It's still Happy New Year

I really need to get the video up. I went to town on the short video clip from up on the roof at midnight. It seemed like the Eiffel was a lot closer than it is in the tiny window now. Anyway. Completely uneventful and I was on my own - exactly how I wanted it. And, only you, dear reader will get the full scoop.

But this all has to be super quick because I said 'no' to a phone call from James a few days ago when I was in a run on the papers and I told him I had not even 10 minutes for a conversation. I forget that I can be biting, rude, and an awful person when I'm PMSd and under time pressure. This is not a good personality to shop around for an international job. I need to be more friendly and forget myself. I've always said this and it'll never change. Ok. ... sorry, James.

Then again, this is the first break I've given myself since, essentially, this past Saturday night, Jan 5th. Since then I've been reading, writing, going to class. Literally getting home at 8:30p/9p to make a quick dinner while I read more and then wrote until midnight. Then, up at 6am or 7am for another full day of the same. Add to that PMS fat bitchy girl who wants to crush heads and has no patience. Yup, I'm a nice package.

Anyway. This is my break and I'm going to enjoy it.

Yes, literally. Monday-Thursday up at 6/7am and working non-stop until midnight. Ok, maybe for occassional breaks to goof off on Facebook, but jesus - I'd go insane if I didn't look elswewhere once in a while.

So, I bought 2 bottles of Champagne. Yes, I should have explored a bit but I went for an old standard of Cliquot and a new friend of something else that is currently over there in the cupboard waiting for recycling. (Which they don't really do in this country which worries me to no end.) I had a good meal and started drinking at 8pm. Basically I wrote a bit of work until I couldn't any longer and then switched to surfing the 'net for jobs, information, new things. It's a big wide huge world out there behind this flat screen. I read so many new fun things. Then, I climbed up on the roof at about 11:30pm. The unknown first bottle was almost cashed except for a bit I mixed into a plastic bottle to climb up to the roof. Totally horrible if any French person caught me: champagne in a bottle AND mixed! But see, I thought the climb to the roof was going to be like climbing one of those challenges in Fear Factor where not only is is sloped and possibly slippery, but also way way above ground with chances of falling to my death equal to 100%. I put a few things into a backpack, got bundled up and headed off on the adventure... the adventure that took 2 seconds with no difficulty or fear at all. Chalk it up to the fact that it's extremely easy to get up there and I had drunk a bottle of champagne.

It was indeed very nice up there. The wind was blowing, I think. The view was pitch black except for the sporadic fireworks all over the circumference of my existence. I don't remember much else except being very giddy and surprised into happiness when the Eiffel all of a sudden lit up in sparkling lights and I knew it was midnight. Frankly, I don't even remember if I said anything or thought anything profound or made any wishes. There goes the superstition I guess.

I climbed back down, which again didn't seem scary or hard at all. Kind of bored, I decided to go check out the world downstairs on the street. All I remember is walking up to the top of my street where the Moulin Rouge is and seeing more people in the street than I've ever seen before. They weren't all congregated together in a crowd, but moving, walking, grouping, separating, streaming. I think all traffic had been stopped or ended or blocked or something because there wasn't any, and people were walking all over the street. I had to lean up against the giant neighborhood map to stay upright as all of a sudden the champagne just really hit me and put me into a huge dream stream, not drowning but slowly bobbing or drifting in a dirty, busy aquarium. Some guy talked to me and I said I don't speak French so he switched to English. He might have been cute. I lied and said my friends were 'over there' and I think I basically walked away from him once I realized I couldn't quite see straight and needed to go home.

Yeah. I had to. I had to because I was dizzy and spinning and knew if I tried to lay down it would have been the death of me. So, up and out came the lovely spaghetti and bubbly champagne. I think I took a sleeping pill and went to sleep.

Hm.

Kind of pathetic. Kind of sweet. Kind of lame. Kind of weird. Kind of very appropriate.

I woke up happy and alert and started working on my papers again.

Wednesday and Thursday I went to school. Much easier to write there than at my apartment where I think about cleaning, surfing, singing, and playing with myself.

Friday I just couldn't get up out of bed earlier than 10am so I lazed all day and got some hardcore writing done and then met the young French-Canadian, JC, down at The Canadian Pub over on the Seine because the USA was playing Canada in junior hockey or something. Of course, what do you think I am a moron? Of course, I agonized whether to go or not. After all, I'm old and I know I don't like sports unless they're live and in front of me - and even then, I don't like them unless I get a press pass to the floor where sweat flies all over me and there's a great likelihood that a huge tight end might land on top of me. But really, I didn't party at New Years. And he used to play on this team. And I had nothing else to do. And I could tell, because I was once 23 and wrote my emails in a passive-agressive wishful way like no really I don't have to go but the address is such and such. And the conversation was forced and we really have nothing in common or even anything interesting to share. It's all a falsehood between civilized and fucking. But we did leave the Pub and go to a cool club where all the nouveau punks go, and met up with some of my colleagues who ended being one of my colleagues since the others ditched out to go home and fuck -- leaving 2 out-of-town friends from California and Alaska with us. And, we did go to the pool hall and play some nice rounds. But the drinks weren't stiff and I didn't get drunk and I wanted him to touch me because I was a bit buzzed and he just seemed very far and very uninterested.

And the sex wasn't all that either. The last time we fucked the futon creaked and screeched and the small bed slide across the wood floor. And I think, when he wanted to do it, he said, "Let's dance." Not like David Bowie. More like "Swingers" on Ice. This time it was awkward and I had to roll over and do it. And - god I'm horrible - there wasn't much to do. He's a tall boy for such disproportions. Sigh. But he did let me cum first and he did pant, "It feels so good... so good..." which makes me grateful for kegel exercises and my resiliance in youth.

I couldn't sleep any longer and I wanted to go get lunch together, but he was confused and didn't understand and left almost immediately on a very grey, very rainy day. I hope he didn't go home feeling dirty and lonely and achy because I know those mornings, too, and that's not what I wanted.

I had some really good Greek pita sandwich on a bench in the drizzle on the island on Blvd de Clichy. Tourists still travel in winter. It's amazing.

My landlord and I went shopping for sheets, pillows, a new white comforter ("White, like a virgin," he joked. Oh, I never told you. After Nuit Demonia he came over for something.. to see or do something. And the rubber clothes were out drying from being cleaned and moisturized or whatever I did to them - Wilfried? So, the landlord saw and now knows that I'm a sub. He even joked about me giving up the bedspread to my guests because I was the sub and had to sleep like a doggie. He's very cool and funny and honest and nice. ... no, I don't want to fuck him. Really. ... no, really.) It was fun. He bikes everywhere so we started walking down Rue Blanche alongside his bike and then he suggested I get on back. So, I sat side-saddle on the rack on the back of his tire. I think the last time I shared a ride or got 'pumped' (isn't that what they call it where you sit on the seat and the other person pumps the pedals without sitting the whole way?), was definitely more than 8 years ago. I swear I thought I was going to die - for no reason other than it's fun to think that, like on a rollercoaster - and I had a smile the whole way down the hill. It was so much fun and I wanted to do more, go faster, go again!

And then. This week from hell.

I don't mean to be a bitch but I really wish everyone would leave me alone and would stop acting so damn relaxed about all the papers they have to write because this is their second Masters program. And, man, was it a blow to my ego when I heard this 2nd year student had written her paper on a very similar topic. She sent it to me and while I was happy to receive it and glanced at it, it's totally not a good idea at all to read it very closely. It'll just worry me and make me want to plagerize.

So, that's that. And some guy from Denmark wants to come visit me at the end of the month. We were chatting on OKcupid.com for a while and seemed to strike a similar kinky chord. But there's no way I can entertain more than I am this month with friends coming to visit over my holiday and 2 papers due at the beginning of February, an exam at the end of January, and books and articles I should read before our trip to India. Yeah, it's pretty cool to have a field trip thrown into my education. It's fucking expensive. But that's one of my resolutions - not to think about the cost of my education. I had a panic 2 days ago when I heard from another colleague from the US who is applying for the dual-degree program at Columbia next year. We're offered the opportunity to apply to Columbia, London School of Econ, Herttie in Berlin, or Lee Kwan Yew in Singapore for our second year. I've professed the whole time since accepting this program that I'd stay for 2 years and become fluent in French. But the money! The money drives me crazy. This is my first experience with major debt (the most I ever owed was $1000 and James helped me get rid of that rather quickly). These two years will be the equivalent to me buying a decent house in Madison. Except the house is in my brain. God help me if I get brain cancer. ... I never wanted to own a real house anyway. I'm too transient. So this makes sense, but going back to the US makes some sense, too.

Ugh. I just have to suck it up and know that God has a plan for me.

Hahahahahhaa... fooled you!

Ok, now I'm just typing gibberish to avoid papers.

Happy fucking New Year!

Bonne année!!