jeeesus

[tasteslikefog]

So it turns out modern traveling isn't some instant hollographic bullshit that takes you anywhere fast. It can actually take you 32 fucking hours to make it from NYC to Paris, just ask me. Left Zoe's place at 2:30pm on wednesday to go to the airport, plane left an hour late at 7pm and got to London just in time for my connecting flight (if I could just run from my gate to the other gate)...but oh no, evil doers had other plans. As we were docking by the gate we found out there was a some sort of security alert and we had to go through customs and all the bullshit, leave the airport and then come back in and check in all over again for our connections. I obviously missed my connection but managed to check in for a flight that was leaving two hours later (9am) without that much trouble. Ate some breakfast and met an Indian girl and an American girl that were passing time smoking some magnificent Indian clove cigarettes...got three for free. woohoo. called my parents a million times to tell them he what was up and got no reply. pictured my mom waiting for me at Charles De Gaulle Paris Airport and kinda laughed a little bit. emailed people telling them I was alright from the airport figuring someone had to care. looked up cnn.com to find out what the fuck was happening. had no sense of time or space. spent a good 2-3 hours in line to be escorted to the baggage pick up to pick my bags up and come back out so I could leave the airport. smiled at the press outside of Heathrow. became an expert in what to do, where to go, who to talk to. saw the madness and decided I wasn't gonna stay there. also decided I didn't want to spend the night in london...although shrooms in Camden Town and a trip to the Saatchi Gallery sounded tempting. bought a train ticket to leave the airport and go down to the Waterloo Tube stop. Got there and went to the EuroStar ticket counter to buy a train ticket to Paris. Realized everyone and their mother had had the same idea. smiled for the press again. got to the front of the line right as tickets for Paris sold out and had to buy a ticket for a fold out seat in one of the bag areas in a train from London to Lille, France. Had a sandwich and fell asleep in front of the EuroStar entrance. Realized I had managed to spend 160 pounds in a few hours -without counting the calls and internet use with my credit card. Took my train to Lille while my mom got me a ticket from Lille to Paris on the phone. Got to Lille and couldn't retreive my ticket through the automatic machine so I had to stand in line to talk to someone with my 50 words of french and ask them to give me my ticket "tout suite!!" so I could run to my train and get to Paris. Got my ticket for the 8pm train at 7:55. Ran with two suitcases for 300m while my pants fell off and made it to the "gare" at 8:01. the train was gone. i was out of breath and about to start crying or yelling. exchanged my ticket for one on the 10:02pm train to Paris. Had a Sunshine Burger at Q - the french version of burger king. begged a woman to let me use the train station bathroom even though I didn't have the .50 Euro and just had some british pounds. waited around in the cold. listened to Caetano Veloso to calm myself down. Decided finally -for the second time- that I really want to write and direct a play about Airport Stories. Brainstormed about the play and wrote some stuff down. Ran to my train at 9:50 with my ass hanging out 'cause I refused to miss it. Got to Paris. Was picked up by my cousin's french husband who only recognized me looking at my ears 'cause the only clue my mom could give him was that I had a lot of piercings. Got a little Paris tour on our way to his apartment. Got drunk and talked politics with my mom, my cousin and his husband. Woke up and met the most amazing and beautiful little boy EVER- named Jean Edgard after his father and re-named Juanito by his mom. Had a gorgeous day walking around with Juanito and Martita, taking a boat on the Sienne to the Louvre, the Paris Plage, the Grand Palais and allowing my mom to buy tickets at Notre Dame for a fucking gregorian chant concert. Fell in love with Juanito and understood finally that babies aren't such a horrible thing and that if I had one like Juanito I'd be a cool fucking mom. Had dinner in Montmartre.

Juanito left today and I woke up sick. Spent most of the day in bed and woke up for the gregorian chanting and a walk around the city. Cheated my diet for a Nutella Creppe.

Plans for tomorrow include going to Sartre's, Jim Morrison's and Edith Piaf's graves, having lunch in Montmartre and going to the Naive Museum, walking around, maybe mailing some postcards and going to see Almodovar's Volver somewhere...the Science of Sleep starts here after I leave but I'll try to watch it in Berlin...

My mom's snoring next to me and I'm pretty tired. Traveling is strange. My french is in absolute decay. I haven't seen as many gorgeous french guys as I wish I had and today I lost a button from my new Old Navy denim jacket. My mom now knows I smoke and is pretty cool with it. I'm tired. Jet lag is overrated. Life is good. I discovered some pornographic pictures taken by Ava during the amazingly sweet and fun-filled going away party that she threw me the night before I left NYC. I could name more than a couple people I wish were here with me. I'm sleeping in Juanito's room and I miss him madly. France is expensive.

Ca c'est tout.
Fin.