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.