Definitely.

Can’t you see the striking resemblance? The air of complete control and authorti?

Yeah. Definitely not me, that part. However, let’s just pretend this was me during my ruling days.

Where I did not meet my fateful end via the guillotine, but instead, was revered and loved by the people, for the people.

So. Quite the successful day. Quite. Let’s see. I made it all the way to Le Picasso museum without one wrong turn, only to discover that it’s closed for damn renovations through Summer 2013. WTF.

Given that I was in Le Marais area of Paris, I only batted my eyelashes about 12 times in frustration, and then continued on my way. Found a lovely parc to relax and struck up a very friendly conversation with an elderly French couple, who were the cutest things. Ever. And I totally understood them, and more impressively — they understood moi. Yay, moi.

One thing I particularly like are how affectionate and loving the French are. How expressive. Everywhere I turn, I see lovers kissing, mid street. Couples holding hands. Loving embraces.

American men just aren’t this affectionate and openly loving. I think it’s part of the “manly” man American culture that we have.

I briefly explored Le Marais a bit more après parc. Le Marais that I hadn’t seen before. Meaning : no shops. Because Le Marais is one hell of a shopping district, and that’s all I’ve ever known of it.

Instead I stuck to random side streets that wound their way through a maze like game, leading me guessing where I might end up. I saw churches and art galleries and painters. And some wonderful café lunches.

For the record, this was my lunch. Double yay for chemicals and cheese! Croque Monsieur, I do declare, that I adore you. Beginning to think that I might just turn into cheese, I’ve been consuming so much of it. You have no idea. Brie is a staple for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And snacks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After my divinely delicious Croque, I ended up getting back on le métro and hitting up the Rodin museum, a site I had never previously been to.

How worth the 9€ it was. I mean, granted, I tend to check out after about 30 minutes in museums. All the paintings and sculptures usually start to blend into the same thing in my mind. Rodin was no exception.

Come on. How many marble statues could I seriously look at? I wish I had a picture of my most favorite one, that literally made my breath go short : Le Baiser. The Kiss.

It absolutely perfectly captured the passionate kiss between lovers. I swear you could feel these people, and I did wonder, who were these people he modeled this after? What was the story?

The reason I don’t have a picture is because it was in the special exhibit gallery where absolutely no photos are allowed. Everytime I was going to take a picture, incognito, one of the workers would shout at the top of his lungs “ZERE are NO PICTUREZ  STOP!”.

I felt like he was secretly talking to me, like he had tapped into my mind and knew I was about to go for it. For once I abided by the rules. Which should tell you just how scary the guy really was.

My fave part of the Rodin museum was the garden and the Van Gogh’s. Yeah, who the hell knew there was some Van Gogh’s over there, too? Not me. A couple Monet’s, as well. And a Munch. All in the room titled “Rodin’s Circle of Friends”.

I would have renamed it : Rodin’s Peeps. Or maybe : Rodin’s Kick Ass Artist Peeps. Since that’s what they all were. Ridiculously talented and troubled people. Kinda like how it still is that way today — the ridiculous talented and troubled part. Like does attract like I suppose.

I’ll have to post my Rodin pics another time, because get this people — I can’t get on a wireless connection at the apartment. It doesn’t work and I have yet to work up the nerve to call the help line. It’s one thing for me to bust out with my French, it’s a whole other to have to talk to customer service about wireless internet.

So I’m sporadically jumping on wireless connections when I can and emailing my pictures to myself. Paris has a bunch of free wi-fi spots, I just need to get better at locating them.

Anyway, spent the best time chillaxing in the Rodin gardens. I could get used to some manicured gardens like that of my own. Hear that, BF? Manicured gardens. Not a backyard … gardens. Plural.

Since pics from today will have to come tomorrow, or early on in the week, here’s some from yesterday.

Can you believe! This is Paris at 10:45p.m. Do you know how hard it is to go to bed when it doesn’t even get dark till 11! Taking that and my night owl tendencies into consideration, and the time change, it’s no wonder I’ve been falling asleep around 3.  That’s a.m. The p.m. is for the naps. And I love this shot of Le {Pont Neuf} Métro sign.

Below we have the Institut de France. Basically it runs right into the Pont des Arts Bridge — well, minus, the street. So forget the street and just imagine the bridge is right there and you have a good idea. I took this picture on Le Pont des Arts, that should tell you just how close it is.

Be fooled not. It claims to be an Institution, but it’s covertly run by the Delta Delta Delta’s. Who have plans of renaming it: l’Institut de Delta.

And I shall leave you with me on the Pont Neuf and some statue. I should know what statue this is, but I don’t. I have a thing for statues. Especially ones involving horses. Maybe because it makes the statue person look even more official and foreboding and all “I am so god damn cool that they made a bronze f-ing statue of me.”

Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind living on like that in a metal form myself. Though I wonder exactly what pose I’d be in. Probably end up looking like some “come hither forth unto thee” when they would have been going for me lounging.

On second thought, let’s scratch the statue idea. Wouldn’t want people two centuries from now thinking of me in terms of a “lady of the night.” Oh hell, at least they’d be thinking of me. Right?