31.3.08
30.3.08
Alarms Going Off In My Head
What kind of a video blogger am I, I missed out on filming the bike marathon fundraiser on the roof of Jittery Joe's.
Yes, I was on my way to my new second job yesterday (more on that later) and was sitting at the Five Points stoplight when I glanced lovingly at my place of work and noticed two Athens bikers, in full Athens biker garb, aggressively pedaling away on bikes, on the roof. The roof of a coffee shop. In the rain. I haven't used this word this way since high school, but um, random?
Granted, they were stationary bikes. But still, it was SO great! It was impressive, it was (somewhat) dangerous, it was a hysterical sight, but the GREATEST thing about it was that it was the first time that I have seen an Athens biker at 5pts that WASN'T IN MY WAY on narrow Milledge Avenue!!! It's like, come on man, I get it, you're on an earth-friendly bike, I'm in my Mazda, you win - but I've got places to go, too! At LEAST stick to the bike lane, I mean really. Man, I wish they would all just switch to stationary bikes and convene up on the roof of Jittery Joe's. It's not like they have places to go, anyway. Except maybe like, GNC, for their protein bars and crap. I would be willing to bring all the protein bars GNC has in stock to the roof of Jittery Joe's every morning so that bikers would flock there and stay out of my way. I would throw in some Nalgene bottles, too.
It's too bad I didn't get up before 2 pm yesterday due to X-treme Girl Talk hangover, otherwise I coulda gotten footage of the bike marathon and put some clever Rocky soundtrack tunes to it. But lucky for you, I have a pretty great video to post anyway. Girl Talk on Friday was, of course, a blast; it was an evening of rapid inebriation that I hadn't experienced since maybe Freshman year, followed by a dance concert with enough beats, flashing lights, and fanatical fools to make those "Krush Girls" look like the hired help at a retirement party. With the flashy lights and the ecstatic crowd, it was the closest I've ever come to a rave, and the closest I ever want to come. Sadly I feel like I've gotten too old to shake m'tailfeathers at a mashup dance concert, but it was worth it to sell myself out juuuust a little bit (I think I made something up about being a videographer for the city of Athens, which isn't a complete lie, if you think about it) to get onstage with Gregg, with Brooke and Jodi, and all the Day Glo-ed, American Apparel-ed 19-year-olds, because you know, those kids have heart. "Those kids." Am I one, too? Just a kid? Well, I sure never want to grow up, I'n tell you that much.
Ladies and gents, I present to you a small portrait of what I think it is to be a kid in Athens in 2008 (apologies if it induces seizure...):
Yes, I was on my way to my new second job yesterday (more on that later) and was sitting at the Five Points stoplight when I glanced lovingly at my place of work and noticed two Athens bikers, in full Athens biker garb, aggressively pedaling away on bikes, on the roof. The roof of a coffee shop. In the rain. I haven't used this word this way since high school, but um, random?
Granted, they were stationary bikes. But still, it was SO great! It was impressive, it was (somewhat) dangerous, it was a hysterical sight, but the GREATEST thing about it was that it was the first time that I have seen an Athens biker at 5pts that WASN'T IN MY WAY on narrow Milledge Avenue!!! It's like, come on man, I get it, you're on an earth-friendly bike, I'm in my Mazda, you win - but I've got places to go, too! At LEAST stick to the bike lane, I mean really. Man, I wish they would all just switch to stationary bikes and convene up on the roof of Jittery Joe's. It's not like they have places to go, anyway. Except maybe like, GNC, for their protein bars and crap. I would be willing to bring all the protein bars GNC has in stock to the roof of Jittery Joe's every morning so that bikers would flock there and stay out of my way. I would throw in some Nalgene bottles, too.
It's too bad I didn't get up before 2 pm yesterday due to X-treme Girl Talk hangover, otherwise I coulda gotten footage of the bike marathon and put some clever Rocky soundtrack tunes to it. But lucky for you, I have a pretty great video to post anyway. Girl Talk on Friday was, of course, a blast; it was an evening of rapid inebriation that I hadn't experienced since maybe Freshman year, followed by a dance concert with enough beats, flashing lights, and fanatical fools to make those "Krush Girls" look like the hired help at a retirement party. With the flashy lights and the ecstatic crowd, it was the closest I've ever come to a rave, and the closest I ever want to come. Sadly I feel like I've gotten too old to shake m'tailfeathers at a mashup dance concert, but it was worth it to sell myself out juuuust a little bit (I think I made something up about being a videographer for the city of Athens, which isn't a complete lie, if you think about it) to get onstage with Gregg, with Brooke and Jodi, and all the Day Glo-ed, American Apparel-ed 19-year-olds, because you know, those kids have heart. "Those kids." Am I one, too? Just a kid? Well, I sure never want to grow up, I'n tell you that much.
Ladies and gents, I present to you a small portrait of what I think it is to be a kid in Athens in 2008 (apologies if it induces seizure...):
27.3.08
On blogging and having nothing/everything to say: Suis-Je Normale?
OkI'mPostingThisBlogWithAVideoBecauseIThinkThat'sMaybeAGoodDirection
ForMeToTakeWhatDoYouThink
Yo,
I'm not gonna lie and be like "OMGYOUGUYS, I AM SOOOOOO BACK YOUHAVENOIDEA," but I am gonna lie and be like "hey guys, what's up, I'm like, back."
Hey guys, what's up, I'm like, back.
The lie resides in the finality of that statement. I wish I could say that this time, the shit's for real, I'm 'on be layin' down some e-rhymes up in here every day from here on out. But just I don't know that I'll have the time to do that with everything going on these days (when am I ever not able to use the statement "with everything going on these days"?? My life is exhausting). Anyway, we'll see.
I need to web log because for God's sake, it's the easiest way to "connect with people," these days, the easiest way to "express yourself", and possibly the easiest way to "get discovered." (Those bits in the quotation marks sound like an ad for a career college, don't they? Connect with others! Do what you love! Get discovered! No thanks, U.Phoenix, I'm totally chill just rockin' my blog)
It's certainly the easiest thing to nurture. Personal blogs are maybe the chia pets of the aughts. Like, really, there's no point, more than likely no one gives about your chia pet at the end of the day, and if anything, they're making fun of you for having one. But it's a no-brainer to post a little something every once and a while, just as it is a no-brainer to sprinkle some water on your chia pet - and both of these things are, in their own ways, quite cathartic. I like to hope that people are still scribbling down at least SOME of the things they think about or find interesting, because if thoughts are contained exclusively within the brain, they're just going to fade away unnoticed someday, and how sad - might as well go all out and immortalize your thoughts online. Anyway, it'll be kind of cool to be able to say that you did your part in perpetuating one of the trends that will go down in the popular media history of our generation, this generation of useless information and largely unnecessary personal thoughts. Plus, admit it, you like the irony of keeping up with your "thoughts" via your computer or your iphone in your cubicle at work, in the same way you like the irony of keeping up with the marjoram growing on the terra cotta Garfield resting on your stack of New Yorkers and vintage Playboys.
What I'm saying is that whether it's Chia or blogging, everyone should discipline themselves with some kind of quotidian hobby, do it right, craft that shit, show some dedication up in HEA. It's a mediocre world, and while blog content is, admittedly, often mediocre itself, the heart behind it can at least be something worth talking about. And you know, the bit about people not caring isn't 100% true - in fact, as the popularity of blogs is on the rise right now, people might just care more than ever. So I say, blog away. Right?
Hm, look at that, I wrote much more than I intended. The whole point of the video at the end of the blog was to say what I was too lazy to type. Oh well. Guess I'll just have to do better next time. In the meantime, watch my vid if you have any interest in knowing what kind of miserable and pathetic senioritis-stricken life I lead these days. Is it really "senioritis," though, or are the symptoms of "senioritis" just eerily similar to my inherent personality traits and behavioral tendencies which are simply exacerbated by the approach of graduation? Suis-je normale??? Does it matter? Ha, and can I even call it senioritis if I am TECHNICALLY short of one hour to graduate, and won't be able to do so until further notice? (thanks a lot for that one, Univerisity of Georgia, by the way - real cool)
Please don't allow me to talk about myself or express my opinions in such a disgustingly self-induglent way ever again. I think I've done enough for one lifetime in this one blog entry. Ugh.
But, do keep watching the videos. They'll get better, I promise. And yes, less self-indulgent. Just remember: SENIORITIS.
ForMeToTakeWhatDoYouThink
Yo,
I'm not gonna lie and be like "OMGYOUGUYS, I AM SOOOOOO BACK YOUHAVENOIDEA," but I am gonna lie and be like "hey guys, what's up, I'm like, back."
Hey guys, what's up, I'm like, back.
The lie resides in the finality of that statement. I wish I could say that this time, the shit's for real, I'm 'on be layin' down some e-rhymes up in here every day from here on out. But just I don't know that I'll have the time to do that with everything going on these days (when am I ever not able to use the statement "with everything going on these days"?? My life is exhausting). Anyway, we'll see.
I need to web log because for God's sake, it's the easiest way to "connect with people," these days, the easiest way to "express yourself", and possibly the easiest way to "get discovered." (Those bits in the quotation marks sound like an ad for a career college, don't they? Connect with others! Do what you love! Get discovered! No thanks, U.Phoenix, I'm totally chill just rockin' my blog)
It's certainly the easiest thing to nurture. Personal blogs are maybe the chia pets of the aughts. Like, really, there's no point, more than likely no one gives about your chia pet at the end of the day, and if anything, they're making fun of you for having one. But it's a no-brainer to post a little something every once and a while, just as it is a no-brainer to sprinkle some water on your chia pet - and both of these things are, in their own ways, quite cathartic. I like to hope that people are still scribbling down at least SOME of the things they think about or find interesting, because if thoughts are contained exclusively within the brain, they're just going to fade away unnoticed someday, and how sad - might as well go all out and immortalize your thoughts online. Anyway, it'll be kind of cool to be able to say that you did your part in perpetuating one of the trends that will go down in the popular media history of our generation, this generation of useless information and largely unnecessary personal thoughts. Plus, admit it, you like the irony of keeping up with your "thoughts" via your computer or your iphone in your cubicle at work, in the same way you like the irony of keeping up with the marjoram growing on the terra cotta Garfield resting on your stack of New Yorkers and vintage Playboys.
What I'm saying is that whether it's Chia or blogging, everyone should discipline themselves with some kind of quotidian hobby, do it right, craft that shit, show some dedication up in HEA. It's a mediocre world, and while blog content is, admittedly, often mediocre itself, the heart behind it can at least be something worth talking about. And you know, the bit about people not caring isn't 100% true - in fact, as the popularity of blogs is on the rise right now, people might just care more than ever. So I say, blog away. Right?
Hm, look at that, I wrote much more than I intended. The whole point of the video at the end of the blog was to say what I was too lazy to type. Oh well. Guess I'll just have to do better next time. In the meantime, watch my vid if you have any interest in knowing what kind of miserable and pathetic senioritis-stricken life I lead these days. Is it really "senioritis," though, or are the symptoms of "senioritis" just eerily similar to my inherent personality traits and behavioral tendencies which are simply exacerbated by the approach of graduation? Suis-je normale??? Does it matter? Ha, and can I even call it senioritis if I am TECHNICALLY short of one hour to graduate, and won't be able to do so until further notice? (thanks a lot for that one, Univerisity of Georgia, by the way - real cool)
Please don't allow me to talk about myself or express my opinions in such a disgustingly self-induglent way ever again. I think I've done enough for one lifetime in this one blog entry. Ugh.
But, do keep watching the videos. They'll get better, I promise. And yes, less self-indulgent. Just remember: SENIORITIS.
7.5.07
Overheard in the Maceplace: "Disfunction Junction" or "When did my folks get to be so totally old and WHERE did my sister get that ass of hers?"
Int. Maceplace Kitchen. Mom is at sink pouring more water into a temporary fishbowl for our fish, Guadalupe and Carlos. Cailin stands next to her (even though they were, only minutes before, screaming at the top of their lungs at each other from opposite ends of the house), pouring a bowl of cereal. Dad is leaning on island counter behind them, reading the newspaper. And I am seated at kitchen table to right, glued to my computer screen and typing away, ostensibly shutting out the real world in favor of the digital one. Dad has just returned from picking me up at the MARTA station where I had arrived from the airport, and is now about to take Mom and Cailin TO the MARTA station to get to the airport.
Mom: Steve, will you go dump the rest of Guad and Carlos' dirty water so I can clean it before we go?
Dad: Where are they?
Mom: They who
Dad: The fish!
Mom: They're in this bowl.
Cai: Sick!
Dad: Dodi! I use that to make salad! Have you used it for this before? It's probably got diseases growing in it!
Mom: Of course not. I'll throw it out after this.
Me: CAILIN, oh my God, do you remember when you used to name every goldfish "Sally?" Even the boy ones?
Dad: Cailin- oh, what was I going to say...OH, Cailin, your butt is getting big.
Cai: Yeah uh huh, kiss it.
Me: And you named every puppy "Ed" and every pigeon "Louie." That's so weird. But interesting, don't you think?
Dad, from outside, dumping water from dirty aquarium: It's from all that rice you eat in the morning. That's not a normal breakfast. You should be eating like, I dunno, whole grains, or something.
Me: I have quite a behind too, but, I eat ice cream for breakfast. All the time. Apparently.
All: What?
Me: Nothing, I just-- never mind.
Mom, taking now empty aquarium from Dad: Kelly, you have got to stop skipping breakfast.
Me: What? I just said I eat breakfast! Ice cream for breakfast! (a pause) Hurray!
Mom: Did you eat breakfast at Jeff's? People think it's weird when other people don't eat breakfast. It doesn't look cool, or anything. It's not like you need to impress Jeff for some reason. It's just Jeff.
Me: Mom, are you seriously still talking?
Dad, softly, to me: It's the chemo that's talking.
Mom: I heard that.
Dad: ANYWAY, Cailin, can't you eat like, wheaties?
Cai: Sick!
Me: Dad, are you like, a spokesman for bulimia? Cailin's practically already on the cover of Sports Illustrated, don't crush her dreams!
Dad: Well, I'm just saying...
Me: Oh, I don't really care. Cailin's butt is actually way bigger than like...4 days ago.
Cai: Smack that. (Without even turning head, smacks own butt)
Dad: Are those wheaties?
Cai, indifferent: Dad, stop it. I'm sick of you calling me fat. (Bites down on spoonful of Honey Bunches of Calories, walks out of kitchen)
Dad: Well, I guess I'm gonna get some McDonald's for lunch before I take you to the airport. You guys want anything?
All: (variations of negative response)
Dad: Alright, later. (Exits)
Cai, from living room, noticing that Mom has just cleaned and refilled aquarium and reintroduced G & C: Cool, Mom, Guad and Carlos' hooch looks so totally like, feng shui, now.
Me: I'm surprised you have that big word in your vocabulary, Cailin. Although I think you meant to say "zen."
Cailin: I don't speak Japanese, Kelly.
Me: How many times do I have to tell you that the Japanese language sounds staccato. Does "feng shui" sound staccato to you? Oh snap, you don't speak Italian either.
Cai: Moooom!
Me: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm being a bitch. But-- it's not often I'm more witty than you, Cailin!
Mom, walking past and bopping me on the head with newspaper: Don't say 'bitch,' ya little twat!
Me: Wow. Wait - did you just wash that bowl? The one you used to hold the fish in? I thought you were going to throw that away.
Mom: Pfft. I do this all the time. Dad doesn't know it, but his favorite salad is goldfish shit salad.
Me: Mmm, goldfish shit. Mine too.
Cai: Aw, Sick!
Mom: Sorry girls, I shouldn't have said 'shit' just then.
Cai: Mom, you are so gay!
SCENE
Mom: Steve, will you go dump the rest of Guad and Carlos' dirty water so I can clean it before we go?
Dad: Where are they?
Mom: They who
Dad: The fish!
Mom: They're in this bowl.
Cai: Sick!
Dad: Dodi! I use that to make salad! Have you used it for this before? It's probably got diseases growing in it!
Mom: Of course not. I'll throw it out after this.
Me: CAILIN, oh my God, do you remember when you used to name every goldfish "Sally?" Even the boy ones?
Dad: Cailin- oh, what was I going to say...OH, Cailin, your butt is getting big.
Cai: Yeah uh huh, kiss it.
Me: And you named every puppy "Ed" and every pigeon "Louie." That's so weird. But interesting, don't you think?
Dad, from outside, dumping water from dirty aquarium: It's from all that rice you eat in the morning. That's not a normal breakfast. You should be eating like, I dunno, whole grains, or something.
Me: I have quite a behind too, but, I eat ice cream for breakfast. All the time. Apparently.
All: What?
Me: Nothing, I just-- never mind.
Mom, taking now empty aquarium from Dad: Kelly, you have got to stop skipping breakfast.
Me: What? I just said I eat breakfast! Ice cream for breakfast! (a pause) Hurray!
Mom: Did you eat breakfast at Jeff's? People think it's weird when other people don't eat breakfast. It doesn't look cool, or anything. It's not like you need to impress Jeff for some reason. It's just Jeff.
Me: Mom, are you seriously still talking?
Dad, softly, to me: It's the chemo that's talking.
Mom: I heard that.
Dad: ANYWAY, Cailin, can't you eat like, wheaties?
Cai: Sick!
Me: Dad, are you like, a spokesman for bulimia? Cailin's practically already on the cover of Sports Illustrated, don't crush her dreams!
Dad: Well, I'm just saying...
Me: Oh, I don't really care. Cailin's butt is actually way bigger than like...4 days ago.
Cai: Smack that. (Without even turning head, smacks own butt)
Dad: Are those wheaties?
Cai, indifferent: Dad, stop it. I'm sick of you calling me fat. (Bites down on spoonful of Honey Bunches of Calories, walks out of kitchen)
Dad: Well, I guess I'm gonna get some McDonald's for lunch before I take you to the airport. You guys want anything?
All: (variations of negative response)
Dad: Alright, later. (Exits)
Cai, from living room, noticing that Mom has just cleaned and refilled aquarium and reintroduced G & C: Cool, Mom, Guad and Carlos' hooch looks so totally like, feng shui, now.
Me: I'm surprised you have that big word in your vocabulary, Cailin. Although I think you meant to say "zen."
Cailin: I don't speak Japanese, Kelly.
Me: How many times do I have to tell you that the Japanese language sounds staccato. Does "feng shui" sound staccato to you? Oh snap, you don't speak Italian either.
Cai: Moooom!
Me: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm being a bitch. But-- it's not often I'm more witty than you, Cailin!
Mom, walking past and bopping me on the head with newspaper: Don't say 'bitch,' ya little twat!
Me: Wow. Wait - did you just wash that bowl? The one you used to hold the fish in? I thought you were going to throw that away.
Mom: Pfft. I do this all the time. Dad doesn't know it, but his favorite salad is goldfish shit salad.
Me: Mmm, goldfish shit. Mine too.
Cai: Aw, Sick!
Mom: Sorry girls, I shouldn't have said 'shit' just then.
Cai: Mom, you are so gay!
SCENE
20.4.07
Parliamo Italiano!
Oggi, adesso in fatto, vado a "Tuscan Market," un piccolino ristorante Fiorentino/Toscano che vende panini e insalate squisiti, per fare domanda di un lavoro. Questo post esiste per mettermi nella moda italiana, perche il padrone è Italiano lui stesso, di Firenze in fatto - sigh! - e perche ho dimenticato troppo...TUTTO, persino... Buona fortuna a me...io suck at italiano. io fail.
17.4.07
Basically: is this story good?
I want to submit a story of my experiences abroad to a travel website: is this one good? I think I'm going to keep writing stories like this until I run out of memories (as if that'll ever happen). Which is why I'll tentatively entitle this one:
It Was a One-Time Thing: Paris Happenings, Part I
In Paris, wine is both the go-to consumable for a momentous occasion and a momentous occasion itself. Parisians are existentialists who profit from their place in the present, consistently creating their own meanings, particularly when happening upon those "one time only" specials that arrive so often in Paris.
The first of these that I experienced occurred in a café I happened upon alone while wandering around Saint Germain, a left bank neighborhood known for its simultaneously lively and intimate feel. Although I didn't expect to interact with anyone that evening, I would, as it were, be toasting to post-impressionism and life with one Floriane, a young artist whom I'd never met before, and would never meet again.
She had waved me to her table, asking plainly what I wanted her to tell me about Paris. "Tout," I admitted. She grinned and nodded, pouring me a glass of ruby-red Hermitage.
"First you must know that there are many people who live in Paris, and always have, and don't like it," she told me, "but you must ignore them. There's no reason you should not love Paris and no reason these people shouldn't either. I was born here, and for me it's still the most wonderful place in the world." Her delicate gallic pronunciations were floating up to the ceiling like little butterflies.
Floriane had dubbed Paris a "place" rather than a city, and appropriately: "city" is just a political label for a place, but a place itself is much more. It could be anything to anybody, and to me, this place - this Paris - was everything. It was suddenly alive and essential as a surface beneath my feet. We discussed this romantic notion for what seemed like hours, and I just beamed helplessly: the idea that there existed people who shared my verve for Paris made my heart swell. Presently Floriane raised her glass: 'Au vin! Aux amis! A...Paul Sérusier!' And I raised mine. (Sérusier? Pourquoi pas.) It wasn't until I knocked my glass over in a paroxysm of laughter that I came out of my euphoric and (almost literally) wine-soaked reverie. This was no cliché Parisian fantasy. This was life.
Floriane left the café, and my acquaintance, as suddenly as she'd entered. We hadn't so much as swapped addresses, but something told me we weren't meant to. I finished my wine and left, enlightened and exhausted all at once. Outside, Saint Germain's fluorescent eyes were shutting along with mine.
There's a warm, existential feeling that comes from drinking red wine; the kind we experience when we are falling in love, fighting for love. Maybe its sanguine nature spurs it to find its way into our veins and to the heart, changing our time signatures and reminding us that we are alive. This must be why Paris has undergone so much revolution throughout its life. The beating of the battle drums in the love movement that is a Paris revolution echoes the heartbeat of its vinous people, a people who live for the moment.
Under a blue moon that evening, in a café inhabited by phantom barricades, revolutionaries, and lovers, I was alive for this moment: the company, the color, the french flowing as purposefully as the wine. And especially for Paris, inconstant Paris, where every moment is a revolution. Where things happen only once and last in us forever.
It Was a One-Time Thing: Paris Happenings, Part I
In Paris, wine is both the go-to consumable for a momentous occasion and a momentous occasion itself. Parisians are existentialists who profit from their place in the present, consistently creating their own meanings, particularly when happening upon those "one time only" specials that arrive so often in Paris.
The first of these that I experienced occurred in a café I happened upon alone while wandering around Saint Germain, a left bank neighborhood known for its simultaneously lively and intimate feel. Although I didn't expect to interact with anyone that evening, I would, as it were, be toasting to post-impressionism and life with one Floriane, a young artist whom I'd never met before, and would never meet again.
She had waved me to her table, asking plainly what I wanted her to tell me about Paris. "Tout," I admitted. She grinned and nodded, pouring me a glass of ruby-red Hermitage.
"First you must know that there are many people who live in Paris, and always have, and don't like it," she told me, "but you must ignore them. There's no reason you should not love Paris and no reason these people shouldn't either. I was born here, and for me it's still the most wonderful place in the world." Her delicate gallic pronunciations were floating up to the ceiling like little butterflies.
Floriane had dubbed Paris a "place" rather than a city, and appropriately: "city" is just a political label for a place, but a place itself is much more. It could be anything to anybody, and to me, this place - this Paris - was everything. It was suddenly alive and essential as a surface beneath my feet. We discussed this romantic notion for what seemed like hours, and I just beamed helplessly: the idea that there existed people who shared my verve for Paris made my heart swell. Presently Floriane raised her glass: 'Au vin! Aux amis! A...Paul Sérusier!' And I raised mine. (Sérusier? Pourquoi pas.) It wasn't until I knocked my glass over in a paroxysm of laughter that I came out of my euphoric and (almost literally) wine-soaked reverie. This was no cliché Parisian fantasy. This was life.
Floriane left the café, and my acquaintance, as suddenly as she'd entered. We hadn't so much as swapped addresses, but something told me we weren't meant to. I finished my wine and left, enlightened and exhausted all at once. Outside, Saint Germain's fluorescent eyes were shutting along with mine.
There's a warm, existential feeling that comes from drinking red wine; the kind we experience when we are falling in love, fighting for love. Maybe its sanguine nature spurs it to find its way into our veins and to the heart, changing our time signatures and reminding us that we are alive. This must be why Paris has undergone so much revolution throughout its life. The beating of the battle drums in the love movement that is a Paris revolution echoes the heartbeat of its vinous people, a people who live for the moment.
Under a blue moon that evening, in a café inhabited by phantom barricades, revolutionaries, and lovers, I was alive for this moment: the company, the color, the french flowing as purposefully as the wine. And especially for Paris, inconstant Paris, where every moment is a revolution. Where things happen only once and last in us forever.
12.4.07
g2g pp brb
I sometimes wonder how much stronger and finer my posterior would be if my mommy had trained me early on to squat and hover over public toilets, rather than to use toilet paper or a seat cover in order to sit down and pee. Would I be able to ride my bike more easily today, without huffing and puffing and feeling like I got kicked in the ass by a bronco later on? Would more skeezeballs "discreetly" spank me at Foxz Tavern on Karaoke night? You know what, I'm going to blame the fact that I always placed like 5th out of 6 in the 100 yard dash at my high school track meets on years wasted NOT toning my ass by doing the "public peeing exercises" normal girls were taught to do from the time they could reach the seat. I bet Jessica Alba's ass is the perfect way it is mostly because of the way she uses public johns. Huh. Well, better late than never, guess I'll start trying to mimic her there. I already drank a water bottle and a full mug of Moroccan Mint green tea today, so I'm sure I'll get lots of practice in.
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