At a loss...

If I had posted on Thursday, I would have titled it "Waiting for Death and Transportation." If I had posted Friday, it would have been "Helmut." Yesterday would have been "Où est le Bastille?" So today, I really have no idea what to title this post. Titles are important to me - they have to symbolise a great deal in a small amount of text and not solely represent the subject of the text; it must go beyond. . . For example, if I were to write about my breakfast this morning, "My Breakfast" would be, in my opinion, the drabbest of titles. On the other hand, "Toast" is a fabulous title. There are just so many directions one could take with "Toast." But now, I've waited too long to encompass everything in the past four days into a meaty post, and therefore I'm at a loss for a decent title. So, I'll choose one topic, and then for those of you who are reading for a vicarious experience and just want to know what I've done, I'll provide a list of my activities at the bottom.

Grr, grr, grr...

He finished his cappuccino with a quick toss back of his head, folded his English map of "Discovering Paris"  and stuffed it in his back pocket, hoisted his  R.E.I. backpack and his shopping bags (yes, a bit of an oxymoron, which means he was probably fabulously interesting), and, with a quick glance back at me, strode out of the café. I had said nothing to him. I was waiting for a friend who was late -- I had finished my cappuccino, and had been looking at my map, and had been slyly glancing in his direction . . . and I said nothing. It would have been the easiest phrase ever uttered just to  say, "Are you in Paris for long?" or "Are you here on vacation?" or "Would you like to see my map?" Nothing. He was four feet away, he was alone, he was cute, he spoke English, he looked like he needed/wanted some conversation, he was dressed too butch to be gay, he seemed a few years older than me ... I can't help but feel that I lost an amazing opportunity. Or at least one in which to be nice to someone.

Of course, he didn't speak to me and so was just as gutless as I. But I do have to say that when I am unsure and on my own, I think I have this ability to take on an aura of unapproachability that really only the most unaware or arrogant of men would have the nerve to puncture. 

This was Friday. So now I have lived all weekend (in which fireworks and bars and dancing were all factors) being the 3rd or 5th or 19th non-French-speaking wheel, churning with the what-ifs, what-onlys, god-i-wish-i-hads, and all manner of self-deprecations. This experience exposed a characteristic of mine that I have been and am desperately trying to improve, if not annihilate altogether: my perpetual second-guessing of my gut. I've got good instincts. I get people. I'm a good listener. I see. And yet, stepping out on a limb sometimes is like asking me to jump down a dark hole of unknown depth and destination. Even if every nerve-ending in my being says do it. It's your chance. It's now or never. It's not a pit of vipers; it's a front row seat to the rest of your fabulous life, baby, I still opt for never too many times. 

Grr...grr...grr.

So. Now, I must let this go. I have two weeks to improve upon this trait, and I shall try to do thusly. Just had to air my frustration.

Thursday - "Waiting for Death and Transportation"

- after standing in line for two hours,  descended the depths of the Catacombs. Eerie and fascinating.

-mastered the French transportation system by riding two buses and four different trains to arrive at my destinations and not once wound up in the wrong place

-went to Père LaChaise. Was rained out after 20 minutes and decided to shell out the bucks on a sunnier, warmer day for a guided tour. LOTS of famous graves, ya'll. And they ain't easy to find. (Guided tour is on Tuesday)

Friday - "Helmut"

- slept in, went to Helmut Newton exhibit -- ah-freakin'-mazin'

- had experience which has been foretold, 

- went shopping with Anja (host) on Rue de Rivoli

- went to a b-day party in a bar -- It: crowded, hot, loud, Me: 19th wheel, trapped in corner unable to converse with younger-than-me strangers I probably would have never spoken to first based on my behavior during the experience which has been foretold.

Saturday - "Où est le Bastille?"

- slept in, breakfasted, Saturday house chores

-went to open air market/festival and bought a CUTE skirt

-jumped out of the car (it had stopped) to photograph the steps on which Edith Piaf was born

-drove by where the Bastille used to exist -- in my ignorance, I forgot that it was destroyed the night of the revolution and so asked where it was

-lovely dinner with hosts

-longingly looked at fireman hosting a dance 

- with older hosts and too late, so we zoomed off to a hotel to watch the fireworks

-fireworks started before we reached destination, so jumped out of car and stood on a wall and peered over a chain-link fence with little French children crowding in around me to ooh-and-aah in our universal tongue

Today - "Sole"

-went to Sunday market to purchase ingredients for lovely Sunday dinner of sole - C'est magnifique.

-went to Rodin's house in Meudon where he is buried. beautiful. house for sale next door. want to buy it. very much.

-afternoon champagne with friends of hosts and their ah-dorable two-year-old