c’est la vie

Listening to: xavier’s mixtape, which I am keeping (poop); and a mixtape made by Michael, who ALWAYS makes stellar mixtapes.

This weekend:

Actually, this weekend was molto un-interessare. (I don’t know Italian for “uninteresting,” anyone care to help a sister out?) I did pretty much nothing, and spent St. Patrick’s day shopping. I bought a phat (phat = good; fat = bad) skirt, a bag of jelly beans, Dave Egger’s “Heartbreaking …Staggering Genius” (no, I haven’t read it yet. I was waiting for it in paperback and alas! Only 8 bucks or so at Target, of all places) and a pair of bright yellow flowered pants. St. Patrick’s night I spent at he Parents watching rented movies by myself and answering drunken phone calls from friends on Elle’s Special Glitter Gold Cell Phone. Whoa’s me. I do find very funny what some people think is important information to share when they’ve been downing Guinness since noon. One friend actually called me from a “crouching position on the bathroom stall floor” in the middle of some nameless faux-pub downtown. All I wanted to do was finish the “Virgin Suicides” in peace. You guys aren’t even Irish! Who am I kidding, I’m just jealous I wasn’t intoxicated-ly crouching on the floor of a faux-pub calling people.

Sunday I attempted to go the the Holocaust Museum, but got there too late, so I only saw the Special Exhibit on the flight of Polish Jews to Lithuania. That building is so amazing. Why don’t I go downtown to museums more often? Man, I really do not take advantage of that stuff. I also drove around Georgetown and was going to go to the Newseum in Arlington; alas, again I was too late. So I drove back to my parents house and ate chicken stir-fry with them, then drove home in time to see “Jackass” at 10:00. C’mon. You can’t help but laugh. That show reminds me of all the skate-er-die punks my friend Shannon and I hung out with in high school. Ahh, youth.

So that about covers it. Not much else to relate right now, the past few weeks have been “blah.” I haven’t even been to a decent concert in ages. Grrrr.

PS When I was in school in Florence, my flat in was right next to the river Arno. The whole neighborhood smelled like wet trash and rotten apricots from the vegetable cart an old man had set up on the street under my bedroom window. Everyone in the neighborhood called the old man “Il Gioielliere,” which means “The Jeweler,” because his produce prices were so ridiculously high. All his vegetables were the color of jewels, too. Ironic?

PPS Mat. Steal me an imac. DC101 will not pick up the phone. I’m frustrated.

PPPS British people say “Fantastic!” all the time. I love it.

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