Tonight was the night to pull out the red dress and follow a pack of testosterone charged males to the local spots bar and show our support for team Dijon. I never wear red; but being told to do so I obediently dawned a saucy little number and some black heels to brave the cobblestone streets; and learned one valuable lesson. Watching sports on tv is dumb.After having a beer spilled on my shoe and feeling that I had payed my social duty as a friend, I marched back to my beloved French pad early, enduring many rowdy shouts from sports enthusiasts on my way home.
The news this week is that I am 77% sure that I am moving to Paris for fashion school in September. Having worked as a model in my teenage years and just recently earned a degree in Art History and Digital Illustration, I think it might be the perfect fusion of my interests and the correct step forward. It might be. It might also be a colossal disaster, but I'm willing to undergo a certain degree of embarrassment for adventure. It's also expensive! So it's too soon for the last three percentiles.
And tomorrow I'm portraying the leading lady (yes, only because I'm the only available lady) in a short, independent French film. I'm both excited and devastated because I have some serious problems with getting up early. It's for an annual film festival in which small film crews assemble and draw genres form a hat and have 48 hours to shoot, edit, and present an 8 minute film to a jury. We pulled action/thriller. I was secretly wishing for Romance, but looks like tomorrow I'll probably be running and screaming. (but in French, so I'm not complaining)
So with all that under the belt I'm going to try and call it an early night; so the red dress goes back in the closet and I'm taking some sleeping pills; cuz from what I can tell the Dijonaise are planning on honking their car horns and singing our city's name all through the night.
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