le depart

I have a lot of little funny things to discuss. I didn’t do anything major. Actually I just lied. Yesterday, Madame et moi, we went to Montmarte. I literally spent the whole day with her. HAHAHAH it was ridiculous. First of all, she is tiny like a pocket pal. It takes her twice as long to get anywhere, because her legs are so short. Secondly, she never stops talking. She seems to be the expert on most things, and she loves to tell me really long complicated stories. She doesn’t even tell stories as much as just giving me a lecture on various topics. It’s endearing and good for practicing French, but it’s also fatiguing. My brain felt like it was on fire. Girlfriend has a digital camera but decided to buy a disposable one. Insane. We walked all around the hill, and then we stopped to get lunch in a little place. It was really sunny and nice outside, so we sat outside. I had to pee, naturally, so I went inside to use la toilette. First of all, French restaurants are tiny and packed. I’m already a giant in normal sized places, but I look like fucking Andre the Giant squeezing through a mouse hole getting around these places. It doesn’t help that I lack any sort of grace in movement. I’m like a drunk bull in a china shop all the time. Well there was a line for the bathroom composed of only women. Just my luck. I don’t know what the fuck women do in the bathroom, but it takes them a million fucking years to do their business. Literally. I don’t comprehend. You take your pants off. You sit down. You let fly. You clean up. You put pants on. You wash your hands while simultaneously doing a face check. YOU LEAVE. That should take no more than one minute. Two minutes tops. These two women ahead of me took combined almost twenty minutes. WTF. WTF ARE YOU DOING IN THERE. I know they didn’t take a dump for obvious reasons. Did you fall in? Do you have to remove your chastity belt before you pee? I just don’t get it. So I’m waiting in this tiny cramped space for these women to finish up, and to make it better, the waiter breaks a glass. He’s maneuvering all around trying to clean up while I navigate the hallway avoiding him. It was a disaster. Plus there was a little shit of a kid running around touching himself and then everything else. If you ever needed a reason to NOT eat out…Moving on. So there are lots of pretty people here. It’s depressing. Also, they’re well dressed. BITCHES. The worst part is that they’re so blasé about it all. They’re like oh why yes I’m hot and fabulous but look at me wearing this scarf so nonchalantly around my neck with my perfectly messy hair. Fuck. You. The only thing that makes me feel better is that they’re all so fucking small. I’ll be like oh look at this wonderfully gangly glasses wearing French boy with cuffed pants, and then I realize that he is probably no more than 5’5”. HA! GOTCHA! I started to laugh, because then I remembered the surgeon man (for those of you who know the story) was a midget. I was loling on the metro. He probably only came up to my shoulder. Granted, I have a big head. The old people are fabulous too. They are so amazing. They drive around in vintage mini coopers wearing fabulous duds with brooches and scarves. There was one on the metro back from Montmarte who gave me a little speech about how much she hates technology. She was essentially bitching out the teenage girl sitting right next to her who had headphones in. The many withering stares only underlined her hatred. It was hilarious. Fashion tip: all the boys are wearing blue shoes… do with that as you will. Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure Papa Hoge already has two pairs. Madame and I sat down for some coffee, and it was the time of day where parents were picking up their kids from school. I then got creeped on in the worst way. This guy walked by and did that creepy oh yes I like you smile with the up and down with the eyes. Mind you I was wearing what is basically a waxed tent, and I had some awesome frizz going on in the weave-did. In other words, I looked good. Then I see his DAUGHTER walking behind him. In the words of Momma Kim, Wat da hell!!!??!?!? It’s one thing to make eyes at me being gross, but it’s a totally different thing to do it while you’re toting your 6 year old around behind you. Go. Away. Forever. After our coffee, we boarded the bus to get back to Chinatown. I got so lucky. There was the most fabulous/dramatic fairy queen I’ve EVER seen. He was a)pretty b)sassy c)dramatic. His blonde hair and perfect skin were set off by the fact that he was giving the WORST bitch face to EVERYTHING. At one point he was glaring at something, bared his perfectly white teefies in a snarl and he took his finger and scraped around. Then he gave the best, most disparaging eye roll I’ve ever seen. It was straight out of Bring it On or some shit like that. I was dying…internally of course. I didn’t want the wrath of Peter Pan to come raining down on my tent, waxed or not. It’s impossible to describe just how much of a caricature he was. Today I did my shopping. The parentals had placed orders to me for various luxury goods. I was going around Rue St. Honoré with bags of nice things looking like a hobo. By American standards I probably looked fine, but Parisians (especially in that area of the quartier) are a little bit fancy pants. The old fabulous people were probably wondering who this street rat was stealing shit. I had to meet Madame for a movie on Rue Mouffetard, so I really only had time to pick up everything then get to the theater. I took a break to eat a quick lunch in a small park not far by. There was a guy with his dog. Super exciting I know, but just wait. The dog was running around everywhere pissing and shitting like dogs tend to do. However, the guy then told his dog to get on the edge of the fountain, and then he pushed it in! It was so sad. I think he was trying to rinse the shit and piss off of its fur, but it was cold outside. The dog was so deprimée. I understand the concept of having a clean pet, but it’s a fucking dog. They will always have crap all over them. Unless of course you’re rocking some frou frou rat dog who never touches the ground. At the movie theater we saw a film called “Intouchables”. I’m not going to tell you the story, because you can look it up online. However, Madame had sat down at the end of a row, and I left my bags with her to go to the wiz palace. When I came back, the row was full. Unlike normal human beings who would get up so that I could sit down, the sassy bitches of old people sitting down just looked at me like I was crazy. They just sat there. Then they told me to go around and squeeze by the wall to sit down. There was less than a foot of space to get by. I also have a fat ass. I looked so fucking dumb. Bitches…So I fell asleep last night after packing, because I was tired and drunk. I leave today. So sad. Madame hinted that she would like me to stay, and believe me I would prefer that to returning to whatever fresh hell awaits in Thrilliamsburg. Alas, I think my parents would shit themselves if I jumped ship. I must come back to the stink of the RER, and I must board the damn plane.  First, I have to convince myself to get my bum off the pull out couch and get in the showshow. Ok. VAS-Y!!!!!!!!!!!!

p.s. I read somewhere that donkey meat is called poopy. HAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHA