Posts Tagged: paris
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Women I Dated in Paris, by a Lesbian Who Can't Speak French

i.

My first date after moving to Paris was at a cemetery. I had been messaging a girl on OkCupid from New Zealand who was looking for people with whom to knock must-visits off her Parisian bucket list; her name was Ruby, and she suggested we meet up at Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Ruby from New Zealand had only one OKC profile picture, and it was of a small, distant, short-haired figure sitting in a kayak. I had no idea how I’d recognize her in a crowd unless she brought the kayak along with her. But that didn’t end up mattering, since outside the Gambetta metro stop on a sunny spring [...]

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Eleven Days Alone In: Paris

Edith Zimmerman: Frequent traveler and Wikipedia enthusiast Chiara Atik just took a trip to Paris for Christmas and New Year's, which she chronicled on Tumblr and Instagram, inspiring both jealousy and vicarious delight. Chiara! Did you stay in one place or did you move around, hotel/apartment-wise?

Chiara Atik: One place! AirBnB. I think I'd be too lazy to move around, but that seems like a cool way to see different parts of a city. It was so nice to have an apartment there, though, to grocery shop, hang out on the couch, and just feel like a local for a week. 

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Scala Coeli

("Forgive all our sins and receive us graciously, that we may offer the fruit of our lips.”

In older translations, it’s “calves of our lips,” but Rupert Van Deutz preferred the former for reasons that will become obvious.)

After a month of rain the sun is finally shining through the windows into my Medieval Latin class. We’re reciting and translating the “Scala coeli,”or “Stairway to Heaven” from Latin to French at nine in the morning, a bitter irony. We're all so groggy that all we aspire to is the coffee machine in the hallway downstairs. “Scala Coeli” is, from what I can make [...]

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The Bir's

One night in his Paris garden apartment, my best friend Juan was making me dinner (spaghetti with frankfurter rondelles, carrots, tomatoes, and onions, his specialty), and he told me that a bird had come to visit him the day before. He was puzzled that birds were always coming into his apartment from the garden. I explained to him that it was only to be expected: viewed from the garden, his place didn’t really seem to be inhabited by a human being at all. The back windows opened onto the garden at eye level — and by opened, I mean opened wide every morning, all year round, whatever the weather, because [...]

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The Big Book of Female Killers, Chapter 2: The Marquise de Brinvilliers

This is the second installment of "Lady Killers," a new series. Read Chapter 1 here.

Poison fits easily into the home. It's subtle, secretive, tidy. It doesn't leave blood on the floor or holes in the wall. Dropping a bit of colorless liquid into food or drink is a total breeze. And who, historically, stirs the batter, serves the wine, and is exceptionally invested in keeping the floor clean? Women, of course.

Paris in the second half of the 17th century oozed with poison and the fear of poison and, by extension, the fear of women: divineresses who dabbled in arsenic, spells, and abortions, and the rich young [...]

113

The Billionaire

Once again, I’d been dumped. That wasn’t the hard part. I was getting used to being dumped, and had developed a routine involving a lot of sushi and frequent chair massages. Learned to see the advantages in not having a man in my hair all the time. No, what really smarted was that I’d been on the verge of dumping my dumper (Aha! For once it would be me in charge!) when he’d beaten me to it. Long distance, no less. And then, of course, I’d changed my mind: “No, wait!”

But it was too late. I wasn’t getting enough sleep. I had no appetite. I was pining away, getting [...]

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The League of Ordinary Ladies: Postcard From Paris

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Ellie Goulding, "Tessellate" (Alt-J Cover)

Ellie Goulding covered Alt-J's "Tessellate" and then made a video of her dancing around Paris for it.

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Apropos of Nada

The velvet headband!

I was standing in front of my apartment building in the 15th arrondissement of Paris, wondering where to go next. The woman who’d rented me her servant's quarters, a room on the 11th floor adjoining her apartment and accessible by an outdoor walkway that passed her kitchen window, had just raised the rent on me for the third time in three months.

I knew where I wasn’t wanted: four months earlier she’d asked me to stop cooking “smelly things” (like spaghetti or vegetables) in her kitchen (access to which had originally been part of the deal), and then asked me to stop cooking things she could [...]

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The League of Ordinary Ladies: A Trip to the Cinema