Luxembourg and the Morning After

Luxembourg

Trier

I am absolutely too old to go out dancing and drinking with 17 year olds. Last night was only the second time in my life I've drunk so much that I a) puked and b) had a hangover the next morning, but I don't plan on doing it again. Ever. There are healthier ways of getting wrinkles.

In other news I am in Luxembourg! Visiting with the beautiful Finnish fille, Anna. Yesterday we hopped on train to Trier, Germany, and spent the day wondering around. Suddenly I feel so international! But none of these border crossings earned me a stamp in my passport. And I felt painfully inadequate unable to say even the simplest phrases in German.

Dancing on a Boat

I changed my hair for the first time in 20 years and it changed my appearance quite dramatically. I dealt with the shock by following a group a French guys through town in the dead of night to a canal, (I had no idea there was water in Dijon) and onto a boat where there just so happened to be a roaring 20's party. Uh, rad.

So I danced and shimmied and swung my new sweat soaked bangs back and forth until the wee hours of the morning. A handsome Frenchie with an embarrassing name walked me home and kissed me at my door. Pas mal, pas mal de tout.

Dead Things

Yesterday I visited the super happy super cool museum of dead things!!!!! Surrounded by death on all sides, room after room, wall after wall of dead animals! Dear god. Less cruel then zoos? Er... maybe thats the upside. But boy did I ever feel dirty, dark, and depressed after such an experience.

In other more superficial news I've decided to get bangs. I haven't changed my hair since I was 7, so the shell shock in the aftermath may lead to suicide. I thought about this very seriously and have come the conclusion that I've lead a full life; I've been in love, I've visited much of Europe, Northern America, and the Pacific, I've had an orgasm, I've learned a second language and I've eaten snails. I think I'm ready to end it should the need arise.

It's Spring

Do I move to Paris and go to fashion school or stay in Dijon and go to music school? I would love to take some more voice lessons and learn the piano. But Dijon is a small town and I continue to have no friends and no job. But I do have a sickeningly adorable French apartment on the troisième étage. Wood floor, french double window, and a mirror sur pied. The same would be twice as expensive and twice as difficult to find in gay Paris, I believe.

Also a significantly younger and more beautiful friend from Luxembourg visited me this weekend - I may go visit her in her native land the next. We drank, danced, and lamented our shared sate of man-less-ness ensemble.

B still remains a recluse, Handsome from Paris turned out to be what all mothers warn you handsome men are, and the sky is blue and the days are long in quiet Dijon, France.

la finlandaise et la hawaïenne

La Jardin Botanique de l'Arquebuse

I don't know why it took me so long to find this place, but I was pretty much ecstatic to find a gorgeous, green and blooming park hiding just beyond the train station :)

The Good, the Bad, and the Disgusting

(and you guys thought I was exaggerating)

I knocked on B's door for 15 minutes today trying to pick up my laundry. I was trying to wake him out of his usual comatose, so 15 minutes wasn't bad, but it was a HORRID experience because there was a pile of rotting shrimp in front of his door. The air was putrid and I was trying to hide my nose in my sleeve while I knocked. When he finally answered I was so enraged and disgusted I yelled and swore at him that he had "fucking psychological problems" and his shrimp were disgusting etc, then ran up stairs to gather my laundry while I cried. He went out side and smoked, his feelings obviously hurt.

uuuugghhuughh. I know, I shouldn't be so hard on the guy... ? Right? Everyday I go over there and ask him if he wants to go out and if he reeeaaally wants to stay on the couch all day every day, but he's seemingly hell bent on wasting his life.

And now, finally, THE GOOD NEWS! Handsome Frenchi from Paris is spending a small fortune of 80 Euros to catch a train to visit me this weekend in Dijon. Hurray! I'll be very very happy for his sane company, (as far as I know anyway) and much needed handsome male physical contact. (Which we're pretending like were not committed to, but my apartment is the size of a walk in closet, so I'd say our intentions are pretty obvious.)

And last but not least I'm adding a lovely oval shaped standing mirror and loft bed to my mini abode, which I shall stop at nothing to make a feng shui haven. Photos soon :)

Small Romance

YES, I spent the afternoon with a handsome frenchie. Yes he bought me some of the famous Berthillion ice cream and yes we kissed ever so sweetly on the bridge with all the locks. (The one where couples write their initials on each one and then throw the key in to the seine. How sickly sweet.)

We met at the Pyramide at the Louvre and blushed and laughed for an hour in a street side cafe nearby, then circumvented the more romantic and interesting sights of the Paris. It was lovely and much much much needed by a romantic animal like myself, but, alas, he left me at the metro where I began my path back to Dijon. I think we're too long distance for success. But I'll happily waste calories clinging to some small shreds of hope that I'll see him again for more of the above.

How did I meet this guy again? Perhaps you are wondering. Via online dating. FOR SHAME!!!!

I know, I know. But I am a girl abroad, after all. Actually I receive an obscene amount of messages every day from less than suitable male and female celebataries, so par my mom's advice, I've decided to start a blog to post the more amusing efforts to break the cybernetic ice. Ye can find its fetal form here: Desperate Men's Messages. Sneaky!