The green (and pink) eyed monster

Today the sun was out (as it has been for the last two straight weeks!), and the day screamed spring attire. As I had spent a good forty-five minutes last week blabbing on and on to a future transplant about the importance of embracing the fact that you are American in France and it will always be that way, I was yearning for my Lilly Easter skirt. But, alas, I believe that disappeared in our “One Buck Chuck” pre-Philly move, so I settled for a vintage number acquired in Philly that would fit in at Ralph Lauren’s for brunch, the Tommy Hilfiger prep shack après, and make me feel in the Easter spirit. I applied my bright pink lipstick, threw on my quilted flats and corralled my green-pant sporting hubby to head to our day of celebration. But instead of that holiday spirit, I was the Grinch (with the added splash of spring appropriate pink). As I knew that the US would welcome me in my present attire, the French/tourists did not appreciate Mashley’s Easter duds. I spent more time giving the evil eye back to the poorly-dressed fanny pack donning invaders than I did embracing my own advice. As Tommy Hilfiger is trying to push the prep movement here in Paris and seer-sucker has even made it onto the shelves of H&M, the moral to this madras-clad story is that Paris may be seeped in the green-eyed monster, but they are not sporting it.

And while talking attire, our little stint in Russia made me wish that I had purchased at least one pair of thigh-high boots and studded-jeans (with eye shadow to match my boot color). The green-eyed monster I was not, but instead completely perplexed by the amount of day clothes that could have doubled for club attire (clearly they have the day to night clothes issue solved so Glamour can rest soundly in Moscow). Although I did not find it terribly attractive, as a post-Soviet country it is fascinating. It seemed eerily similar to the neighborhoods I used to drive through on my way to work --- dilapidation with satellite dishes and fancy SUVs abound. New found wealth and freedom can be more of an ultimate devastation than uplifting in a perplexing sort of way. I don’t like extremes, which is why perhaps I was so turned off by Russia. That being said, the Hermitage was breathtaking, and quite a pad. Twist my arm and perhaps I would have lived there – but only if I was allowed to wear pink and green. I think the monogram thing was already covered in the palace, so at least that is one step in the right direction….

Tommy Hilfiger Prep Shack in front of the Pompidou

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Russia, April 2011

Snapshot

As I sat down yesterday in my obnoxious pink scarf (secured at the Hermes soldes) with my white pants, stone-colored poncho and BR flats (this outfit being my “middle finger” to all the Parisians in black on this glorious spring day), attached to my Blackberry and all in a tizzy as I was leaving my Bee meeting late and was therefore off-schedule, I experienced divine intervention. Or at least pretty close. As the metro-pulled up, I flew up from the green egg-shaped chair with my poncho cape-like in my dust. I was busy typing a text apologizing for my soon to be tardiness, when I plunked down in the nearest available seat without looking up. Text complete, I put my head up to take a deep breath and survey my fellow 2pm metro companions. As I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of stink, annoying breathing or excess spillage from my seatmate, I looked over. There, sitting next to me, was a demure, deeply engrossed priest clad in all black, reading his Bible and most likely thinking pure thoughts. I couldn’t help but take a snapshot in my mind of what a pair we made --- me in my white and pastels typing away in my sunglasses, while he sat there calmly in all-black, reading his pocket-sized Bible. He was the one sporting the correct colors for Hell, but I was the one going there. It made me slow down for a minute and just think – something only the good Lord himself would be able to make me do.

In an attempt to slow-down and recount, here is a snapshot of activities I partook in from the last few weeks that I deemed Bible-worthy (in honor of the priest, I will be rating my experiences using a scale based on Bibles ... which apparently turn into ampersands post-Word).

Lacroix exhibit at Quai Branly &&&&

-An amazing green space with an even cooler museum! The most interesting section of Lacroix’s exhibit was the large collection of ornate, celebratory burkas.

“I eat you, you eat me” at La Maison Rouge &&&

-The concept of an exhibit based on cannibalism was tres cool, but the pictures were mildly disturbing (especially the sushi made with human body parts). I would definitely go back to the Rose Bakery within the maison (as long as their menu does not include human).

American Prayer exhibit at the National Library &&&&

-The priest would not have approved of this one. The title was based off of a Jim Morrison poem and included many American (pornographic) pop-culture items. Lots of original manuscripts and nipples.

Dior exhibit at Le Bon Marche &&&&

-Enough said.

And, when I wasn’t busy texting, flying around on the metro, or having God speak to me, here are some snapshots of note.

Celebrating Elise's birthday at chez nous

On our way to the US Ambassador's Residence for tea

Divine decor in the Ambassador's pad

Monday night splendor

les Levets at "Suck me I'm Pamplemoose"