blogging anyway

Okay, so I know how played it is to be all like, 'ummm, I read this TOTALLY great article in the New Yorker (in thise case, online),' but I just did. Two or three actually, but what you must turn your eyes upon STAT, especially if you are one of my crazy Montana people is the following essay by George Saunders, which is fawking hilarious.

So, yeah, y'all read that toute de suite.

In the life of moi-meme, nothing terribly interesting is happening. This Friday will mark the count-down to two weeks before Xmas vacation begins. Trust me when I say the obsessive day-counting has already begun.

Still trying to decided whether I am actually getting a cell phone or not. It seems astonishly NOT worth it, but I would so like to be in touch with people, but I did come here to languish in seclusion, etc. so....

Still also reeling from the party, party, party that was Brest Saturday night, stretching out all the way til five in the morning. Naturally, I lost track of time and was not able to catch House of Flying Daggers, which was allegedly one of the primary reasons I went to Brest. Nudge, nudge.

I made it back in time to have First Day of Advent cookies chez mon petit dictionnaire (AKA the German assistant, who I love). Delish, delish. Passed out before 11 pm and had a super-long sleep.

Not such a thrilling entry, admittedly, but at least read the Saunders article.

thanksgiving...success!!!

Ugh, I was fucking ungodly stressed, but it all came together. Woke up yesterday to make stuffing, then went to class, then fawking hauled ass to meet my little dictionaries (I call my German friends mon petit dictionnaire and mon grand dictionnaire because they are so SMART!) to haul ass out to our chosen spot for dinner that evening.

The local primary assistant is this really cool British girl and she and her husband were playing host to the holiday. They live in this gorgeous house in the middle of French farmland nowhere (gunshots were ringing out throughout the afternoon, hunting, mehôpes).

Everything was actually great and I think everyone had a good time. I feel like a good cultural ambassador and this was really something I liked ambassadeering (shut up, I make up words if I want to) much unlike the folies of American politics, etc.

We even said the things that we were thankful for. It was so seventh heaven I could have thrown up on myself but only because it was so sweet. Anyway, mon petit dictionnaire is inexplicably obsessed with said seventh heaven so it's okay I guess.

This entry is fucked, but I'm too hung over. Here are some photos for you in lieu of actual commentary:

Stages of Turkey

Birth

Stage one of death

Eradication of flesh from one's bones.

I am thankful this year to live in a place where it is THIS fucking beautiful:





Yeah, it kind of makes up for the constant drizzle and chill.

This is how I spent my afternoon...



Too. Much. Booze.

pardon the delay...

But for whatever reason, I have not found the time for this, me beloved blog. This may have everything to do with the uptight-ish rage into which I have FLOWN. At first, I thought, 'Wow, it's great to not have any more weed, I'm obsessively cleaning my room and checking things off the old to-do list left and right.' But apparently, I am making up for all my previous mellowness by currently having a perpetual fit.

OKay. The calmness is now washing over me. Is this what it's like to be an adult during the holidays? Perpetually stressed out instead of enjoying what it's supposed to be about? I hope not.

I am in the unique position of being the only American of my group of invites for T-Day dinner, so I am completely in charge of the goings-on. And obviously I never have been before. I mean, this is why people have mother's, for fuck's sake. I'm just hoping I don't fall flat on my fucking face and ruin everything before of audience of between seven and eight Thanksgiving virgins who would forever more resent the ritual as well as, possibly, all of America.

Okay, here's the good stuff that's been happening these days. Saturday night, my little Morlaisiens and I decided to branch out going-out wise. We have three or four bars we like and go to regularly, but there were plenty more we had never visited.

The first one was deeply depressing - three other people, pool table that looked like it had hepatitis, sea shell ashtrays. It was called Le Chop and it appropriately got the chop, semi-instantaneously.

The second - Yikes. Tragically bad techno managed by totally retarded DJs. Outlandishly drunk woman of a certain age who grabbed my friend's ass (his wife was there, too) and then decided to serenade the door to the bathroom with her eerily drunk dance skills. Hot. I couldn't get out fast enough.

The third was the best. And by best, I mean worst, of course. Okay, ready? There were two kinds of people at this bar: prostitutes and the sleazy dudes who love them. Oh, and a pimp (called un mackrel en français (like the fish)). We verified this when my friend went up to the bar and was accosted by said pîmp, who said a bunch of things in French he didn't understand, and then just said 'Sex?' and pointed at the whores in the bar. My friend Matt also made the mistake of talking to the drunkest whore in the house. It was sort of a nostalgic moment: I remember being 20 and really feeling like I could and should speak to anyone. Oh, the hard lessons of old age. Anyway, she immediately latched onto him, told him he was a very beautiful man, etc. My friend Marie came up very quietly and said drunk whore actually leapt back from us and apologized (presumably for stepping on another whore's turf).

In short, it was the greatest thing ever. And they made their whiskey cokes with single malt whiskey, which I managed to discover right before I put the coke in. Phew.

Then we got wasted. And by we, I mean me. As soon as I realized I was going to be emotionally blackmailed into going to the Estonia-style discothèque, I forced my way back to my friend's house to douse myself with tequila, to make the experience tolerable.

I ran into one of my students who just dropped out and hopefully she is going to get me some wizeed. Which apparently is oh-so-necessary to my continual well-being. Or something.

Obviously, 4.5 million other things also happened in the last few days, but I choose to rest on the laurels of the tale of the whorebar.

fuck

Okay, I just wrote a great post that was senselessly deleted. So you get your update in list form.

-A weird, irritated pimply thing has formed on the lower lid of my right eye. Ew. But, maybe I'll get an eyepatch or time off school. Going to the doctor in French would scare me shitless, though.

-Got the second season of Six Feet Under from amazon.co.uk, which I have been locking myself away to consume with a quickness.

-I saw 2046 in Brest and it was amazing. I feel like a genius for being able to follow a Cantonese film with French subtitles semi-perfectly.

-I'm already way too excited about my next vacation. I'm going to hop over to Scotland, then go to London for my berfay/Xmas, pick up friends from Paris and chill for a few days, then jet off to Amsterdam for New Years. This is what keeps me soul from dying the tormented death of the teacher.

-I'm going to make Thanksgiving Dinner for my Morlaix peeps...is that next week. Um.

-This week only has three working hours left and I have a whole remaining half of SFU to slurp up. Hot.

-Sadly, I am almost out of the weed that seems to just keep going and going (two weeks! unheard of!).

senseless!

Hmmmm....this weekend feels alot like last weekend, re: being in Brest again and having the days punctuated by exorbitant alcohol consumption. Last night, howevs, I had a run-in with the bane of any drunk Brestois: yes, I was actually REFUSED SERVICE! I have often found myself laughng at people in this dilemma, not un-half-drunkenly. But given last night's inarguable drunkenness, twas a matter not for laughing. Luckily, I had the good sense NOT to argue with the barman, which surely would have lead tomy ass getting THROWN OUT, thus seperating me from the party lifeline that is my American cohorts in Brest.

It goes without saying I feel like I have emerged from a puddle of congealed excess this morning.

Other topical happenings: ummmmm, I gotmy shopping on. Bought some sweet knockoff Swiss watch for ten euro. Got a SWEET black sweater AND I finally am the proud owner of a fucking HOT pair of black pinstripe pants. And a hot new scarf, also black. H&M FINALLY came through for me this weekend.

Finally went out to a local gay bar, which actually didn't suck. Clearly, I'm going to be passing agood deal of time there (celibacy BE GONE!) so it's good to know, for example, you can buy a Pina Colada for under five euros. Oh, the gays.

Apart from that: I have not yet seen anything from the local short film fest, which was the legitimate reason for coming here this weekend. Oops!

Eagerly anticipating the dual arrivals of T-Day (in which all of my ability to cuisine will have to come to bear so I can impress furners with our swell holiday) and Xmas vacation, which is not as far away as originally thought. It creeps closer with every wasted hour...

update, enfin!!!

Yeah, I know. Y'all have been holding your breaths, for real. So, I got back from Germany safely (ie, successfully smuggled weed and didn't stab myself during the 12 hour train ride). I was just getting settled into being home again when...oops, it was time to deal with the smorgasboard of depression that is watching American politics in action. I can't even talk about it. Nor will I, I'm sure you'll be refreshed/horrified to know. All I have been doing in France is talking about politics! No more.

Had a fawking THREE HOUR WEEK last week, which pretty much kicked everything's ass. Except, it was annoying to come back when I basically could have stayed another week except for those three hours of work. But actually, I ended up going to Brest this weekend, which was great. Fact: Brest is the nearby semi-hoppin mini-metropolis. There are lots of fun assistant type people there. I'm crazy about the Americans there, and have even found myself a regular floor to crash on here, bless their souls.

Party Friday, Party Saturday. Stole some crazy dude's nasty 'too much vodka/pear juice' concoction, then threw a bunch of whiskey on top of wine the next night. Wheee! Headaches, giggling, sleeping in weird places. It was very college: revisited, especially since I have not really been boozing so much of late. Which seems odd, but I am still struggling with the idea that I am possibly chilling out. It may have everything to do with that fact I am blissfully revisiting the world of getting stoned EVERY DAY. Oh, how I missed you, MJ! Mwa. Eventually, I will find a way out of this cannabis as anti-psychotic trap, but until then...

This week is already almost over, since we are observing Armistice Day on Thursday and my one class on Friday is taking a test, so I don't have to GO!!! Yay. Basically, il faut que je get hella drunk this weekend.