree or to come around a bend to see a gorgeous waterfall in the middle of it.

I'm not interested in creating a passion that will burn strong and hot for 10 minutes. I do believe in "Forever"...still, yes I do believe in it. I know that it exists because I know what I have felt in the lowest points of my past relationship--I still felt 'forever'. and I'll feel it again. but I want it to come in the way of a slow growing flame that will burn hotter and hotter as time goes on. And I know that I will dedicate myself to it's growth--making sure that when it starts to wane and die out, that I have more twigs, limbs and logs to add to it. I will stay awake at night and stoke it while he sleeps, and know that he will do the same.

I want a flame that is on and on and ON. And while I'm not in a hurry...I still look forward to seeing that bonfire fully blazing....

the subway

incessantly_insatiable — Thu, 7 Jun 2007 16:14:00 GMT

I'm sitting on a subway on my way to the Saint Michel stop, taking in my surroundings and aside from the heat, this is one of my favorite Parisian experiences.

I guess because watching and understanding people is one of my passions--but also because it's just one of the most interesting cyclings I've ever seen. Every few minutes or so the faces in front of me change like channels on a TV screen. Expressions, sounds--all melding together in an experience to seemingly be the same overall one, but break it down into a singular moment and the experience is more different than you can imagine.

at first I really paid no attention--or not much anyway to what was going on around me. I was too engrossed in my metro map and which stop I was supposed to get off and then where to go from there. Now that I'm more comfortable and my subway anxiety has subsided, I truly enjoy the time to just sit and observe.

People are so interesting--the french language being an obvious difference between them and me, but also their body language. Americans do not share this body language.

what a shame.

last night I was sitting alone watching carefully to see if the next stop was mine. i'm not sure if the subway sound system is on a timer or not but all of the sudden french music was being piped into the subway car.

at the next stop two guys and a girl with a big bag of lilies got off (I remember them being lilies because as she passed by me the smell of the subway was replaced with their sweetness--which was a very nice change for this subway experience).

after the door had cleared and was just about to close, the subway horn sounded and on came a couple, who appeared to have just come from dinner together and who were very obviously very much in love.

it affected them not one bit that I was sitting at the end of the subway car with them, which they had, for this moment turned into their private stage; dancing around the subway pole, not taking their eyes (or hands) off of each other for even one second. then they would stop for a moment from dancing as if they couldn't go on any longer without the breath of a kiss from each other.

it was intoxicating to me. i was certain that i was staring.

they didn't notice.

i was in love with their "in love" moment on the subway. in love with watching two people be so in love that it mattered not that they were on a stinky hot subway and that some girl in the corner was staring at them with a big fat jealous smile on her face.

all that mattered was that they were there together. on the stinky hot subway. they weren't sitting down complaining about it. they weren't sighing or standing around looking pathetic about it.

they were enjoying the music in their love and the sweet smell of their kisses and just the fact that they were there together.

that was enough.

and isn't it though?

they got off...and someone new to watch got on.

i really love the Subway.

brussels

incessantly_insatiable — Thu, 7 Jun 2007 13:44:00 GMT

Charlotte and I just came back from our tour of downtown Brussels. I have to say that while I was excited about coming to Belgium to visit Charlotte's home and family, I never expected to enjoy Brussels as much as I have. The architecture is AMAZING!! I took over 400 pictures of the downtown area alone!

The parks are like those that pictures are made of (and many of mine are) and the little streets are all lined with biscuit and chocolate shops and antique bookstores. I was in Heaven all day (turns out I DID get to go after all!).

Tonight her family is having a dinner party for 15 of their close friends. It's the first time since Christmas that the three children (Charlotte, her brother Louie and her sister, Lucy) have been home together. Charlotte's brother is bringing his girlfriend of 6 months home for the first time as well, so it should be fun to see how the family all responds to her. It's so fun to be a wallflower in another family's home!

I am enjoying my stay here with them immensely! I had forgotten how much I enjoyed being around Charlotte since it's been over a year since I've seen her. She's definitely a "kindred spirit". Everywhere we went today, she took me to places that she knew that I would specifically enjoy. We were two peas in a pod: music festival in Brussels town square, both with cameras in tow and ON at all times, an antique bookstore and eating some of the best chocolate in the world!

Her mother has been preparing a feast for our dinner tonight. She's been highly acclaimed by the family as being an amazing chef, so I'm really looking forward to dinner--and to just enjoying the conversation that seems to flow so easily between us--even with the language barrier.

I feel like I've experienced SO much so far and it's not even been a full week yet! I can't even imagine how "full" I'm going to be when I come home, but I'm really looking forward to each and every next "bite".

weird realization

incessantly_insatiable — Wed, 6 Jun 2007 13:52:00 GMT

It's Monday, May 28th and it's the last day of my stay here with Charlotte's family. I woke up with that "hole" in my stomach feeling to know that I would be leaving them this afternoon.

One of the things that I love most in my life is my ability to connect and love people so incredibly easily but then in moments like these, when I know it will be a very long time before seeing them again--well--it sucks.

I have had the most amazing time with them. They have completely taken me in to their home and their hearts and as I have connected so strongly with them, I feel like I'll leave a little of myself behind here.

This morning, we all woke up and had breakfast together and I had one of the oddest realizations yet on this trip. Charlotte's mother, who is an absolutely fabulously talented musician, artist and cook and who, in no way, has her identity wrapped up in her husband--or her children--was serving breakfast to us all and as I watched her peel a pear and cut it for Charlotte and gently pour milk into her husband's coffe, I could see the look of content on her face to care for her family in this way and it made me Jealous. JEALOUS! ME!

After seeing everyone and making sure we were all on order, she left to take the dog to the park--one of the things that she describes as "time for herself".

She walks around at all times with a graceful smile on her face and warmth flowing out of her that you can feel illuminating her house. I've never wanted so much to be like someone. My grandmother always has been the one that I've looked up to most and she has a similar "way" about her--only what she doesn't have is "her".

Isabelle retains herself in all of this--her own elegance--her own very soft, but profound voice--and her family completely respects it. Her husband respects it and when watching the two of them, you would never be able to differentiate between who was the dominant one. Perhaps this is why I have loved being here so much. They are truly a family with and of "balance". THIS is what I long for....

The children, who are 18, 21 and 22 totally love each other and get along. The interaction between them is so heart-warming. Charlotte and her brother Louie standing in the kitchen last night hugging each other in a full embrace again made me jealous and wonder what the parents did--or didin't do--to create such a loving home.

Don't get me wrong--me and my siblings love each other VERY much, but "balanced" is NOT a term that I would use for any of my familial relationships.

I want this--and for the first time in my life, I could see myself even shorting my career to have it. Wow. I can't believe that just came out of my pen.

What is happening to me here??

alone and happy

incessantly_insatiable — Wed, 6 Jun 2007 11:44:00 GMT

today i feel so happy and content to be alone. it's not some overwhelmingly joyous feeling. i'm not 'in love' with it. i'm just calm and at peace with it. i don't know when i've felt this calm about being alone--maybe never.

much of this trip has been spent that way and i have truly grown to appreciate how i feel when i'm just by myself. there are people all around me here--i could talk to anyone and typically do, but not this time. i'm happy to not talk for once. i'm happy to NOT connect for once--and happier still that i don't feel a 'need' to.

i LOVE traveling alone. no hassle--no waiting for someone else or worrying if they want to go where i want to go, or eat what or where i want to eat. i can take as long as i want to getting ready or not get ready at all. i love it.

yesterday while at the tuilleries gardens, there were three women obviously traveling together and one had stopped to take a photo. one of the other ones called back to her and said, "you're gonna have to let us know when you're taking a picture break". woah nelly! they'd be waiting for me allll day long.

i love that i came alone. i even love that i don't have as much money as i wanted to have on this trip. i realize so clearly how little it takes for me to survive and be happy and it's showing me day by day how strong i am--how capable i am--and that there's really nothing to be afraid of. i can do ANYTHING that i choose to. it does give a new, more 'grown-up' sense of self--and a rejuvinated vigor toward being home and making my life work and falling in love with it again.

i also realize that this time in my life is the time for me to really focus on my business and my finances. it's not a time to be focused on a relationship at all. i just need to focus on everything surrounding me when i get home. nothing and noone else. no more 'tiddlywinks' with my company. i'm ready to come home and get this shit going.

work stuff has piled up since i've been here--more of a 'pile' than i frankly want to (or will) list here, but i'm taking it pretty well actually and again trying to focus on one solution at a time rather than trying to build an empire out of rubble in one day. i will make it work. i know what i have in me--it's just been focused in the wrong direction. it's been focused on what i've been 'missing' instead of what i already have. i already have everything in this world that i need....sitting right here.

my dark angel - day one

incessantly_insatiable — Mon, 4 Jun 2007 11:24:00 GMT

there are some people who come into our lives for just a moment. one little tiny breath of a moment--just to give us something that we need--and then like angels, they leave.

he was my angel, and with his wings he helped to bring mine back to me.

i was standing at the arc de triomphe on the champs-elysees on a really beautiful but hot day mid week of my last week. i had just taken pictures of a young 'honey-mooning' couple--sweetly kissing their way through my shoot.

i was on my way to the eiffel tower--by way of foot...(which, in case you don't know Paris--ISN'T close-by). only i didnt know where i was going.

he was standing near the rail of a bridge--with a very calm smile on his face and both arms stretched out leaning on the rails of the bridge looking up to the sky. very confident...very happy looking...very tall dark black young man.

i approached him to see if he knew where the eiffel tower was. he had a beautiful french accent from africa (quite a combo) and spoke very softly to tell me that he, in fact, was looking for it too, but had no idea where it was. we looked on my map together to see if we could figure it out, but neither had a clue. i thanked him and walked away to find someone else to ask.

i found a local that explained to me how to get there and as i turned around, he was standing nearby looking up at the arc de triomphe. i motioned to him that i knew where it was and then i started in the way of it. he walked up next to me just like we had always been going there together. it was very comfortable to allow him to be there with me--even when i had preferred not to have anyone with me the entire time.

it was quiet for a while--which was really nice. no 'forced' conversation or the feeling that it was 'needed'. just two wanderers wandering in an unknown direction toward something that we couldn't yet see.

after a few minutes we started talking about where we were from, etc...and the conversation led to why we were both in paris. he being from africa and living in geneva as a student, was there to go to the canadian consolate to pursue living in montreal. i, as i told him, was there to learn the beauty of 'aloneness'. he asked why.

i have preferred not to share the details of my life with anyone in a long time--not to talk about the past, not talk about Todd, not talk about my hurts, etc. i just didn't want to have any focus on it really, so i've kept my mouth shut about it this entire trip. same here--i just told him that it felt 'better' to be alone. he was quiet for a moment and then said, "you mean it doesn't hurt?".

hmmmm....so he was maybe a mind reader and not an angel. or both.

in some strange way, similar but differently to how i felt like i connected to Charlotte's mom, i was finding myself again speaking to someone that i believed could 'see' right into me like i was made of glass. but he went even further still--and reached into the glass and through me.

i guess the look on my face after this comment gave myself away (that i agreed that being alone doesn't 'hurt') and he asked if i would prefer that he didn't go with me to the eiffel tower. funny how in that moment, i wanted him to stay. so he did...and we walked on for a few blocks not really saying much of anything. it was nice.

the walk to the eiffel proved to be longer than both of us realized. i didn't mind at all, but i think he hadn't planned on walking so far and made some jokes about it, which lightened the mood and we just began laughing at things along the way--none of which i remember---nothing too significant, just two people laughing together and enjoying a walk. plain and simple.

we came around the corner to finally see the tower in view and it was amazing...i just stood there a little awestruck and totally in an internal moment of "wow...i'm actually standing in Paris looking at the Eiffel Tower". i guess i got lost in my head for a minute and forgot that he was there...i started taking pictures and when i was finished, began walking (TOTALLY forgetting him) and he walks up behind me and asks if he could 'see' my pictures. so i let him take the camera from me and look.

he then asked if he could take my picture under the tower.

i used to love having my picture taken. in the past year or so, i have grown to HATE having my picture taken---everytime i see a picture of myself i think i look tired, or sad...or like a woman that the man i loved with my life decided he didn't want to be with anymore. i didn't want to look at her....and have avoided having photos taken of me on this trip.

no, i didn't want him to take my picture.

i just wanted to enjoy the beauty of Paris in my photos---nothing else. but he took it anyway....and then asked why i didn't want to have it taken.

ick--more conversation i didn't want to have. and again, i didn't need to. he said, 'don't you think you're pretty?'. i didn't answer....which i guess is a clear and loud, "no". he laughed and then gave me the camera back without taking any other pictures.

we continued walking toward the tower. the day was beautiful...gorgeous silver lined clouds and a light breeze on a humid Paris day. there were TONS of people out--a very nice energy in the air---life buzzing all around, and yet this calmness inside me that i couldn't explain.

i asked him if he wanted to go to the top of the tower, and he looked at me like i had instead asked him if he wanted to jump off of it. obviously scared of heights. me too. two peas in a pod, but i was going anyway. time to get over that fear too.

the line was at least an hour long and the sun wasn't going to set for another 2 or 3 hours, so we instead decided to wait and walked into a quiet little park next to a pond right under the eiffel. he found a spot in the shade. i found a spot in the sun. the spots weren't together. it didn't matter. neither of us moved to be next to the other, but i never felt like he was 'gone'.

i can't even describe the 'perfectness' of this moment. i love sitting in the grass. not ON the grass. IN the grass. not ON a blanket. IN the grass. cold a little damp where i can feel the clay of the ground in my toes when i push them down into the blades of green...which i did. over and over. i love the smell of the ground..and the grass....and i loved watching little birds fly in and out of the eiffel's structure like it was their private playground. there was a family of ducks that swam around the pond--all the while the breeze kissing me while the sun warmed me--i think i took a picture, although in THIS moment, it was completely worthless.

modesto was his name. perfect name for him. he asked again to see my camera. i thought he was taking pictures of the tower. he was taking videos--not pictures, of Me. Me lying on my back in the grass under the eiffel tower with my arms behind my head and my eyes in full gaze into the clouds with their silver hypnotic linings...my foot lightly 'beating' to the sound of the music in my head. only i had no idea that this is what he was doing. he never said a word. he never asked me to look at the camera. he never said a thing.

he brought it back and laid down near me, not next to me, but near me. he was the most non-threatening man i've ever met in my life. truly like some angelic presence there. and he was quiet. i love quiet moments.

we decided to go to dinner while we were waiting for the sunset trip to the top of the eiffel. we walked about a block down from the tower to find a nice little restaurant overlooking the Seine.

he ordered some wine for me while i was in the restroom(red of course--i'm telling you--he's a mind reader). we had the nicest conversation about his family who all still lives in africa, near the coast. i told him how i've always longed to go to africa. he invited me to visit with him sometime. i do hope that happens.

after dinner we retraced our steps back to the eiffel. the tower really is 'magical'. i can't imagine why france nearly removed it, but i'm soo glad that they didn't. it's amazing...and we stood in line for over an hour to go to the top. worth every millisecond.

as we were going up, the twinkly lights came on--again a perfect moment. it's nearly sunset--twinkling lights on the eiffel and i'm in an elevator with an angel.

not a bad day...