Ho ho ho, motherfuckers

Christmas was not depressing, not at all. I had some friends over… two girls from my French class. We made magret du canard (duck breast) and roast potatoes and sweet potatoes and we had smoked salmon and cream cheese on little tiny pancakes and prawn cocktail and five cheeses and chocolate fondant cake with ice cream and honestly it was far too much food. I also bought more wine than I have ever bought, for one glorious afternoon I had a veritable wine cellar (my wardrobe)

I arranged my wine bottles proudly and decided to start a wine diary, to organise my drinking in some way.

Because I keep going to the supermarket and choosing wine and thinking, I like your label and I think I’ve drank you before… but I can’t remember the verdict. So I’ll buy you again, and maybe it’s shit, and I’ll probably forget again.

I told my friend about this plan to sophisticate up my boozing and she told me they actually sell notebooks specifically for that purpose here. I was torn between being pissed off that my idea wasn’t original, and impressed with a society who thinks like I do. Go France! You pretentious boozehounds.

On Christmas Eve I was looking smugly into my wine wardrobe and thought, fuck, I’m gonna start drinking if I don’t do something to entertain myself. So I went out into the city centre. Full of people. Full of people last minute buying presents. Not for the first time this year, I started thinking about how cool it would have been to surprise my little sisters on Christmas day, just showing up at the house in Italy, and making them so very happy indeed. But I have investigated every possible route and it’s just too expensive. Should have known I’d want to be with them in advance, but I was just like, meh, christmas, whatever, until the last minute. I really did try though, at the last minute. I even considered spending 8 hours in a car with a stranger through this car sharing website and then another 6 hours on a train to spend 3 days with my sisters. The 8 hours in a stranger’s car was too much though. Not so much stranger danger as god how boring would that be? What if they were boring? I initially considered it because one of the guys offering a ride was really hot, and I imagined thrilling him with 8 hours of prime convo and intriguing him with all my adventure stories. Then some over the pants stuff while he drives. But when I went back to book, his car was full. Of course.

The only free place was with the most intense looking young adult I’ve ever seen outside a mugshot. And he only had one review on the site:  “Thanks for a serious journey.”

No. No thanks, serious journey.

So I went into the city centre and wandered around. It was pretty hard to wander around because the streets were full of people searching for last minute gifts. For their families. Sick- making.

I had to walk in short bursts of purpose. I decided to buy a bag, because I need one for working as a teacher, a big one that fits an A4 folder in it, or else for like situations that might arise, such as visiting someone overnight, an ex lover or something, and not wanting to go with just one outfit but not wanting to scare him by arriving with a suitcase. That sort of thing. Found a nice bag and bought some overpriced tights. And a lime green miniskirt, that was a bit of a surprise to me even, I’m not sure where that idea sprung up from.

Then I was walking around with my shopping bags while everyone else bought stuff for other people and I felt like a dickhead, going shopping for myself. I tried to hide the shopping glow from my face and look a bit stressed, so people wouldn’t know how selfish and stress- free I was and would presume I too was caught up in the last minute giving frenzy.

As if anyone was looking at me, anyway. Christmas eve, an hour before the shops closed. No one was looking at me.

Probably why I bought the lime green mini skirt.

After that, I decided that although I did really want to open my wine and start the wine diary, I would wait for my friends to arrive and start cooking. Like, seriously. Need to pace myself. We got some cheap champagne and so much wine, and this awful lychee flavoured liquor. Man, I love Christmas.

We had a nice night. The cheese and smoked salmon and stuff was, as a starter, way too much. By the time the main was done, we were ready to explode. We drank mulled wine and normal wine and then moved on to the lychee stuff then watched a bit of a movie and some stand up, and then it was midnight and we popped the champage and they took photos but my opening champagne face is a lot like constipated so I don’t think I’ll be showing anyone those photos.

It was a nice night. Nothing like being with family or old friends or anything, but it was nice considering it was an expat christmas and I’ve only been here 6 weeks.

Christmas day was a bit shit.

I talked to my family on skype and that kind of made me sad. But I just drank some wine and then I felt better. Or worse. I’m not sure. My flatmate came home and chattered to me about Christmas as I stared at her stupid face and resented her interupting my personal space.

She really does have a stupid face. My dad told me he has called the apartment several times when I was here and asked for me and she has just talked in French and hung up, and never mentioned to me the fact that someone who didn’t speak French called while I was home, and maybe, like, it was for me?

When I heard the key in the door I pushed the wine to the other end of the table so it looked like it was from the night before and not morning drinking, but who knows what she thinks.

She had previously sworn she would come home and clean the place on Christmas eve before my friends came over, and although her dad did the dishes, she didn’t clean shit. So when my friends were over they suggested having dinner in one of their houses while their host families were out of town, and although I had mentioned to my flatmate that we could eat together on the 25th, I was like, yeah why not. If she had cleaned or something in preparation, or offered to put in some money for the meal, or done anything, I would have invited her too. But she didn’t, so I wasn’t about to feel bad.

She has family here anyway.

But then she told me she made a pie, and brought most of it home for us to eat… I felt kind of bad. But still. As with everyone I tolerate quietly for a while, eventually her little foibles have eclipsed any kind of human empathy and now the mere sight of her face or the sound of her voice inspires hatred.

Look at her, what is wrong with her? She doesn’t go out, she doesn’t have friends over, she doesn’t clean, she doesn’t cook (apart from the pie which was really good, like a fruit pie and I ate a considerable amount of it in the middle of the night), she doesn’t dress nice, she doesn’t do anything to improve her face or hair. She doesn’t even make the slightest effort to speak in a manner i can understand. She speaks incredibly fast and uses so much slang, I can’t understand her. I always say sorry I don’t understand and she just repeats the verbal diarrhea. No fucking concept of how to speak to a foreigner.

So I just despise her now. Well, it was only to be expected. Cohabitation is not my strong point, not because I’m not a joy to live with, but because I’m too much live and let live and then I don’t stand up for myself and eventually it becomes pure hatred for this person who is walking all over me.

Christmas day was a bit of a bust. I did have my meal in my friend’s house and that was nice but it was a total anti-christmas. Whatever, it’s over now.

This morning I woke up so fat and bloated, I entered the most depressing google search of my career: “how many calories does masturbation burn?”

That’s a serious low point.

(Results were inconclusive, because who knows how athletically we’re all doing it?)

Actually, while I’m on the topic of masturbation, it looks like maybe I need to step up my workout. On Christmas Eve, while watching Dylan Moran’s stand up, I came across a clip of “Monster” where he talks about the French. It’s very funny, so I was like I KNOW WHO WILL LOVE THIS, a FRENCH PERSON! So I sent the link to Antoine.

And then I thought about it and maybe it’s a little bit offensive to the French, so I wrote a follow up Happy Christmas to him.

The next morning I had a message from him sent at 3am, in French, beautiful French, saying Happy Christmas to you, and I’m so happy you’re there again.

It’s totally romantic in French.

But instead of being like, oh honey bunny, I want to be on you too, or the other option “don’t start thinking you have me back, cheeky frog, I’ve already decided that while I may continue to kiss you, you are not my prince.”

I just replied “YAY! Subjunctive message! You used the subjunctive! AWESOME!”

Because he did use the subjunctive, and that’s one of my turn ons. Only in French though.

Anyway we talked on Skype last night and he said he wants to come visit me and he also invited me to spend New Year’s eve with him. At first I was like, no no no, not New Year’s eve, that’s a time I want to spend single and looking awesome and mingling with friends and strangers, hiding my bad dancing with an oversized handbag and scanning the crowd for people I might like to kiss at midnight, and inevitably going home sad and alone and waking up determined not to get all excited about new year ever again.

And then posting hung over resolutions.

But then he told me he wanted me to meet his friends, and said they’ve known me for ages, ie, he’s talked about me to them, but probably in a more tasteful manner than I have talked to my friends about him….

I am a dirty detail divulger.

You can’t spell class without ass, is my motto. No it’s not. I’m just being silly.

You kan’t spell klassy without “ass” and “KY”.

Ooh.

You can’t spell penis without “is” and “pen”.

You can’t spell vagina without “a GI van”.

I’m going to stop now. Sorry.

So I MIGHT spend new year with him but only because I want to have amazing sex and also my girlfriends who I was planning on spending it with, are not really that keen to have a big blowout new year in the city centre anyway and what else is the point? I’ll be good though, I’ll make sure to get hideously drunk and not just sit on the arm of Antoine’s chair sipping champagne like some GIRLFRIEND. I will be a person in my own right, channeling Susan Sarandon in Alfie. (I keep saying that, I know, but it doesn’t just happen overnight. Baby steps.)

Some day, I’ll get there…

Anyway it’s getting to that time of year when every person alive with a blog is coming up with their new year’s resolution post.

I’m just going to squeeze mine in here because I feel like it.

New Year / New Mayan Cycle* Resolutions 2013

*In case you can’t tell, I’m being sarcastic. Mayans shmayans.

1. Keep wine diary. Maybe learn something about wine, or oenology as I think pretentious dickweasels like to call it. Not to sound klassy at parties but to turn one of my leisure pursuits into a legit kind of recognisable hobby so I don’t seem like such a bed- gremlin to outsiders.

2. Write something that’s not a blog post about my sex life, lack of sex life, or day drinking. Like a story or something.

3. Visit my sisters more.

4. NOT FALL FOR IMMATURE MEN ANY MORE, especially not the same immature man.

5. Masturbate more. (Christmas dinner really took its toll on my figure) Maybe incorporate some sexy lunges into my routine to increase the fat burning potential. Hey you may laugh but anything that gets your heart rate up should probably, and I know nothing about this, make you burn calories.

6. Get a job. NEVER work in a call centre again, no matter how desperate for money or no matter how lucrative the job. NEVER never NEVER. Never. NEVER. NEVER. NEVER. NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER. Never.

7. Get my teeth whitened again, they have seriously yellowed up. Take off my eye makeup before going to bed.

8. Don’t let the experience of one lousy flatmate put me off cohabitation. Try find a good house to live in with cool people… living alone is obviously the ideal situation but then I’d need paperwork I don’t have and I’d probably just hermit it up again.

9. Stop buying ridiculous amounts of food in the supermarket just because I love cooking and am if I do say so myself, a pretty fantastic cook. It’s probably my biggest expense. I spend more on groceries than rent. OH that could also transfer into a legitimate hobby. I DO have hobbies. See, I’m a well-rounded individual. Also, I need to not get fat.

10. Continue being friendly and making friends and being conscious of when I’m talking too much and remember to ask people stuff about themselves and remember their names so I don’t come off as a self centred dick.

That’s it. Otherwise, I’m doing pretty well I think.

Ok, that was the fantasy list of easy things I want to do anyway.

Here’s the real list of unpleasant difficult things.

1. Stop spending money I don’t have on clothes or shoes or makeup.

2. Get tested for stds. SERIOUSLY just fucking do it. Yeah yeah probably fine, probably don’t have anything but fuck, I have wasted so much energy stressing about this… just do it, for a good night’s sleep.

3. Quit smoking at some point.

4. Become a serious and organised individual with a tidy room and stop getting spots due to not changing my pillowcases and sheets.

5. Stop picking at my spots.

6. This realistic list of resolutions is boring me. I’m not going to do any of this shit, maybe it would be just more sensible to have one point such as get std checked and actually stick to it. Ah who cares, I’m going to have what my mother calls a whore’s breakfast now. A black coffee and a cigarette.

7. And seize the motherfucking day. Magna carta, bitches.

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2 responses to “Ho ho ho, motherfuckers

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