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Really alarming how little time is left on this whole “study” abroad venture. I must say it is un petit peu frazzling when some act, as the end approaches, as if they will never return to Europe. Should this be the case, there are more serious and clearly sinister grievances in need of rapid rectification.

I have, quite unfortunately, witnessed numerous alarming attempts to rapidly imbibe any and all traces of so-called “culture”. As one who is, by fortune (misfortune that is), also known as birth, oh and also by genealogy, Eurotrash, I must say it will take a lot longer than a semester in the land of lack to perfect that smirk, my friends. Not to worry, you’ll be back soon. Perhaps.

SO updates? Ugh I don’t know I can’t really keep up with myself these days. I have enjoyed Bronzing on an uninhabited island in the middle of the Mediterranean. Chic. And uninhabited in this context means literally the only residents are gypsies on Razor scooters—which, considering the treacherous terrain of the island itself, proves a disconcerting choice. But to each gypsy his own, I suppose.

Regardless, I find that time has really flown. Summer plans are finally finally finalized, and I am quite pleased. Places such as Budapest, Prague, and the inevitable and unpronounceable Vouliagmenni (aka Athens) before returning to the states by early June, and a six week stay in the City of the Purple Sprite. I can honestly say that I will go retail and food crazy. I have said it before but I will not hesitate to say it again. White queso. Fajitas with jalapenos that give your tongue welts. 98 degree heat. 101 degree heat. Sweating namesakes brimmed with salt. Pretending to be on a Mexican holiday but then remembering it’s just the backyard. Manicures that bear an uncanny resemblance to the Youtube phenomenon. Dizzying retail therapy. The likes of Alice and Olivia summer frocks, shifts, and backless numbers inducing extremely labored breathing. Consuming. Consuming. Consuming.

Green. Money, that is. Pretending like Firefly is non-alcoholic and drinking it straight. Poolside. Wearing shorts and not being labeled a street walker. Sweet.

Anyhow sorry for the Screwston love poetry but I am now going back to the greater 02144/02155 at the beginning of July. Whatup real big JZ it's summerville time. Those flat-brimmed Red Sox hats and mellifluous accents are really trans-Atlantic-ally beckoning to me what can I say I’m the kind of girl who enjoys a good dose of class. More importantly, all of this affords me ample time to prepare for the most significant week of my youth, nay, existence. I don’t really want to go into torturous detail right now because I do eventually have to go to sleep and the mere mention of this casual attainment of legality sends me into an absolute psychotic, spastic frenzy. Let’s just leave it at that. For a hot second.

What’s left. Hmm. I have a presentation for my civ class on Tuesday, awkward how I get back from Cyprus right before. Excuse me while I reek of airplane and wear my chic travel ensemble to school. Most awkward part, I actually have to do the presentation. But I’m on spring break. Uncomfortable and less than ideal, I’d say. 

For all those in the Land of plenty I miss you very much. Especially Aslan. It won’t be long now till we can wreak havoc on wretched souls ensemble. 

SO, 3 weeks left in Aix? The cash Euros is flowin like water and I’d say it’s just about time for the likes of stacks on deck, Patron (Personally don’t consume tequila, so this should be replaced by Goose clearly) on ice, and whatever else the fuck I want. Like Nutella.

Love sometimes,

M

A cordial invitation to the other side of sanity

-       Hier I became cognizant of how many travel/transportation faux pas there can really be and attempted to document them. Alors. On the train back from Paris to Aix after my flight from Florence (yes I realize that this was an absolutely asinine route ) I sat myself down in my seat, reclined, put in my headphones, selected my bad bitch playlist (three hours and 23 minutes of absolute bliss—timed almost to the minute for the duration of the ride from Roissy-Charles de Gaulle TGV 2 into Aix-en-Provence TGV), took off my headband to prevent the inevitable snob coupled with hangover-induced migraine (why smiling is impossible when wearing Mikimoto and attempting to perfect the yes, I am looking down on you glare) and put on my sleep mask. Apres a fabulous weekend in Florence with two of my favorite people in the world I found myself utterly fatigued and prete to lazily recline as the French countryside rolls by casually devant moi at a measly clip of 200+ mph.

I am really not sure where I’m going with this. Okay.

So I am not really the most casual of travelers. I am, I can admit, quite neurotic. Here we go. Amongst a few things that irk me to no end when I travel: 

Individuals with busted ass luggage. Currently can’t decide whether this or outfit repeaters are worse. Leaning towards outfit repeaters but that is a more general and day-to-day offense, and probablement more heinous-- whereas the luggage is more of a concentrated, one time deal. I suppose, however, outfit repeaters could be doing so whilst traveling, and potentially (certainly?) with ugly luggage. Whatever. You have compris. 

Individuals who stroll casually inside the airport or train terminals as if they have nowhere to be. As Meryl Streep once said, by all means please move at a glacial pace. If that be the case congratulations but some of us are attempting to jetset, and VITE.

Furthermore. People sleeping in airports. Do you have a home?

People who try and purchase airline tickets at ticket and/or information counters. Do you have a computer?

People who publicly display affection in airports.  See “do you have a home” and ajoute “does it have rooms?” Oui? Get one.

People flying airlines that only allow one piece of luggage. Do you have so few belongings that one article of baggage will suffice?  TRISTE POUR VOUS. Just kidding y’all know I love budget airlines. I should have specified. My annoyance would be more directed at those who fly airlines that only allow one piece of luggage and act tellement shocked when told to consolidate their shit into said single article, and then proceed to open their horrific-looking suitcases while their belongings tragically spill onto the floor in front of me. No, thanks.

Almost on par with those who attempt to sneak onto trains or buses sans billets. Do you have a fixed income? If not, my condolences, but you should be looking for a job and not creeping like a vagrant around various mediums of transport. Please do not harass the rest of us with your futile attempts to hide your greasy selves from the authorities. There’s a place for people like you, and on le dit prison. 

 However, these irks absolutely pale in comparison to my disdain for those who travel with children. PARTICULARLY when I decide to pay extra to travel in first class to avoid exactly what happened to me on the train yesterday. Do not think for a second that I am irrational. I am absolutely the queen of rational thought. Rational could be my middle name, but my name is already too fucking long. So I do understand completely that children must be transported from endroit to endroit. In the same way that I realize that hipsters (alternative individuals, particularly males with long hair and strange shoes, if we want to be PC. WHICH I just discovered, in France is Partie Communiste. DONC logic tells me that PC=Politically Correct=Partie Communist=QED a Commie) must also travel. It’s just I wish they didn’t have to.

I am really really really sorry that I’ve built this story up. What basically happened was that a kid was kicking my seat and giggling hysterically. In my cracked out, sleepy state I looked over at the spawn’s mother, teary and bug-eyed out of sheer exhaustion, and she knowingly asked her fetus to stop attacking my seat and hissing like Harry P conversing with a snake. Desole that I just launched into a frenetic and spastic beyond belief tirade against children and travelers, but sometimes trop REALLY is trop. Oh, and trop has lately been very beyond trop. As Miss Langer/Perry would say, gremlins tend to find themselves waking up feeling like plastic bags. Every. Single day. Game that never existed over. 

Regardless, I can safely say that Florence is one of the most magnificent places I have ever visited. Shopping was fucking fabulous, I can ALSO safely say that I am now poor grace a Salvatore Ferragamo and the “giftshop” at the museum, aka the reason I will be on a liquid diet for the rest of abroad. Kidding. Except not.

Thus in the spirit of safe statements, I can also safely say that my friends are really the baddest bitches in the bah. I miss being with you all 24/7 beyond words. Don’t EVA. get. pregnant. At the very least I’m glad I got to hang out on Langer's jouch  (jean couch for ceux qui sont en retard or just actually retards) in Flo-city ce weekend.

PS Women in France can’t wear shorts. I think, from the angry glares/slow claps that I have recently elicited, that the interdiction on the burka has now been extended to wearing shorts. And bright colors. Triste. I’m pretty sure Lilly doesn’t make THAT in black.

PPS It’s now officially 30 minutes away from being Tuesday, which means it’s go time.

Sorry I am actually not sorry in the damn slightest,

Margarita Michaela