The Life and Times of Capote Girl

When I started this post it was Paris fashion week (#fäshönë #hautebitch), incidentally it was also the same day I finally got a hold of the documents needed to solidify my place in French society at the Préfecture.

After paper pushing all morning, having my finger prints taken and a surprsingly not so difficult interaction with the Sécu (who of course still haven’t written to me), me and Lauren went out on the town.  And by out to town, I mean eating lunch in the park, walking around seeing the Parisien things and then finalising a nice day out at Bespoke.

During our walk around, we stumbled across Paris Fashion Week, a whole lot of basic bitches who write on wordpress fashionistas wandering about, trying to stand out and sometimes in the same fashion as each other #fauxpas.  The most memorable moment was stopping in front of a load of photographers snapping pics of some nobody, before we realised that, basically people got to move, and barged our way through.  Because fuck you, we pay our taux d’habitation.

Equally during this time, there was a girl with some kind of condom like head wear, as we passed another set of equally « not very fashion week » girls past and giggled « CAPOTE GIRL » loud enough for the model to give a scowl.  I don’t know why, since she was rocking that Look Préservatif™.

I can say now that after this whole Brexit shit is starting to go downhill at an alarmingly hilarious place, I’m more confident in my personal outcome considering I now have it recorded as my move to Paris being in 2013 and my Titre de Séjour being issued.  In 2018 I can then take on the challenge of permanent residency by getting my mountain of papers in order for the next round of Cauchemars Bureaucratie.

Side note: It’s been 23 days in my drafts this post.  I am trying after all.

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