The Rain in Paris
I just watched tonight’s Gossip Girl, and they were really loving Paris. Blair would move across the Atlantic for a roasted chicken, Momma Blair and Balding Jewish Lawyer want to live on Ile Saint Louis with the other Americans and eat Berthillon all day, and really the only person who doesn’t want to go to Paris is fucking Serena, because she ranked Paris third, in the order of:
1) Really creepy older politician who only wants to control her youth and beauty
2) Nate Archibald (who has somehow managed to convince himself that he’s in love with Madame Flitty-Flappy Golden Unicorn despite no signals toward this emotion since season 1)
and
3) Paris (although, I mean the Notre Dame is sweet but it’s like the writers could have gotten a little more creative with the sell, and given me some pornographic Paris descriptions in the meantime a la Miss Dior Cherie pastel balloons commercial)
Anyway, all of this talk made my eyes glaze over for longing with Gay Pareee and my time spent there. And then all of a sudden a memory popped into my head.
My sister had come to visit me about 8 months ago when I was living in the 19th, and we were walking down the Rue de Belleville looking for grec-frites or whatnot at 8 PM and this young man of Middle Eastern descent with a pleather jacket and Armani XChange “sandblasted” jeans walked past and then he spit in my sister’s face.
Yeah, you heard me. Paulina got spat on. I was so shocked that all I could say was, “Did that bro spit on you?”
and she said, “Yeah,” and we kept walking and I kept trying to get her a little more riled up by it but shit, y’all, that was weird. I remember wanting to go back and punch the guy in the face. We were totally sober — beers only come in 8oz sizes when you buy six packs in France at the Franprix or whatevs.
I bet you the Gossip Girl writers couldn’t even think of that one. Mainly because it doesn’t really fit into any storyline, which is one of the primary reasons that was just totally weird/uncalled for/random/disgusting/potentially dangerous.
Nellie, you forgot to mention Serena’s ridiculous catsuit. I agree on the Paris descriptions being a bit limp. The writers seem to have run out of referential steam, but at least they stepped up their multiple simultaneous plotting game.

