Hitting Low Points

It's that time in the semester when things start to get annoying and life starts to get messy. In this time, my body and my mind are subject to primal instincts and cravings, regardless of what is socially acceptable.

I have a ridiculous class from 6:45 p.m. -10:00 p.m. on Mondays. Well, it's not that ridiculous because it's an acting class and we literally start each day with group stretching, breathing, and cooperation exercises. Pretty relaxed, so we can all say:

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 The point is, when this class rolls around, I have been in class since 12:45 p.m. During my rushed one hour break, I run back to my apartment (12 minutes) eat and run to class, which is in the depths of this wretched city (20 minutes).

My limited amount of time to eat leaves me largely unsatisfied and I crave something more... but what? With one foot out the door already, it clicks and I run back into the apartment in a beeline to the automatic m&m dispenser (wave your hand underneath, handful of m&ms). I wave my hand three times.. and put all the m&ms in my coat pocket... and eat them like popcorn as I walk.

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8:30 p.m. rolls around and we are granted a brief ten minute respite. I reach into my coat pocket when I assume no one is looking and feel what's left of my desperate snack. What comes out of my pocket is a color-stained couple of fingers and a dirty-ish clump of what was once m&ms. DAMN IT, I curse to myself.. it had been 'freezing rain' while I was walking and some must have found its way into my addict-snack-pocket. The worst is yet to come.

A guy just a couple of chairs down from me asks me a question as I raise the stale, chocolaty mass to my mouth. I also notice a hair stuck to the clammy shell of one of the m&ms and eat them all anyway. Imagine a cute, dry golden retriever. Now, make that golden retriever wet, muddy, and smelly. He's still cute, so you want to pet him but when you do, you regret it because it's awful. That's essentially the sly trick these chocolate morsels played on me.. I felt sick the rest of the class.

Winter Specimens

If you're a dumb ass like me, you chose to live somewhere unnaturally cold, gray, dry and blustery for, what seems like, year-round. Every day is like walking into a lung-incapacitating vortex that threatens to cripple you where you stand.

Now that the scene is set, let's explore the type of people who inhabit this deathly wasteland.

1. Unidentifiables

I like to pride myself with belonging to this group. We are the select class of winter-goers who hate life and show it by the way we dress. GIANT parkas, hoods that triple the size of our heads, boots that could walk through the River Styx and not be affected, mittens that hideously deform our hands into penguin flippers, and scarves that leave only our squinting eyes left visible. Trust me, we wish we could wear eye-muffs if such a thing existed. The best part is, no one knows who the fuck you are and thanks to the parka, you can walk and fart to keep warm. Basically, by the time you get to where you're headed, you're sweating and you're fucking proud of it.

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2. Sexual Illusions of Warmth

These are the people who wear sexy, wool coats that hug their lovely shoulders and slender arms and hang to the mid-thigh. Son of a bitch, these motherfuckers are classy. They may casually toss a knock-off Burberry print scarf over their shoulder and haphazardly loop it around their neck. They often beg the question, what's a hat? because their hair is so ungodly beautiful as it somehow resists the whipping winds of icy hate. Instead of looking like they have rosacea, their cheeks only adopt a lovely pink warmth and their lips retain all their color and plumpness instead of shriveling up into what appears to be an old woman's chapped vagina. Such horrid beasts they are.. they wear fitted leather gloves that allow them to have all of their fingers instead of some sad imitation of a flightless bird's wing plus a stocky thumb... I like to think that they are beautiful, yet hating themselves every second for how cold they are. Quite frankly, they are a majestic, snowy animal:

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and I am..

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..fat.. and confused.

3. IDGAF - I Don't Give A Fucks

Then there are those who just... don't get it.

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River Rats and Dumb Whores

Today is the one year anniversary of this blog! Finally, I actually committed to something. Sorry I don't have some cool montage of every story ever written on here to make one masterful post encompassing the whole year. In lieu of that.. I will tell you a little story about my evening.

So, my friends and I happened upon a purely American inspired diner in France. It has everything from the neon lights and a Coca Cola sign to red leather booths and a plethora of milkshakes. In all honesty, it tried to hard and fell short of the real thing. Milkshakes that were actually the consistency of milk?? Albeit, a delicious fucking milkshake of vanilla-speculose. It was like drinking a caramely graham cracker. My face when I tasted it:

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After the diner that tried too hard, my friends and I went down to the river to hang out and have some drinks. All was going well, we were laughing and talking and enjoying the wonderful evening weather. The only appalling thing that had happened all night was that an enormous river rat swam by us. I'm talking beaver sized river rat. This thing had its own wake and could probably destroy an on-coming boat.

Only a short amount of time passed before other river rats began to stir up trouble of their own. And by other river rats, I mean the group next to us who decided to get into a serious river rat brawl. It was really exciting to watch it break out, actually; I never knew how riveting I found violence! There was the usual pushing and shoving and the occasional hearty swing of a backpack. However, shit got real when a big, glass bottle was broken against a lamp post and the guy tried to, essentially, stab the other guy in the head.. so, that was when I decided to leave..... and watch from the bridge.

Also, on the tram on the way to the river, my group of friends and I were standing next to a shitty little group of french boys who remarked and guffawed at the fact that we were Americans in France. Little did they know that I could understand them perfectly as they said that they didn't like it that we were here and that I looked like a condom with my hood on. Well, fuck you. The events of tonight have led me to the conclusion that:

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