Okay, let's set up the scene again: we're in a very old townhouse, flat, whatever the French call these things. I want to say one of Napoleon's cousins lived in this place, and I have the feeling Sofia Coppola stayed here for a short time before filming that random ass Marie Antoinette movie. There's a certain word for this kind of weather here in Paris--well, I can't really think too much right now about fancy words, so I'll just say "perfect." I'm pretty intellectually-minded out right now, as I've been pretending that I'm a little more sophisticated than I would consider myself. Despite a slight language barrier, there's this beautiful girl that I've been having over since B,S, and I flew into Paris six days ago. Her name: Monique. Her look: hot. Her deal: artist/model/musician/jaded/faded/whatever. But I can't get over her Icelandic eyes, which glow when her cheeks permeate. Besides, she fucks like it's the last time she'll ever be with a man, so you gotta love that.
The French Open is not nearly as exciting as I hoped it would be. Yeah, we've seen some athletes and stuff but they're mostly dudes...eck. Roddick was kind of desperate, Nadal was kind of suspect, and Agassi could match me shot-for-shot when the bottles of Johnnie Walker broke out on the first night. There's not really much else to see as far as people at the French Open parties, unless you don't mind random models. Yeah, that's something I have to kind of get used to since editing for the film has had me stuck in Kentucky until we decided to take this excursion. Unfortunately, I brought my daughter over with me for this trip and I haven't seen her in three days. Maybe I should call her, but I figure that worrying is a two-way street. Besides, she did the same thing when we went to Austrailia and the only thing she came back with was some Aborigine piercings in secret spots.
The tennis has been good, and I can't complain about that. Since taking up the sport, I'm a little more into these matches, picking up pointers and mentally watching myself play and realize how I give up so many damn points. Funny enough, I've only been watching the women's matches. The Williams sisters (by the way, their father is a cool asshole, if that makes any sense), Sharapova, Jankovic, even some of the ones I can't pronounce or spell are teaching me a thing or two. Monique has a friend in this tournament that's been doing pretty good all week, some girl from Romania that's supposed to be coming over tomorrow night. Maybe we can do something French together, like a ménage à trois...it'd be pretty cliché, but Paris has me feeling the love for some reason. It's really Europe in general, and I think that B & S would agree with me. I should consider getting a place over here somewhere, maybe in South of Spain. I might steal a little Woody Allen momentum and start filming things over here in Europe. The amount of culture will drown you, as will the number of women. Despite my minute affection for Monique, my eyes have been open and my tongue has been busy, especially on days when Monique goes out and spends a couple of Euros I throw her way for a new dress, new shoes, new dog.
The French women have shown that there is something stewing beyond the beauty at the times--madness. S had a run-in with a woman, one he is currently hiding from--hence why I was pissing on his phone this morning when I went to the bathroom, or the lue if you will--who is gorgeous (I'm indifferent when it comes to her faux-hawk). However, she does tend to throw objects in times of anger, more often than not these objects are knives, and it doesn't take much for S to set her off. I've seen this madness in Monique at times, but it's way more subtle within her. Monique has the tendency to just say things that are out of this world ("There is no such thing as bad art;" "I would give up all of my Versace for the love of a cat;" "Megan Fox isn't that attractive;" etc.) and it weirds me out at time, but because of my fear of getting hooked on psych meds, I just decided to take start drinking early each day, including today.
I met B yesterday morning, just she and I, for some breakfast and at the cafe was a girl who looked absolutely to die for.....she wasn't working there, she was eating there by herself, practicing poor French to herself. Maybe she was traveling alone, and maybe I'll back to the cafe today to see if she's in there again. It wasn't the first time I had seen her since arriving in Paris (maybe she lives on the block somewhere), but it was the first time I didn't think of her as French. She blends in well, but something about her made me think differently about her. Maybe because she didn't look French or American is what draws me to her. Maybe I'll see if she wants to accompany Monique and me tomorrow night over some dinner, some wine, some Casablanca maybe--I've been in a black & white mood lately, even wanting to make a film in black & white...do some effects, make it look like it was actually made in the 40s.....maybe a science fiction film, since that's kinda how life has felt lately....even my vision is in black & white--and maybe get them both in bed. It would be a nice night to do so, but not tonight. We've got a party with Kanye West and Chris Martin and his wife Gwenyth Paltrow. They'll be fun, as will my special edition Original Imprint Adidas tracksuit be. It goes well with a pair of Air Yeezys.
I'm dreamy.........................
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