Clarabella Speaks.

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

Sunday, 18 August 2013

Diaries of a Parisian Waitress: 29 days to go.

Okay wow where have those 10 weeks gone? Obviously you have all been missing Clarabella Speaks like caaaa-raaazy and wondering if this absence has meant that Parisian life actually stopped providing me with things to complain about. I too had been wondering the same thing, but let's not get too excited just yet...

June started off well with visits from various excellent friends and family members and I managed to get over leaving Granada again pretty quickly (don't panic it will still always be my numero 1). By mid-June I had even landed myself a waitressing job, which as great as it is, unfortunately brought an end to studio style. The following photo will very clearly explain why this is the case.

No your eyes do not deceive you. That is indeed me resembling Luigi off off Mario Kart, in my brown dungarees (one size fits all might I add so you can just imagine that they fit like a beauty), a blue polo shirt and yes that's right,  A BROWN CAP. It's as if they knew my aversion to all things brown and thought they'd have some fun. The photo is courtesy of my darling sister, who upon arrival at the restaurant could do nothing except laugh, and then document the hilarity so that all those unable to make it to Paris could also share in the amusement. Well the joke's on you (or at least it's not on me) because after 8 weeks on the job I am acting manager until September so I may look ridiculous but at least my waitressing skills aren't equally bad. I even regularly get people's left-over coleslaw over my hands without freaking out; I mean I know they said the year abroad would change us, but I never imagined the change would be quite so drastic.

Aside from waitressing I've just been enjoying summer (even managed to squeeze in a week down south), counting down the days until I see Mr Tayto at Belfast International Airport, oh and casually being made homeless by the world's most RIDICULOUS person. Yes that's right, I am no longer writing from my 5th floor room with a balcony, due to a series of dramatic events caused by the stupidest most frustrating person you would ever wish to meet. I shan't get into all the deets for fear of re-surfacing Angry Clare, but let's just say do NOT trust anyone who sublets a room to you in France (yes I am over-generalising, shoot me if you must) unless you want to get home one day to find all your stuff has been packed into bags and then have them steal 340 euros from you. I guess I should have guessed that someone who spends her entire days playing Mario Kart at 24 years of age isn't what one would define as socially normal. All year-abroaders, you have been warned. 

I did however find a nice new flat with actual people who speak, the only downside being this one is on the 6th floor with no lift (I really do know how to pick them). Walking up the stairs at home will be like free-wheeling down a massive hill in comparison, and it's only 29 days until I get to do it, eeeeeeek! Don't worry though, there'll be at least one more Parisian Clarabella update before I leave; I wouldn't leave you in the lurch like that, I know you'll need time to mourn its departure.