Samantha

haven't posted in a little while, so let's go over the days missed...

thursday: had my grammar class and found out that (wow. surprise.) my literature class that afternoon was cancelled. i seriously have only had this class about 3 times. will be interesting to see if i'll get anything for it when i get back to Hunter. it was really gorgeous out and i was desperate to stroll around so i texted cristina who (again. wow. surprise.) slept in until 7PM. i had to register for next semester's classes at 8, so around 6 i made myself go out. i hopped on the metro at Jules Joffrin, because i was in no rush and i knew the 12 stopped around Montmartre, which is sort of the go-to place when i want to pass some time alone, but not too much time. one of the doors at the navigo turnstiles whacked me in the face and everyone within 20 feet heard my AAAAGRRGGHRH! of defeat. later had my parisian moment of the day, sitting at the foot of the Butte de Montmartre, smoking. strolled a bit more until i was at Barbès and headed home. registered for classes strictly so i could knock out the rest of my GER requirements (i'm going to have to drop my film major if i want to graduate on time. fucking manhattanville. waste of a year). 2 anthropology/1 english lit./1 women and gender studies/1 french.

friday: i thought it was cloudy out, but didn't realize how wrong i was until Nick invited me to a park near Porte d'Orleans around 5PM. we sat around and chatted, proceeded to get a bit tipsy in public (A BEAUTIFUL THING) and then went back home.

saturday: it was gross and rainy but cristina wanted me to go out with her. i hadn't seen her in about a week so i caved. i understand now what nick meant when he said that it's frustrating to hang out with her because she doesn't have an opinion on anything. we get on the 4, i ask where we're going "i dunno." about 5 stops in i decide that we really need to figure out where we're going "Montparnasse, i guess." okay. what are we doing at Montparnasse? "i dunno." a bird shits on me about 5 minutes after coming out of the station, but i went MacGuyver and used my wet umbrella to clean myself up. fucking gross, but it could've been worse. cristina doesn't know what she wants to do, but, you know, she leads us into an H&M. she couldn't have just fucking made things easier by saying she wanted to go there in the first place? she picks up a dress, refuses to try it on and buys it anyway. wtf is this phenomenon? maybe there are more people who refuse to try clothing on in stores, but it doesn't make any sense to me...
we end up walking to Odéon where she buys a mobicarte and the whole cycle of "i dunno what to do. i'll do what you want. let's just do what you want." begins again and we end up getting DELICIOUS chocolate tarts at this random cafe (and half-assed coffee. ugh. italy really spoiled me in that sense). we strolled by the Seine for a bit, but in all honesty i have no idea how we got there. i just know that finally cristina expressed some sort of opinion by saying that her sandals were hurting her feet and she didn't want to walk anymore.

both friday and saturday night were again uneventful because all of my friends apparently have the energy of geriatrics. i remember when i first got here, i loved the fact that fridays and saturdays (even thursdays sometimes) were always busy. now it seems like everyone i know is already in going-back-home mode when we (most of us anyway) still have a month and a half left here. sucks.

today was uneventful because i actually tried to be productive in terms of schoolwork. i rewatched Happiness because i'm supposed to be comparing it to this movie called Les Valseuses in terms of controversial material. called my mom, who seems to be keeping track of how much time i've got left here (6 weeks. ouch.) more than i do.

coffee time.

cigarette count: 13. i'm gonna have to just go cold turkey soon.

Paris is still gross and gray, but it seems warmer than it did yesterday.

After spying a random "OH SHIT INSECTICIDE TIMEZ" poster by the ground floor elevator yesterday, I had a bit of an "oh shit" moment myself, because my room was disgusting and I didn't want a poor maintenance man to have to deal with it.

I got up at 6:30 this morning to clean it. After essentially making it look like it did when I first moved in (why were my suitcases still open on the floor?) I went back to bed at 8:30. Cristina forgets for the 900th time that unlike her I don't have class on Wednesdays and calls me. I ignore it. She calls again. I ignore it. She calls again. I ignore it. She texts me. I ignore it.

WHAT WHAT WHAT THE FUCK?! I remember when we first got here and  Nick told me he didn't think she was as naive as I assumed her to be. He's since seen the err of his ways.

Anyway at around 11:30 I start hearing this really panicked knocking going around all of the doors. Hearing it die down I attempt to go back to sleep just before it assaults mine. Getting out of bed, my eyes still not entirely open I am greeted with the most alert and irritating "BONJOUR!" I've heard since I've been here, from my landlady who looks like Joe Jackson (not Joe Jackson). The insecticide dude is in and out in about 3 seconds, making me wonder why I cleaned so much. He squirts what looks like peanut butter (impossible because it doesn't exist here) onto the wall. Umm. Okay. They test the civil siren right after he leaves. Brilliant. Dayana then starts IMing me shit about Anna Wintour's daughter and fashion and "ohhh i wish i was rich and famous so i could buy beautiful clooooothes" and all that other bullshit that someday, someday people I've known for 17 years will realize drives me into borderline rage. Lolz, remember when she was 12 and wore a red star on her tote bag?

So it's almost 2PM and I need to actually, you know, start my day. I told Nick I'd give him an assignment I picked up for him a few weeks ago, so at least I'm guaranteed to go out. Maybe the 2,50 happy hour pints at Hideout will be abused.


I bet I'm so cranky because the cigarette count so far today is: 0
Time to buy a pack.

This is LiveJournal in the early days, isn't it?

I guess that's kind of cool. I remember being 13, squeezing an LJ code out of my unenthusiastic older brother and actually being excited to have one where I'd write rants about my junior high days and shitty poems, all with god-awful punctuation.

Same shit, almost 8 years later, I guess.

When I was younger I wanted to be an author. I didn't know if this was prompted by writing being the old field of "art" that I was actually decent in, or if it was because my teachers told me I should be an author. Either way, I don't want to be a fucking author anymore.

You get older and you lose interest. I still love writing, but reading my own rants is narcissistic to a fault and academic writing bores me to tears. My ideas for fiction are stale. So I've abandoned it. Enter this journal. Let's see where it goes...

***

Paris is gross today. It's May 5th, but it's gray and fucking cold. I didn't think I'd still be wearing my winter coat at this point.

After getting up at 8:30AM and sitting around for 2 hours, deciding if I should be proactive and go to class, I threw myself in the shower. Carrie was a fucking mess in class, still reeling over the dude drama she'd told me about a week ago. I tell her I'll have a smoke with her during the class break and that we can grab lunch since I owed her for last Tuesday's. I need to stop pronouncing "un cappuccino" like you do in Italian...in French. Still engrained in my brain from the amount of coffee I drank during Spring Break, I guess. She gives me the detailed story about some letter she wrote this guy and his response. From what she tells me I declare the guy a histrionic playboy who needs some meds. I head home. Encounter my first "abandon ship. this train's out of service" at Chatelet. She's sent me the e-mails and asks for my response. It's nothing like what she told me. He now just sounds like every other semi-egotistical, but polite 22-year-old male who has no idea what he wants to do with his life. She, on the other hand, ends up sounding like the psychopath. Okay...maybe more so a 24-year-old who's acting like she's 15.

So what the fuck do I say? Part of me wants to be honest, but knowing what a rut she's in and how all of her other friends have supported the idea that everything is his fault, I realize I'll be following along, tossing in a "he sucks" here and there when the inevitable night of sorrow-burying boozing occurs. The cycle of "he wanted sex, I thought I was in love" seems to never end. Why do I end up siding with the dudes most of the time? I mean, do you really assume you're "in love" with someone after sleeping with them once? Ever? Really?

Cigarette count: 15

***

I've been wasting a LOT of time on this site lately. Reminds me of being 4-5 and watching TV with the broyo.