Guys, I’m so tired.
I’m out here going to bed at four in the morning, dancing on balconies, waking up at six-thirty to try to take pretty pictures of the sunrise. Basically living my life like a thirteen-year-old on summer break forgetting that, of all my friends, I was the one who needed the most sleep when I was thirteen. I’ve got about two full days in me without sleep before a meltdown is imminent. But, like…having a meltdown in Paris? A French meltdown?! I can’t even be mad at that.
I’ve got things to do and see, so I can’t have a meltdown. That’s why I took a nap a few hours ago that I’m just waking up from, and I feel brand new. But maybe I’ll go to bed by midnight tonight, just in case.
Today we went to take a look at the Ritz Carlton because we were curious if we’d chosen the prettiest hotel in Paris. The Ritz was opulent and glamorous and luxurious. But I still think the Four Seasons is prettier–more modern decor, which I like. We may go to the Mandarin Oriental tomorrow to see what their hotel looks like during Christmas. I’m dying to know. But across the board, I can say the French know how to do Christmas. I’m in awe of every single Christmas setup I see here. I couldn’t even begin to think up, let alone create, some of this stuff. It’s stunning.
I also went to a few pharmacies today. A pharmacy in France is where they sell a bunch of skin care products. I mean–french moisturizers? I felt like I had won the lottery, kids. While I was in the second pharmacie I visited, another customer asked me what products I use and what my French skin care regimen was.
Let me repeat that.
Another customer asked me what products I use and what my French skin care regimen was.
A tourist thought I was French. A tourist thought that my skin looks like it’s on a French skin care regimen.
OOOMMMMMGGGGG. Day made. Call Macron and ask him to sign my citizenship papers. I’ve met the necessary criteria.
Later, I was reunited with my loyal and steadfast friend:
Yesterday I went to Hermès just to bear witness to some extravagant French luxury. Saw a handbag for thirty thousand dollars and was, like…
Alright, I’m on my way to eat dinner. It’s 9:30pm. I’m sooooo fucking French.