My sinusitis (say it out loud. Fun, is it not?) is in full swing, and my voice sounds 100%, certifiably, like a man’s. Which is totally the sexiest way for me to begin my Parisian exploits. Obviously. Everyone else gets to indulge in sensual raspiness when they get sick. Some people just get all the luck. I sound rather more like I’ve been pumped full of testosterone (by IV, maybe) and my voice box has undergone a growth spurt of gigantic proportion. A man, I tell you. Burly, necessarily hairy, and possibly rotund. Maybe a tranny if you pushed it, but certainly my voice is well clear of the sultry, “let me whisper in your ears and make your knees quiver” range. Hah. If only.
Donning my uniform was as dork-a-licious as anticipated. Complete with steel-toed protective clogs and a retarded little chef’s cap that looks like a WAY gentrified version of a beanie. Made of linen. Oh boy. I get to wear these glorious checked pants that are a) so high-waisted that they actually graze my bra. No, sadly that is not joke. b) extend so far over my kitchen- warrior shoes they give me troll feat, and c) And here’s the best part: They are actually made for a seriously built 6″5 man (morbidly obese is probably more realistic, considering the profession, but this is more fun in my mind if I imagine a horrendously overgrown spandex-sporting underwear model) and is made to fit me by pulling two velcro strips across what is supposed to be my waist but is actually my bra; they’re sort of competing for space. Imagine those life-saving plastic bags on airplanes where you have to tug the strings on the sides to activate them. You get the picture. I have velcro-activated pants. Joyous occasion! Oh, let me not forget to tell you about the apron and towel! I love it. I look like such a complete goober.
Hope that you are having too much fun to write me. But please write to me; I’m REALLY sad and stressed out.
My mother spazzed out on both my sister and me yesterday, so my snacking habits or slightly out of whack again. She’s officially not on speaking terms with either of us. In fact, I was asking if she wanted to meet for coffee when she disowned me. Ah, good times! In an act of revenge my mother put the Marfa house up for sale, “For Sale by Livingston Real Estate” picket sign and all. And then my dad had the realtor pluck it out. Lordy. Now my parents are suing each other. Are we not a shining example of a functional family unit?
I did not end up cutting my hair. I’ve decided to proactively limit the amount of trauma in my life. Excellent, no?
News Update:
I live right by the Bois de Boulogne, which is super-skanky and good only for exercising and prostituting. I fully intend to take up both. Excellent indeed.
Something in the Parisian water causes hair to get dirtier faster, making daily hair washing a requisite. A certain unhygienic friend of mine, you would never survive. Or you’d fast devolve into a splendid specimen of a homeless man. A vagrant. A wandering Jew, perhaps?
Best of all, I bought my steel-toed protective chef clogs today! Hurrah for ultimate loserdom. And my friend and sister and I are baking scones and having high tea at my apartment tomorrow. I am already infusing her with nerdiness. Bringing the world down, one person at a time. How fondly I will be remembered in history textbooks!!!
I have no life right now (I don’t start school until Tuesday), so write me more?
I have to go because I have duck breast with raspberry sauce cooking!!!
I have arrived safe and sound in not-so-gay Paris! I spent the day riding around in my grandmother’s new vehicle, which is essentially the cartoon version of the Batmobile. I kid you not. It is even a shocking shade of orange that is precariously straddled between amusing and vomitous. De-lish. “Where are the cacti? Where is the flatness?” I kept asking myself. Splendid. I’m off to a very uplifting start. I met up with my half-aunt and uncle, which was loads of fun. A reunion of spastic minds, really. It is good to be with ones own kind. Granted, I take erratic speech and seemingly untrackable thought patterns to a new level (we have all agreed on this), but it was placating and assuaging nonetheless. But then it rained. It rained. Of course it would, because I am blessed and the world loves me so! I did, however, bite the heads off two baguettes. Yes, count them, two. And while I realize you are probably stuck on the unpleasantly violent phallic image suggested by this action, I actually shared that information to provide you with insight into the little pleasures of Parisian life. And I just had a delicious dinner of cheese. I’ve got dinner plans with my best friend from when I lived here last, which is exciting. That’s as much as has happened today. I’ve slept all of 2 and a half hours in the past 36 hours, which is just swell.
Before I go, the linguistic stimulation of late has got me thinking about good words and I’ve come up with a short list for the day:
Renege
Rescind
Abrogate
Ergonomic
Imaginarium *** Winner for the day.
Evidently
Perchance
Foetid
Categorically
Hyperbolizing
Disembarrass (which, according to our dear Merriam Webster means: to rid of or extricate from something cumbersome or embarrassing).
Illustrative
Representative (can you tell I recently had to write literature papers?)
Oh, and ponder this:
Amalgam vs. Amalgamation?
Archetype vs. Archetypical?
What say you?
Moist and pus are forever on my shitlist of words.
Hey, and it’s Pourim! For the life of me (and that of my aunt) I cannot tell you what this holiday is about, except that it involves the consumption of some kind of cake, but I thought I’d let you know that there’s a Jewish holiday going on.
I promise to say something of actual importance in my next post! Let me know how you are and keep me updated on the happenings of Marfa. And if you visit my house say hi to it for me
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Tapenade, and Pine Nuts