Everything sucks until you find out Wes Anderson is your neighbor.

So, this week was kind of insane -- my apartment had hot-water issues, I found out the French government is definitely not paying me until December, my phone broke, and the French educational powers that be made me want to cry on several occasions. I also convinced myself that I had a bat bite, because I had a bug bite that looked kind of weird and even though I have never seen a bat in my apartment, I decided that the holes in my walls are big enough to let them in. I would blame this on the fact that my house at Smith had actual bat problems and so I'm a little abnormally paranoid about these things, but really? Anxiety overload causes bizarre worries and fixations. Sometimes being a grown up sucks, and it really is strange that I'm figuring out how to be one in Paris, of all places.

Then I found out that Wes Anderson is practically my neighbor. According to a profile in the New Yorker, he lives in Montparnasse. Montparnasse is a few stops away on the metro from the 13th, aka right near where I live.

Wes Anderson is also my favorite director. Well, actually Agnes Varda probably is. And I bet she lives in Paris too. But my favorite movie is "The Royal Tenenbaums" and he directed it.

But really. My job stuff is driving me crazy right now, and I had an insanely stressful week, but Wes Anderson is pretty much my neighbor.

Sometimes Paris makes me feel like crying and then sometimes I find out my favorite director lives on the left bank, which is also where I live, which is also where Ernest Hemingway lived, which is also where Man Ray and Simone de Beauvoir are buried, and you know what? It kind of puts the other things in perspective in the most surreal, wonderful way that will only ever happen in Paris.

So I guess that's pretty cool. And I guess I'll be on the lookout for an awkward gangly blonde-haired man in custom-made suits and Rivers Cuomo glasses. Because it might be Wes Anderson!