Ghost Dance

Of all the founding fathers, I'd say that Sitting Bull has always been my favorite.

Right after him would probably be Thomas Jefferson, though. Not because of his hip black girlfriend(s?) or the fact that he supported the French revolution, no, I'm all up on his pantaloons like white on brown rice because that man was a gentleman and a scholar and he had a well planned day.

He'd get up in the morning and start his first class: Meteorology.  He'd measure the wind direction and a bunch of other junk about the climate. If he was around today he'd be that guy online saying dumb shit like, "Rise and Shine Facebook!" because he was up at first light. He also behaved like your typical Star Wars fan when it came to Jesus.  He couldn't get down on all that water into wine ish so he did a fan cut of the Bible. 

Midichlorians, srs?

Imagine him on twitter, he'd always be in fights with your crazy conservative uncle. (Hashtag Separation of church and state.) Not on twitter? Well, basically, if you were Facebook friends, you'd hide his feed two weeks after you accepted his request but you'd surreptitiously check in on him whenever you wanted to feel better about your station in life. 

Lol, Jefferson is such a tool.

He'd have a blog too. 

Second class, Journalism. A dabbler in all kinds of crazy crap from "horticulture" to slavery, he was always getting tons of mail. If we put that into a modern day context, we see that he'd be mostly in the comment section dispelling myths and magic. Such a hero.

He only ate two meals a day.

His teeth were not made of wood and his wife had a much cooler name than Martha.

He'd study law and foreign languages in the afternoon because he was esentually a Tenenbaum.

After all of that, I imagine he had recess, which amounted to fathering children and supporting armed revolutions and attending to other ambassadorial duties...such as they were. 

These factoids were impressed upon me when I had to do a book report on him with some bratty rich kid I tutored back in DC. We took notes side by side while his mom loaded one of the dishwashers in their kitchen. Next week she could barely hide her venom at the fact that he only got a B on the accompanying test. Thinking back, I should have maybe appealed to her egoism and feigned culpability. But as far as I could tell, the kid did his best and paying me to parent wasn't going to make him suddenly better. Perhaps I'm being a bit too harsh in calling him a brat; it's not his fault he was going to grow up playing lacross and calling his mother by her first name.

Atanyrate, I'm trying to be more like Jefferson insofar as I'm spending more time studying. I would murder everyone I lived with if I only ate two meals a day but I've started getting up before ten and have consistently worn non-pajama based pants for more than half the day. In terms of studies, I do French in the morning and Chinese in the afternoon. I recently was able to translate this phrase in public so I know I'm on the right path...
It says 'I speak Chinese.'

Um, the rest of that probably says other things, too. Who can tell under all that MS paint blur?

Of course I don't actually speak Chinese, but I'm not so afraid of the characters that I simply dismiss them as a foreign script anymore. Paso a paso... 

Seb and I bought our plane tickets back to the States. We'll be landing in Washington in early May. By George, it's time we unpacked our storage space and drive it all back to Ohio.
We lived in the Capital city for 5 years so I'm going to be pretty excited to return and do some real white people shit like grabbing BBQ at Rocklands and heading down the hill to Glover Park to watch drunk adults play softball. I'm a little pissed I'll be missing Cinco De Mayo--that shits almost as cool as Pi Day.

Pi day, pi day gotta get down on pi day.

Things are drawing to a close but we still have a bunch of doctors appointments to run our way through. A couple of paychecks to collect. A few more big meals to make, one more mega teuf and then it's au the fuck revoir, Paris.

Some people in my position might be sad to be quitting the City of Lights, and whereas it's true that I love the language, the cut of the clothes and the quality of the food, I'm not good at sticking around anywhere for very long. So instead I'm going to take as much of it with me in my suitcase and in my heart as I can. Paris was never mine, she just let me crash on her couch for a good stint. We both are starting to feel like I've overstayed my welcome and soon my visa will be up anyway. 

I've made a lot of great friends it's true, but I no longer view time and separation as permanent obstacles; I therefore don't fear leaving them. I know this sentiment is naturally acompanied by a certain naivete, for anyone of us could die at any time. I guess what it comes down to is my death will mean I cease to exist, matter or care. And as for yours, well, the best I can do is deal with that Ghost Dance when I have to. Presently, I'd rather be remembering the good times and chasing that ever elusive better things to come. So now you're free, Mordecai. Aller, go. C'est parti ! 

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Where are the hardships?

There are good ships and there are wood ships and there are ships that sail the sea, but the best ships are friendships and may they ever be.
Best toast ever. Toast is great but don't let it get too hard. Now hardships, those are something else.I am rereading the PDFs the Peace Corps sent me because I have to check a box that says I did that.

There are a lot of half-contemptible things in these documents. Apparently, for example--I may not drive in my host country, or while traveling to any other country where the peace corps currently has volunteers. I may ride a bike, but I may be discharged from my service if I operate one without a helmet.A lot of the documents want to prepare us for disappointment and loneliness and existential questions about not being able to communicate. It's going to be interesting experiencing those tribulations for a second time.

When we moved to France, Sebastien did not have the same linguistic handicaps that I did. He had been visiting France since his early childhood and his greatest problem with speaking is that he's too creative with words. So I'm going to do my best to be compassionate towards him and that newness even as I struggle myself. In some ways, being in a couple for Peace Corps service makes us lucky--we will have each others hard won companionship  after all. In other ways it will be more difficult, as it has been in France, as it could only be in a country with which neither party has any cultural ties.
But we will have dim sum, that's something.
I wanted to share with you a few quotes from the manual that I found particularly amusing.

"Your host families have probably even been warned that you’ll be unintentionally boorish now and then and that they shouldn’t take it personally."

So that's cool. Anytime I fly off the handle, throw the baby out with the bathwater or cry over spilt milk I can just look at my host family levelly and remind them in English, they had been warned.
Better still, there is an entire section of one manual titled: Where is the hardship?
That had these two gems:

"Doing without is part of the image and mythology of the Peace Corps, and some Volunteers associate it with success. In truth, there is no such equivalency. Even if you do have hot running water, you can still cover yourself in glory just as easily as a Volunteer who sleeps under a date palm and takes sponge baths."

TIL that some people in the Peace Corps get to sleep under date palms, and this fact apparently renders me jealous. But it's an interesting point to make. Just look at all the stuff I won't be taking into industrialized China:

Lol, just kidding. Of course I'll bring duct-tape. 

And I admit that I do find myself a bit wrapped up in the mystique of hardship (and camping.) Nobody's culture should be treated as an opportunity to camp, I actually know this but there is something excited in me that just loves to pack and be prepared and takes great pride in having expected outcomes and then encountering them. I actually prefer those things to pitching my tent in the rain or playing with magnesium and steal, trying to get a fire lit.
...but if I'm being completely honest, playing with magnesium is actually kind of worth it.
Even still, I know that China is going to be a changing experience. It would be limiting to imagine just how. But I might actually feel guilty -guilty, I say!- for not suffering enough. Graciously, the manual urges me to rest assured that I will suffer. Existentially. Possibly to the point of depression induced sickness.

"So in the meantime, don’t worry: It’s still noble work even if the shop on the corner does carry M&Ms. They’re probably stale anyway."

Talk about injustice!
I take it back, please don't.

I've been walking around realizing that I actually enjoy Spring. And it turns out I'm also really going to miss Paris.
 I feel kinda silly for saying that. But there are a million things to celebrate right on my block. How many times  in my life will I ever live near a coffee roaster again? The lady behind the counter knows how I like my beans ground. moulee pour un cafetier italien. Pas de sac. Comme d'habitude. She always says warmly before she wishes us a good sunday.

One time, I was in the mood for a burger but didn't have the dinero for Chez Jeanette so I walked into a bucher shop about two doors down  and asked them if they had any ground beef left. The butcher furrowed his brow  at me and picked up what I considered to be a good cut of meat. Feeling certain that I had mispronounced steak hachee, I tried again, very polity to say it more slowly. He just rolled his eyes and dropped the meat in the grinder.
Just like that.

There is a Pankistani man who sells ripped DVDs from on top of a box every night, right across from where all the free degustations are hosted. He's always so cordial when we talk that I actually look forward to our small intereactions.
I hope he never gets caught.

Feth, I love it here! No decent brunch places but hella good, Indian food four businesses at a time.  I can't even bring down the trash without smelling fresh mint or apples from the fruit stand below our flat. Not to mention the roasted chickens and pigs each time I step on to the balcony, in winter. A short stroll on Saturday gets you to la fontaine Saint Michel where you can manage to find kebab for 50 centimes cheeper than on my street. Or closer even, les forum des Halles if you want to spend an afternoon in the FNAC pretending you can afford a two euro pocket edition.
I have so many good memories of the canal Saint Martin. Drinking cheep german beer along the quai with Clement while he plays his guitar. By bike past the banlieue Saint Denis onward and further till the sidewalks end and the fields begin.

The Fete de la Musique. June 21st, you'll always be there. That was my main reason for coming to France that first summer in 2009--even if I was still in Madrid at the time.
I'll miss you, Summers nights taken by storm and by foot. Hearing accordion players playing non ironically from my bed.
Amazing falafel in the Marais. The best kurdish food I've ever had. A hotdog stand that juices fruits and sells bagles. Ti-punch. Seeing whole skinned rabbits along side the chickens in shop windows.
Coming back from class by velib.
And walking back to my flat with a hot baguette against my side on a crisp Autumn's eve. It's memories like these that keep me so addicted to adventuring.

Our weekend was pretty full. 
On n'a pas fait que la fête, mais comme meme.
We went to my favorite bar, Le Mauri7, on Friday night. Sebastien and I kept it light. The rest of the gang got back around 6 AM. I had to teach Saturday morning and so I wasn't trying to over do it. I'm glad I didn't either, because Saturday was beautiful and Seb and I walked all around the 12th arrondissement along the Promenade Plantee. The city has converted an old raised train line into a garden. We did the whole length, back tracked and then walked home through Bastille  and in through the Marais and back along the Seine. 
Went to a great house party last night not far from here and really enjoyed ourselves. Today I have  to update the FTP server for my class but I plan to do that from bed. It's cloudy and I just want to read. I think I borrowed a book from someone last night called Charly 9. It smells like cigarettes and rhum so I don't want to touch it today. But last night I was very exicited to start reading it.
Makes me wonder what tomorrow will bring. Likely more hardship and peace corps paperwork. But I feel existentially prepared for such an onslaught. I will face it with his hand in mine and by the grit of my teeth. I will likely also have coffee. Ground. For an Italian coffee maker. No plastic bag. Like usual.
Bonne Dimanche.

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This is a bunch of stuff

So I was walking through the Place de la Republic the other night realizing that the perfect time to be out and about in Paris is that sweet spot  between 21h and 23:30 on a quite soggy night because  the sidewalks aren't smoky and over crowded and the drunks aren't yet too curious. 

Naturally, I was singing. I have discovered a lot of great bands over the last year and even though my breaths support isn't what it once was, I still like to belt me out a good tune. All this would be fine if I hadn't been listening to debate highlights songified--the whole time wondering how freakish and patriotic I must look to anyone in earshot and bilingue.

As you may know, we've been in a holding pattern here in Paris for quite some time. It's been my plan since before high school to do the Peace Corps and maybe I meant to do it sooner but it really seems like it's going to happen now. Can't say for sure when, as yet, but before the end of this year I expect to be in another country. 

In a letter we received last night from our recruiter, I was assured there are no posts open in French-speaking countries. Which is a bummer because they currently have open programs in Senegal, Guinea, Burkina Faso, Togo, Benin and Cameroon. They also have feet on the ground in Morocco and Madagascar, but their flash map says they don't train their volunteers in French in these countries. 

Check it out for yourself, it's a pretty solid history of where the Peace Corps has been in the world.

I'll be the first to admit that my thirst for adventure was what interested Erin the child in the Corps but Erin the taller really does like to help people. I say this to explain that my concept--or if I'm being honest--fantasy of how service in the Peace Corps would go has evolved just as I have... 

If this is you:

We should be friends. 

/digression

I've kind of always had my heart set on Africa. The best short fiction in the New Yorker always came out of Africa, said Erin the Child. People are starving in Africa, said Erin's mom, Eat your dinner. Let's deny them access to contraception and education, said the Bush administration. I take a shower after having sex with someone I suspect of having HIV,  remarked the current President of South Africa.   Erin the taller said, I can teach and now I know a nominal amount of French, let me serve. But the letter said we are being considered for all the open programs in the world. So we could be in Columbia or Turkmenistan, as it suits them.
As much as I'm quietly worried about the atrophying of my French, I'm also feeling liberated from my expectations. I can learn almost any language they need me to in two years time. I've proved that to myself here. Moreover, I'm traveling with a rational, map and money-savvy man who will stick by my side and help me sail to our next port. Most of all, I shouldn't worry too much about a future I can't predict or change--I know these things, but I  don't live this truth. 

It snowed last weekend; almost all day, on Sunday. What a wonderful gift to the children of Paris, on an afternoon like Sunday. No school. More than half the shops in town closed your parents have to spend time with you. Many of the streets closed to cars, couldn't have hoped for a better excuse to make wintertime memories.  You should have seen them in Le Parc des Buttes Chaumont.

We slid on our heels a while others used cardboard, truckless skateboards, or sleds, or skis. We walked all the way home and had hot chocolate en route. Had an even better cup of it last night, as a matter of fact. You could say that things have been pretty cozy, lately. We've been reusing tea bags and burning candles. Sweaters, slippers and wool socks whenever we're up. Lots of reading in bed. I love it. There is even a machine raclette sitting on our kitchen table. We'll see what comes of it.
My only sure thing is Sunday's March for Equality. That's right, I'm determined not to be too hungover to stand up for my French LGBT brothers and sisters and their right as tax paying citizens to marry and raise children legally. There was a protest against it two weeks ago but as Biden would say, "Their ideas are old, and their ideas are bad." And I would quote him, because debates are better as musicals.
See you on the other-side of eventually. 

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Something to care about

I took the long road home today, or maybe I didn't--I never seem to arrive at our flat having gone the same way. This sentiment puts me in mind of a Tolkien quote popular for tattoos, tee shirts and bumper stickers, but I would rather not get lost in all of that.
Instead, let me remind you a passage from ye olde Hitchhiker's Guide:

It's quite liberating to remain uncomprehending of the birds. One of my favorite aspects of my Paris adventure has been the gift of being in public and not having to listen to the paltry ongoings of people's lives with whom I am neither acquainted nor  curious of.  I must have thought of that passage no less than ten times--when once the beaches of my placid metro wagon were stormed by the trumpets and tempests of English, ever-petulant to my unwitting ears.

Birdspeak, indeed.

But the times mes amis--they are subject to le changement.
Example: this Sunday past, I went with a couple of friends to the Love Life Parade--a movable feast of music in support of SIDA (AIDS) research. I saw a few new groups that were fun to run along behind and I even had the pleasure of hearing one of my favorite French bands, C2C.

Notice, I didn't exactly say, seeing..

Well, in fact I was in front of the stage for awhile, during which time I lost both my companions and my balance no less than seven times. Never did find said companions; walked home alone, covered in other people's sweat and smelling like smoke.
It was a great experience, don't read me wrong--but I was a little disappointed that C2C didn't play either of my two favorite songs: Arcades or Down the Road.
But here is twenty seconds of the performance from their perspective:
All of this is interesting, I know, but how does it relate to windspeed, power to weight ratios or berries?
Well friends, it was specifically on that outing that I noticed people around me speaking about me. Oh yes, your foreign language fear-come-true.
I got trapped between three people who were trying to go in the opposite direction as the crowd and they didn't seem to notice they had encircled me.
<<Laisse Le Blonde ! >> one of them said.
Oh thank goodness, I thought, he means me.
A young man who's tone was all flirts and smiles said to no one in particular, "It takes a certain kind of person to exit in the opposite direction." I was sore-footed, tired, and... exiting in the opposite direction, so naturally I stuck out my tongue.

It rained with a jealous god's fury this morning--but after class, the sky was a clapping blue and the wind ruffled my hair teasingly. Long walks in cities alway put me in a Holden Caulfield headspace: 41 gorgeous blocks ! 

In Paris, the changing of the seasons is harkened more by the restyling of the vestments in the display cases than any substantial crank in the climate; but Fall is also a time of the harvest, so there have been a lot of fresh vegetables to eat and great meals to be made with my coloc.
I love the people I live with. It was so hard for awhile there to volunteer for anything extra--like wiping up someone else crumbs, or taking the trash down for a second time in one week. But we've turned a new leaf and wait for it, here it comes--the titular line: ahem, and they've given me something to care about.
Backstory: We lost four great colocators recently to lives and escapades elsewhere, all of whom are dearly missed.  But two new girls and three new boys moved in and they're all SO CLEAN! Every single one of them does their own dishes-- get this-- right after they've eaten.  We have cups, mugs, plates--so many UNBROKEN wine glasses and there is hardly ever spilled whiskey on the floor anymore. I can leave food on the table and no one eats it. The neighbor rarely calls to threaten us and if I've furtively glanced at him coming up the stairs as I descend, he doesn't look like he's about to bust a forehead vein or strangle me in front of his baby. Like I said, I love all the people who've lived here so far--(woah, just counted and realized 15 people have moved in and out over these two years,) but we've got a great mix at the moment and I feel lucky to be awake enough to witness it.

Missing out on life, that's for the birds.
I've started my final month of French classes. The progress I've made amazes me. Try to understand, people from where I come from don't grow up to speak French, or Spanish...or anything but 'Merican. Next try to consider the fact that the human brain is even capable of switching between two or more discrite forms of verbal communication..seriously, that's  as cool as photosynthesis....maybe even cell division.

But check it, I've just arranged my first hair appointment over the phone here, sur la planète France, and when I took down all the relevant information I was surprised to look up and not see my professor smiling back at me, ready to ask the class listening comprehension questions.
My newest teacher is definitly cool. She is well traveled and pretty badass, but I was really hoping to finish my cycle with the the prof I had for July and September. With him, every class was as much about improving myself as a teacher as it was about improving myself as a student--and in other circumstances, we might have been colleagues or even friends. But one can't complain, there is--after all, no crying in Baseball. Anyway, you see all the above reasons for living towards happiness. So many good feels, bro.

Sorry, Forest--been to the jungle and seen the trees; sadly, life isn't a box of chocolates. But sometimes we find sunshine where we least expect it.

May you find yours wherever you need it next.

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The cover sheet of my TPS report

Well, I quit my job yesterday.


I literally took a nap after I wrote that line.

I cried when I told my mom I was thinking of quitting because I didn't even make it a full month there. But just trying to meet the physical and mental demands of the job  would have been hard enough, if they didn't run counter to every other aspect of my life.
Let's pretend you're a new recruit.  First, don't worry-you'll get two days off a week, not Saturday and Sunday, mind, but any two days off in a row if they can swing it. The other days you would go in at 10:45  have a coffee and start work at 11. You would work till 3pm, have a big lunch and come home. You are now off until 6:30 when sit down to eat and start work at 7. You're probably not hungry, but there will be no more food options until after midnight so get some protein in your belly. Work from 7 to 2 AM, at least three times a week, though on the early nights you'll be home before 1 AM.
Remember: 10 drinks, three normal cokes with no ice, two Zeros with no lemon, 2 of one kind of beer, two of another--one of those is only a demi, and the rest easy to spill martinis...you remember which burger is well done, right? Is that tartar préparer or poêlé?  How many people need a sharp knife? Did you really forget to put bread down on table vingt-deux? They want the ribs, but no pomme au four, substitue frites. But just for one-- Je sais qu'elle a dit, "aparaît" mais, elle vas prendre haricots verts, supplémentaires !
You got that?
The quesadilla comes out first, but they want the soup with the meal. Wait, have three people told you yet: He wanted a large salad, but you tapped a small.
Is there really no new silverware on table trente-deux? Their second course is almost done, reclaim it! Table quarante-cinq is just drinking tap water, lots and lots of tap water. When you have a second, can you bring them  more of that? Great, the total bill comes out to cent quatre-vingts-neuf et cinquante centimes, split it four ways.
They are not tipping.

But if you've got a good sense of balance and a good mind for factorial trees, you'll rarely screw up. Don't expect anyone to care if you do your job properly, they will only notice the times you fall short of that mark. And no, you're not changing lives, you're serving lunch, so pretending that what you do ultimately has any meaning and is therefore worth stressing out about may be difficult for you. It certainly was for me.

It was also really hard for Sebastien who suddenly had to be in charge of cleaning, laundry, all the dishes ever as well as cooking for himself....which means he ate soup nearly the whole time I worked there. Sometimes he laid down to cuddle with me for my midday nap, but that was really all I saw of him.

Look, I know I have basically been on a two year vacation in France. It's made me feel pretty shitty about myself, but jumping off the deep end into extreme physical labor was not (apparently) the answer. Not while I live in a colocation with six other people who have normal day jobs and don't care that I have to work brunch on Sunday morning--because if you haven't gone to sleep yet, it's still Saturday night, and if they want to play guitar in the kitchen to impress a trio of girls at 6 am that's just what they're going to do.

I could always move out. But that means that my days off are spent looking for new places to live and then moving there....something I couldn't really put on the table as an option until I had a full contract with this company--which would only be granted to me a few months from now in the best of circumstances.

So anyway, I have a part time gig a few days a week for more money per hour than I ever made in the States. I can read and write blog posts again and take short trips on the weekends. I can cook with my partner and have a social life in the evenings. Obviously, I still feel bad about giving up...but I'm sure I'll get over it, I have a lecture to prepare..

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My first world problems

Things are rough all over, Ponyboy. But I think we can all agree I've got it pretty bad...

But worst of all...

Sometimes I see an animated GIF and I can't even relate to it.

Smell ya later, internet. I've got a  birthday bash to shop for ;)

Like this post? Check out other first world problem posts, over at 
The Tsaritsa Sez

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Don't eat baby seals, club them.

New Video Blog Post! This one has a twist of something rouge. Normally, I talk a lot to the viewer but my communication with you this go round is mostly non-verbal. In way, this is almost more intimate-- and I think you'll feel included if you watch out for that. Basically this video is what happens when Sebastien and I help a friend drink the wine that won't fit in their suitcase. We also discus a range of hot button topics from the best and worst of Parisian men to clubbing baby seals--when is it alright?

I too tired to go clubbin, baby.

 

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The Water Castle Gang

I live close to a metro in Paris who's given nomen translates to the metro, "Water Castle." Sounds rather more magnanimous than it English equivalent:  water tower, if you ask me. But even though it's not the most high brow arrondissement,  living near the metro Water Castle totally makes me feel like, on my commute home from work a bar, I might be in for a little gate-sieging.  I mention this only as a means to mention the reoccurring parties we've been throwing at our colocation.

We've had some turnover here at our
flat but we're back up to 9, and as soon as we were, we had a monster party to commemorate it. That's right friends, I am reporting to you live from the aftermath of the third installment of the water castle party. And this one was our biggest yet. We had over 10 nationalities represented and 40 guests all told.

A few highlights: As some of you already know that blond blogger babe from Sweeney Says has recently moved to Paris and thanks to the magics of facebook and twitter, showed up with some new friends from her grad program to our house party!!!1!1!!!!111!!!ONE. So that was awesome. You've all doubtlessly met people from the internet before so you may be expecting that our encounter would be awkward, but really the only thing that was weird for me was the hello. And not because, "oh hi--you're from the internet please don't dump my body in the river," but because we're in Paris...and I'm used to giving cheek kisses...and it's always a really weird with Americans...especially recent Parisian converts.
Worse comes to worse you just hug it out...
I heard somewhere that you can tell a person our age is American IF they know the Fresh Prince of Bell Air theme song...and boy did we ever...

And so I guess that's how I kicked off my day of never-forgetting. Now I've ranted plenty on other people's blogs and I promised myself I wouldn't do a september 11th post but I have to say I am fed up and ashamed of the way the occidental world is framing this event. Somebody's mother compared it to the holocaust on Facebook, called me a "fucking idiot" and said that she had to leave the thread because she was becoming too emotionally involved. I told her she should leave the thread to do a numbers check. But before you think I'm a total unpatrotic asshat I ask you to consider two things:

1. I know all the words to the fresh prince of bell air theme song
2. I still consider 9/11 a tragedy.

However, from a more global perspective it's not the first event of it's kind nor will it be the last. And it's just the sort of arrogance that the media coverage perpetuated which has allowed and even fostered an environment where America's enemies feel justified taking such extreme actions. We do not exist in a vacuums and they didn't attack us because they hate freedom. /Rant

                                                

Game on.

Here are a few images from the night's festivities...

Damn, I kinda feel like these are food pictures...you know what I mean? Like when someone posts a meal they've made and they're extra proud but you look at it and go---that's just piles of stuff on a plate, what's the BFD? Well my first thought is to crame more images of my culinary masterpieces down your throat. Here comes the plane.........mmmmmmmrrrrrrwaaaaaaarrhw!

I'll also bring up the fact that Sebastien had to get up for work at seven and it our flat wasn't at a sleeping volume until around 5:30. But if that doesn't work, I'll focus on the aftermath. All of our dishes were dirty or broken. The kitchen floor looked like someone gave it a creative bath in Wiskey, wine and beer and there were plates of cheese residue everywhere.

Really? who puts their cigarettes out in a measuring cup?!  What, do you hate cookies or something?

I am a drunk fuck and I violently oppose the birth of new cookies

Sometimes after a really killer party you might be tempted to say "I'm never going to drink again"--in-between bouts of throwing up small amounts of water and wishing you were dead, that is. But after a party like this, I walked to the kitchen to make Seba his breakfast and as I was clearing a spot of him so he could he sit down to eat, I heard myself thinking--  I never wanted to host a party again. Now, much like the I-never-want to-drink-again pledge, I really meant-- ok, this is the last big blast for awhile. But hours later when I and a friend started collecting the trash and finding countertops and tables secreted beneath, one of my new coloc came awoke to the sound of glass on glass and joined us in the kitchen. Not only did he help us get things squared away, he then cooked us brunch, with fresh squeezed orange juice and everything! 

And so in conclusion: I'll remind myself and others, as with any territorial beast, at times tribal living offends my senses and sensibilities. 

But then you have a party like this, that ends in a clean up like that--and not only is my sense of community revitalized but my faith in my fellow flatmates is restored. It's a roller coaster; we can't always have good days, but in the end, it's all love.

Well, love, panna cotta and rock and roll, atanyrate. 

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