Chins up for the boys

Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild
In case you were inclined to think that the stereotypes of chain smoking, kinda stinky, skinny af humans is not true, I am here to tell you that there is only one thing you are leaving out..

They RUN here, like people are runners, with the dorky sweat bands and all.


How do you grocery shop, eat dinner, change your baby’s diaper and pick up your dog’s feces with a cigarette permanently glued between your pointer and middle finger and then throw on some nike free runs and hit the pavement…
I have smoked maybe 1/5000th of what the french have and my running capacity didn’t reach past the jogathon in the third grade.

(I rocked that sh*t by the way)

[Have you noticed yet that I have a real knack for yammering on? It’s worse when I’ve had a few, but that part of the story will come later]

I will start by telling you that my time in Nice the past four days has led me to these conclusions:

[un]: When giving your future Romaninan husband a gift, always shoot for something sweet, square and just light enough to catch some air.

[deux]: Never expect a lady with a 8 inch hair clip & unblended lip liner to be a sweetheart.

[trois]: Rosé NOT all day, and most definitely not all night.

[don’t you worry, I’ll elabrorate a smidge since I know you didn’t just come here for cryptic nonsensical sparknotes]

& [quatre]: Going commando in a jean skirt is just as uncomfortable as you’d imagine…

This one, however, will be included in the post about Menton (this city deserves its own post & its own detailed story so STAY TUNED for the best for last!)


Balcony Views / You can’t see Vlad from here, but trust me, he’s there.

I won’t bore you with the nitty gritty details of how we arrived on Tuesday night in Nice, but I will however, tell you about our first twenty minutes.
Kailyn and I were getting some fresh air on the patio, exchanging exhausted chatter and getting out of the stuffy studio, when we heard a quiet voice saying, “sorry, girls?” We leaned over the balcony only to find two shirtless boys in boxer shorts, beers in hand and only the illumination of their tobacco lighting their dark porch.

(Because we were just ravishing from our twenty hours of travel) they took an interest in who we were and where we were from.
After exchanging a few strange sentences, the chattier one, Vlad, asked me for sugar. I quickly found out he didn’t know the word euphemism, so I went inside to find something that would suffice. All Cyrille stocked this AirBnB with was sugar cubes, so naturally, I grabbed a handful & began tossing them down, hitting other balconies and plants below, but somehow managing to successfully providing them with three cubes.
I must have been the first girl ever to give him some sugar (ha) so of course a proposal was imminent.
Well of course I said yes.

I told him I’d take his name even though I didn’t know what it was.

I guess it is true what they say, love is sweet.


I am eye-rolling myself into another dimension after that one too, don’t worry.





The most perfect pain au chocolat in the world

I failed to mention the fact that the customs here are more than strange — they eat pizza & sandwiches at 8am & wash them down with beer or canned soda…so apparently America is the one that is off with the concept of “breakfast”, or at least according to the afformentioned lip liner lady.

This isn’t going to be done justice without the facial expressions and mental picture of Julie-whoever-the-eff, but I will make an effort to properly do her and her beauty choices some justice.

We spent our first morning walking around the town trying to find somewhere that was actually serving breakfast food; when we walked into J’Multari we didn’t expect the best pastries with the most absurd service, but we got it anyway. She was arguing? conversating? talking dirty? (one can never tell with how loud the french “scream talk” to each other) to the man sitting at a table nearby when we walked in.

She ignored us at first, but then moved on to correcting my French and scoffing at our order of more than one croissant each (I mean come on we hadn’t eaten in 24 hours and we are in France, sue me for wanting to gorge myself on butter and happpiness).

After giving us our change, sharing a lingering stare with the dime-sized sweat beads that lined my forehead, and checking her teeth in the espresso machine reflection, she went on with her morning.

Little did she know, she’d end up being our first brush with the french female species.





“Is this the Atlantic Ocean?” @kailyn
Rosé doesn’t have to break the bank, but after this night, I think I’d say it has to break 10€..
We explored closer to the water in Nice on this night, walking along the shore line & enjoying the beautiful sunset && deciding which colored shutters we were going to break off the buildings and take with us.

We found a place where we could toast Nice properly: a tiny convenient store that has secret walls that open & reveal tiny Korean men stacked with boxes upon boxes of hamburger flavored Pringles. Despite the weird environment, we found really just the only cold rosé and decided it was a shared bottle kind of night.

After the bottle was ½ gone we started to walk in the bike lane, narily missing being run down by just about every bicycle taxi.

After the bottle was ¾ gone we were approached by a strange man attempting to impede our conversation with a clubbing invite.

After the bottle was finished, we had a new game of all the European sayings on t-shirts that were poorly translated.

[STAY TUNED for a blog post dedicated solely to that list we drunkenly started…it has grow generously since then]

We made it home (somehow), after singing loudly & offending probably every single human, Russian or not, with our accented conversation.

Vlad of course was there waiting on his balcony ready to “cheeill” (which is what he said he’s is doing here in Nice, entirely)

How we turned that down I’m still unsure.

If you made it through that extravagantly long post then thank you 

[ && an explanation for that title // keeping the chins up because double chinning, although hilar, doesn’t help attract the boys considering you could hide pens, chapstick and probably a tampon or two in mine 😉 ]

&& also go outside now, this is my version of the Netflix ‘are you still watching’ prompt.

Menton stories coming soon!

Keep it weird, and keep it interesting my friends.

Bon nuit!



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