marlyse.comme, myself and my life
Saturday, December 2, 2006
Paris.
Yesterday I had one of these unexpected visitors (hi!) and she left a comment and opened the door to a whole bunch of feelings and memories by mentioning my time in Paris.
Paris comes right after Baden to me.
THAT big it’s in my heart. Baden you can’t beat because it’s the best town to grow up in. Well, any town with character and attitude like that.
But Paris. Paris encompasses my times of beauty and as a model but also the greatest times of insecurity and pushing my limits; of freedom and living for weeks off a plate of pasta a day, only topped with butter if we had a good week; sharing for a year a room so tiny as not even having space for a big enough bed for the both of us and sleeping (really comfortably actually) on a blanket on the floor; being part of the “in” crowd and being able to enter any club just on sight and getting free drinks until I’d crash under the sink at home; wearing Krueger leather mini-skirts which barely covered the butt and having devised my own look of “sophisticated punk chick” and wearing pearls next to metal budded wrist bands; being free to draw and paint whatever I wanted to, go out and do whatever I wanted to, drugs until it came out of my ears (or landed in the toilet) but keeping my body so fit as to swim 1 km at least 2x a week at 8 AM before going to the gym; almost dying of food poisoning alone in a tiny room with only cold water and no food for a week on the 8th floor to music of Eartha Kitt, getting flown in to London by an oil mogul with 3 other beautiful girls, just to spend dinner with him and then having to get politely rid of him as not to fall down to be a slut, running for Jean Paul-Gaultier and Comme des Garçons and knowing that “I’ve made it”, getting off the white powder all by myself and beating being boulmenic and all my insecurity and dislike of being a model by stepping back and packing my apartment and greatest cat of them all (Patty Smith aka “I think I see a bad bad pussy cat” Silvester) and to move back to Switzerland and to meet Guillaume and fall for the first time in love at 25 and get pregnant and… well, that is another life and another story.
Paris, I love you, even if now your subways reek of urine.
And now I need to get back to life and run out to HomeDepot to get some kinda support to stack the fire wood in the yard which will be delivered this morning.
Technorati Tags: people from the past, memories, Paris
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