I thought I lived in the Red Light District. Turns out I live in the fake touristic version, and damn am I glad. Tonight I was invited to friends of my boss from NYC's house in the 2eme on Rue Saint-Denis. He is a movie director for commercials and his wife is a freelance graphic designer. They have two girls - one 3 and the other 2 months old. They were both very nice and I had a good chill time. He was kind enough to show me some cool websites that list fun things to do in Paris and tell me about good concert venues. I look forward to checking them out in more depth. To return to my initial claim, as I walked there, I was confused of the address he had told me earlier on the phone - 21810 Rue Saint-Denis was what I had heard - when really it was 218bis. I ended up wandering the street trying to find the address that I had written down and saw various women on different corners dressed pretty provocatively. They seemed to be just standing there, waiting. It was still light out at 9:15 and it hadn't clicked who these "waiting women" were at that moment. When I told him that I lived between Pigalle and Blanche, he asked "tu as vu les femmes sur la rue dehors?" [did you see the women outside?] - they were undoubtedly prostitutes. On my walk back to the Metro, I saw a woman in full gear. She was wearing the red patent leather over the knee boots with plastic heel that I pass every day in my neighboring sex shop that specializes in footwear. I imagine she shops on my street but "works" on theirs. I prefer being on the "sex shop strip mall" !
On another note, I am really starting to like my stage more and more. I think I am liking the people I am working with more than the job itself. In turn it's making the job more fun and the long days go by faster.
New vocabulary I learned today:
Machin - whatsit, thingy, etc.
Vachement - really, very
Carrément - straight out, bluntly
Génial - I knew this word already, but I must begin replacing incroyable with génial
Axe - an option -- taking one path versus another
Today was such a beautiful day, that after work before I went over to the couple's house, I stopped on my way home for a drink. I stopped at the place down my street where I went alone my first weekend here. The waiter remembered me! He even asked me if I wanted the same drink as last time! I couldn't believe it. I think I should start going there more often. I didn't feel as awkward going alone as last time. This is a good sign.
NEXT GOAL: draw up the courage to eat alone at a café.
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