These...are the days of our lives

And also apparently, spirit fingers.

5 kg lighter, 4 weeks left, 3 draggeurs overcame, 2 sleepless night survived and 1 kick-ass/stressful voyage ahead. Talk about muscle dystrophy, upon returning to my lovely anglophone institution, I will be hitting the gym like a 70's drunken husband and his wife (yes, we will walk down this metaphoric road and we are going to LIKE it). For Thanksgiving, I am giving my gratitude for my stomach being less metabolically fussy (yay for no more crack-infused painkillers) and of course, for the tacit love that seems inconspicuous at times, but is, in fact, profuse and affluent in all aspects. It just hit me yesterday that my abroad experience will self-terminate (the reflexive verb so abundantly employed in French--yes, most verbs in France are hermaphroditic and usually prefer do themselves, forget about that annoying direct objects bullcrap) in approximately 4 weeks. I plan to fully self-amuse (francophoners will get this one) in this remaining temporal allocation.
Oh yes, 3rd time is the charm, as Cannes marks my third random and unwarranted "encounter" with French natives, which essentially means I was frequented/hit-on/checked out shamelessly by undesired companies. Given that I was at the beach where there was an overflow of nudity (the entirety of which deprived from a population born before the Great War, yea the First one). Given that I was whoring the newly founded warmth in coastal southern France, and attempted to absorb as much radiation as my corporal surface area allow. Given that I was shirtless, and out-beefed the majority of the audience there (it's actually sad that even in my dilapidated physical condition, I'm still palpably superior to many fellow French males in muscle mass-- I mean, come on socialist state, stop cutting the cheese and pick up some meat. Yes those images were intentional). Those explicit reasons are not sufficient to be skanking on this dude without prior consents.
Continuing on with our numbers, as for the semester, I have had only 2 sleepless nights, and both of them weren't even closely related to academic works. Man, G-town is going to kick my ass pretty badly after this major mental spoilage. And the lonely number 1 stands for my overly ambitious, mother of all ass-hauling, destitute-rendering EUROTRIP. I vaguely remembered watching "Eurotrip" back in high school and thinking that it would be pretty bombass to visit one of those countries. And now, I'm pondering about which country to cross off the list. Unfortunately, being the anally retentive (I can't believe I already had 4 derrières references in this paragraph alone), organized freak that I am, the Eurotrip is still a work in progress despite the fact that I started planning since June. Well, to be fair, I am breaking the trip down by the hour (I'm not even freaking kidding), and the occurrences of certain unforeseen events have dampened certain aspects of its magnificence. Cramming Italian and German while trying to do French homework is actually rather amusing. I can say "I have genital warts" in 5 different languages (if a 4th unwanted "encounter" necessitates its usage).

All in all, I think France has definitely put the "itch" in bitch and the "whore" in whorrible, but also, the "ice" in niiiiceee (Borat), and the "ass" in sensational.

Here's to my genetic proliferation across Europe (not really),

Jacques

Maturity Here I Come

On your face.

Well, yes. I couldn't believe it as well, until maturity bitch slapped me across the face with its metaphysically endowed arm. Considering the psychological, emotional, and physical circumstances, I can safely check off that quarter-life crisis (yes, I'm planning to kick the bucket at 80; dude, if it hurts to pee, it's time to leave). Rest assured, that little screaming and kicking four-going-on-five years old boy will rear its gel-spiky head upon reckoning, and of course, by requests. My situation is utterly ambiguous, but not intentionally portrayed I promise (details are privy to whom interested). On the bright side, my return to the U.S. has been confirmed at 6:00 AM French time November 5, 2008. I like president like I like my chocolate: tasteful, dark and hard. (that's right I went there)

To keep things extremely short: Paris, London, Dublin, Bath and Stonehenge should all be smoking a long and conspicuously phallic cigarette right now (this is a sex reference for those sheltered peeps). I basically forced myself on the unexpected but willingly consented cities. And once you go rice, you don't think twice. Since I'm heading north this weekend for the city of love, Paris will be getting lung cancer soon. I have been quite neglectful lately in terms of visual stimulations, but French internet has decidedly opted for an extended hiatus in uploading photos. However, that will be rectified soon (damn I love the phonetic harmony that is that word).

Meandering the shit-littered sidewalk of life (*cough* emo *cough*),

Jacques