How Does The 11th Sound?

by

It sound pretty fucking right on.

I just got off the phone with two of my good friends.  Both of whom talked me off the ledge.

Granted it was not a very high ledge, as I swung my legs over and they hit the sidewalk, but I have vertigo and the height seemed a lot higher.

Everything seems a lot higher when you are trying to figure it out on your own.

Barnaby is on a road trip–doing Route 66 backwards on his motorcycle–for the next month.  Then he’s off to Paris for about 4-6 weeks.  Then back to the states, then back to Paris sometime between the 30th of October and the 1st of November.

He will have a confirmed dates for me in the next week.

I will have a date to shoot for buying my ticket.

My ticket which is now going to be round trip.  I had not thought about this.  I thought I would be saving some money buying a one way ticket.  Apparently that arouses suspicion, though, duh, why hadn’t I thought of that?  And unless you have a fair amount of money, which I don’t, they tend to think that perhaps you are trying to stay in their lovely country as opposed to just visiting it.

Barnaby said get a round trip ticket.  Make it for a six month return.  That way if for some strange reason they round me up and deport me I’ll have a return ticket.  The odds of an attractive 40-year-old woman who speaks French and has a strong work ethic, and numerable bankable skills, is pretty doubtful.

Add to thatsober, responsible, clean, respectful, and I should not have any problems, the tattoos my arouse a little attention, they did last time I was there, but I am moving in November, not exactly the warm weather season, no ones going to see my tattoos.

Barnaby said the same thing that John Ater said–what’s the worst that happens?  It all falls to shit, I can’t find a job, which is nonsense everybody believes I will get employment, under the table, and you have had a three-month vacation in Paris.

Oh boo hoo.

You get sent back to San Francisco.

Not as though I would get deported to Milwaukee,  Wisconsin or Omaha, Nebraska.  I would get sent home to San Francisco.

You there, you’ve been naughty, off to San Francisco with you.

San Francisco likes naughty, or so I’ve heard, I’d be welcomed home with open arms.

Speaking of naughty, the dragon has been poked.

Hmmm.

That’s more of a pun then I intended.

The sleeping dragon has been awakened.

Or poked, whatever.

Hehe.

Anyways, the libido is a-fucking-wake.  Wow.

And back to the topic at hand.

Paris.

The 11th Arrondissement.  The Bastille.  It is a fairly working class neighborhood and pretty central.  It is close to the Marais and the City Center.  I don’t know it super well, but it’s quite central and I like that.  Barnaby has an apartment now and he’s negotiating a two bedroom with his agent.

I told him I was freaking out and he and then Joan, both said it all again.  You have friends.  The worst that happens, you spend three months hanging out with a friend who knows Paris really well and will get me plugged in with all the important folks I need to get plugged in with.

I am in good hands.

Shit, I usually am, as long as those hands are not mine.

Ha.

Speaking of taking direction and saying yes, YES, I got the day off.  Oh, excuse me, I got the days off, that’s right, three days off in a row.  Three days to go up to the Russian River and hang out with my lovely friends, I’ll be leaving the city around 1p.m. on Friday afternoon and heading up with the lovely and dear Joan.

I still am in a little shock that I actually got the time off.

I work my ass off though and I don’t ask for much, I think that helped me out. Frankly, who cares why it worked out.  I asked and I let go the results and I got back a surprisingly wonderful affirming yes.

I also was told that the Saturday evening party theme is the Great Gatsby via Burning Man.  I love it.  I am already thinking about the black velvet bowler hat with the cabbage rose and the black ostrich feathers that I also added a pink glass bird too with pink dyed ostrich feathers.

It is fabulousity itself.

A pretty dress, I don’t have a flapper dress, but I have enough accessories to have fun with it.  I want to play dress up!

I get the best of all worlds.  Three lazy sunny days on the Russian River, a hot tub for evening, and a dress up party for the evening of Jayne’s birthday, and the house has an outdoor sound system.  Dancing!

I can afford to do this.

I can afford to go to Paris.

I cannot afford to live in fear.  Every time I say, yes to the Universe I feel like I am being met more than half way.

I never need apologize for my reliance on something other than myself.

Faith.

Faith in my self.  In my dreams.  In Paris.

Here’s to all the fantastic things in my life that I have.  I mean, really, come on, who just gets offered a room-mate in Paris?  Confirmed room-mate.  I don’t have to do any work.

Well, I do, I will, and I am, but I don’t have to go find it, it’s being taken care of.  The $2300 in the bank with more than cover a round trip ticket and some left over change for my first weeks there, and more money will come.

I can always ask for help too.

Donate to my help-me-move-Paris account–here’s my Paypal information.

I am half serious people.

New opportunities to be of service will arise.  Things will happen.  The think, ah yes, that’s right, the think, the think to do is to not think.

The thing to do is what ever small action is right in front of me.

For the rest of the evening that will be editing this and having a little more tea before heading toward the bed and the book on the night stand table.

I never did Call in the One having two night stands flanking my bed, but hey, they make great spots for my evening reading.  Tonight I have an Esquire and Cormack McCarthy’s All The Pretty Horses.

Sweet.  Easy.  Doable.

The 11th Sounds Good.  That’s how the 11th sounds.

I say yes, let’s do this thing.

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