tales of the city

Got an email from my friend Kevin, inquiring into the state of my existence. yes, i'm still alive. I'm just channeling Briget Jones the morning after. I believe this is my first official hangover. uuuuuuuuuuugh. Going to diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee. Brain objecting strenously to this typing nonsense. Not that said indisposition prevented me from hitting the Virgin Megastore this morning and seriously depleting my credit card (hate self now).

I should back up a bit. In Paris. Got back to France Monday evening and have been burning the candle at both ends all week. it's been a fairly bipolar experience. here's the condensed version:
Spending my days at the Louvre, Monet museum, Cluny museum, Shakespeare and Co. Goya's la femme a l'eventail, an exposition of Ingres, Waterlilies, Camille Claudel's la veille helene, The lady and the Unicorn. Falling truly, madly, deeply in love with Jeanette Winterson and her essays in Art objects. Thursday went to a performance of Bach in Eglise St Germain de pres (oldest church in Paris, for the record). Feeling very intellectual and sophisticated.
Spent my evenings in a blur of selfish hedonism. last night hit a bar and two clubs, all lesbian of course, with a cute, terribly sweet Tunisian woman i met Tuesday night. Danced with a cute girl who said my unshaved pits were gross (look, i do trim, for christ's sake. Should have cussed her out.) Didn't get in till quarter to five in the morning, hence the hangover and erratic capitalization. Tuesday was a crazy night, took my Spanish hostel roommate to my favorite dyke bar, where I was propositioned by a creepy old Frenchman and his 20-something concubine wife. unfortunately i had already made out with the wife before realizing she and the hubby were looking for company. "You are very beautiful together. You have only taste her! i make you gift. i take care of you" Which creeped me the fuck out. needless to say, i wasn't that desperate. Fortunately my 6 on the Kinsey scale bulldagger vibes are so powerful my Spanish roommate decided she was a bit queer after all, and oh my god. Wow. Thwarted from going any further by the fact that we're in a hostel.
Wednesday, we all go out to the aptly named Queen, the gay club on the Champs-Elysees. it was ladies night and we got in free. The DJ was fantastic, and good thing too, because i was subjected to watching Spanish Roommate, with whom i had fallen massively in lust, make out with a skinny-ass, acne prone, badly dressed French dweeb, which, combined with the alchohol, was traumatic. Also saw my first strip tease, dude in a sailor suit, and my personal biases notwithstanding, I think strip teasing is not only vastly overrated, it's stupid and silly too. Sheesh.
God. What else. Found a lesbian bookstore, Violette and Co, and bought every copy of SCUMgrrrls they had. And a French dyke zine. And a postcard. Saw pride and prejudice in English last night, finally, Keira Knightley in historically inaccurate Regency dress, oh i could eat that up with a spoon. And if matthew MacFayden showed up on my doorstep with a dozen roses, well, i'd totally think about it. Bought the soundtrack and i'm going back again tonight.

oh, yeah, Spain. That's a whole nother story. must go now. head collapsing.