back from the drunken land of rennes

Two things need to be said right from the get-go:

1.) The departure countdown is now at thirteen days. This is terrifying the shit out of me and normally this would be the point at which I would re-change my ticket but I know it's the right decision but that shit is so freaky to stand behind, I mean, am I actually making a mature adult decision? Take a fucking picture of this moment.

2.) I have at long last added the coveted links section! You may now congratulate me on the re-mastery of basic HTML.

That said, on to the weekend synopsis! Rennes, as always, was excellent. I love Rennes because it combines the flavor of Bretagne (that is to say, rampant drunkenness) with the charm of the classic-looking medium-sized French city. There are huge places all over, lots of cool old buildings, streets full of attractive, stylish (?! who know there were still stylish people in France?!) young people. It's definitely a student/party town and I love it, in spite of the mysterious absence of H&M.

While the acquaintance-in-law-twice-removed who put me up was alternately cold and welcoming, that ended up working out really well. This family had their babysitter take me out to the bars on Friday night. This girl is a 20 year-old dental student/surfer, so even though we had discussed how bad all the public-jointing smoking in Rennes is with my hostess, we obviously ended up participating in this great tradition ourselves. She was cool - it was a good challenge for me to undertake, to hold a conversation with a motormouthed French girl.

Then a pack of my peeps came down on Saturday. Let us say from the get-go the soiree was a terribly uncivilized affair! My friend Alex and I hit the infamous rue de la soif, making the tour of three euro pint bars and chatting about our obsession with E! while making fun of French people.

Then, we met up with my friends Elaine and Anna at the Irish pub, then invited ourselves to some ridiculous Brit Erasmus afterparty which was being held across the street from the girls' hotel. I spent most of the undetermined amount of time passed there hitting on an adorable French lad who actually wanted to speak in English (?!) but at the end of the night, I was too five-in-the-morning-ishly drunk to try for the pelvic follow-up. I think he wasn't queer anyway, but now we'll never know.

The next day, the streets were even more suspiciously empty than a normal French Sunday. Later, I realized the Pope was dead, so I guess everyone had to stay home and cry? I dunno. Don't expect any thoughtful commentary from me on this end - I am a heathen, but I'm definitely not going to make fun of the poor dead bastard. Or anything.

Anyway, I was painfully hung over, so decided to sit down at an abandonned bus stop to roll a joint. Which is really the only way I can explain the fact that I was in first class on the way home. As mix-ups go, it was so fucking SNCF.

In closing, I would like to thank Riso Grillo, the official boxed-risotto of this blog.