After yesterday’s peaceable nothing, we had a lot to get done today. Well, not really a tremendous amount, but we did have to leave the apartment. We had chocolates to buy and videos to film and groceries to buy, so away we went.
We took the Métro to Odeon and marveled at our ability to easily find the little alleyway that houses Un Dimanche Á Paris–that wonderful chocolate shop I told you about a few weeks ago. We’re practically natives. My Aunt wanted me to pick her up some chocolates and I didn’t need an excuse to go back and try some more things, so I eagerly looked around the shop. The staff is amazingly friendly here, offering suggestions, chatting amiably, and putting their gorgeous creations into equally gorgeous boxes. Seriously, the packaging is worth the trip alone. I bought the chocolates and then picked up a box of miniature pastries that looked delicious. It was called Le Petit Trio and contained one tiny lemon tart, a tiny chocolate éclair, and a tiny chocolate cake. With out purchases all bagged up we headed out the door.
And walked straight into another bakery. It was beautiful on the outside and the inside was stuffed with people, so it had to be good. I recalled that Larnicol, the name of the place, was on my list of things to do and see, so that gave me another reason to go in. Jessica was immediately drawn towards the wall of caramels. I have never cared much for caramel, so I let her amuse herself while I looked at the massive display of macarons. They were all pale and dainty and looked quite nice, so I decided to indulge. I know that I have told myself not to try any more macarons, but I really cannot resist them. I took a lemon, verbena, grapefruit, and lavender. The staff wasn’t exceptionally friendly and away we went. They were giving away praline macarons at the counter, so I took one of them as well. It was amazing. I had never had one like that before.
Jessica and I took the Metro back to the island, as that was the quickest way back to the apartment and immediately began to melt. It was like the surface of the sun. I was terribly overdressed, but that didn’t stop the two of us from posing. Nothing could ever stop me from getting my model on.
So onward we walked and continued to melt. I looked at the guys who had on tank tops and tiny shorts that were rolled up and wanted to mug them for their outfits. They looked so comfortable. Had I known that tiny shorts were acceptable in Paris, I would have stocked up before I left. I have great legs and I’m not ashamed to show them off. We walked and walked and walked and we finally made it back to the apartment.
I immediately stripped myself of the shirt and got creative. My jeans quickly became relatively attractive man capris. They were nothing to be ashamed of, a bit obvious, but they were much cooler.
[UPDATE: I’m transferring these pictures a year later to this new website and I’m amazed at how thin I look! I’m turning myself on. Time to diet.]
I put on a very light shirt and skipped an undershirt and I was ready to get back on the town. I needed to finish my video, so we headed to the Louvre because I thought that would be a rather pretty place to tell Tyra how much I deserved to be America’s Next Top Model. We were soon in the Louvre and wandering about the shops. I saw a few interesting books at Virgin and wrote them down to have the library buy for me–they will get me anything. We stopped at the Swatch store, too. I had fully intended to buy one for myself, but at this point in the trip, Jessica and I were basically bums who had a house. It was really quite sad. Inside the Swatch shop, they had the fancy frame watch that I wanted, but it looked ridiculously big on my wrist, so I decided I didn’t need it. (I will still buy it someday. I’m obsessed by it.)
We wandered around the Louvre for a while, and I finally think that I have been everywhere. I’m sure I’m wrong, but I think I’ve seen the vast majority. I found a little nook that I had never been into full of intriguing religious paintings and filmed my desperate, yet charming, plea to Tyra. I’m sure that she, in all her fierceness, will take pity on this handsome fashionista.
On the way out of the Louvre, the last time I went it turns out, we took pictures of the amusing artwork and sang opera. Video posted at the bottom.
I sense a serious lack of artistic talent here.
I already decided that I will probably be a poor father, but even I wouldn’t give my child a scythe. I’d make him work the fields, but not with a weapon. And I’d give him clothes. Any child of mine will be in designer clothing.
“Stop! You’re embarrassing me.”
“Girls, girls, girls! Let me be! Good God!”
“Christ! That was a good one, Jesus!”
Jessica and I got our pose on. Bitchin realness.
I adore Carnival. I must go someday.
It was Sunday, and of course everything was closed, and of course we needed things…things like toilet paper (not me, like other celebrities I don’t have bowel movements, you see), so we went to the Champs-Élysées, where we forgot that the Monoprix is now closed on Sunday. Bitches! We wandered around for some time, looking for some kind of store, but you aren’t going to find food inside of H&M or Gucci, which is sad. So, we decided to head back. We had a bit of food left, we weren’t going to die, but we weren’t going to be eating in style.
We pranced down into the Métro. The Métro was closed. What? Those dirty, dirty bitches! We mumbled and we grumbled as we climbed out of the Metro and headed down the street. We walked and we walked and finally found another Métro. It was closed, too. In fact, it was the same Métro! Curses! We walked another long jaunt and finally found another stop that was open. We hurtled through the city and were soon back in our apartment.
I had leftover ravioli and Jessica had some more soup. We really didn’t eat that poorly after all. Then, I had all of my desserts because I’m a gluten. People call me anorexic and unhealthy. Look at this:
Does this, plus a plate of ravioli, look like something that a person suffering from anorexia would be happily chowing down on? No. I can’t help it that I walk everywhere and have a high metabolism. That was a gift from God. Sorry, bitches.
The pastries were divine from Un Dimanche Á Paris–they earn my seal of approval and I heartily recommend it to anybody who is going to Paris. The éclair was my favorite–it was perfect. They were all good, but that éclair was something special. The macarons were good, too, interestingly subtle flavors. I wouldn’t go back probably, but I was not at all offended.
Jessica and I watched another ridiculous episode of A Haunting. This one was actually a bit creepy.