COUCOU
So what whimsical
Erasmus shit have I been embarking on since the last time I typed at you? Well,
predominantly dissertation seizures and then gentle abatement by watching
people internationally humiliate themselves thanks to youtube: a pussy’s
typical strategy of self-redemptive procrass. I also went to a “night out” at
the local art museum (dafuq, I know), and the place was riddled with hipsters.
I even saw one guy sporting a hijab, the obscure chic was in full force. THEN
my cohort came down to look at me and we went to the calanques which is like
the rocky coves next to the sea, it was so pretty and I felt like a tin of John
West. One time I also tried to get famous by talking on the student radio about
“mes experiences” where in some delirium I ended up slagging off my own
country, obviously clawing desperately for franco-acceptance (you can listen here,
even if you don’t understand). I am an oozy slug, I’M SORRY.
To
counterbalance, I pioneered Marmite at a picnic, a move that was destined to go
tits up given the historic French revulsion for English gourmet, something I
naively overlooked. I tried to defend myself by saying it just wasn’t the same
on croutons and without butter, but my words fell on deaf ears and besides,
there was saucisson sec to be ate. Now I’m just salty brown slime girl.
I will now
leave you sweet potatoes wondering what other unbelievable tomfoolery I have
been spraying around. Trust me it ain’t as electrifying or sexy as you’d
anticipate. Wot in bejesus does one wear to a “harlem shake” party though?? This
is really not in my realm. Tonight matthew, I’m going to be… a prick sans frontières.
Beezoo (it
means kisses in French :)) XXXXXXX
P.S. Watch
this it is IMPORTANT.
