I'm Too Sleepy to Think Up a Clever Title...

Adolescence has had a reverse effect on me.  I'm pretty sure it was supposed to boost my interest in appearance, popularity, and boys.  Instead I live in old sweats and jeans, my mother literally rejoices when I have any sort of social outing, and  it just occurred to me the other day, that, if anything, I like boys less than I did when I was nine.  I'm not completely sure why, but ever since I almost killed myself falling in love when I was thirteen, I haven't really felt any butterflies over a guy for a long time.  Even in France.

But, dear me, old Hollywood actors make me feel dreamy.

It started when I first watched Mary Poppins.  I was four, maybe five, so it was really quite platonic, but I figured that when I got married, my Prince Charming had to look like Dick Van Dyke.

Showered, of course.

Stupid Mary was totally in the way, though.

Then a few years back, I watched Giant, and, besides crying my eyeballs out and being depressed for days because of the injustices of the world, I fell madly in love with James Dean.

And I still am.

I really felt his pain.  Being brilliant, misunderstood, and kind of weird is annoying at first, then terribly lonely. Add unrequited love to the mix, and you're bound to die young.  Of course, this didn't quite occur to me when I was twelve, but I still felt his pain. In my innocent twelve year old way.

When I first saw James Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life, I thought  he was kind of ugly.  Then, I saw him Rear Window.  I truly believe age did wonderful things to him.

'Course, Grace Kelly is the more impressive of the two.

Last summer, I watched To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time.   Atticus Finch Gregory Peck is my soulmate.

Sigh...

Except that he's dead. 

Croissants are better in France.

Lots of things are better in France. Starting with:

1.  Food. Not just the food.  Eating in itself was an experience.  People don't just walk into a restaurant and hurry out.  They enjoy their meal.  They eat it outside. They don't talk on the phone (what a concept, right?).  And of course, everything tasted amazing, even the fast food.  Especially the street food.

That's a genuine French Nutella Crepe.  Screw Le Madeleine.

2.  Museums.  Namely, the Louvre.  Going there was possibly the highlight of, hm, I don't know, my life so far.  It made me feel inspired, and overwhelmed, but in a good way. Oh, and the Mona Lisa isn't such a big deal.  She's actually pretty disappointing. Bummer, since I've been waiting ten years to see her in person.

And outside, people took naps, picnicked, made out, read, soaked up the sun on the warm grass. 

Tell me, where can you find that in an American museum?  I've been to several, and never have I witnessed anything quite like it.  One guy, bless his lovely French heart, took a swim in a fountain, and didn't come out until the security guard called for back up.  If you're ever in Paris, I definitely recommend visiting the Louvre.  It will break my poor little artist's heart if you don't.

3.  Graffiti.  I don't want to support vandalism, but they do a way better job over in France.  

Quite creative, too.

4.  And, how to ignore it, French boys.  Let's just say my standards have been raised significantly.

I did a lot of sighing in France.

Oh, and if you're ever in Paris, keep in mind that walking by a modeling school smack in the center of a high end shopping district (you know, Gucci, Prada, Fendi, blah blah blah, etc.) can crush your self esteem.

 

Crush. It.

I like spring weather and croissants

March is usually a suckish month for me.  Spring is still too long away, but winter is long gone, you start to feel that time is just slipping between your fingers (well, maybe that's just me), I'm one year closer to college, blah blah blah.

This year, I'm actually excited about March, for two main reasons. 

1. Hate Month is over.  Waaay too much bitterness.  Even for me.  And no more pink, praise the Lord.

2.  I get to go to Paris and Germany!!!!!  Yay me!

I was supposed to go in October, but I didn't (I would tell you why, but I'm too lazy to.  You still love me.).  I was kind of disappointed, but I thought I could handle it because I knew I would be able to go later anyway.  So I dealt with it like the mature young lady that I am.  That night I dreamed that I was in a room full of croissants.  I would reach for one, but it would float away before I could catch it.  I kept trying to get one, but every single time they kept flying away from me.

"Please," I would say, "I just want one."

No luck.

When I woke up, I just thought, whoa.  It wasn't until I started doing my schoolwork, and my brain resurrected, that I realized what the freak?!  

I'm not really alive until noon.