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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary


Thursday's had nowhere to go


Still no internet connection! By my estimate, the network has been down nearly 18 hours. I called my client at 9 this morning to inform him that I would send corrections and an updated file as soon as I could access email, and I’m sure he is wondering where the email is and why he hired me—on his end, I must seem like such a nincompoop! Every call and email starts with either “desolée,” or “navrée,” or “pardon.” This is so stupide. I am trying to maintain my composure, and I keep repeating to myself, mantra-like, that I am not responsible for network issues, I am not responsible for network issues, I am not responsible for network issues, but I am still feeling ne-plus-ultra lame.

I finally got through to the noos tech line. It is not a toll-free call! In fact, it is more expensive than a regular call and they had me on hold for at least 3 minutes. 3 minutes doesn’t sound like a long time, but when your irritation has been gathering steam for a few days, 3 minutes seem like 3 hours. Apparently, there was a flood in the basement of the hub that is closest to my arrondissement. The technician told me that the firemen were on the case, getting rid of the water and she could not give me an estimate of when my service would be restored. In my imagination, the firemen are all lined up with teensy weensy buckets, passing them, one by one. . .

In positive news: my boulangerie is open again! Youpi! The owner and her assistant are so tan, it’s scary. The clientele was so excited in there. One woman actually sniffed, “J’espère que vous avez passé de bonnes vacances parce que nous, nous avons souffert!” meaning “I hope you guys had nice vacations, because we suffered.” Another woman actually complained about the boulangerie down the street (declaring their croissants “inmangeables!” and I nodded my head in agreement) and moaned about having to get her bread at Monoprix. If it hadn’t been so crowded, I would have chimed in with my own boeuf about their August closure, but instead I sat transfixed by the assistant’s new look: apparently during her vacation, in addition to tanning her brains out (her hair and skin MATCH!,) she done thunk up some glamorous new hair cut, hair color, new hair texture (straight instead of perm-a-horror) and new 80’s eye makeup. Today the chromatic theme was purple:

eyes: dark lipliner with a sheer lavender gloss on top

eyes: dark purple eyeliner, a smudge of matte purple eyeshadow in the crease of the lid, with a wash of frosty lavender just below the eyebrow, globs and globs of mascara.

It totally reminded me of my little sister’s makeup from 1984, when she was obsessed with Billy Idol and The Damned and pretty much everyday was Halloween.

Walking to the boulangerie was exciting in itself because I believe I saw Catherine Deneuve. Traffic on the sidewalk came to a standstill. She is one of France’s alltime greatest actresses. She looked amazing for being in her 60s, but you know, good plastic surgery can do that for you. Joan Rivers and Phyllis Diller are examples of surgery gone haywire—I’m sure their surgeons were top-notch and very expensive, but those women have just gone overboard. Enough already.

11:46 a.m. - 2001-08-31



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