sweet lordy be

Hey kidds, so, I'm in Amsterdam, which pretty mucvh mrans I'm not reakky going to be correcrtinf typos. Yeahm you never knew itr was going to get this crazy up in this piece of webspace.

So, we arrivce in Amsteram. Wait, backtrack. Did I mention I conductred my firsdt succesfful dreug purchase in Paris? Les Halles, really terribly weak hash.

Okay, A-Dam. It's awesome. We got here at five, chilled at the twin of our hostel downtown, smoked some crazt blueverry joints and bonghits. Thenm, got whisked away to the hostel, a ride during which I blabbed to the shuttle driver for no lkess thsan thiry minutes.,

Anyway, got to our hostel, ate some delicious food, have been drinking pilsner hand over fist and running out to the beach to smoke another joint, there in the empty sands in the knuckled fist of nighttime.

Anyway, I'm so fucking happy my three days here are becoming six. This is exactly what I need my vacation to bem; this crazy, opulent, adventure-filled, hottie-infested slice of eurohedonism. Tomorrow, I'm thinking hash brownies, martial arts films with dutch subtitles, absinthe, champagne, joints and various sundries, club-hitting, etc.

I'm fucking thrilled right now.

yeah, twas my berfday

Happy, happy! Just bought myself hot prezzies. First, Nina Simone double disc with the Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood from the Dior commercial (with that piece of shit Charlize Theron and her nipple). But the Nicole Kidman/Chanel ad kicks its ass, obvs, just not musically. Also, got David Bowie's The Man Who Sold the World and Live at the Beeb which I had never seen before, and has a bunch of Space Oddity-era songs.

Also, Donnie Darko and The Brotherhood of the Wolf, which I will probably watch tonite (by which I mean both of them, in a delicious cinematic gang bang, oh yes).

Happy, but slightly dazed - tomorrow is Xmas Eve and yesterday was my fucking birthday.

How time flies!

I can't believe I'm 23 now. Actually, I can, because of this weird continental suspension of reality. So nothing feels different, really. Except everything that surrounds me (London, my love).

Yesterday afternoon, I took mushrooms (my brain hurts) and did silly things like watch TV and listen to music. After four hours of feeling crazy I ate a bag of dorritos and came back to the land of the sane. Me and the NY roomies went to a Vietnamese place for dindin and drank lots of sake. Then went to Heaven, but I was still high as fuck and worn down from tripping. Saw the cutest boy in the world, did not talk to him and totally dropped a chance to make out with some dude. Oh well, my sexlife shall remain in thie Eor-inspired limbo.

What happened to me being such a skank in London? PS, did I mention that I saw my street musician from last year?! Oh, that was fucking NUL, to digress in franglas for a moment. He's so lame, clearly nothing has changed but his hair (for the worse) and his freakish weird jaundice tan (yech, worse than before). I can't believe I was so horny over him. Also, he clearly had no idea who I was. Not hot.

Part of me wishes to see London Dude #2 from last year, whom I would grab by the lapels (among other things). It was so hot, the way he was Canadian and able to completely blow me off. Why do I feel so compelled to chase these boys, is it the challenge of crowbaring your way into the imossible?

Argh. But it is something I have to change for myself. For now, it will be Nina Simone and amsterdam weed and weird British TV. Joy.

whaaat

it's my birthday. i'm in london. i'm fucking tripping and watching family guiy, somehow typing this.

hot, hot, hot.

where my cigs at? damn

i feel fucking delicious. going to sushi later, then HEAVEN tonite. I can't fucking wait. I look hot.

update

Oh. My. Gawd.

Yesterday's trip experience was amazing. We went to the market, I bought a gorgeous fake Cartier watch and we bought mushrooms.

How do I even start describing the adventures? Watching poorly subtitled Indian melodramatic soap operas. What is the seventh secret? I don't know. We may never know.

We wandered around my friend Lisa's flat, discovered this huge attic and then I promptly got lost. I went across the attic and went down the staircase into...another building. Then I got stuck behind the building in this crazy alleyyway. For half an hour. I thought I was going to lose my mind.

Then, went to talk to my roomies for the week, who were sitting in each other's closets talking to each other from opposite sides of the room.

Finally, we ate more mushrooms and went to see Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events in Leicester Square. Really great, really appropriately watchalicious when on mushrooms.

Now my friennd is gone, but I am here for the staying, praise be to gaia, etc.

Think I will go to Brighton tomorrow, as it is just a quick busride. Then, back for the berfday to party with these lovely eastcoast people. All will be hot and I even think Xmas will be really great too. Being in London is bringing me back to January, living here with my crazy boys, drinking whiskey to recklessness...nightly, and smoking hash out of a stella artois tallboy. Also, headbutting my friend's exhusband who was weirdly hitting on me (weird because he is straight, obvs). And other such memories...making out with the street cellist, chasing around other boys, going to museums, Oxford Street, stumbling through town and riding doubledeckers. I miss those boys. Or, two of them.

Anyway, I can't believe I can even write this coherently right now. Scary, non?

yessss

Come here three week vacation. Yes, kiss me, you sweet bastard.

By no means is it technically possible that I made it to London today. I managed to get my ticket changed from Monday into the early afternoon eurostar today. Even though it is the first day of vacation and this should have been impossible. Then, due to my own stupidity, I almost missed the train by dallying way too long trying to find an Orange to get e phonecard.

Oh yeah, I finally got a cell. It's delicious - I feel like anything is possible again.

Anyway, made it on to the train, barely, because I forgot there were customs, etc. - travelling within the EU no longer really requires this, at least not with trains.

But how sweet it is to be in a pays anglophone again. London is even more fantastic than I remembered.

And I'm staying with my friend Lisa, who is probably the greatest photographer I will ever meet. I mean, she actually found an interesting way to photograph the tour eiffel! I'm thriving so much just getting to hang out with her right now, it's been swell. Tomorrow, we're going to some markets and we're going to do mushrooms. Far more excited than I can say. Also, apparently it's cheap and quick to take a bus to Brighton, so I might do that before my birthday.

Good things are definitely happening and everything is so much better than I thought it was going to be.

Also, I feel that mild tingling in my balls that tells me holiday love is near. Yay! And hopefully the goodwill will continue and Lisa's roomies will let me stay while she is gone (I think it's being spun as a 'me being the holiday housesitter to make sure everything is safe and happy' thing).

I am however starting to feel a little ill. Vacation curse, but I will survive and thrive. More soon.

whirlpool o'despair

Though a few Xmas miracles have taken place this week (Christmas box, email from my seemingly long-lost Nico), I have yet to be saved from this silly, franco-clichéd fit I am currently having. Sleep has been quite elusive for the past few nights. If I were NOT in France (oh, so many ways to finish that sentance!) I would probably reconsider my opinion of modern therapy and get me to a headshrinker. But I am not. As usual, I am wishing for the MJ relief my drug-addled body so longs for. Luckily, vacation is around the corner.

UNluckily...I will be spending Christmas alone. Or, rather, among strangers - here is the deal. I had to buy my tickets before December first to avoid inevitable inflation of price, etc. Here was my projected itinerary:

12/17 - 12/19: Weekend in Lanion with prof (canceled due to misunderstanding).
12/20 - 12/26: London, city of my heart, for b-day and X-mas
12/26 - 12/30: Paris, to pick up happy American friends and have expensive party adventures.
12/30 - 1/2: Amsterdam. Yes, yes, yes!

So, Lanion is off. Which is fine, I didn't want to start the vacances like that anyway. London departure has been bumped up to this Friday, which is good, because I will at least get to hang with my old Kaimin homie for a few days before...She leaves to go somewhere real for Xmas. I didn't hear back from her, assumed everything was a go (stupidly, obviously) and then sent her another missive to confirm my arrival. Now, I will be using these days to hang out with her AND force her roommates to let me stay in her room so I don't have to have a very Dickens Christmas (in the sense of being homeless, tragic, poor and orphaned). Hopefully, that works because I cannot afford to pay for a place to stay in fucking LONDON. Or at least not if I actually want to, you know, DO ANYTHING.

So, I will be friendless for Christmas AND my birthday, which feels like the more immediate heartbreaker, especially given the elaborate nature of last year's celebration. Oh well. Trying to deal.

Luckily, my Americans are coming on the 27th and it looks like I basically have the OK to take an almost-third week for vacation, which means that I will probably get to spend more time in Amsterdam, which is HOT.

So I'm trying to deal with the many-numbered tragedies of my young life. Whatevs. I'm young and living in europe so I should be happy, drunk and grateful. Right? Nein.

Why am I updating? Oh, I was going to write something about StarAc (fellow assistants know of what I speak) and the ungodly hotness of the male runner-up (Belmondo-esque, yum) but I feel lost to the seas of tragedy. Wah, wah, wah.

Luckily, I am reading an amazing book (Carter Beats the Devil) and the week is almost up. Look on the bright side? I'm trying, fuckers, but I've got a crick in my neck from all this bright side / dark side shit.

les blues

Yesterday found me sucked into the drain of despair. It's so yucky and clichéd to have existential crises in France, it's really embarassing. But also, methinks, unavoidable.

It may have everything to do with finishing Lolita and fealing like my heart was put through a paper shredder. Or it may be that I am thousands and thousands of miles from almost all of my little friends. Or it may be the complete absence of drug use in my life. Or it may be the snowlessness.

What really pissed in my swimming pool yesterday, however, was this: I am woefully behind in preparations to apply for grad schools for next fall. I mean, all I've really done is email people for letters and thought, perhaps not without high school-esque nostalgia, about buying a GRE study book.

Alas, one week later, I have only heard from one person I asked to write me a letter. And I can't fucking take the GRE! Blogga, please (to steal from this blogga hottie)! Not to mention the confusing process of paying for application fees when I live in another country with another currency and I don't have checks. Could I get a money order in dollars from my French bank?! Inquiring minds...

Also, maybe I just shouldn't even apply. Am I ready? Am I good enough? Or do I just have shockingly high expectations of creative writing grad students from being overexposed at too young an age?

Maybe I should actually be experimenting with having a fucking real life. Like, in a real country, in a real appartment, with a real job? Maybe? But I mean, this is what I've been trying to avoid all along, ferchrissakes! Possibly because of my seeming complete inability to function within the spheres of practicality. Or because I am afraid of becoming just another mediocre asshole who bitches about their job all the time and loses all their joie ve vivre (if I may be so French).

Luckily, though, I did have a weird pseudo-sex dream about the hottest blogger in America, which sort of tempered things slightly. Unfortunately, masturbation only solves a finite number of ones problems.

once a week updates? it's not like i'm short on time...

Ohh, bloggybabes, how I have longed to contribute to your sprawling pages, for days upon days. Yesterday, France was not really into letting me post. Sunday was a day spent locked away, quietly still hung over. Saturday was for puking endlessly, due to the utter folly that was Friday night. Now that we have successfully worked our way back...

Friday: mein gott. Whatever was I thinking? Quick daytrip to Brest, I told myself. Movie (House of Flying Daggers) and hat (C & A (AKA le K-Mart) rat pack number I had fallen deeply in love with the last time) were the only items on my agenda. Alas, I seem fated to miss this movie each fucking time I see it, for whatever thwart-happy reasons fate finds sufficient. The hat, tragically, did not fit me at all, and I was not able to justify any sort of hat-stretching techniques with the price landing quietly qt 25 fucking euros! C & A, who the fuck do you think you are, beotch? Answers never, but ask we must.

Anyway, my friend Adam was leaving the France on Sunday to check out a job in Poland and then return to the long-lost mother country. So I had to stay! And, of course, there was a party. My, my, my was there a party.

Andy, Imani, Adam and I decided to knock back a few bottles of wine and then attack the vodka like it was the distant ancestor of our most hated enemy. Oops, where did those two bottles go? Oh yeah. We drank them. Ew. So, the tally for me: 3/4 bottle of wine, six or seven double vodka tonics, one third share of a spliff. Wheee, let's go to a party!

I don't really remember too much. Kept drinking wine, apparently head-butted one of my Brestois chums (only once really hard, lots of minor infractions apparently) and accused him of wanting to make out with me (?!). Stumbled home, bought late-night drunchie fries and collapsed. Managed to have silly 'hee hee, what fucking happened?!' with Imani for about five minutes before I realized I desperately needed to visit the vommitorium. About six visits later, my body was willing to let me off.

The taste of bile lingered at the back of my throat for the entire day and I obviously cancelled my re-scheduled date with the movie.

Yuck!

It was fun, though. In a kind of troubling-that-I-actually-felt-the-need-to-drink-that-much kind of a way.

Notable from this week: wrote three pages in a new story on Sunday night, after one or two hour sessions finding me with one questionable paragraph, on the average. Whipping right through Lolita with a frenzy (amazing, morose) and will probably finish it tonight.

This morning, I got up early only to not receive any students at 9 am. Enfuriating, really, but who needs more sleep? I'm maxing out my hours these days, often settling in for an afternoon nap like a fucking retiree, if only for lack of anything better to do.

Brest awaits again this weekend, surprise of surprises. The recipient of my drunken headbutt and someone else are having a conjoined b-day party, so there I must go. Oh, the arm-twisting that shit took.

This week seems to have been whittled down to nearly naught due to conseils de classe, some kind of incomprehensible bureaucratic time-wastery that may well accomplish something, but for me it mostly means I don't have to teach. Yay!

Okay, that's all for now.