This is why I'm going to be late to go to work today:
My life right now, it's like this blog -- directionless. Or rather, going in every direction at the same time. University. Job. Money. Entertainment (with Raph here, it's hard to live an ascetic life). GRE preparation. Reading manuscripts from time to time. Trying to fix another computer.
If you ask me, I'll say I feel a little schizoid these days. Trying to beat the February visa deadlines. Trying to beat the mid-December university deadlines. For the first time EVER I surprised myself considering that getting married could be a solution to the problem. Now you get an idea of how low I feel. That's not the way I thought I'd make it here. Still, a good 80% of me still wants to stick to plan a): Do it by yourself.
Sometimes, you wake up in the morning and you just think, Just fuck it. Now if 10/18 was offering me an interesting position, I might really consider returning to France and even live in Paris. Or Fleuve Noir. But I know I'll miss Brooklyn and NY so much....
Damn.... even Jean-Claude Van Damne (to hell with the spelling) was smart enough to make it in this country....now, that's insulting.
Prune (my brother's girlfriend) decided that she couldn't stand it anymore at the restaurant in upstate NY where she was doing her professional training. She's going back to France. She arrived at Grand Central Saturday morning and Raph and I met her there, next to the clock at the center of the big hall, of course. She had tons of bags. She left yesterday. We went to JFK with her. I hardly saw her this time. Stupid job. Last time, she came for a weekend too, and in less than 3 days, she left me exhausted but she had seen all the basic stuffs you need to see when you come to NY for the first time. We did everything but the museums. This time, though, because of my shitty, cheap job, I couldn't spend time with her, so Raph was her chaperon-guide.
She's funny, Prune. And she's so clumsy and tête-en-l'air. My brother warned me, though. He said, Never let her near an open bottle. Saturday night she WAS next to an open bottle and she spilt some Snapple on the carpet, the bubbling sticky liquid wetting the pages of one of my books. Aside from a dark stain on the carpet, she also left two bags of cookies supposedly able to make you travel through space. Last night, I started eating them while reading LAST EXIT TO BROOKLYN. There is this after taste of grass in them that makes me wonder whether they have been cooked the proper way.
For your information guys, you don't just put the weed in the cookies' paste. You have to extract the resin off the weed and make butter with it, and use this butter to cook you cake.
LAST EXIT TO BROOKLYN is one of the book that traumatized me when I was a kid. I remember. I must have been 12 or something and sick. I had nothing left to read so my mother brought me a bunch of her books and amongst LE CLUB DES CINQ and FANTOMETTE there was this book. I remember reading it in one day and night. I remember feeling even more ill after. I remember how, in my weak condition, the story had a huge impact.
I never read it again. Not until I started last night because I was feeling like throwing the GRE test preparation book out the window.
I wonder what kind of academic grades NYU or Columbia require you to have to get admitted.... If I had had the time to be strategic with that university thing, maybe I should have tried to be admitted at the Brooklyn College or something. My phobia of administrative process really does not help here. There is this page, in the Columbia files, I don't even wanna look at it. It's called something like "Proof of funds." My dear American friends, every time we apply for a visa of some sort, your government asks us poor helpless immigrants to prove that we have enough bread to stay and live in your country for a while. If you can't prove it, HAUS!
The problem with the national security thing is that terrorists have money and hardworking students often don't. Yet, you're more suspicious to the INS broke than wealthy.
Now Prune is gone and it's only Vanessa and me now and Vanessa is at Penn. U. doing cushion battles in high heels, g-string and sexy underwear with her hot bisexual female only roommates. Or at least, that's what GIRLS GONE WILD TV-shows make you think university life must be like in this country.
She denied it all, of course. But I know better. TV never lies.
Merde, je suis a la bourre pour aller taffer.
If you ask me, I'll say I feel a little schizoid these days. Trying to beat the February visa deadlines. Trying to beat the mid-December university deadlines. For the first time EVER I surprised myself considering that getting married could be a solution to the problem. Now you get an idea of how low I feel. That's not the way I thought I'd make it here. Still, a good 80% of me still wants to stick to plan a): Do it by yourself.
Sometimes, you wake up in the morning and you just think, Just fuck it. Now if 10/18 was offering me an interesting position, I might really consider returning to France and even live in Paris. Or Fleuve Noir. But I know I'll miss Brooklyn and NY so much....
Damn.... even Jean-Claude Van Damne (to hell with the spelling) was smart enough to make it in this country....now, that's insulting.
Prune (my brother's girlfriend) decided that she couldn't stand it anymore at the restaurant in upstate NY where she was doing her professional training. She's going back to France. She arrived at Grand Central Saturday morning and Raph and I met her there, next to the clock at the center of the big hall, of course. She had tons of bags. She left yesterday. We went to JFK with her. I hardly saw her this time. Stupid job. Last time, she came for a weekend too, and in less than 3 days, she left me exhausted but she had seen all the basic stuffs you need to see when you come to NY for the first time. We did everything but the museums. This time, though, because of my shitty, cheap job, I couldn't spend time with her, so Raph was her chaperon-guide.
She's funny, Prune. And she's so clumsy and tête-en-l'air. My brother warned me, though. He said, Never let her near an open bottle. Saturday night she WAS next to an open bottle and she spilt some Snapple on the carpet, the bubbling sticky liquid wetting the pages of one of my books. Aside from a dark stain on the carpet, she also left two bags of cookies supposedly able to make you travel through space. Last night, I started eating them while reading LAST EXIT TO BROOKLYN. There is this after taste of grass in them that makes me wonder whether they have been cooked the proper way.
For your information guys, you don't just put the weed in the cookies' paste. You have to extract the resin off the weed and make butter with it, and use this butter to cook you cake.
LAST EXIT TO BROOKLYN is one of the book that traumatized me when I was a kid. I remember. I must have been 12 or something and sick. I had nothing left to read so my mother brought me a bunch of her books and amongst LE CLUB DES CINQ and FANTOMETTE there was this book. I remember reading it in one day and night. I remember feeling even more ill after. I remember how, in my weak condition, the story had a huge impact.
I never read it again. Not until I started last night because I was feeling like throwing the GRE test preparation book out the window.
I wonder what kind of academic grades NYU or Columbia require you to have to get admitted.... If I had had the time to be strategic with that university thing, maybe I should have tried to be admitted at the Brooklyn College or something. My phobia of administrative process really does not help here. There is this page, in the Columbia files, I don't even wanna look at it. It's called something like "Proof of funds." My dear American friends, every time we apply for a visa of some sort, your government asks us poor helpless immigrants to prove that we have enough bread to stay and live in your country for a while. If you can't prove it, HAUS!
The problem with the national security thing is that terrorists have money and hardworking students often don't. Yet, you're more suspicious to the INS broke than wealthy.
Now Prune is gone and it's only Vanessa and me now and Vanessa is at Penn. U. doing cushion battles in high heels, g-string and sexy underwear with her hot bisexual female only roommates. Or at least, that's what GIRLS GONE WILD TV-shows make you think university life must be like in this country.
She denied it all, of course. But I know better. TV never lies.
Merde, je suis a la bourre pour aller taffer.
posted by Cecyl at 4:04 PM
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