So I got off to a good start. Promising. Lots of fellow students of the beautiful language, all friendly, mostly fellow alcohol enthusiasts. Going out to bars and clubs every other night, and alllll weeekend.
Positive start. Of course today is the shit-encrusted tail of my 3 day weekend, so I’m feeling…. not so great. Still not down on France, oh no, France is awesome. France is fucking awesome.
FRANCE is awesome, but I am a hung over, snivelling, weak, binge drinking, sex- crazed, self-centred excuse for a woman and my legs are hairy and I have really bad sex hair BUT I have not had sex in several weeks now, and I’m feeling very unattractive.
The people I know here are all students and tourists like me but not so embarassed about the tourist label, so they are constantly taking photos of everything and handing their cameras to each other to ensure each person has a copy of the complete series of moments witnessed that day, and I keep seeing photos of me and thinking, oh yeah…. yeah… I’m not a good looking person, I just thought I was for a while because if I look straight ahead in the mirror I look good but somehow the exact position in which my face looks pretty only comes out when I am looking in a mirror.
There was a video of me talking in Swedish (I learnt one phrase and repeated it enthusiastically for three nights in a row. People are still inviting me out… nice) from the weekend and I just… can’t believe… that people are taking me seriously with such odd, inhuman facial movements. I look ridiculous when I talk. No wonder men flee and my ex boyfriends accidentally add me on facebook and then apologise for it and tell me they don’t care if I delete them.
Here we arrive at what’s actually bother me.
So Antoine…. Antoine doesn’t say shit to me for three months and I move on and I’m like, so over that buster, I’m good, I’m moving to the country he lives in BUT I can say with utter sincerity and complete lack of denial that I am not intending to ever see him again, and if he contacts me again, I’ll be like, sorry bro, that ship has set sail and sunk and I got the only lifeboat and now I’m living a simple life on a beautiful island and there’s also a topless male only tribe living on the island and they all fuck me whenever I want and they are super fit from building shelters for me all day and there are no stds on this island.
BUT while I was not actually deluding myself one tiny bit, welll… I wasn’t really prepared for what would happen last week.
Last week I got a friendship request from him, the scrub who can’t get no love from me.
I was actually in the middle of accepting a plethora of friend requests (sorry can’t write this without smirking. I’m actually getting a smirk wrinkle on one side of my mouth only. Maybe I told you this already?)
So I’m mass-clicking yes to my new scool posse, and without really registering the name I clicked yes to Antoine. Again, this is actually not his real name of course.
So when I realised what had happened my weak, squishy, totally unprotected lady brain (and parts) went into hysterical overdrive. Incidentally, “hysteria” comes from the word for womb.. something about our stupid wombs causing everything. Also, interesting side note on a side note, google female hysteria and you will find some very interesting info about the origin of the vibrator. Ok back to the original tangent…
I went crazy. Did he want to see me? Did he know I’m in France… has he been waiting… does he miss me like crazy? Does he…. think he is ready to not be a dick and just go back to having the best sex either of us ever….
that sort of thing.
Not “fuck him, how dare he…”
Not “that’s a terrible idea, I should just tell him it’s nice to hear from him, I’m well, he’s well, good, good, and cut it off there.”
Nope. Square one, bitches.
Later he wrote to me asking how I was finding France and saying it’s weird I live so close, and I didn’t know how the fuck to take that… I just exchanged very cold pleasantries and then said g’luck with everything. The end.
Happy with myself for cutting off the convo, I so couldn’t take any more shit with him.
But I couldn’t rest.
Why did he contact me? Why did he contact me if he was just going to say stiff, boring things? He didn’t seem like he would contact me again, it didn’t seem like something he would do…. especially knowing how convinced he was that I was like soooo in love with him. And yeah I guess he was right there, I totally was… or my reaction now would have been more “meh” and less “gotta get my legs waxed in case this boy who broke my heart catches a glimpse of unsightly follicle when he says jump and I go to do the splits mid-air”
Course I couldn’t just be a good girl and play the silence game, so today, full fear and hangover and conviction that every person who is friends with me is probably just hanging out with me for some kind of dare, and every man who kisses me or calls me sexy is just doing it cause I give good head, and then maybe I don’t even give good head and men just like to humiliate me…..
I wrote to him asking why did he add me? I just said it was surprising.
He answered that he was looking at my profile to see if I did come to France after all, and accidentally must have clicked on add friend, and he only realised when I accepted. He said he didn’t mind, it was nice to have good news from me, although it’s weird I live so close… if I wanted to delete him as a friend he would understand.
And that’s the end of that.
What I even hoped for I do not know.
I just wish he hadn’t got in touch because I was doing so well, and now I’m hung over and I started drifting off into thoughts about him, yeah I’d fuck him again but first I’d be cold and distant, make him feel like I moved away somewhere, but then it would melt away and he’d hold me and stroke my neck down to between my breasts and he’d follow his hands with his eyes, doing everything carefully, every action the result of thinking about it first. I’d breathe hot onto his ear and feel him tense, and I’d reach his ear with my mouth and he’d quiver against me and we’d kiss and touch where we know to touch, and he’d whisper I want you now.
I loved that sex so much. When I think about him it’s all sex. He brushed my hair once in the shower, he did it with concentration, slowly, in a way that was so impractical and naive it endeared me to him.
I liked our meals together, we enjoyed wine and cheese and we drank milk after sex and it was exactly the right drink for after sex. He told me he got this habit from his older sister’s ex, who he presumably watched as a gangly little boy, a glass of cold milk and an attitude of I just fucked your sister.
But I never think about our conversations. It was just sex but it was sex that completely took me over. And I guess I would have gone there again, I would have prostrated myself on the altar of who cares, this is a sturdy surface, fuck me on it.
But it’s not to be, and I’m not sad about it, I’m really just sad that I break and I heal but there’s still a great gaping crack where he can slip right back in any time he wants.
And yes, that phrase was entirely intentional, although mine is just great and not gaping.
Ahhh, the fear.
Makes me feel like utter scrotum about my looks, my personality, everything… at least it only lasts til Tuesday.
Tuesday my ego will be back in full swing.
Really, I’m in paradise. I just need to keep going out and meeting locals which isn’t so easy when you are in a big group of foreigners with shit French, but it’s not like Italy, it’s not like that… it’s good here. Patience, my sweets.
I have seen so many hot barmen, hot binmen, hot policemen, hot traffic light repairmen up on ladders, hot cheesy sandwich vendors (also hot sandwiches and cheesy vendors)
It’ll be fine.. just gotta get through the ridiculous self loathing festival I’m holding in my hung over brain. I spent most of the day eating microwave reheated empanadas and watching bad camera angle porn, I think tomorrow the simple act of leaving the apartment and socialising with my school buddies will help significantly. Although I’m also kind of happy to have a decent internet connection again so I can watch porn.
I’ll try to write something when I’m not in this kind of mental space so you get a less skewed idea of my sanity. I was really happy every other day since I got here. And I speak atrocious French BUT I made a French girlfriend in a bar last weekend and she’s willing to hang out and listen to me talking like a 2 year old but with more Anglophonic “R”s and “N”s.
So I’m gonna get there…
I don’t have much patience because I’m so eager to get there already and speak awesome French and be made love to passionately by awesome French guys.
A plus tard, my sweets.
Also, I’m actually not going to move my blog, I’ll keep this one. I’ll just continue to drop “the pursuit of ‘appiness” into my writing as a glorious pun but I won’t change the title cause… fuck it.
Abby N Flicker