Clarabella Speaks.

"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves" - Shakespeare

Monday, 20 May 2013

Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: Why am I such a retard?

Another day, another bank holiday. If we can't have 2 bank holidays every week, can every month at least be like May? It seems almost cruel that the next one isn't until August, but as of next Monday when my stage ends, I am jobless so I guess every day's gonna be a bank holiday, except better because everyone else will be at work, muahaha. Panic not, studio style will still continue (I know you were worried), it will just not be office wear (at least until I find a new job), although it's probably debatable whether the following outfits are office wear anyway - "you can't go to the hotel dressed like that and tell them you work here" - but I made a special effort this week and got 4 of my 5 outfits snapped so whatever, office wear or not here they are.

Please note the appearance of the long-unseen wine shorts in the last photo. My 'gym-fanatic' status is paying off and I can finally wear them again whilst breathing at the same time. Hurrah. Speaking of the gym, never mind walking in changing rooms to full-frontal nudity displays, on Friday I walked out of my shower to discover the woman opposite me did not believe in closing her cubicle door whilst showering. Totes awks, esp when she looked right at me like I was the one in the wrong for being there. HELLO, do you not know what doors are for?! Oh em gee. Also, decided I'd do a weights class on Monday, the added benefit of this being the noticeable male presence. Except it's not really a benefit when you look down mid-conversation with an attractive french boy and realise that the fact that you have not shaved your legs in 2 weeks is much more noticeable than you thought. Oh my life. So now I'm about to begin the waxing process. I say begin because it takes me so long to talk myself into ripping each strip off that if I did both legs and bikini in one go I would not make it to sleep tonight. 

My evening's plans were originally to go for a run, but of course that plan went pear shaped. Today, after 3 previously failed attempts, I successfully purchased a new pair of trainers. Except it turns out it wasn't successfully. I tried them on in the shop, great. I bought them, brought them home, got ready to go out for a run AND IT TURNS OUT THEY ARE ACTUALLY TOO SMALL. 10 days, 7 sports shops, 8 metro journeys, 1 pair of trainers and too much effort later and I am still trainer-less. Why am I such a retard? 

Anyway, we'll move on before you come up with an answer for that question (it's meant to be rhetorical). On Saturday I took a trip to Lille. The good news was I wasn't in Paris, the bad news was I was in Lille. I spent my morning mis-reading maps, getting chased by a duck (ironic given I had just the night before watched the Far East Movement 'Rattle' video and lolled at the thought of an angry duck), and finally in an art museum complete with audio guide (I hate museums, especially with audio guides), to pass some of my remaining 8 hours. The day did however improve from there, and apart from seeking refuge in Sephora to hide from a creepy stalker man, I quite enjoyed myself. The strangest part happened in Paris, on the bus on the way back from Gare du Nord. I was casually sat there looking out the window, and I don't know if the fact that it was grey and rainy confused me, but I had the sudden feeling like I was on my way home. I'm not even joking, like I actually felt at home in Paris. The expression of utter confusion which remained on my face for the next 5 minutes said it all about how unexpected that was but I came to the conclusion that my trip to relatively boring Lille was in fact, a good thing. After wine with a friend last week, I realised that it is about time I started making the most of Parisian life, and so now with my stage ending, my excuse for everything will be "I'm in Paris". Obviously if everything goes excellently this could become problematic because what would I write about then? but we'll cross that bridge when (not if - note the optimism) we come to it. 

I'm going back to my beloved Granada on Thursday and I am more excited than I possibly have been in my life. Spain + spanish people + pomegranates + spinning + tinto de verano = one ecstatic Clare. Updates on my new amazing Parisian life when I return, that is if I don't decide to stay. Tehe.

Un besote.

Sunday, 12 May 2013

Diaries of a Parisian Office Worker: A week of highlights

After this week's two bank holidays I have decided that bank holidays are my favourite kind of day and would kindly appreciate it if who ever is in charge of setting the working calendar could see fit to give us two bank holidays every week. If you know who that person is, please direct them to this post. This short working week did however mean that there were only 3 possible days that I could photograph my work outfit, and given I'm struggling to do it once in a 5-day week, this was basically doomed from the start, so instead here is today's fruit-buying outfit (I like to try and look my best for the market sellers, maybe they'll give me some free fruit).

After a fabulous weekend with Gwen dining in some of Paris' top venues (namely La Durée, le Paradis du Fruit and my balcony) and strolling/bussing casually through la ville, this week had a lot to live up to. Monday's highlight was crying in front of my boss (people leaving me in Paris brings out my emotional side) which of course is always fun, especially when the reply is "you're 21, you need to harden up". In fact Monday was extra special and had 2 highlights, the second one being a bird pooing on my hand and bag. Tuesday's highlight was thanking my lucky stars it was only my hand the buggar pooed on as I watched Other Irish Intern have one poo on her hair. I'd rather like to think my racing to the nearest café to get some serviettes saved the day. I also think we've had enough of words containing poo for one post.

The obvious highlight of Wednesday and Thursday was not going to work and enjoying a lie-in until 9.30 (not loving my body clock rn), and Friday's was being greeted by a fully frontal naked Japanese woman as I walked into the gym changing rooms. That is not a mental image I wished to have but one that a lot of my fellow gym goers seem intent on providing me with. Finally today (skipping saturday because it was non-eventful), I somehow ended up with eye-liner lead on the bottom of my shorts and managed to draw some sort of charcoal design over my bedsheets with my ass. I think this is a skill that should go on my CV. 

And with that new-found talent I shall love and leave you. My alarm will be ringing in 8 hours and I'm already reaching for the snooze button.


Wednesday, 1 May 2013

Diaries of a Parisian Office Worker: Pyjama Day.

Happy Labour Day. Whilst my Spanish amigos have been out protesting for workers' rights, you can tell from today's outfit that I have been doing no such thing. This photo was taken at approximately 16h30 and I am not ashamed (although maybe I should be given I actually went out to the ATM in them?).  Pretty sure whoever came up with the concept of bank holidays meant for them to be pyjama days anyway, surtout quand il pleut dehors.

The day has not however been wasted. I am now up-to-date with Home and Away and Mad Men and getting there with Coronation Street (don't judge me, especially if you watch Made in Chelsea). I have also read and understood my french bank account details, tidied my handbags (yes plural) and organised my paper work #she'slivin'lavidaloca.

So as not to completely miss out on the fact that this pyjama day is being spent in France, I decided to put NRJ Hits on my TV to get a feel for French music (after 2 months it's about time, no?). Relatively bad idea. Aside from watching French men dressed up as Robin Hood dancing to what was essentially an Irish Jig and Justin Bieber singing into a headpiece that looks like a giant black golf ball stuck in front of his mouth, I discovered that I can put a name to the face of each member of One Direction (oh no) and will probably have nightmares for a week after seeing PSY's new video. In all seriousness, how is he even successful? I may spend my Sh'bam classes dancing to Gangnam Style like a pony on its hind legs but I was almost sick watching this. Like actually, this surpasses my hate for Mr Chow in the Hangover, and anyone who has watched that film with me knows that that is quite a strong hatred. Although just to balance out this negativity a little bit, below is a link for a pretty fabulous little song I did hear today. French music isn't all horrific. Although speaking of horrific, Cher Lloyd is now on my screen so we will move swiftly on before any positivity is lost...

My french may still not be improving perhaps as much as I would like, but I was reassured about my English this week (an actual slight worry for year abroad students) by an Israeli customer. First of all he walked into the office and greeted us with a 'Hey, what's up?" and then asked where I was from (he couldn't understand when I said "eight"until I said it like 'eeyytt'). Obviously I told him Northern Ireland (resisted adding in a 'hi lawd' at the end) to which he replied, "Oh. Your English is pretty good". Gee thanks. The amount of people I have met this year who ask what language we speak in (Northern) Ireland is ridiculous, so everyone, take note now. WE SPEAK ENGLISH.

And on that informative note today's blog ends here. Mama bear is making an appearance in Paris this weekend so unless something drastic happens to me tomorrow that I simply have to write about (although let's really hope that it doesn't), I will be back next week. Bonne fin de semaine et bon weekend à tous.