WE ARE SO GOOD TOGETHER.

Well, if a miracle occurs within the next eight days, I shall be settling into my apartment in Paris as you turn your calendars from February to March.  You know when everything’s going really well, and you’re almost afraid to be happy because you feel as though maybe you’re not entirely deserving of all of this happiness, and you’re convinced that something must go wrong for balance to be restored to the world?  That’s me right now.  Who knew being a well-traveled 20-year-old with dual citizenship could ever be a disadvantage, eh?

While I anxiously await this long overdue security clearance, here are some photos of the Parisian life I was living last year and that I hope to be living again very soon.

Photo 10-02-2015 22 26 43

Métro. Boulot. Dodo.

Photo 16-02-2015 23 44 19

IMG_6848

Photo 12-02-2015 12 20 17

IMG_6803

IMG_8006

IMG_7377

Photo 14-02-2015 19 58 00

IMG_8007

Photo 13-02-2015 20 26 30

IMG_6816

Photo 06-02-2015 19 17 35

Photo 10-02-2015 22 15 28

IMG_7122

IMG_6846

Can you tell I had a cold?

Photo 14-02-2015 19 55 37

One of my favorite sights.  Everything in this picture.

Photo 08-02-2015 16 58 14

Tame Impala!

Photo 11-02-2015 20 50 48

Photo 16-02-2015 16 16 22

So happy.

Photo 09-02-2015 22 40 26

Photo 07-02-2015 22 21 00

IMG_7113

Photo 19-02-2015 10 56 34

Bisous.

Advertisements

Chilled dimanche à Paris.

Saturday night was spent mostly outside in the cold wandering the streets, although the two bottles of wine German and I chugged outside Hôtel de Ville earlier  kept us warm, or at least kept us unaware of how cold it truly was.  So Sunday we took it down a notch, slept in, rendez-vous at Sugarplum Cake Shop – a really cute café near Cardinal Lemoine whose playlist I really regret not inquiring about.  I was, however, able to recognize bands like The Kooks and Washed Out – the makings of a great coffeehouse playlist, obviously.  I was totally un-European and ordered a hot chocolate.  I will admit, I don’t like coffee.  I can drink it if it’s got buckets of milk and sugar mixed in, otherwise, I can’t get it down me.  The taste is just not for me I suppose.  I have, in fact, admitted this to French people (one of whom was my boyfriend) and they didn’t shun me, but I do try to keep it on the DL when I’m in Paris.  Who the hell goes to a Parisian café and orders a hot chocolate??  Me, apparently.

IMG_9388

Pascal, her roommate (whose name I have forgotten – sorry if you’re reading this, which you’re most likely not), and Juan joined us.  The plan was to do homework.  We told stories of drunken nights along the Seine and failed attempts of getting into fancy clubs.  Then three hours had passed, no homework had been done, and we were all getting a bit peckish.  We packed up our stuff and headed to the Marché Franprix down the street to pick up a few ingredients for our Sunday night dinner, which German had kindly offered to cook.  German is quite the cook – if you’re reading this, I want you to make me your potato curry again when you come to Paris next summer.  We headed back to Pascal’s apartment carrying bags of pasta, a block of cheese, a small box of ham bits, a bottle of milk, and three baguettes.  For good measure.

IMG_9389

Just casually passing by the Pantheon on our way home.

German effortlessly whipped up an absolutely delicious meal for the five of us.  In true Rosie fashion, I went back for seconds before I had even finished what was already on my plate.  I was completely stuffed halfway through my second helping, but feeling guilty, I slowly shoveled in the rest and washed it down with a mouthful of Orangina, the good stuff!

IMG_9408

IMG_9411

IMG_9412

Three pieces of bread for Rosie!

We spent the next couple of hours passing around Pascal’s laptop and showing each other good music.  Good music, pasta, bread, friends, Paris – what else do you need?

IMG_9413

Juan about to try some type of Swedish food that comes out of a tube (Pascal and her roommate are Swedish).

IMG_9414

At least we can walk off that meal!  Wait, that only works if you’re climbing the stairs.

Bisous.