Casse-moi

Since my alarm clock arrived, I’ve been forcefully pushing back my mornings, against my sensible will. This is becoming a damn shame. Now that I live in a room with a window, I really take pleasure in slow mornings. Drinking a pint of coffee… feeling productive for checking my facebook account AND getting my scrabulous moves for the day out of the way… it all makes me feel like I can get on with other important things, like buying a new jelly flavor, or taking pictures of myself alone in a photo booth.

Today I was running late and Anjuli, a temptress, almost convinced me to skip class for un café. If you know me at all, be impressed by the superhuman self-control I showed by going to class, in spite of the weather, God’s permission to stay outside. The professor is not attractive in a classical sense, but he has this way of standing with his hand on his hip, it’s all very Morrissian, androgynous, maybe painful, certainly playful, and he never fails to keep my attention. Except when I realize he’s been talking for two hours and I don’t understand a fucking word of it.

Monsieur Tissot taught us how to verbally fend of night prowlers.
“Ne me touché pas!” “Don’t touch me!”
“Tu me salis!” “You dirty me!”
And my personal favorite…
“Casse toi!” “Break yourself!”

He uses the words “fuck” and “shit” a lot to describe the definitions of these idioms, but I really don’t think “breaking” myself is quite the same as, well, you know.

So, right. Speaking of useful. Thank you Aunt Linda and Uncle Dave for my Swiss Army knife. I use it for everything… to cut my hair, to kill my enemy. It is awesome.

Tonight, the bunch took Hope out to celebrate her birthday. We went to a heated outdoor restaurant (one time when the French needn’t conserve energy is during their ritual feeding). They (the model-type servers) supplied us with American sized portions of French food, which should be illegal. Delicious.

Upon return Chez Galmiche, I discovered a 68 year old woman with red hair to match the color of her jacket and lipstick EXACTLY. She’ll be staying here for a week. I’ve never lived with a 68 year old French woman before.

So all things considered, today was pretty beautiful, minus the elephant-sized stack of merde I inevitably stepped as punishment for taking pictures like an asshole.