On being 25

Just really tired all the time.

Need to pack some bags and go on a trip before I

The Penis-Long Distance Relationship Correlation

Bring your popcorn and your coke, today's topic will be slightly different from the usual home decor/ rant posts you've known until now.

Because only a mind like Banh & Mi's could come up with such a subject. 

Alors commençons par la théorie implicitement formulée par Banh : Il y a une corrélation entre la taille de l'engin et le succès de la relation longue distance. 

Le succès serait juste quantifié pour des raisons de simplicité en temps(fuck that trop compliqué 2 facteurs) et distance. 

S'il existe une corrélation et qu'à partir des données de statistiques je peux trouver le coefficient, cela voudrait dire qu'à partir de la distance Paris-Montréal, nous serions en mesure de déduire la taille de l'engin du Moose! 

Les couples dit normaux habitent en moyenne à quoi...disons entre Laval et Brossard. Ça fait 38km. Un pénis moyen en érection mesure 14cm (source: wikipedia), en érection parce que la taille au repos ne donne pas une moyenne fiable. C'est trèèèès simpliciste mais avec ces données, le coefficient serait de 0.368cm de viande par km de distance.  Sachant qu'il y a 5750km séparant Montréal et Paris, l'engin de M. ferait donc 2116cm. Avec une petite marge d'erreur de 5%, ce résultat se rapproche plutôt de la réalité!

Suburban Life

That's right, as weird as it feels to write these words, I've been pulled back into the suburban lifestyle.

Things never really change in Lachine. 

Long commutes. Unbearably long bus rides in good company next to retards and annoying teens listening to drake, and incredibly stupid conversations, the 191 never being on time.

Mowing the lawn.  I mixed up gas and oil last time and for half a day my neighbours saw the moose and I on the lawn, syphoning the horrid mixture with fkin straws from the lawn mower. 

Spiders. Trust me, if you haven't lived in Lachine, you have no idea how big spiders can get.

Life on the streets stop after 7pm.  Actually you never see anyone on the streets outside of school dropping/picking up hours. 

On the bright side, living in Lachine also has its perks.

No rent. Living at home, but without the parents. This means I could actually SAVE UP and buy myself an apartment in the city someday, or with a little perseverance, a shoebox studio in Paris!! 

Almost unlimited space for my dog and not too many car accident risk. Cuz you know, pomeranians are exactly like children. 

Just thought I would put a screencap of Revolutionary Road, although our life is in no way as dramatic as Kate & Leo's.  Have you had the chance to watch it? Isn't it a brilliant film? (and brilliantly depressing if such a thing exists)

This couple has more class and elegance in one of their depressed fingernail than the whole Lachine population. 

The Plant Sitter

Not sure if 'plant sitter' is an actual term.
But for now I am the designated watchful guardian for Pat's sweet herbs, and I shall keep an eye on them during her absence. Pat, la température à Montréal a ridiculement droppé depuis ton départ, je sors tes bébés le matin sur mon patio et je les rentre le soir pour qu'ils restent au chaud.

Have the time of your life in Beijing girl, I will carry on your Capsul legend and babysit your herbs until it is my turn to fly away ;)

A Moveable Feast

I guess this whole wandering back to reality/Montreal thing feels like a giant hangover following the most incredible party.  My Paris party lasted for a year and it is still vibrating through me, like a moveable feast.

When you push back the thought of changing to local time, so that at least on your watch, you'll always be in Paris.

Quick update

I don't even know if anyone is still reading this blog by now, feels like an abandoned house, yet it feels warm and cozy to be back. 

So to sum up the 2 questions I've been getting lately from friends that still remember my existence lol :

When are you going back to Montreal ? Are you going to stay in France forever ?

I'm coming back on July 31st, for an indefinit period of time. Please bare with me upon my return, as I will most likely become depressed and get drunk on Paris memories.

What about the moose, is he going to join you ?

The moose will join me in Montreal at the end of the summer and pursue a career in the woods as a lumberjack.

I'll get back to blogging real soon, meanwhile you can stalk me on instagram with the username bloomingcolors : http://instagram.com/bloomingcolors


Bisous,

Y.

bittersweet

Looking at all these love locks makes me realize if I ever do anything this cheesy, it would be to seal the deal with this city I have come to love so much.

I would marry this city if I could.

"      I miss you when we say goodbye for a month because I am going home and because I admit I need help. I already miss you in the cab to the airport and at the airport waiting in line to get on the plane. I miss you when the plane lands and when my dad hugs me tight and says, “You’re gonna be okay, sunshine.”

I miss you when you call and I go outside and sit on the grass in front of my house so we can talk in private and when you text me late at night as I go to bed in my mental health quarantine. “Goodnight, my love,” your name glows on my screen. I miss you then.

I miss you when you go home for the holidays and when you see your childhood friends, your long-time ex who taught you everything about trust and who is the reason you hesitate to get close to people, because you loved her so much and she spent 10 years stomping on your heart and making you work for it in a way you swore you’d never do again. I miss the you you were before she did her damage and I didn’t even know him, but I wish I had. I miss you when you were 16 years old and I was inappropriate for you anyways but you would have been more vulnerable then and maybe you would be less scared of what we have. I miss the you I never knew, who died after the third time she cheated on you, who died when your parents got divorced, who died when they told you it was your fault.

“If anyone else was acting this way about you, you’d think they were crazy,” I say.

“Yeah, but the difference is I like you,” you reply. “So I just like it.”

Perhaps this is more normal: I miss you when I leave your apartment. I walk down the steps, five stories, and when I hit the fourth floor, I already miss you. I miss you when I can’t smell you, when the t-shirt you let me wear because it was summer and I was sweating through the one I brought and I hadn’t been home in five days because we were so wrapped up in finally being together that we never thought to separate — well, when I ran out of clothing — anyway, when it stops smelling like you. I miss you when I can’t see your funny toes. I miss you when your hair is in a knit cap. I miss you when you say you miss cigarettes because I’ve never seen you smoke one and who you are depends on when I met you. Did I show up too late? I couldn’t have been any earlier. I would have been a baby then.

I miss you when your lips don’t touch mine. When you’re across the room playing video games or watching Girls with headphones on. When you’re organizing your meticulous record collection. When I am in the kitchen eating ice cream and listening to podcasts and you are in the shower. I miss you because of the age gap and because we will never line up that way and I don’t know if we would have liked each other in high school — the sad-girl overachiever and the raucous punk know-it-all. I miss you whenever we are apart because I don’t know what the next encounter will bring and I want it to be better than the last.

I miss you when you are right next to me. Nowadays. I miss you when I spoon you in bed and when you close your eyes on the couch. I miss you when you are clearly thinking about something but you can’t express it or won’t tell me what it is. I miss you when you pull back from me even as our arms are around each other. I miss you when you’re putting up walls, building defenses because you have no more trust left. I miss you when there’s fear in your voice. Fear of giving in. Of showing your hand. Of missing someone.

I miss you, of course, when you leave.

One night, I say, “Tell me everything.”

You laugh, “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “Start at the beginning.”

“The beginning? The entire beginning? I have memories from when I was like, three,” you whisper.

“Okay,” I say, smiling. “Start there.”        " - source   

GIRLS

I forgot to mention that Girls Season 2 is coming out in two days! The only "white" series I've watched so far are all from HBO (Flight of the Conchords, Game of Thrones, Girls) and I love them to bits.  

I don't know if Lena Dunham is the voice of our generation, but as a twenty something year old woman I can definitely relate to the characters trying to make sense of themselves... and mostly about accepting the fact that most of the time it doesn't make sense. I'm far from what I've pictured for myself ten years ago, but it's okay that we don't have it all figured out. We have to be good to ourselves along the way.

For your information, Girls episodes may not contain as much nudity and epic violence as Game of Thrones, but they make up in randomness and awkward sex scenes, love it!!


"Buy yourself flowers because boys don't "

Domestic Goddess

On some days I aspire to becoming a successful marketing director. 

But on most days I just dream of becoming a domestic goddess...

Afternoon reading on the balcony nook...

Steal my boyfriend's bike and turn it into a fabulous bathroom furniture...

 Change the flower water everyday, always have flowers in each room (or each corner of my gigantic loft)

Serve dinner on the rooftop terrasse, perhaps do some roof hopping into the sunset...

 My dream gown. With sleeves of course!

If I can't be a domestic goddess, I'd at least want a SMEG qui trône quelque part dans la cuisine.

The best is yet to come

I've been awfully quiet on this blog for the last few months (it's always been sporadic anyways), and I can't promise it will change in 2013, since blogging for me has always been about spontaneity and randomness.  The irony of working in marketing & communication -_-    Being constantly on the lookout for new, exciting content and writing writing on the company's blog/social networks but neglecting my own little cyberspace...

For Christmas the Moose and I bought the following lens: Nikkor 50mm F1.4     I'm so happy about it, yet everyday I continue to read something new about photography and I get discouraged by how little I know.

Est-ce que je vous ai dit que j'ai des OSTIS DE GROS MOLLETS maintenant? Oui c'est horrible, c'est  aussi gros que les bras d'un champion de dragonboat, et vous pouvez imaginer sur un corps de midget comme moi.  Merci aux 5 étages sans ascenseur de mon appart et mon abonnement vélib.

Grandma's thermos

C'est en nous promenant à l'Emmaeus de Bastille (sorte de Village des Valeurs parisien, en + classe lol) que je suis tombée sur un article de maison de mon enfance lointain en Chine. Bien sûr, il était posé beaucoup trop haut sur l'étagère pour que je puisse le saisir toute seule. D'où l'importance d'avoir un grand chum. Bref, à la vue de cet objet, pleins de souvenirs ont refait surface dans ma tête, des souvenirs inséparables de mes grandmères et de leur cuisine. 

Des thermos DEER BRAND avec de grosses pivoines ou des fleurs de pruniers, toutes les familles en Chine en avaient un!  Il suffisait de faire bouillir une grosse chaudière d'eau le matin et on avait de l'eau chaude pour toute la journée avec ces thermos. Pas seulement pour se faire du thé mais également pour faire la vaisselle, se laver les cheveux, etc. 

Pour la plupart des gens ces thermos deer brand représenteront des objets vintages très déco au charme vieillot, mais de mon côté, cette grosse bouteille est totalement indissociable de mon enfance année 80 :)

Cheap thrill: bought for 4.50 euros!!

A little update on my drinking ability

STILL CAN'T DRINK IF MY LIFE DEPENDED ON IT.
Seriously, it's like the main defining characteristic about me. 

This girl came to Paris for 4 days, perks of being a doctor and being able to use 'attend medical conferences' all around the world as an excuse to travel more. Miss you already Yang!!

Ti-Punch créole. I barely touched it with my lips, that's how weak I am.

Nice waiters are as rare as peanut butter in France. Basically non existent.  Why is that? Maybe it's part of the charm in a twisted way, but I'll never get used to it.

By the way, this picture is not for racist purposes Huilong, I know what you're thinking -_-  She was one of the only smily waitresses in entire Paris.

sous la pluie

-It's so hard to make friends. Meeting people, not so much, but making a real connection seems impossible. Just makes me miss even more the goofballs back in Montreal. But it seems like no one wants to add me on Skype, AGAIN MY USERNAME IS yilizhuzhu  add me or don't complain that I never give any news >:O   Don't forget, it goes both ways, you know who you are -_-

-I know the rue du Cherche-Midi like the back of my pocket now, but have yet to bump into M. Gerard Depardieu
-During my first week in Paris I went to buy a flat iron and met in the store my crush  Louis Garrel, but I was too stunned by his evengreaterlooksinreallife and just stared at my feet/hiding behind Axel  WHILE MY DOG FRIGGIN WENT UP TO HIM AND SMELLED HIS FEET AND STOLE A SMILE FROM HIM.
-Haven't eaten a croissant yet since I got here. NOT ONE. And I live above a bakery, shame on me.
-UHT milk isn't so bad after all. I still prefer fresh milk, but one of the perks of UHT milk is that you can keep tons of it outside of your tiny French fridge.
-Explored a lot of cours intérieures by playing around with the digicodes/stalking people living inside
-Watched  Les amants du Pont Neuf, it confirmed my thoughts on being a hobo in Paris; sad yet glamorous.

A true Parisian balcony. Not mine ;)

merci

Thankful for all that life has brought my way.


Original song by Brandi Carlile

LONDON CALLING

I took the Eurostar train for the first time.  Leaving for London with the early train and being back to Paris at night feels like teleport, I keep forgetting how small Europe is :p

The corners of our new home

So happy about our homegrown basil and coriander

 huh?

Il y a tellement de lumière dans cet appart qu'on est obligé de fermer les volets et rideaux pour ne pas être aveuglés. J'ADORE.

Avoir une fenêtre dans ma cuisine en plus d'un grand four = tous mes désirs de housewife sont comblés.

la cour intérieure. We saw a neighbour in the front building completely naked with her windows wide open. Yes Andrew, we could see her bush.

 It's covered in beige 70s cement but we have our own (functional) fireplace!

I made this peephole raccoon.

 Don't know whether you're able to see the painting that the artist who used to live here has left us, those are 4 baby doll heads painted in white. Very special indeed.

Mon coin à moi!!  

To be honest, this first week in the new apartment has been tough for me. I guess only you people who read my blog will know about this unglamorous side of my move to Paris. The idyllic first month in this country is over and I'm not saying Paris' charm is starting to wear off; it's still as beautiful as always, but I cannot go out with the increasing guilt of being unemployed.  (Yes I haven't tried applying at Galeries Lafayette to sell Chanel bags to rich chinese yet, but I think I'll do that if in a month there is still no job for me)  The moose works from 8 to 8 everyday this week so it's just beibei and I at home.  I know what you're thinking. It's a good experience but I don't think I'm meant to be a housewife -_-.  Really enjoying the cooking though (did I mention that I also have an OVEN??!!), I wish I could have my friends here and make good use of my FOLDING TABLE FOR 8 !

Again, add me on skype : yilizhuzhu

new home

The past few days really tested our muscles and endurance, as we moved from the 5e to the 13e (chinatown hahaha) by bus/metro and the help of a friend with a tiny car. Our new apartment is on the 5th floor of this pink building WITHOUT ELEVATOR. As you can see there is a cute bakery right downstairs and we share the inner court with them, so it smells like bread all day (and sometimes like yeast).  I think the hundreds of stairs will compensate enough for the pains aux chocolats I will be indulging in.

Photos coming up in my next post, don't start imagining some grandiose hausmanian apartment with the complete balcony overlooking the river ;)  I've come to accept my destiny, carpet always seem to cross my path, so be it. It makes our little nest even cozier.

OH AND I HAVE A WASHING MACHINE, c'est du grand luxe ^___^

For the curious ones, the new home is on Avenue d'Italie near Metro Tolbiac.

S'envoyer en l'air

I've never thought my first hot balloon ride would happen in the middle of Paris. Well we didn't fly as high and far as the old man in UP, but this city always offers a view ;)

A side of Paris I've never seen.

The moose works in one of the skyscrapers afar.

We were not placed in a woven basket but more of a metallic donut.

For you cinéphiles   (here's looking at you HUILONG), can you recognize this scenery?

That's right, Pont Bir-Hakeim and the apartment in which the sulfurous Maria Schneider and Marlon Brando had an anonymous affair in Last Tango in Paris. (Forever traumatized by the butter scene to be honest.) 

If you have favorite movies filmed in Paris, I'd be more than happy to research the film locations and take photos for you.