Archive | Travel! RSS feed for this section

i walked?

23 Nov

I find the older I get the more I notice things out of the realm of others’ sight. It is strange and it firmly cements me in my earthly binds, which might be a good thing, I guess, but currently things are confusing me and I can’t seem to find the air I’m swimming towards.
I am lying on a twin-size bed in a house that isn’t really my home but will have to do at least for this week while some people I don’t know go into my house and replace the tiny Mount Vesuviuses of tile that are stuck to the floor. The room that the bed and I are in is a yellowy off-white, probably named something infinitely clever by the company who manufactures it. Probably something like “cloud” or “7th Heaven” or maybe something vaguely angel related: “we have heard on high” comes to mind; or something similar.
More worrying, though (at least to me) are the dreams and general ennui plaguing me involving The Poet. I look into a window and think I see his face- I hope fervently while I work that I’ll look up at one of the tourists and it’ll be his smiling face looking down at me, asking “well, imagine this!” and presently congealing into a lovely conversation. I miss this Poet. I miss him a helluvalot. I want him here, or I want to be there, or something– somehow, I want us to talk again under the leaves of old oak trees, watching water cascade into fountains– or running home in the rain, clutching a hot crepe to our chests.

So many memories. I can’t keep them from flooding my mind.
Wil visited Paris a few weeks ago, I am very jealous. I hope it’s treated him nicely. I hope he went to Rue Vavin and stood there, quiet and pensive. I hope he understands the changes it created in all of us. I hope he knows.

control me like you used to

1 Oct

Well: pretty magnificent day, I guess, mainly because I printed my new print and actually did something excellent in Physics (which bolstered hells of confidence) and also, also made a Pac-Man cake, which tastes like almonds and is coated in a syrup made from Amaretto and a quarter-cup of sugar. I want to write more letters. I’m out of stamps, well really not but my mother will probably be annoyed if I take the last of hers so sometime tomorrow I want to go to the post office and buy a bunch with my very own cash.

Maybe going to NYC on the weekend of the 23d with my art class. It would probably be awesome, though there is no one in that art class who I really get along well with. It’s worth it to go, though. I need to talk to my art teacher.

recounting & counting

23 Aug

MKAY, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, let’s see how well I can.
Basically,  I want to write down all I remember from Paris in one convenient place so I can read over it in my old age and  think “man I used to be so ridiculous, what happened?”



The first day, as far as I can remember, consisted of me getting up at like nine and then waiting for my mom to get ready (an hour-long process that involves hairdryers and six different outfits meticulously chosen), then hoicked my backpack and suitcase down the stairs of the rented apartment and out onto the street. We walk to the metro and I’m bursting with excitement, all “oh dang, what if I meet someone who speaks Swedish, and then we’ll be friends, and then aaahhhh!!!” My parents are barely putting up with me. My sister is feeling left out.

We finally emerge from the metro and get lost for about five minutes, go to a store and buy me a towel (yay!) then walk down the Amorino road (Rue d’Assas? Something like that.) and onward to the hallowed Lycee De Notre Dame de Sion. By this time I’m jumping around, excited as fuck and eager to meet the people I see in the front office. I get my key. I take the sketchy elevator up to my room. My roommate isn’t there yet, so I kind of unpack and then run back down to say goodbye to my parents and then rejoice in their absence.

And then I try to make friends.

The first group of people I talk to, waiting for the neighborhood tour to begin, involve Cam and Graydon and Chris and some other fabulous folks whose names I don’t remember that well. (I’m sorry.) We start talking, I introduce myself (“I’m Blare! I live in the Caribbean. I’m going to be a senior.” “You’re tall!” “I know.”) and in a few minutes we leave to explore and find out where we are, exactly.

I find out the main facts about Graydon (lives in LA, going to be a junior) and Cam (lives in Boston, also a senior, half Canadian) as we walk, and laugh way too loudly and piss off Lea and Alex a little, who are currently being our momma hens. We live by Monoprix! And Amorino’s! And a little boulangerie! SWELL. We all are pretty googly-eyed by this point, and traipse back to the Lycee chatting.

Then, lounging in Graydon’s room, we meet his roommate Billy, and we talk for a while before going downstairs to “mingle.” I meet Kyna and Giselle and some other people. Say hi to Wil, Will, and Josh, kind of look askance at all the other people who seem like they’ve known each other for years. Go to eat. Explore a little bit. Come home with ice cream and then go up to Graydon and Billy’s room. I meet my roommate, she turns out to be named Jordan and seems like an okay person, which is good. Go back down to G&B’s room and talk more before midnight, when I go back to my room, talk to Jordan for half an hour, then try to fitfully sleep.

(now, the narrative becomes much more simplified.)

Day 2: Wake up around six, shake the sleep out of my eyes, go and take a shower. I’m the only one chipper enough to be awake at this hour, so I’m alone: go back, get dressed, look through our Welcome Packet and write in my Yellow Book. Wake Jordan up at 7:45ish, go downstairs and use one of the computers.
Go up to see if Billy and Graydon are ready yet, they are, we go downstairs and eat. First day of classes, honorary welcome-here assembly. The lot of us meet Richard, who immediately commands every ounce of my respect, though with good reason. Our teachers are on the stage and lead us to the classrooms. I am led off by Luc, my Psych teacher, who is nothing like I’d expected and is  short and bespectacled and about twenty-odd years old. The classroom is on the third floor. I rediscover my hatred for stairs.
He tells us the main syllabus, we nod and smile obligingly, and then after who knows how long it’s time for lunch. I go down to the Winter Palace, meet the dwarves and Weed Brownie (long story), and we go to the boulangerie on the corner. We eat in the Luxembourg Gardens and then wander back for minors.

My Art teacher is Paul Laufer, a bit of a legend in the program because he’d taught his class for 8 years and every other year his wife is having a baby. We are on a baby year. Paul is very excited about his baby. I meet Sophia, who is short, Bulgarian, and absolutely hilarious; Ofelia, who is Spanish and amazing; and Mary Liza, who is from Tennessee and makes me think of the epitome of a Southern Belle, though probably the mental twin of Sophia. We go out to the Lux Gardens and do a draw/paint of some fountains, just so Paul can gauge our skills. I feel proud of my little doodles.

Go back to the Lycee, the Dwarves assemble, we take the metro to Les Halles because all the Dwarves (except me) need phones. (in this case, “Dwarves” includes me and Kyna as well.)  We sit and wait for Giselle to negotiate with the employees in english, then surface from the halls into the Tuileries. There is a carnival going on. Graydon and Billy insist on riding a ridiculous spinny ride called Rainbow, one that we become very, very familiar with. Very, very familiar. They disembark all smiley, then we check the time and decide to mosey on home.

We eat dinner somewhere. I can’t remember.

Talking, talking, back to my room, sleep.

DAY THREE (and now I start really simplifying things)

Wake up, shower, dress, downstairs and breakfast. Go to class, listen to Luc, learn about personality types and read some case studies which are actually fairly interesting, though at the moment I am one of the only ones awake enough to care. Class ends, only major today so go down to meet the dwarves.

Dwarves assemble! We leave to go…uh, somewhere? I think Collette. I’m not sure. This day is kind of loopy for me. We do something, we come home and Billy goes “Is there a piano? I wanna play a piano. Real  Rull bad.”

We find a piano downstairs in the Teachers’ Room, though there are no teachers at the moment, and so Billy sits down and everyone’s jaws drop. The boy can play. (I have a video of it somewhere, but I’m far too lazy to upload it right now, so one of these days look out for it. Mkay?)

Then, upstairs, dinner, talking, watching the movie Billy made of his grandma talking about ghosts (“GOATS?!”) and laughing. Back upstairs, sleep.


DON’T REMEMBER MUCH except the hand-holding incident, and subsequent mental freeeeek-ouuuuuttt.




Saturday! Still had classes. I think I went to the Swatch store in Les Halles and bought a new band. The peeps who want to go to the Morning Benders concert.


and then dinner at La Coupole, I think. I order tripe. Ew.

DAY EIGHT– okay, I don’t remember much else on specific days, except the last two. So I suppose I’ll just write the little scenes, feel free to mix & match with the order.
=====MISC. DAYS=====

At some point, there was a Sushi Class sign-up thingy that I decided to join in on, spur-of-the-moment like. This led to meeting Nick, talking to Nick, going into the most awesome candy store I’d ever seen and buying three lollipops, walking across the street with Nick and watching him trying to open one of said lollipops and failing, me trying to help him but also failing, culminating in him dropping the damn thing in the middle of the street and looking absolutely heartbroken for a few seconds. I asked him if he wanted one of mine, and he said “naw, I at least held the greatness of it in my hand for a few minutes. That’s about enough.” Then we followed Lea to get bubble tea, which no matter how stridently I try to enjoy is just too fucking gross- and walked to a park and sat and talked and drank bubble tea for about three hours until we looked up, noticed no one was there, looked at our watches, and realized it was kind of time to get home. Thus initiated a magnificent Metro ride back, and more chatting as we walked back to the Lycee.
I was pretty happy.

You know what, I’ll finish this in a separate post, okay? It’s getting kinda long.


animal arithmetic

4 Aug

It is bizarre being home with my sister and dog and parents; I keep expecting to walk out the front door into Rue Vavin but instead I’m greeted with warm air and grass. It’s a tad disarming. I need to get used to being home soon, else I may go a little more nuts.
Well! What did I do today? I tried to learn Ready, Able and Blue Ridge Mountains, did a pretty good job but I need to listen to the songs more often before I can really play them well. I baked meringues! They are delicious. I also was going to draw but then my dad called me to dinner and I lost all inspiration. Bummmmerrrrrr.
Mehhh, I am missing the usual amount of cerebral stimulation that France gave: trying to find our way around the Metro, walking to Maille and commenting on the thousands of hipsters flocking to Collette, falling asleep under the trees at the Champs du Mars. I never felt so at home as I did in Paris, surrounded by anonymity and embracing it myself. It’s different from New York: not as stifling. You don’t feel as if you’re in a traditional city, it’s more intimate, more down-to-earth, more spiritual as well (and yes, that kind of contradicts the down-to-earth aspect). There is no perceptible rush to get where you’re going. Businessmen take a few hours out of their day to take off their suit jackets and play a few rounds of pettanque in the Luxembourg Gardens. The pace of life is slower.
New York, on the other hand, is all about speed and progress: getting from Point A to Point B, whether your points are actual places or just your life’s goals. I cannot deal with that way of life; thusly, you’ll never see me living in New York. Perhaps another city. One without the pressure of consumerism in every step and waking moment.

“Peach light,” he wrote, and I wondered why that was his liefmotif. And then I wondered: what was mine?

Will write later.

and there were jokes

3 Aug


Here, I’m going to try and start with the easier ones to remember and then go on. Bulletted for ease-of-reading! Aren’t I considerate? (and no, I am not explaining them.)

  • “MY LORD!!” and then EVERYONE LAUGHED.
  • “Hey girl HEYYYY!”
  • Giselle’s ratass purse, and then our little mascot.
  • Graydon’s vajayjay
  • “Come snuggle with me!” AND WE LOL’D.
  • “You. Sit there.” “Okay.”
  • “PAYNUS!”
  • “You have to shake your hips! You’re just moving your torso!”
    “But I-I can’t-”
  • Deb. “Hey bitch, let’s do some shit!”
    “Let me try again!”
  • “There’s my Chippy.”
  • “SHIT!”
  • “So if you look at my pictures, you’ll cry. And if you look at Gizzy’s, you’ll jizz. So everyone who goes over there is crying ‘n’ jizzing and everything.”
  • Pussypussypussy marijuannnaaa~! And the accompanying dance, which was pretty awesome.
  • Impromptu erotica! Between Graydon and I, no less. And then: “It’s Will.” I LOL’D SO HARD
  • “Oh my god, so edgy!”
  • “Carol, get your hands off me.”
  • FABIO AND THE KID PETTANQUE. They had style.
  • “Now that I know he’s a manwhore, it’s even more appealing.”
  • “Oh hey, phallic symbol!”
    “WHY do you keep pointing those out?”
  • Graydon’s Sputnik
  • “Someone give me a fan, please. Thank you. -fans self-“
  • “Don’t drink that, you’ll become a hemophiliac.”
  • “Oh yeah, Sai- Giselle’s uncle is coming in today and we were going to go with her to drop her off at the restaurant, you can go to Collette if you want, we’ll meet you at home.”
    “Oh, I’ll come with you!”
  • THE SLIDE AT TUILERIES. And the subsequent almost-tipping-over of Billy and Giselle.
  • “Graydon, you’re going to get raped if you go to Ghetto Paris.”
  • “Yeah, we tried to see how much stuff we could fit into Gizzy’s vag. It’s pretty expansive.”
  • “I just want a salad.” AND 91 EUROS LATER, HE GOT HIS FRIGGING SALAD.
  • The Winter Phallus/Palace/Garden
  • “Oh my god I would definitely screw Nia.” LOL
  • “We have to go to FNAC.”
    “LIKE NOW.”
  • Laundry is immeasurably intense.
  • “Crack my toes, dwarve.”
  • “Feet outta my nest.”
  • “OH! THIS IS ALL BLARE’S DREAM! ‘Cos in Graydon’s dream, he’d be a lady, and-”
  • Graydon’s “bear claws”
  • The puking kid on the funhouse at Tuileries
  • “YOU! Get in the closet!”
  • Fairy Paradise and subsequent CocoRosie songs
  • “Token black friend?!”
  • “Forever young! Buy your tickets and you’ll be forever young!”
  • “Billy is so gay for Hugo Boss.”
  • “Oh mai gawwwwd you’re basically my girlfriend now.” LACHLAN I LOVE YOU.
  • Rewriting poetry to include porn!
  • “Aww hot damn, this is our jaaaam…”
  • “So I don’t know if I got the right mustard or not, and my mom’s gonna be all ‘WRONG’ and I’m gonna be like, ‘Eat it, BETCH.'”
  • Billy is a pimp. Graydon is his ho. They are also bros.
  • Ghetto Paris: Awesome.
  • “SOFT HANDS!!!”
  • The “display” on the shelf

That’s about enough for now. Here’s a video!

taper jean girl

2 Aug

Well, for the record, this is post #400, which is a bigger number than I’d imagined. I write a lot!
Also, it is terrifying being home without the “dwarves,” I catch myself starting to cry when I see something that sort of reminds me of them. I’m unpacking. I keep seeing little pieces of memories and I keep feeling like I’m missing something I need to live.
Two people’ve written me back (Ofelia and Giselle, bless their hearts), and the rest of the louts are presumably catching up with their droogs or sleeping. I have nothing to catch up on, since nothing really happens on island. I phoned Lil this morning, she hasn’t phoned back so I’m guessing she’s dead or something.

EVEN THAT MAKES ME TEARY, the “she’s dead,” because every time Billy went to the washroom I’d tell him “Don’t drown,” and he’d say something to the effect of “I’ll try not to,” and shut the door.
So many stories! I am making a list of jokes we shared, that will be the next post.
I need to listen to some Death Cab or something sad to get all these tears out.

Will write.


1 Aug

I think I now love British Airways more than ever before.

They have a music-on-demand thing; they have Nick Cave as one of the artists to listen to. Connect the dots.
I have 6 hours of wonderful australian dumpsterfunk left: fun stuff!

I keep thinking the guy beside me is Lachlan, but he has a very different face. Damn it! That month is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. But I will love it for haunting me. (Like the Weed Ghost and Cigarette Spectre!)

God, I miss everyone. Whose idea was it to send us home? I’d like a word with them. That was a bad decision.

Will write.

patterns your parents designed

1 Aug

One out of four flights done, thank the ever-loving lord.
I miss everyone already. I saw a Hugo Boss store in Charles De Gaulle and thought of Guillame: I kept falling asleep on the plane when I didn’t really want to and remembered this morning, last night-
I just actually got a double espresso (terrible idea: British coffee is just as bad as their food), and it is overwhelmingly weird to be talking to strangers in English. I have been out of an English-speaking country for more than a month.
Wow, no wonder I’m suddenly feeling the weirdness of not using someone else’s language. Also I keep trying to keep away from old men because they kept on trying to pick me up in France but part of me knows they won’t here because I am not some foriegn chick, I speak the language.
This morning, by the way, was really heartbreaking. Really heartbreaking. I was under the impression that I’d be leaving at 6, and so I wan’t quite perfectly packed (and I just realized that I left my toiletries behind. And my bathrobe! Damn it!) and had to superpack whilst sobbing, which is not easy, I tell you what. Anyway, I practically begged Julian to let me say goodbye to the dwarves (yes, this is what I call Guillame and Graydon and Giselle, at least in my head) and ran down to the second floor. I practically bowled Giselle over, squished all the breath out of her and said something to the effect of “Imma miss you SO MUUUUCH!”
I let go of her and ran down the hall to Greydon and Guillame’s room, smashed open the door and encased Graydon (sitting on the top bunk, so it worked!) in a huge sobbing hug, burying my face in his neck. “Bye,” I sobbed, disengaged for a second to plant a kiss on his cheek, then re-gaged and started crying again into his neck. He was getting a little teary himself, and hugged back.
We disengaged and I asked “Where’s Guillame?!”
“In the shower.”
So instead of barging in at that second, I caught sight of Wil down the hall and ran down to give him a letter and a hug (since I am pretty sure I will never see him again), which was far more awkward than I thought it’d be, but it was more like we were strangers than two people who had some tribulations and had pushed past them to become kind of friends. It was strange, but at that point I didn’t care. Stuck a note on Nick’s door (not sure if he got it) and fairly flew over to the showers. Slammed the door open and yelled “BILLY, I’M LEAVING, I MISS YOU ALREADY,” and then skittered down the stairs.
Kyna was at the bottom, I encased her in a hug, still kind of sobbing, and we promised to keep in touch. Hugged Mary Liza. Hugged Sofia. Hugged Gracie. Hugged Nick, who had come down the staircase behind me and who I clung to like a life raft and had to convince myself (very quickly, I might add) to let go else make a scene. I didn’t. I said a final goodbye and walked out into the early morning light and the waiting taxi and back to my ordinary life.
Not that trying to get your bag checked and tickets made is ordinary, at least not when you’re kind of explaining in both French and English, don’t know the flight numbers, only the record locator, and you have gotten about one hour of sleep that night. Fun stuff. I’ve managed to restrain myself from crying, though every time I see something that reminds me of my dwarves and my weed brownie and my Oscar Wilde non-fabulous look-alike, a little stake pierces through my heart and I feel that peculiar stinging feeling behind my eyes that heralds a subsequent shedding of tears.


It is weird hearing everyone speaking english. I can understand them! I feel like I’m trespassing on others’ conversations: going to have to get used to that, I think. It’s pretty amazing being able to understand people again.

I want to go back, but at the same time I want to go home. It’s a bad circle of emotion to be caught in: I pretty honestly feel a little ill figuring out how exactly I feel about what has happened, what is going to happen.

Also I need to not get angry anymore, because this time I actually hurt someone: I am not sure if I hurt them physically or mentally, but I did, and now I am wondering which one and if I can try to ameliorate it or if I should leave it alone.

just want to stand and stare

26 Jul

Well finally got around to writing a new post for you guys, actually I kind of won’t be able to because two people just sat down and I have a feeling that their business here (probably homework) is more important than mine (writing a blog post haphazardly). So I’ll truncate the list of what I wanted to write about:





There, you see, much more consise than the usual blabber. I’ll write more as soon as I have the chance. Until then, um, well, see you.

(ALSO, I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS: I am putting up a bunch of ridiculous pictures on this thing so you can see just what it is that I get up to here in Ol’ Europe. Swell stuff, it is.)

live through winter

12 Jul

It is raining today, and thundering, and generally making a meteorogical nuisance of itself. Yay?
Also: last night, had a quiet and kind of melancholy talk with aforementioned kind-of-boyfriend, in which he recanted and, very eloquently, to be sure, stated that he wasn’t sure what really happened, he just kind of went with the moment. And once he had time to rationalize all the dopamine that had rushed through his brain, he realized it was a bad idea to fall in love with someone you’ve only known for six -now seven- days. I didn’t cry, because I’d figured that it was far too good to be true, and thusly I hope he doesn’t think he hurt me. Sure, I am somewhat disappointed, but in more of a “Dang!” way than “My life is overrrrr!”. There is still friendship, yes, and for now it may be a little awkward, but in a few days we’ll be back to normal, one warm spark-filled night residing in the back of our memories, never to be replicated again.
Which, quite honestly, is quite okay.