He finally got a piece of the pie

That's right, I'm movin' on up. Goodbye crazy religious gay roommate and hello "Tale of Two Cities" revolutionary fervour of Faubourg St-Antoine!

My current apartment is pretty nice, all mouldings and marble fireplace and all. I have a nice view of all the protests in Paris too; they always march down Boulevard Voltaire, right underneath my window. They only hitch is my total wacko-jacko roomie. Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy. He's just totally bonkers. And now he's asked me to move out because his internet boyfriend from Germany is moving to Paris. (I'm maintaining a strict "Don't ask, Don't tell" policy for that. Double yikes!).

No hard feelings, but given the awful time I had the first time around, I was dreading the apartment hunt experience. I did see some particullarly horrible places ("Oh, I see, you would like me to pay €500 to share your 7th-floor walk-up studio which is aproximately the size of a small thimble?" "Sorry, I was under the impression I was here to see an apartment, not a storage closet for Toblerones", of one apartment tucked under the building roof made up of nothing but slanty walls).

Then I went to Faubourg St-Antoine and new instantly I wanted to live there. I hoped and begged and prayed (and considered bribery too) that I would get the apartment. Thankfully, our Lord and Saviour, Betty White, provides for those in need. When my future new roommate called, I think I may have squealed, or swooned, or a little bit of both.

The new place is big, across the street (literally) from the métro and Vélib' stations, and the site of endless barricades being thrown up at various tumultuous points during French history. Very Les Misérables chic. I love it.