Whoa Nellie!

What a day. It started off normally enough. Mols and I decided to take it easy this morning, with a slow start and relaxed shopping during the morning. Then, we headed off to the catacombs, which were, frankly, bizarre. It's dank in there (moist, if you will), and the ceilings were very low. I have to tell you that I felt very claustrophobic at first, and itched to run out of there a few times as we wound our way through the seemingly endless maze of tunnels. Everything in me screamed "Scram!" Clearly.




















OK, well, there was a period of adjustment, and moments of panic, but then I turned nutty by posing with the pointed toe (a habit I've had since childhood, which was further reinforced by having a best friend who is a dancer and fellow pointer). Molly, equally as nutty, looks like her feet are going to snap off at the ankles in this complicated maneuver. :) We're all about making light of a difficult sitch, ya know?

















The catacombs are more strange than creepy, although this looks a bit spooky. All those bones are just weird. And, at the end (Air! Fresh air!), they check people's bags to make sure you aren't making off with any bones or skulls. Can you imagine? Talk about awkward trying to explain your way out of THAT one. "Oh, silly me! How did that get in there???" Or, "Hey! That's mine! I brought it from home. Okaaaaaaaaay?" Plus, I just feel like you could have some bad, bad karma after removing them bones from their second resting place. I love that someone thought it was a good idea to fill in Paris underground with bones.





































We exited the catacombs with another small group who, we soon realized, contained "Nellie" from Little House on the Prairie tv all grown up. Same voice, though. It was our Paris celebrity sighting.

Then, we stopped at some stores near the Louvre to pick up some gift souvs. Waiting at a stoplight to cross over to the Metro on our way out, a pigeon pooed on my hair and shoulder. That was a real highlight of the trip. Now, I know from the movie Under the Tuscan Sun that in Italy a pigeon pooing on your head is supposed to mean good luck, but we're in Frahnce. Here I have the feeling the bird poo means, "Get out of my country you stoopeed American!"

Fine. I'm going.

THEN, Mols and I got ready to head out to the Eiffel Tower to see the twinkly lights before going to an old school cabaret show to celebrate her birthday and our last night in Paris. It was beauteous maximus, naturally.




















THEN, at the cabaret show--which I will describe in greater detail later, when it's not 2:30 in the morning and I have to get up in four hours, because it was HILARIOUS--I suddenly found myself pulled up on stage to HULA HOOP (badly) in front of everyone. I didn't foresee hula hooping as part of my day when I woke up this morning. Later on, Mols and I were up there doing the limbo, so it just got better. Really, people, at this point I've just accepted humiliation as a standard part of my life. In the movie The Holiday, which I saw recently on TNT or TBS or one of those, Kate Winslet's character talks about at least being the leading lady of your own life. I'm the leading lady of my own all-humiliation network. :)

Catacomb weirdness...Nellie...poo...hula hoop. Oh my. Anything can happen.

More soon, probably when I'm home. Until then I'm sending you all snooty French pecks on the cheek, one on each side.