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Living in Paris has been a dream of mine sine I was 16 and came with Mr. Harris and five french students for two weeks. I remember very clearly standing in front of the Arc de Triomphe on the Champs Elysee. It was Tuesday, or something equally banal, late afternoon, and the cafe's were packed. Women were smoking over their chevre chaud salads, tiny dogs sleeping in their laps. Everyone seemed to be buying something crazy expensive, and couples were bickering and making out with equal passion. Cars circling the Arc glanced their headlights off the crumbling baroque and roccoco buildings, and, if my memory serves me (and not my uber romantic side) correctly, someone somewhere was playing an accordion. Not all of these things, sound necessarily like aspects of a city to get hooked on, but I was in it to win it.

Fast forward. Check this shit out. I just moved in with Maja, a 30 year old German chick, and her bomb ass apartment. We live in Antony (look it up). My metro stop is a block from my brand new building. Sure, there's no crown molding or vaulted ceilings, but there's also no mold or vaulted prices (see how I did that?) The balcony and my bedroom window are south facing, there's a bathtub, and oven, a dishwasher, and a washer. I'm not sure you realize what I just wrote. There's a bathtub, an oven, a dishwasher, and a washer. It's hard enough to get a window in Paris.

There's a giant park nearby, that I hear talk of people jogging, which I will definitely take part in when it's not stupid cold. Although I have to trek into the city for class for three more weeks, the Bedouk (my intern company) building is on the same clock as my apartment. I don't have to cross the street to get there. It takes more time in the two elevators than it does to walk between the buildings. What I'm trying to say is I'm close.