Woman at the park
Back away from my sun chair
I’ve been here for hours.
Showing posts with label paris. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paris. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 3: Reader Submission
Today's reader submission comes from Danielle, who not unlike me passes about 47% of her week on the Paris metro:
Fripsters* on the train
Your hair reeks of your own pee
But I like your shoes
*fripe (from the verb "friper" for crumple) refers to thrift and vintage stores in French
Fripsters* on the train
Your hair reeks of your own pee
But I like your shoes
*fripe (from the verb "friper" for crumple) refers to thrift and vintage stores in French
Monday, May 25
I am a dog owner and lover, that is for sure. I love those big brown puppy eyes that gaze up at you with a sweet wagging tail. I love how my puppy (I call her that even though she's 5) gets so excited every time I come home that she almost pees herself, even if I've only been gone 5 minutes.
Yes, dogs really are our best friends... but do you want to know who are not our best friends?
I'll tell you: Dog owners who for some reason believe they are exempt from "the ramassing of the merde." What am I talking about? Pick up your poop for crying out loud. I do it, so can you, it's really not that bad. See, the plastic bag serves as the appropriate buffer between the poop matter and your actual hand, but some of you don't seem to understand this concept. Some of you believe it's okay to let your dog drop one in front of me while I am drinking coffee and then just leave it there as if it were some sort of treasured gift. Newsflash: it's not a treasured gift. At all. So just bend over and pick it up like the rest of us:
Woman with toy dog
You still have to pick it up
Even if it’s small
Yes, dogs really are our best friends... but do you want to know who are not our best friends?
I'll tell you: Dog owners who for some reason believe they are exempt from "the ramassing of the merde." What am I talking about? Pick up your poop for crying out loud. I do it, so can you, it's really not that bad. See, the plastic bag serves as the appropriate buffer between the poop matter and your actual hand, but some of you don't seem to understand this concept. Some of you believe it's okay to let your dog drop one in front of me while I am drinking coffee and then just leave it there as if it were some sort of treasured gift. Newsflash: it's not a treasured gift. At all. So just bend over and pick it up like the rest of us:
Woman with toy dog
You still have to pick it up
Even if it’s small
Friday, April 24
I have frequently expressed my personal feelings on the Human Cube that is the Paris Metro in the morning... the other day, while I was being compressed between a woman with way too much perfume and an adolescent listening to Rihanna & T.I's "Live your life" way too loud on his iPod (yes, his), when I noticed the man in front of me had begun huffing and puffing in a most disgruntled way. He shimmied his shoulders with a look of panic, not unlike a battered wife, and began looking around at all of the horrible people who were clearly abusing his personal metro space. At this point he began muttering to himself, making annoyed little comments about how people "are" these days.
May I point out that while all of this is going on there's a pregnant woman behind me who can barely breathe and a 10 year old late for school who has one leg balanced on the door frame in an attempt to create more space, not to mention the fact that the movement Disgruntled Man's shoulder shimmy was primarily ricocheting onto my face. After about 4 metro stops like this, he began to raise his "distress level," by which of course I mean "volume." The huffing and puffing turned into a whiny tantrum as he pushed his body in all directions trying to just get the Parisians off of him... except: this man clearly neglected to make the basic observation that THE PARIS METRO IS FULL DURING MORNING COMMUTE. He failed to acknowledge that he is in no way special, and in no way deserves more space than the 80 year-old woman who is holding her cane against the ceiling so that it doesn't get randomly thrown out of the train car.
People like this make me crazy. Or perhaps I should say amused, because it's not worth the effort to go crazy (or as we say in French pete les plombs). People who feel that they are superior enough to get their panties all in a bunch when they are treated just like everyone else, but at the same time don't have the money or initiative to take a taxi. Or walk. Or ride a bike. I mean seriously, Paris isn't that big. Which of course brings us to:
Whiny metro turd
I cannot create more space
Where there is none left
May I point out that while all of this is going on there's a pregnant woman behind me who can barely breathe and a 10 year old late for school who has one leg balanced on the door frame in an attempt to create more space, not to mention the fact that the movement Disgruntled Man's shoulder shimmy was primarily ricocheting onto my face. After about 4 metro stops like this, he began to raise his "distress level," by which of course I mean "volume." The huffing and puffing turned into a whiny tantrum as he pushed his body in all directions trying to just get the Parisians off of him... except: this man clearly neglected to make the basic observation that THE PARIS METRO IS FULL DURING MORNING COMMUTE. He failed to acknowledge that he is in no way special, and in no way deserves more space than the 80 year-old woman who is holding her cane against the ceiling so that it doesn't get randomly thrown out of the train car.
People like this make me crazy. Or perhaps I should say amused, because it's not worth the effort to go crazy (or as we say in French pete les plombs). People who feel that they are superior enough to get their panties all in a bunch when they are treated just like everyone else, but at the same time don't have the money or initiative to take a taxi. Or walk. Or ride a bike. I mean seriously, Paris isn't that big. Which of course brings us to:
Whiny metro turd
I cannot create more space
Where there is none left
Thursday, April 9
Recently in Paris it has been exceptionally beautiful outside. Warm, sunny, perfect blue skies with white fluffy clouds... and everybody's out to enjoy it. First of all you should know that the French love to talk about the weather, in general... all of the time. Second, Parisian people completely change when the sun comes out, shedding their faux frowns for light, happy smiles as they bask in the sun with some obscure juice like strawberry or melon. During moments like this, the outdoor cafe seating, or terrasse, becomes a full out war for the best places in the sun and once you get a good spot you don't move for a long time. Which brings us to:
Terrasse au soleil
Parisian snobbery
I’m better than you
Terrasse au soleil
Parisian snobbery
I’m better than you
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