and love wins again

A Valentine's Day well spent:

Wake up to a knock on the door from your stylish horse-farm-owning aunt, in Paris for three hours before she boards a plane to Havana for a salsa sejours, slash, to see off one of your cousins soon to be married to a 21 year old Cuban, followed by croissants, clementines, and coffee.

Step Two: Wander through the Muséum national d'Histoire naturelle as you snap photographs of you chilling next to giraffe re-constitutions and giant crocodile skeletons, and giggle at your peeps who are faux-ice-skating on the smooth wooden floors.   

Take the Metro 5/then 2 to Montmartre, search for food, settle with a Mickey D's, and then continue to Pigalle where you mimic a paparazzi-er as your fourteen-year-old (but looks like he's eleven) cousin walks by the not-as-cute-as-the-movie Moulin Rouge and the red-neon-lit Sexodrome. 

Stop by the Tour Saint-Jacques to pick up a fellow Franco-American and search for the Carnaval/ Chinese New Year défilé, fail, and end up in a crowded café with a crème chatting about past loves.

Quick trip to Notre Dame to enjoy its majestic-ness, filled with soothing organ rhythms. 

Round off the night with a telephonic version of hot potato.  Sprinkle in a jam: Rilo Kiley's Silver Lining - to remember that you're better off.

That's what I call a winner.  and the skies were blue.