The Mom Effort, and my Heart's One True Bag

If my last post about sex under my mother's bunk bed lost a good portion of my readers, I suspect my week long hiatus lost the rest of them.

My apartment is literally bursting at the seams with bodies. With my mother and often TMI both living here, and, for the last week, a guy-friend from the states who is studying in Germany and decided to visit, I've been overwhelmed with feeding and entertaining house guests. One needs a lot of sex, cuddles, and attention, another needs sight seeing, salad and tea supply, and the third wants someone to get stoned with at all times of the day.

Mom, despite everyone's best efforts and the should-be-magic of a first time trip to Europe, is largely unimpressed and predominantly homesick. We spent a week in beautiful Sauzet with TMI's family in the South, and are now putting together an impromptu trip to Avignon and then to a little village further south called Foix. It's more out of olbligation than an authentic envy to tour France; mom has just grown too much into a Hawaii-home body in her later years.

Foix

As you can imagine, the steady house guests have left TMI and I stranded with no safe place for sex; which frankly seems to be messing with both of our minds. Yesterday, six times, I asked him to marry me. -And yes, I really do think I love him that much. But it's a fairly harmless question coming from me, since I'm too young and he's exceptionally too young, and we're of different nationalities and I've virtually no direction in life. ... I'm giving the screen a serious look and asking: "What's the point of falling in love below 25, anyway?"

Lastly: I have it. Every day for the past month, a girl younger, Frencher, more beautiful and more stylish than I has come into my cafe and ordered something offensive to my weight like a milkshake. She totes an unthinkably fabulous bag and each day I assail her with questions of where she got it and how I can find it. It was a gift and its origins were unknown. But! Finally! After weeks of searching and slightly-related-but-getting-very-creative key words, I tracked it down. I bought it while squealing in excitement and can now happily model it for you. Please, seriously, please, be jealous.

Say what you want about object fetishism, I'm very content to pull my happiness out of this bag.