Sexy like a raincoat.

The weekends keep coming at me like a soft kick in the gut--I could avoid them, but they're the only action I see.
Sebastien and I spent  last Friday enjoying the gardens at Versailles. It was predictably beautiful. Puffy white clouds sailed by us like free-form poems, aloft in a sky of pure blue jazz. Every now and then there was a breeze and it would cool the sweat beneath my hair, making me close my eyes in quiet appreciation.

Did anyone vomit after reading that? I hate when anyone uses "poem" or "jazz" in figurative language. You can find fresher images in a dumpster.
moving on. Fun photos, right?
Welcome to Paris' Indian Summer. Also known as the summer Paris forgot to include. Much as I love the sunshine and the short skirts, I could wear the fall like a cloak, special and singularly mine.  But it's all the rage, these days. And I'd have to take it off sometime.
Especially with all these vide greniers sales going on this time of year. It literally means empty your attic, and people sell amazing retro clothing, furniture and records for realistic prices. I bought a skirt, jacket, shirt and boots for 13 euros!
A hundred lesbians died on the cross of flannel envy when I made it clear that my shirt couldn't be bought.
I want to go back to the sidewalk sales this weekend but we'll have to see what I have time for...
We'll have a lot on our nerdy little plate as Sebastien is play-testing the game he has been working on. (More on that, next time)
Plus  I should start saving money for when Claudia comes to visit. We've been talking about going to London for the weekend when she comes through.
Claudia is my super cool friend from Canada. She and I met in New Orleans, where we worked on the cleanup after the storm. A lot of her radical friends gave her shit for going way down south to help out the 'mericans but it's like she told them...

She came to our wedding, much to everyone's pleasure, and a year before that, she met up with me in Paris durring my first visit to France. We spent two weeks traveling together, hanging out in the south and generally making a mess.

People loved us.

Sometimes you have those friends that you talk about seeing again and never do, like--you should totally come visit sometime! And they're like--yeah, I totally should. And they don't.  Ever.
Boo.
But Claudia isn't one of them. I'm hoping my luck will hold too, because a good friend of mine is leaving Paris for basically ever. She's a mega talented musician who's been living here for two years, working on her Master's. Plus she makes a bomb curry. Sigh, it's never easy parting ways, but the parting doesn't have to be as bad as this song is good:

Or as creepy as that video is creepy. I think he sings well, but he's all painty and pathetic in this vid. Plus, his chest hair is weird.

Ah well, guess I'll be seeing you later sports fans, I've got applications to submit ;)

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Steam Punk me, Daddy!

When I was just a wee lass I used to have this reoccurring fantasy that my biological father would want to come back into my life and would do so by attempting to buy my love.

Back then, I was really into basketball and I would sit for hours on the toilet looking through the east bay catalog drooling over shoes of no particular make, brand or color.  In the fantasy I would always affect an air of polite modesty, drumming up the obvious and tired phrases, "I could never!" or "Is this what you think I'm worth?" That was maybe my bon mot, and as such, I would eventually bid him rise and address me once again as his equal...after it was established that groveling at my prepubescent feet was the only road possible for making amends, that is. I would next feign pity for the wretched beast, open the free, monthly, East Bay Catalog, and wring his effin wallet out!

Clearly, I would get a pair of Iverson's, Jason Kidd's and every Jordan they came out with from 1992-96. Not to mention the matching warm up suits, And 1 tanks and tear away pants, starter jackets galore--and a few of those mat and endurance equipment thingies that matched your sweat bands (also on the list) that were sure to might improve my level.
I was obviously as good as I was ever going to be, but that doesn't stop a kid from dreaming.

Meanwhile my 16 year old brother is MVP
for his summer league, AAU team.
Atta-boy, Broseph   

Eventually my dad did come back into my life, or tried to, and his efforts were met by mumbling stoicisms.  He fought the good fight, calling repeatedly to get me on the phone, sending me a five spot every now and then--sure I answered his calls and duh, I took the cash, but I was also acutely aware that I was special and he wasn't allowed in.

His death may have been untimely, I honestly didn't find out about it until 6 months later, the summer I moved to Seattle. I got the news the day Guster's album, Keep it Together, came out. (My then favorite band) And I was surprised by my reaction. I cried with my mother on the phone, sure, but that was mostly for her. On my end of things I felt as though a physical weight was pressing down on my body. The sensation baffled me. Focusing on that gave the situation the cognitive distance I needed. I still was that special, he still wasn't allowed in..."Keep it together. 

Can you keep it together? 

          We're singing a new song, 

and everything starts today." 

But don't cry for me Argentina, the truth is I eventually got the Jason Kidd's. And more importantly,  I think it would be fun to pretend that my absent father's zombie reincarnation has risen and would now love to spend oodles and udons of guilt monies on me!
But mommy, wow--I'm a big girl now. I don't need sneakers, I don't have kids or debt. So I decided I should have the most frivolous items imaginable. And then it hit me...what's more frivolous then imaginary items from places and times that don't exist?
Nuthin.

Buy me something Steampunk, Daddy!

That's just what he did. Check it out!

You're really only as good as your hat

Pure silver and watch grommets 

This is just so he thinks I still wear underwear.

All of this with different boots..but not the hat, or the dopey arm band

This is going to open doors for me and my boobs. 

Holy crap I'm going to look cool.

This is a bit marching band, I would definitely change the color. 

In case I must deflect a mighty blow. 

You should see me sneak attack in these things!

Even if my zombie dad isn't real, I am actually trying to buy these. 

This won't fit in my holster but I need a more elegant weapon for a more civilized time.

And just to show him that his efforts are not over looked...

Well, that's about all I'll spend. If you want to purchase any thing here for real, for real--just head to etsy and type in steampunk or Steam punk, as I did. I'll kind of hate you for it. But I can take that back if you ask me to forward my address. ;)
It's funny that I really do want all of these things because I drag my feet every time my friends suggest heading down to the renaissance fair. It might have something to do with the great book Sebastien and I are reading, The Wise Man's Fear. Or it might just be that I like gears, gold and magic. But whatever the reason, if someone could bring my dad and his credit line back from the dead, that'd be wicked sweet. Don't worry, we don't have to keep him.

Sebastien and I leave for Budapest on Wednesday. (kshdfdfjgdf;ogdfpgjdfpgojfb) <---excited.
 Have a great week!

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