Hey dulcet darlings

My god, it's good to be back here. I realize now alot of my rush to get away from Paris last time was, you know, boy related. But man, it's good to be back! Yesterday I met up with Miss M for mussels and gossip and beer, and then had another little nap, and then went up to Bastille for beer and Pernod and gossip and heated political discussion. I missed my people here too - of course, I acknowledge that only one or two of them are actually French - but who the fuck cares. There's a little party for me tonight. You know how much that tickles me? Alot. But first there's a lunch outing to gorge on oysters and foie gras and sweet, heavy white wine at Miss P's and my favourite oyster bar

The food, bitches, the food - I got in some groceries and they are so yummy. Eggs and vegetables taste different here, sooooo much better. FEB used to fuss about that in terms of Canadian food, which gave me the shits, but the little bastard was right. Our standards in Canada suck. We could be asking for so much more! And the cheese, the stinky-ass unpasteurized cheese - holy fucking icon - so fucking good. Mr. H was right about how it's a crying fucking shame in Canada unpasteurized milk products are so hard to come by. That's bullshit, bitches. That's pure bullshit! Pure fucking bullshit! Write a letter to your fucking MP, because I'm telling you if things don't change I'm moving back here. Not to Paris itself - not unless the possibility came with a massive fucking paycheque that would let me have an apartmet like Miss C's - god, this place is beautiful.

AHHHHHHH!

HOW DID LIFE GET ALL THIS GOOD ALL THIS FAST?

Oh, Lady, I meant to mention, Stéphane Rousseau did a five minute bit about how much he hates fruit.

Hey lovers

Guess who you're going to have to call 'mistress' even when I'm not tying you up and whipping you!

It went well. It went swimmingly. They asked me some questions, it went on for a long time, and then they gave me a mark. A nice one, too. I have never disliked the French so little.

In other news, Stéphane Rousseau last night was incredible. Not just because he looks as sweet as a lightly bronzed meringue. He was funneeeee. It was exacly what I needed to wind me down, and then going out for a few drinks with the divine Miss P afterwards just made everything great. I'd also like to thank codeine for letting me have such a refreshing sleep last night.

Now I'm going to have a nap, then do what I really came to Paris to do. Drink and get a sugar wax.

Hey lovers

I got here. The plane didn't even crash a little, the flight was very nice. I watched three films back to back to distract me from thinking about the fucker falling out of the sky: the latest Pride and Prejudice (sucked), Four Brothers (all hot), and some Emily Watson/Tom Wilkinson/Rupert Everett outing (basculating). I still don't have an appointment for my defense. But Miss C has the nicest loft apartment in downtown Paris with a bed that is looking might-ee fucking comfy right now. I did my usual anti-jet lag strategy; totally fucking with my sleeping patterns for days in advance in the hope my poor confused body just chooses the right one to replace it with once I arrive wherever.

Anyways, being here is odd, but nice, but especially odd. I'd forgotten how the different metro stations smell - then I was just going through a tunnel humming along to Twice Removed, and it was all 'Oh! I smell Chatêlet!' So now I'm going to sleep, then eat, then shop, then meet Miss P and see Stéphane Rousseau. Hopefully at some point within this schedual my school will, you know, stop being criminally irresponsible. If not, I guess I'll just have to fucking well start. It would be fun. I sure have alot of tension to punch out. Might even be more fun than actually defending . . . hmmmm . . .

UPDATE

Tomorrow morning at 11. By the times all you North American readers wake up, it'll be done. The cool thing is that it was proposed 11h30, but my advisor couldn't make that, which means he probably doesn't think this will top out an hour, which means, you know, it's only an hour long. I'm not ready, but I'm too angry to care. And at the moment, too hungry and sleepy, even after a delicious nap.

Fury

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Twitch

I hate aeroplanes. So much. I'm not ready to defend. And I still cough so hard in the mornings I get a gag reflex.

What's fantastic is I have the drugs to take before boarding, and what's also fantastic is knowing I can be stoned at 7pm Thursday evening and stay that way for two weeks - in France and Italy. And England, which is slightly less attractive. Not for any cultural or aesthetic reasons, just the weather. I'm trying to pack light, because when a bitch has an aeroplane phobia like this bitch does she doesn't want to be hanging around a luggage carousel after braving death and surviving. It's a lot harder to go carry-on only when you're heading into rain. Not to mention when you're carrying, I shit you not, a thousand pages of draft because there's an outside chance your jury is going to be a passive-agressive dick. I think I managed though.

You know what's almost as good as Lyrics Born? The Roots. I know it's a bit silly to point it out as a revelation, but for me it is.

Drums.

Drums drums drums.

UPDATE

The school contacted me this morning to tell me the appointment scheduled 'ne pourra avoir lieu', and to ask me when else I'm available.

Those fuckers. I'm going to tear them so many new assholes each they'll think their bodies were a fucking Republican convention. At least homocidal rage is overwhelming my blind panic and mild antibiotic nausea. I suppose I should thank those fuckbrain shitheads for that as I eviscerate them.

Ok, gotta chill, gotta chill. Check out the new Bond villain. Man alive. Please, please, please let this be the Bond installment that gets homo-erotic.

Did I say that out loud?

A few points of business

1. Later That Day by Lyrics Born is the best thing I've heard in ages. Back, back, BACK in the day I thought Quannum's Spectrum was the best thing I'd heard in ages, and 'I Changed My Mind' off that was the anthem for every major decision I made about anything. But other things came up and I didn't hear anything else from Quannum artists until J*Fish gave me Blackalicious's Blazing Arrow. Blackalicious is great, but, you know, I think I love Lyrics Born.

2. I'm so not ready for my defense.

3. What're poppers, anyways? Because all they did for me was make me want to dance to 'Like a Prayer' and hit someone. Alkyl nitrites, hmm? That continues to mean nothing to me. They seem to be some kind of sex drug. Kaaaaaaaaay . . . that's fucked up. People want to take drugs to relax the muscles around their special bits? I'm sorry, isn't that, you know, suppposed to be what arousal is for?