Saturday, 24 November 2012
I have lost my love of blogging. I literally have nothing to say, other than I am really hating Paris at the moment. But before I go into that, here is a blog post that I wrote on Wednesday. Now it feels like reading the words of a stranger:
Paris really does feel like Fairyland this evening, I got off the metro at Concorde and it felt like being in a beautiful fairground- the big wheel was lit up as always, Hôtel des Invalides was glowing with a golden light and it must have just struck the hour because the Eiffel Tower was twinkling all over. I didn't walk down the Champs-Élysées because I'm sick of it, to be honest, but I walked down a dark road that runs parallel to the Champs-Élysées, and through the trees I caught little glimpses of the Christmas market, illuminated with bright lights and giant, glowing halos that seem to float along the avenue.
Ah, it ain't so bad Paris, is it?
What a fucking idiot. I hate Paris.
No, I don't hate it, I'm just bored. I'm so bored. On Thursday night I was literally bored to tears- I got home from work, thought 'What shall I do now?' and burst out crying. If I stayed here for another year my tongue would fall out from lack of use. My hair would turn to leaves, floating down empty avenues, and my skin would turn into the crackly pages of dusty books in Shakespeare & Company. Finally, waiting for the metro one day, I would just sink into the tiled wall behind me. Those shiny white tiles have always reminded me of bones.
I wish I never said Paris was like Fairyland because now I have made myself really paranoid- when I return to England all my friends and family will have moved on and I will be exactly the same, yearning for a place I can never go back to, because places aren't geographical, they are made up of friends and atmospheres and my place in this city- My Paris- is gone now. It's gone and I've only just noticed. It went without telling me.
I've had some Good Times in this city, but I fear the Good Times are finished. Maybe I had too many Good Times and I used them all up? Now I must spend every weekend on my own, doing nothing. Literally- on my own, not talking to a soul. Last weekend was fucking horrendous. I realised that I only have a handful of friends in this city and when they are busy, I don't have any work friends or family to fall back on: I have no life of my own here.
I didn't talk to another human ALL WEEKEND, from when I finished work on Friday evening to when I went into the nursery on Monday morning.
Ok, I just lied- I went to my au pair job for a couple hours of Saturday, so I spoke to the kids, and on Sunday I spoke to a sausage vendor at the Christmas Market: I said, "One Toulouse sausage, please."
He took my money without saying a word, silently gesturing to the line of people queuing up for their sausages.
It was so shit. On Saturday night I knew I would have to sedate myself with wine before I could sleep, not being one of those fabulous independent-types that can spend an evening on her own in a jazz bar, politely turning down drinks from admiring strangers, saying thanks but she just came here to listen to the sax and to enjoy her own company...
Instead, I drank almost an entire bottle of wine (completely by accident) whilst sitting in bed, watching Sex and the City. The next morning, the horror of what I had done really began to sink in: I had intended to have one or two glasses of wine with dinner, but there was barely enough left in the bottle for one more glassful. Also, who drinks wine in bed? In my defense, I live in one room- I don't have a living room with a couch and a TV, otherwise I would have consumed the wine in there. As for drinking it with dinner... after half the bottle had gone, I was suddenly ravenously hungry again, so I made a huge pan of pasta and then an hour later, I made another one.
Don't look at me like that, I know exactly what I am.
The pity behind your eyes is actually causing me physical pain, stop it.
When I get that sick of myself, the only thing to do is start walking... and keep walking... So on Sunday I walked to the Marais, but I didn't have the heart to queue up for L'as du Fallafel on my own- not when I have been in that queue with so many pals and chums, with nearly every visitor from England I've ever had- so I walked to the Christmas Market on the Champs-Élysées and enjoyed two seconds of stimulating conversation with the sausage vendor.
The good news is that last weekend I finally got my Personal Statement done. The bad news is that I have since realised it is all wrong- it's three times too long and it's basically a mini-autobiography, when it needs to be an answer to the question: 'Why do you want to study acting?'
I was really excited for this weekend, which is always a bad sign. When you're desperate for Good Times, you scare them away. Me and Ruth were going to go for drinks and dinner, then Julia told me that she was going to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show at St Michel with a couple of friends, did I want to go?
I LOVE The Rocky Horror Show. I went to see a really good production at the Liverpool Empire when I was at uni and it was like going on a really fun night out- we dressed up, we got drunk, we cheered, we shouted expletives, we sang, we danced and then we went out afterwards.
I asked Ruth if she wanted to go and she said that she loved Rocky Horror, then Kayt found out that she wasn't babysitting so she decided to come as well. I was excited to finally be going out and even though I had a funny feeling that the night would end really early, I was hoping that The Commenter- a girl who always comments on my blog about good raves in Paris- would get in touch, because she said she might be going to see Jeff Mills at La Machine. I figured I could meet The Commenter and her friends there afterwards.
I met everyone straight from work. (I purposely wore a wooly pinafore over the top of a black, fitted dress, so that I could be warm and appropriately-dressed for the nursery and my au pair job, but then I took the pinafore off just before leaving work. The au pair family were a bit alarmed when I asked them if I could take my dress off and leave it at their house.) We planned to go for a sophisticated pre-theatre dinner but in the end, we barely had time for a Greek kebab and a plastic bottle of chilled red wine before it was time to queue up for the show.
Now here's the thing. Before we went in, Julia told me that it wasn't strictly speaking a theatrical production of the Rocky Horror Picture Show; it was a showing of the film, with real actors acting some bits out in front of the screen. They do it every Friday and Saturday night and the tickets are only nine euros, so I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised.
I went in with no preconceptions, but about ten minutes into the film, I realised it was my worst nightmare- people talking over a film. Not only talking, but shouting. And singing. And screaming. But not shouting the words from the script and singing along to the songs- they were making jokes about the script and singing completely irrelevant songs. Imagine somebody in the film says 'I see, I see' and the actors on stage sing 'I see your true colours....' and then a real song starts on screen and you have to concentrate really hard on blocking out their loud, out of tune singing.
The problem is that because I really wanted to watch the film, I was trying my hardest to block out the noise of the French actors and so, perhaps I did miss a lot of the jokes and that's why I didn't find it funny... But I did understand some of the jokes. And I didn't find them funny.
I like Rocky Horror. I wanted to watch it. The audience was fun- everyone threw rice and water at the right moments, people were yelling 'Asshole' when Brad introduced himself and hurling insults at Janet (this won't make a lot of sense if you don't know anything about Rocky Horror) but I found the actors very irritating. The essential idea is all right I suppose- actors dressed as the characters, encouraging the audience- but it was as if they'd seen the film so many times (and I suppose they have, considering they do the show twice a week) that they found it boring and were trying to entertain themselves until the film was over.
There were a few outrageous moments when the actors chose audience members, took their tops off (which got a huge gasp from Kayt and I) and proceeded to mime having sex with them. They did it to females during the scene with Janet and Dr Frank-N-Furter; then they did it to males (including Julia's friend Matthieu who we all agreed was a 'very good sport') during the scene with Dr Frank-N-Furter and Brad; and then when Rocky and Janet have sex, they chose one man and one woman and all the actors had a mime orgy with them on stage- sitting on their faces, bending them into all sorts of positions, dry-humping them e.t.c
I think I was being a bit of a miserable bitch, but the whole thing felt like a manifestation of my two biggest hates- people talking over films and films being dubbed.
At the end of the performance, the actors asked us all for money, because they said they didn't get paid. I didn't give them any money, because the actor who played Janet was stood at the door in her underwear and we were expected to place money inbetween her boobs. Also, I was in a foul mood. They shouted at me as I walked past, but I didn't feel bad- they should increase the ticket price or put a note on the flyer telling audience members that there is a compulsory donation. Don't heckle me. Also, don't ruin one of my favourite musicals.
So. I'm a ray of sunshine, aren't I?
When I got home I went to bed feeling like shit. I have a whole weekend of nothingness stretching before me. Also, I looked at my blog this morning and I had a comment from The Commenter that she left at 8.30pm. If I would have checked my blog on somebody's phone when we were out, maybe I could have arranged to meet her at La Machine when the Rocky Horror Picture Show was over.
Also, there is a secret rave on tonight and it it too late to get tickets.
Ok, moaning over now, I promise. I just needed to get it all out. Mr Scruff is playing on the 7th December and that is going to be a BIG NIGHT. In my excitement I even told the au pair family that I won't be able to work that weekend because 'I have a party that finishes at 7am and I want to stay out all night.' That is how sad I am, I feel like I have to prove to the au pair family that I have an active social life.
I know it's not good to put too much pressure on a night out, but if the 7th December isn't a raving success I will depart immediately for England.
Oh! I've just remembered Georgie is coming next week!! Maybe, if I can survive this weekend, the Good Times will come rolling back to me, slowly but surely...
By the way, I think I better say this just in case anyone is reading this who doesn't know a) what I look like and b) what The Rocky Horror Picture Show is- that picture at the top is a photo of Tim Curry as Dr Frank-N-Furter, it's not me. My eyebrows are a lot better than that.
In fact, any eyebrow enthusiasts reading (shall we start a club? I'll make badges- 'Sisters not twins') might be interested to know that I have just bought a new eyebrow pencil and I love it- Instant Brow Pencil by Benefit.