Blind with Rage

WHY DO I CARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRE?!?!?!?!

Encouragement from The Universe

I'm trying to distract myself with things to do that don't involve packing. I'm also very bored, and I feel each minute excrutiatingly crawl into the next. Even Ghost Hunters International isn't helping to pass the time...

...leaving me nothing better to do than pack.

Curse you, Universe.

Identity Crisis

So I've thought about it-- I've thought about it for a long time-- and I've come to a conclusion that might startle you. It might shock and/or disappoint you. Nevertheless, it is a truth that needs to be faced.

I'm starting to hate my nickname Emdab.

I'll pause a moment while you gasp.





Recovered? Okay. Well here's the thing-- it used to tickle me. I used to love it, and I used to love people calling me by it. I kind of loved that everyone in folk dance called me Emdab, even teachers. I liked that it was kind of unique. I mean obviously I liked it at some point considering it's my blog address and part of my MSN screen name.

I think it's starting to wear on me though, kind of grate on the old nerves. I can't even give you a specific reason why. Maybe I'm just kind of over it. So many people use it to refer to me that it's not really special anymore (not that it was anything dreadfully clever in the first place, let's be real). Sure, it's usually used with an air of fondness and sometimes I like to hug and squish the people who coo at me, "Awww! Emdab!" A bit childish perhaps. Perhaps perhaps.

You know what it is, maybe? I think I mostly don't like it in two specific cases:
1. When people don't know me well/at all but use it. Irritating.
2. When it's used by people I know well/want to know better if-you-know-what-I-mean. There's something really kind of thrilling when Someone uses my full name, and I can't really tell you what it is. I don't even mind just Em or some variation on that theme, but Emdab just puts Special Someones in the same category as everyone else and it makes me feel like they have put me in that category as well. It's not comfortable.

I'm not saying I want people to stop using it completely. And I mean, what am I going to do if people call me Emdab? I'm not going to be like, "Cha, you know what? Don't call me that." because that's somehow rude, right? I'm just putting it out there for people to take it or leave it:

I'm falling out of love with Emdab. I wouldn't mind if you called me Emily. Em or Emmy or anything similar is acceptable, but let's not push it too far.


Now take a moment to look at my boyfriend Jonathan ---------------------->

Trend-tastic

I have a problem with addiction, you guys. No, it's nothing that might threaten my health or my ability to make good decisions, but that doesn't make it any less serious.

My name is Emily, and I'm addicted to nail polish.

Don't laugh at me. This is a serious problem! Seriously! The only real Beauty Trend I follow on people.com is Stars' Must-Have Nails. I'm all about keeping up with the In colors in Hollywood, unless it's something ugly like Rhianna's bright yellow, banana-colored nails. That was a color that was A) gross B) not complimentary with my skin tone. I mean, let's not get TOO crazy here.
But really-- I love nail polish. It's kind of an unfortunate love because I'm not very kind to my nails. They chip really easily and I have to do a lot of touching up. I know. It's a hard-knock life, right?

Recently my favorite brand is Maybelline Express Wear. It's affordable, comes in a variety of delicious and not-annoying colors, and dries in just 50-seconds! Could it get any better?!! Ashley, my frequent late-night Smith's shopping companion, has helped me choose a few shades from this brand before. Just yesterday I got Crimson, and now I'm rocking it like Hillary Duff.

And speaking of Hillary Duff, yes that IS a ring on her finger. RUMORS ABOUND!!

But anyway. If you're wondering what is the first thing I did when we got to our flat in London, I'll tell you: I painted my finger nails. It was the day after I finished Little Women, during which time I spent an AGONIZING two months with plain, boring nails (discreetly painted with clear polish, I'll have you know). So as we sat waiting for Chris to come let us in, which is a story all its own, I cheered up and gave myself brown nails. Delicious!

I might have been pushing it during She Loves Me, a show in which we were encouraged to paint our nails red or pink to fit our 1930s costumes. Red is fun and all for a while, but after doing my research, I was thrilled to discover that women in the 30s used all kinds of interesting colors, including BLACK! Which means I didn't have red nails for the rest of the run. Clearly.

When I was in seventh grade, I used to paint my nails every Tuesday while my mom taught voice lessons. That was definitely back when awesome colors like metallic orange and poison green were soooooo In, and I was so trendy, you don't even know. Ahead of the times and everything. Predicting a revival in "classic" trends after the unfortunate 90s-meets-70s (what a tragically groovy time in my early teens), I went Red one week-- flashy, bold, confident. Sadly my confidence was shot when a particularly snotty-but-popular 8th grader scoffed at me on the bus and said scathingly, "Red? That's so retro." I might take it as a compliment these days but at the time, I was SO EMBARRASSED. Retro? Me??

Of course, I should have taken anything she said with a grain of salt-- this insult coming from the girl who admitted to getting a Shi Tzu puppy for Christmas so she could swear in front of her mother. Brilliant.

So that explains it. Apparently my obsession with trendy nail polish dates back to seventh grade when a snotty girl insulted my color of choice. Well thank you, snotty girl. Thank you, and your little dog too.

Europe-- natural beautifier

So I've been home from Europe for five full days. Since my triumphant return, so to speak, I've slipped rather seamlessly back into "normal life," kind of to my dismay. I have:
--replaced the cell phone I lost on the way to England
--hung out with a dozen friends I've missed the last month
--returned to regular attendance at LDS church
--started a new job
--resumed rehearsals for Pericles
--seen two more plays (because clearly I haven't seen enough theater recently)

As cliche as it sounds, it's been so easy to get back to Real Life that I really feel almost like the last month didn't happen.

Luckily, it did happen. It just kind of feels like it didn't.

The most frequent question I've been asked is, What do you miss most about England? The short answer is, Everything. The reconsidered answer is, Everything except the lack of air con. The realistic answer is, Everything except the currency exchange rate.

All kidding aside, as I've thought about the question, the thing I miss most about Europe (after five days, I'll grant you) is how I felt in Europe. Cue cheesy 80s ballad.

For whatever reason, English Me took 20 minutes to get ready and managed to have cute hair every day. English Me didn't have my makeup melt off quite so quickly, and my bangs seemed to fall the right way. English Me was perfectly, 100% self-aware but not at all self-conscious. Even when I was hot from walking all day, when I was goofing off, when I didn't particularly care what I looked like, I didn't feel frumpy or uncute. I have never felt more pretty, confident, desirable, or happy to be myself in my whole life.

Sadly, I feel like I've already slipped out of that confidence and back into American Me. American Me bugs me. American Me is insecure and slightly neurotic. American Me is not only self-aware, but 100% self-conscious. American Me does not attract international doctors, and international doctors are certainly not enticed to make out with American Me. American Me wants to see more, be more, do more.

I have never felt more beautiful in my life than I did in this picture. I only wish it wasn't blurry, though I guess even that reflects how I was feeling at the moment. I was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and a head wrap to cover my unwashed hair-- but I was untouchable.

This post is making me sound so sentimental I want to sock myself. American Me also apparently struggles to write meaningful blogs in a non-irritating way, especially because this reflection is not intended to encourage an outpouring of flattering responses. It's not a matter of being told I'm pretty or talented (though I'd be hard pressed to find a girl who doesn't like to hear those things anyway)-- it's a matter of feeling pretty and engaging and funny.

My sweet friend Anna told me I need to find something that can be a constant reminder of English Me. My boyfriend Big Ben as my screensaver on my phone isn't enough. In fact, I think it's making me nostalgic more than anything, and nostalgia is making me American Debbie Downer instead of English Me, who is charming and likes herself a lot and doesn't mind her faults quite so much.

I'll figure out something. But in the meantime, to answer the question, the thing I miss most about Europe is me.

Last night in Scotland

Apparently I just have to leave Utah for attractive, successful men to be interested in me. And I mean, I'd take an Australian orthopedic surgeon in Scotland over most local guys any day, even if it's just for one evening.

For once, the Crazy Best Friend wins.

Braving Scotland

We've made it to the final stretch of our time in the UK. I can't believe how fast it's all flown by, though at the same time it's felt like forever-- like a "fairy dream."

Today was the really the first time that I've taken to Edinburgh, even though it's our third/last day here. I think I've just been so exhausted and burnt out from traveling so much, and STRESSED OUT over our show Flies in the Snuffbox that I haven't been able to let myself appreciate it fully. This morning we gave our second/final performance at the Fringe Festival, which is the reason we're here in the first place. It ended up being a good show, and I'm really proud of us all for pulling it together. I think it was a really good experience for all of us. And look at the logo for our venue, the Demarco Roxy Art House-- startlingly familiar...

So though our time has been limited, I've managed to do some nice sight-seeing. We had lunch at the Black Medicine Cafe Co. That's right, you Harry Potter fans, that's where JK Rowling infamously began writing Harry Potter. It's exactly the kind of place you'd expect it to be, very quaint and cozy, especially when it's rainy and Edinburgh-y. We walked through the Fringe and were attacked by millions of people trying to advertise their shows. I wasn't mad, because we went and advertized quite loudly yesterday in the rain and you know, you gotta do what it takes to get seven people in the audience (I'm not exaggerating), but we felt bad taking their fliers when we know we can't see anything tonight. So we didn't take any.

And a trip to a foreign city wouldn't be complete without bashing through a medieval castle, so we used our British Heritage passes to get in. The view was gorgeous, and as usual I was struck by the layers of history there. We also got to see the Honours aka the Scottish Royal Jewels. Not quite as glittery as the Crown Jewels in England, but frankly, just as impressive. And you're not limited to being shoved through on a people-mover so you can linger around them as long as you want. Annie and I split the most delicious $5 chocolate ever, too.

So tonight we're going to see the Military Tattoo up at the castle, and then a few of the girls are going out to Frankenstein for Rocky Horror night! I just know how jealous some of you are. Nothing says "Goodbye Europe" than a Rocky Horror sing-along at a bar in Scotland.

Good advertising

If you own a company and want twenty-somethings like me to buy whatever it is you're selling, stick this man's face on a billboard and I'll buy whatever the H you want me to. If that makes me shallow, I don't want to be deep.

I like food

Alright, I confess: part of the reason why I was excited to come to Europe was because I was happy to finally eat some of this FOOD that everyone is always going on about. "Everything tastes so much better in Europe!" they say, though perhaps it needs little salt (from what I heard). Chocolate is better, bread is better, cheese is better... Well I'm here to say-- the rumors are true.

I've eaten very well while I've been in Europe, and in part, I mean that as healthily as I do tastily. My eating habits have been conducive to our rigorous walking which has, in fact, encouraged the loss of some extra baggage around my middle, a fact I'm in no way complaining about. Happily, this means I've been able to eat some pretty heavy meals too, and once again,

I'm not complaining.

Let's go over my food history for the last few weeks.

I guess I should begin by mentioning the bagel I ate at JFK airport during our layover on the way to England in the first place. Anyone who knows me well knows that I rather live for bagels, particularly ones from New York, to the point that my mother brings them back for me as presents when she visits. Though I would have preferred a salt bagel with shmear, I settled for an Everything bagel because you can't go wrong with more, more, more, right? Bottom line: New York bagles > bagels from anywhere else. I was pleased.

As can be expected in England, I've had my fair share of pasties. I was wary at first because they came SO highly recommended by returning members of the group that I was like, "...I'm no conformist." But listen, the price is certainly right, and they're rather "traditional" to boot, and we all know how traditionalist I can be, if not conformist. I think my favorite pasty experience was in our first week, when we found a teeny little place on the way back from the British musuem-- cornish pasty, chips, and peas. The most satisfying was also our first week at Covent Gardens, sitting on the side of the road all in a row. But curiously, the most tasty was just yesterday on Fleet Street, rather cold, from a package, and shared with Anna. I wonder what it would have tasted like all piping hot?


We went down to the National Theater once, and I was filled with hate for the women sitting upwind, chain smoking like chimneys. Naturally it made me crave ice cream, which we finally found up the river. It cost way too much, but luckily, it was delicious, and it had a piece of Cadbury chocolate stuck into it. Nothing changed my life more, however, than the gelato Chris recommended the night we missed The Dark Knight premiere. Amaretto has never tasted more divine, to the point where I'll probably never order it again in the States. Okay that's not true, but it's a very pretty, nostalgic thought.

Wagamama was a very London experience, our group all separated in a very warm, very large cafeteria-style place. To be honest, it was a little bit like glorified Raman-- perhaps the way Raman is supposed to be prepared, because the package likes to offer more filling ways to prepare such a happy 14-cent meal. Don't you worry, though, this was no 14-cent meal in honor of Anna's birthday. We took a nice break from the Tower of London to eat there because obviously there's no better way to celebrate the preservation of your head connected to the rest of your body like Japanese noodles.

The most potentially romantic, but actually violent, meal was shared at Regents Park the night we saw Twelfth Night. Many of us brown-bagged it, others got various overpriced sandwiches from Tesco and Pret and the like, and we all settled down in a corner of the park, right near a fountain, to enjoy the evening before an outdoor play. It turned a little bit ugly when we started playing Silent Football, though, when our shoulders were all beat upon by our neighbors in an attempt to catch the attention of King Joe the Pantless or whatever the heck we were supposed to call him.

I snogged a little while in London, at a delicious place appropriately called Snog. Lest you think my snogging was of the making out sort, it was actually a natural frozen yogurt shop. Like Provo's Pudding on the Rice, I kind of felt like I was inside my iPod the whole time we were there, but the yogurt was YUMMY!!! and it's the only place I found anything in London for free-- little pins that said clever things like "Snog with friends" and "Less talk, more snogging." You bet I took advantage of those.

France introduced a number of delicacies that aren't so much delicate as much as they are very typically French. I basically just ate bread and cheese while I was there. Breakfast consisted of a basket of bread, with various soft cheeses to spread on top. While everyone at buffet style at Flunch, I ate bread and cheese. All I ate for dinner our first night was a croissant and some other flakey pastry that I still don't know the name of. My very expensive lunch at the Louvre was basically a gourmet bagette. If I could keep French bread fresh longer, I would have brought some home with me. And though it wasn't glamorous, one of my favorite memories of French bread was shared with Jaclyn, breaking and sharing it on the Eurostar train on the way back to London.

Chocolate in Paris is good. I brought a lot home. Duh. I would have had Parisian quiche, but the girl didn't know what a Visa card was, muchless if she could accept one.

Crepes are also everything they're cracked up to be in Europe, especially when they're filled with cheese and from a place that celebrities endorse, and shared with a big group of people as passionate about crepes as you are.

I know I've brought it up before, but I have to admit to the superiority of an American classic-- McDonalds-- in Europe. Suppsedly Burger King is even better, but I don't know about that. I mean I had to draw the line SOMEWHERE when it came to eating American food. Seriously, that cheeseburger I had in Paris was the most delicious thing ever, and even though it didn't end up agreeing with me too well in Stratford, I most enjoyed my Shakespearean fries. And somehow it made it even better to share such lame McDonalds trips with other fine people who knew exactly how lame it was for us to eat cheeseburgers in Paris and Stratford-Upon-Avon, aka two of the most quinticentially "European" places of all time. Viva USA.

Pub food turned out to be quite good, if not expectedly overpriced. I celebrated Chris's birthday by eating a plate of chips. That's all. Just chips. I shared a surprisingly delicious plate of nachos with Annie in Stratford at a place called the Beefeater Restaurant, and some stuffed pasta with Anna on our last night in London up in the Marylebone area. I couldn't let my English experience be complete without a sampling of fish and chips (ever traditional), and even though I don't love fish, you can fry cardboard and it would taste pretty good to me. Mashed peas, maybe not my favorite, but I'm glad I didn't refuse the adventure.

And to begin my Scotland experience, I spent the evening at a very little, moderately priced Thai restaurant, because that's obviously what you do when you're in Edinburgh-- eat Thai food. In truth, it was delicious massaman curry I've had since the last time I had it, only this massaman was even BETTER because it was really spicy. I think maybe I still like Bangkok Grill better because it usually means I'm eating Thai food with Katie, Madison, my family, or other people I love a lot.

Now that I think about it, I like people better than I like food. And I especially love the people with whom I eat food. If only I could transplant them all to Europe to eat with me.

Wrap-up, clean-up, I hate Scotland

So it's my last night in London. It's seriously late, and I have to be ready to go at 6:50am. What am I doing? Updating my blog and playing on facebook, obviously! I had intended to bid farewell to my boyfriend Ben, who is a very large clock so clearly it wouldn't have worked out, but I've spurned him because my Oyster pass officially doesn't work anymore. It kind of makes me sad not to have spent one last night together under the stars, but I have a feeling our love will rekindle sometime soon, so maybe it's better that I didn't say goodbye.

So what have I done since my Big Return from Paris? Well for one, I've seen seven plays since Tuesday night:

Merry Wives of Windsor

The Revenger's Tragedy

Taming of the Shrew

Macbeth

Wicked

Her Naked Skin

King Lear

Favorite this week would be a bit of a toss-up between Revenger's an

d Merry Wives. I know you were all expecting me to say Wicked was my favorite, but you would be wrong. I'm excited to report that I had TWO boyfriends in King Lear today, which made the experience all the grander. Also it made it easier to stand for three hours and the bloody eyeballs more bearable.

Thursday and Friday I spent bashing around Oxford and Stratford-Upon-Avon and it was

 DELICIOUS. I've definitely been converted to the idea of University in this country. Oxford is a gorgeous campus that makes me laugh at BYU's a

ttempts to landscape, and simultaneously rejoice in the fact that I don't actually go to UVU, which is just a heap of concrete. Our B&B in Stratford was the most charming little 

place called the Victoria Spa Lodge. Sadly the word "spa" did not mean mud baths and facials, so I don't even 

know why they called it a spa lodge, but the Victoria part pays homage to the fact that Queen Vicky spent the night there once. And wonder of wonders, I got to sleep in her very be

droom! Our host's first name was Dreen, like Doreen but without the O, which is another story entirely, but at least her gardens were lovely.

We saw Taming of the Shrew with the Royal Shakespeare Company and frankly, I felt like it left a lot to be desired. Also it was lewd and offensive and boring. I'm sure it didn't help that I was sitting there being jealous of the actress playing Bianca because she was in The Darjeeling Limited with one of my OTHER boyfriends, Jason Schwartzman, and they made out and stuff a lot in it. Jealousy!!! We romped around in the Holy Trinity Church graveyard for a while, saw

 some orbs but no actual ghosts, and then had to walk home along the canal-- in the dark, mind you-- because our coach driver

wasn't allowed to drive us anywhere after 10pm. It's probably better that way because he liked James Blunt. A lot. So much that he played nothing else the entire time we were on

 the bus, and I wanted to shoot myself. A day seeing various Shakespeare-related homes and museums, as well as a trip to Warwick Castle (or, what I like to call, Medieval Land) improved our spirits and resulted in many memorable photo ops. Since then I've been trying to cram in as many perfect Londony things to do before I'm forced to leave, which included a night out on the town (ie. down the street at Janet's Bar) with the girls.

If you were wondering if there is a barber shop on Fleet Street, the answer is yes, right next to a Wagamama.

If you were wondering if I ate a meat pie (sort of) across the street from the barber shop on Fleet Street, the answer is also yes.

If you're wondering if Westminster Abbey is my favorite building of all time, also also yes. We heard an organ recital there this afternoon, right when it was raining the hardest. As we walked in I was going to breathe a sigh of relief and the phrase "sanctuary" came to mind, but then I remembered that I actually went to Notre-Dame, so that joke wouldn't be funny.

So kind of things have I learned from my time here? 

1.  The first few weeks were a fluke: it actually is foggy in Londontown.

2.  I'm obsessed with museums and enormous churches.

3.  If I am cranky, let me hang out around some dead peoples' graves, and I'll perk right up...

4.  ...especially because I can typically find someone I recognize...

5.  ...which leads me into great history lessons, which I'm sure annoys my friends though they protest it interests them.

6.  I don't like girls saying the F word.

7.  There are very interesting fashion choices in England. (blog to follow)

8.  I like living in a city, and I like public transportation.

9.  It's a whole lot more fun living in a city that relates directly to my major and future career goals than in Provo, which is nice and is filled with people I love, but does little by way of historical stimulation.

10. Pub food is typically delicious.

11. I should probably do a blog about all my boyfriends in London, for they are many.

12. Unexpectedly, floating down the Seine was more aesthetically exhilarating than floating down the Thames.

Coups-de-gras-- at least for all the pouring it did today, Anna and I spotted a full double rainbow on our way home from the South Kensington Station for the last time. It was certainly a sign on many levels, and I felt like London was giving us a big, squishy goodbye. 

So now I leave the city that has called my name since I can remember, and I leave it with a heavy heart. Now I better understand why the English have thought Scotland so heathenish. I mean, I don't know firsthand, but if it's anything like Paris...?

Paris, and back again

I spent the last four days in Paris. Yes, as in France, not as in Maine. It was kind of thrilling because duh-- it's Paris, France. We got up super early on Friday to catch a 5:45am train, and celebrated our arrival in a new, foreign-speaking country by eating the most delicious McDonalds food I've ever had in my life. Don't you dare make fun of me because I know how lame it sounds, and how lame it is, and how lame I am, clearly. CLEARLY. And besides, those cheeseburgers were FUN (especially if you were wearing a cardigan, which I was, and sometimes Chris. He thinks his was more of a party, but I'd put that up for debate). We made up for it by visiting the Musee d'Orsay on the first day, okay?

I know some of our Paris group doesn't love the d'Orsay, and thinks everything looks the same, but I know what I like, and I like Monet, Van Gogh, Degas, and Seurat, okay? So I wandered around by myself, listening to Light in the Piazza and crying over things like this:and:and:I kind of wish I had been able to stay longer, but at least I loved it enough to go back someday. Give it up for the French, who let you take pictures of their art, as long as you don't use the flash. Even then, they don't care THAT much, unlike the British, where you're not supposed to take pictures of, like, anything anywhere. We also saw the Eiffel Tower, walked up the Champs-Elysee and forced Joe to hold hands with me, ate real French bread, and then climbed to the top of L'Arc de Triumphe. As if I hadn't had enough of stairs at St. Paul's! It was a beautiful night, and a great introduction to the city. And with our snappy museum passes, we got up there for FREE (kind of), which made it even better.

Day 2 was my favorite. We went through Notre-Dame, which was kind of disappointing because it was so irreverent. I mean, I got shoved out of the way when I was trying to look at the statue of St. Joan so that some non-specific European woman could take a picture. It was sad. The Centre Pompidou was interesting. I've taken some modern literature classes, and much as I've tried to transfer my interest in modern literature to modern art, it's not always the same. Don't get me wrong-- I certainly appreciate modern art, and I will continue to go to modern art museums in a continued attempt to learn to love it more but... give me some Pissarro any day. The weather was cool, though, all grey and drizzly. We found a place to eat creatively called Flunch. I'm not sure why I think it's clever, but it's obviously a play on the word lunch, so I just laugh along like I know why it's funny. I ate pain, fromage, and a tarte, which is to say, bread, cheese and a tart.

The Stringhams, Kelsey and I went down to the Catacombs in the afternoon. Of course I went crazy psyching myself out on my way down because you have to go a really, really long way through the old quarry before you actually get to the millions of bones. I'll be honest, the bones themselves are not that creepy. It's actually oddly beautiful, and I was touched in a strange way by how all the cemetaries have been kept together and placed so carefully. It made me want to kick someone in the head when we emerged on the other side to discover security people checking bags because three skulls and a few leg bones had been swiped from the depths. Disrespect makes me hate people. When we met up with the rest of the group, we were going to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, but it was closed due to wind, so we decided to take a ride down the Seine instead. Evidently, Annie and I were entirely enthralled:
Within minutes of getting off the boat, the Eiffel Tower, now lit up all beautifully, start TWINKLING with a thousand little lights. The hour leading up to that moment made me love Paris. And how could you not with this lovely view?Conclusions after the first two days in Paris:
1. It is tres stinky, particularly in the metro stations where people have obviously peed. A lot.
2. I have never seen, or been accosted by, more beggers in my life.
3. Also, street performers. And these street performers also beg for money more desperately.
4. Seriously, the metro stations are disgusting.
5. Bread really is better in France.

Day 3 involved attending mass at Notre-Dame, which was very interesting but very difficult, because mass is hard to follow anyway, but this mass was also entirely in French. Tourists continued to live up to their obnoxious reputations by taking flash photography throughout the service. The Stringhams and I bounced off to the Louvre after that, and it is certainly one of the most impressively large buildings I've ever walked through. We were surprised, but not surprised, by the Free Admission Sunday line that we had to join, but we got into the museum pretty quickly anyway. Once I had developed a sense of how to navigate the place, I set off to find the few pieces I really wanted to see, most especially, Psyche and Cupid, where I had another life-changing experience, though it has since become more life-changing after the fact:

I'll be honest-- I only spent about a little over an hour exploring the Louvre. There were SO MANY PEOPLE there that I wanted to die. In fact, I felt like I was dying, and being so overcome with frustration and the distinct smell of people, I skipped down to the Louvre Restaurant and had a very expensive poulet et fromage baguette and chocolate cake, to the tune of 15 Euro. It was worth every cent, particularly as I sat by myself eating it and writing in my journal. It kind of saved my Louvre experience, actually. But I will say this, I'm now very inclined to visit the library and find out more about the history of the palace itself, not just the art it houses.

Caught up again with the Stringhams to visit Cemitere du Pere-Lachaise, where some Important People are buried in very interesting tombs that sort of remind me of townhouses, only for corpses. We said hello to Jim Morrison and Chopin and Oscar Wilde, and I hopped over to spend a few minutes with Georges Seurat. As I felt at the catacombs, I was so disappointed with mankind when we saw Oscar Wilde. You can't even read the name on his memorial, and it's apparently already been restored once before. Honestly, it just fit right in with the rest of the city in my mind, though, since it's COVERED in graffiti to begin with.

After miraculously finding Kelsey, whom we had misplaced earlier in the day (like one might misplace a handbag), we went up to Montmatre and I was pleased do discover that my romanticized, idealized vision of Paris does exist, just not where I expected to be (namely, downtown near all the big sites). I much prefered my Sacre Coeur experience (it being much more reverent since photos weren't allowed to be taken inside), and it started drizzling very prettily. Too bad my peace and tranquility were DASHED when we looked in the guidebook to discovering this startling, and depressing, bit of news:

Versailles (aka The Reason I came to Paris instead of staying in London four more days) is closed on Mondays for restoration.

Obviously, I was heartbroken, and nearly burst into tears on the spot except that I was too tired. This did not prevent me from a very dramatic, but warranted, reaction to the name Versailles written prettily in a metro station a few minutes later.But I guess it's nothing that an evening nap, some facebook time, and a nice girly chat with some friends can't cheer up because I was feeling much better within a few hours. I just decided to sleep in, have a leisurely breakfast, and we'd all go up the Eiffel Tower to celebrate the end of our weekend in Paris-- which is exactly what we did this morning.

After a nice grey weekend, we were glad to see the sunshine and a blue sky. The Tower was PACKED with tourists, pigeons, men who cut in line, Bosnian beggers, illicit Eiffel Tower keychain sellers (only 1 Euro, you guys), and people dressed in cool and interesting clothes that we're SURE must have stolen from people in our group. Pour example: tangerine-colored pants conveniently designed for women OR men! It was a GORGEOUS day, and sure it took a few hours, but it was totally worth it so that we could stand in the presence of where Tom proposed to Katie a few years ago!!!! I couldn't help but think of my dad as we crawled up to the top and how overcome with vertigo he would have been. I was a little surprised to find myself affected by it as well, so I guess it runs in the family. But the views were beautiful and I learned that Mr. Eiffel had a little apartment built for himself up there, which taught me how I wouldn't want to live on the top of the Eiffel Tower.

After a run across town to an... interesting... store called Tintin in the St. Michel area, we grabbed our stuff from the hotel and then headed off to the train that would take us back to beloved London. I have four stamps in my passport now, you guys! Overall, I'm really glad I went to Paris, and looking back, I really liked thinking about all the things I did and saw. What's interesting is that I did not love Paris while I was actually in Paris. Perhaps this is the reason why Paris has become so romanticized? If nothing else, being in France made me realize exactly how much I've fallen in love with London, so apparently, Paris does make you fall in love, even if you're not there with a lover (which I most certainly was not).

Interesting facts about Paris:
1. They really do drink jus d'orange, and you can get it most anywhere.
2. The fold-down chairs on the metro are pretty neat.
3. Apparently the French are REALLY excited about The Dark Knight and The Mummy 3 because you can't go six feet in the metro station without seeing an ad for one or both of them.
4. If you ask a cashier if they take Visa, mostly they look at you like you have lobsters crawling out your ears.
5. Even though there are glorified portipotties on most street corners, it doesn't stop people from taking care of business right beside them-- ON THE SIDEWALK.
6. People in France sometimes choose not to speak English, even when you suspect they might be able to.
7. The Seine wins over the Thames in cleanliness. This is basically the only part of the city I would actually call somewhat "clean," however.
8. Aside from some chocolate and little bit of French food (that wasn't even that exciting), I had no desire to spend any money on anything there.

Things I'll do the next time I happen to be in Paris:
1. Actually see Mona Lisa.
2. Eat crepes with Nutella.
3. Spend more time in Montmatre.