"Je pense le matin..."

That.

THAT.

I fount that yesterday while scrolling through my notes folder on my phone. Scrolling through my notes folder on my phone, for what I believed to be the first time. The evidence, however, said otherwise.

I have no record of thinking that, writing that, or saving that. Normally I would just brush this off as one of those things I do (dance, sing, make out, fight) when drunk, but this tests even those admittedly lax limits. I mean, slipping into another language? The fuck?

The weird thing is, there are several like this. Mostly in English, but about things which I have absolutely no clue. I mean, they cover everything from shopping lists (for things I don't want/need), notes on knitting (don't do it), random number sequences (those hurt my head), and in one instance, just an all caps FUCK (that one, at least, sounds like me).

While I'm pretty sure that no, there is no way that somehow somewhere wires were crossed and these are not MY saved notes, I like that much better than the possibility that there is clearly another person living inside my head.

And that they might be French.

(Of course, there's always the alternate explanation of The Friend Who Likes to Fuck With You. I am not ruling this one out. Not one bit. Though friend? LAAAAAAAAAME. I already think I'm nuts. Ha! Face!)

***

This post may ring some dim bell in the recesses of your mind, in regards to that one time I went to France and said I'd write all about it.

And then I didn't. For months and months and months.

Or like, seven.

It's just that there was SO MUCH to write about, I didn't know where to start. And I think you know by now that when it comes to large, complex tasks I'm like eh, fuck it, I'll take a glass of wine in the bath, thanks.

Regardless, I've uploaded a few of the 4,698,890 photos taken from the trip [I'll take my glass of totally earned wine now] and have attempted to at least caption them, so that I can finally finally FINALLY maybe even one day write something about the whole ordeal.

What I'm trying to say, really, is that the post, hopefully up next month, is going to suck balls. But there will be pandas. Oh yes.

There will be pandas.

Pretty much every single day around 7pm you can find me reading in the tub. (The same goes for 2am.) Last night was no exception. I had just arrived home from work and was winding down with a good book, when I got a text (yes, I bring my phone with me in the bath; I have problems) asking if I wanted to grab something to eat.

I figured I could fit a quick dinner with a friend into my busy schedule of reading, bathing, and nap nap napping, so it was off to sushi. As we were leaving, my friend invited me to a party at a bikini bar, but I declined because I didn't feel like getting drunk and obnoxious around a bunch of people I don't know. No, I prefer to inflict that particular brand of pain on close personal friends and other people who can make fun of me for it the next day.

Like magic, just as I was driving home from dinner another friend (see? I totally do have more than one!) messaged me, requesting a partner in crime.

Well.

You know I haven't been going out much lately, and then how I nearly killed myself trying to produce an insane amount of work in a short amount of time which effectively killed my hanging-by-a-thread social life? And how all of this not going out and not being social was becoming less freakish and more the norm for me?

Yeah.

I decided to fuck that noise.

***

I pulled up at the Pike to meet up with my friend and was greeted by a totally strange and yet completely natural-seeming for Long Beach spectacle: the night's entertainment, fire dancers, rockin' out in the parking lot. They were awesome, and totally emptied out the bar which meant YAY SUPER QUICK DRINKS FOR JOEY! (I did stand outside and watch them for a good 10 minutes, though. I'm an automatic fan of anything that combines bikini tops, a boom box, and lighter fluid.)

From there we went down 4th Street, finally ending up at V. After a totally nice and not at all date rape-y stranger bought my friends and I a round of the strongest kamikazes known to man, I got shot with a water pistol, talked Dodger talk to a like-minded uber fan, was propositioned for cuddles (blech, I know), was invited to a mass water balloon fight, somehow managed to get totally shitfaced off three drinks (and that shot), and very easily coerced someone into driving me home since I was completely and utterly unable to operate anything more sophisticated than a bar game.

It was a good night. And -I'm practically weeping with joy as I type this- since I've gone ahead and declared it summer, I anticipate many many many more of these, like soon.

Cheers.

Back from my vacation of sorts, which was lest restful than I planned. I didn't really accomplish much that I had initially set out to do. Mostly this is because I was up late at night, having mini heart attacks, and writing. Not writing here, obviously. Not even writing on the internet. Like, writing real stuff. (I'm as surprised about this as you are.)

I was working on a project of sorts, which had to do with school -OMG MORE SCHOOL WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING- for which I was writing, writing, writing up a storm. And people? I am all written out.

WRITTEN OUT. <--- proof, if you ever needed it, that what I am saying is true.

Seriously, here's what last week looked like:

I only left out the photos where I'm rocking back and forth and crying tears of stress and frustration ("I'm so excited! I'm so scared!") in the bathtub. You'll just have to imagine those.

Thankfully, I've just recently completed said project, and am slowly slowly slooooowly coming around to the idea that writing may, one day, not be equated in my mind with pure and utter torture. With a little help, I've even been able to sleep again!

And it hasn't been all bad. There were a few good moments:

I only left out the photos of me napping cause that only happened like every other hour or so. Oh naps. I missed them so much. Aren't they the best? I'm pretty sure the Yeah Yeah Yeahs meant to write an ode to naps but the printer messed that shit up and they kinda got stuck loving maps. I would have demanded a reprint, but that's just me. (I got your back, naps.)

(Isn't this so very clearly the mind a person who NEEDS a nap? Like, right now?)

Anyways, now that super big huge scary awful terrible project is behind me, I've gone from spring break directly into summer. It's pretty safe to say that it's gonna be smooth sailing, from here on out. At least until school starts again. And that's so far away I'm just gonna put it out of my mind until the last second because that has certainly never bitten me in the ass before!

Cheers!

Hope you all had a Happy Easter, zombie savior day, or just a lovely Sunday. I somehow ended up with THREE Easter baskets (yeah, I am an adult, why do you ask?) which meant OMGSUGARILOVEYOUSOMUCHGETINMYMOUTH.

I'm not kidding. This was breakfast:

Notice anything off about that package of Peeps, aka the most delicious melt-in-your-mouth holiday treat in existence? That one pink Peep? Not an accident. My mother, clearly in competition for the Cute Mom crown (a shoo-in since she stabbed that other bitch) got me this card for Easter:

And she RIGGED THE PEEPS PACKAGE to match.

She wins.

***

Because I see no reason why being an adult means an end to all things fun (like Easter baskets!) I'm taking most of this week off to celebrate the holiest of holy weeks: spring break.

There will be a whole lot of Dodger games, shows (Coachella!), decisions about how much more money I would like to burn in the name of institutionalized education, propping up of the economy with my fierce love of shoes, and -I'm gonna go out on a limb here- probably not a whole lot of posting.

Cheers!

Yes, I am a bit late with this, but I've been busy. Enjoy!