day 15? - the author laments

so, i am kind of over this blog right now. not so much that i want to stop doing it, but i imagine the casual reader has lost some interest. unless you find it wildly entertaining to read "today i took a shit and hit my head on the doorknob" as opposed to "i couldn't believe there were actual Playboy Bunnies on the yacht, stuffing cocaine up my nose with their pinky nails as i freestyled over Justice songs on a stage made of recycled Acura side panels while a crowd of rich Italians lit cigars off burning Euros." i mean, stories like that are coming, for sure, but i just feel like i am killing time with "Juan Huevos Tells Tales of the Mundane" in between all my rock star moments. the fact that i am in France doesn't make taking a shit any more exciting, but maybe the size of the bathroom makes it worth a read .... i dunno.

i mean, maybe you want to hear about how i spent over an hour tending to a clogged kitchen sink after i was a bit too liberal with how much elbow macaroni i let slip slide away. and how, after a strong opening campaign involving a plunger and a coat hanger, a phone call to a friend, and a much time spent looking for a valve of some sort, me and gino finally bowed up and started unscrewing things under the sink. with a mass vomiting of noodles and god knows what else into the bucket we had placed under the pipe, all was well again, at least, in my world. thank you, jake, for the flashlight and mom for your "silly" suggestion that i bring one. plumbing is hard with barely any light.

or perhaps you want to watch all the dumb videos i have taken of myself getting high, though for various reasons, i can't bring myself to post them. i try to stick to the "no guns, drugs or money" theory of internet self-documentation, but lawd, is it hard sometimes. especially since i want to have a picture with all 3. and a g-stringed ass in close proximity to my face. taken by me, in my living room with my digital camera on self-timer.

maybe you want to read about how, because i am too lazy to walk the 3 miles (uphill, not both ways, just the way home) from downtown (the tram stops running at 11, and we all know nothing fun happens before midnight), i never go out, which has become even more of a problem as my last days have been very formulaic (?) and have left me kinda stir crazy. so last nite, in boredom and curiosity (the 2 main excuses people make for doing this, maybe "drunk and home alone in a foreign country where i can't even send lewd texts to people" also qualifies) i looked at some personal ads on the computer (for my area back home, how irresponsible of me since i am SOOOOO far away). the first time i have ever even looked at personal ads anywhere other than The Independent. really doe. so yeah, i responded to one, the only one that was cleverly written, partly because it reminded me of something i might have wrote. she did not include a picture. i closed my reservedly witty response with my sentiments that i really hope we don't know each other, omg, how awkward!

and lo.

this morning.

an email (to the fake account i so painstakingly created).

let's just say that the last line said "What up Huevos!"