So yes...the brother and his wife came to visit over the last few days. I managed the delicate balance between hanging out with them at night and going to classes/doing homework during the day surprisingly well.
Last night, however, we stayed out rather late, drank some vino, then drank some champers, and then the server gave us some sort of digestif on the house. That was a fair amount of alcohol. We had a helluva time, though. It was great going out the four of us (married couple, living-in-sin couple) and trying to talk politics with two people who spoke no French, one person who spoke little English, and little ole me spurting out the occasional word in either language to help the conversation along. It really was fun, and the restaurant had a bathroom filled with pornographic photos. A bit of a shock for such a funky little classic French restaurant that President Chirac comes to from time to time. Actually, I'm sure Chirac comes just for that very reason. To turn on the light, you had to pull down the bra that was hanging just behind the door. Definetly the right kind of place to take my parents to next time they come for a visit. Dad would love that.
All in all, we were stuffed and exhausted by the time we got home. My gut probably hung over the opposite side of the bed (my side is along the wall) into much of the night. Before going to bed, I saw a few messages on the site, responded with my champagne-infested prose, and hit the sack. (I would like to point out that I still do love all of you that visit and comment. You all really do make my day, almost every day. It's great. Thank you all.)
This morning I refused to get out of bed. The Boy got up at 8.00, the poor crazy workaholic. He kept trying to talk to me and I kept trying to fend him off. I managed to coerce myself into going to my afternoon class, but I really almost gave into my body's cries to let me sleep through it.
I was roughly ten minutes late because I had stopped to buy a water bottle on the way. The stupid American bitches in line in front of me took for friggin' ever 'cause they were trying to figure out how to pay the guy in exact change. Just when I thought they're little exercise in patience was over, one of them said, "Oh...look...Mahtza." (sp?) and the other one said, "Oh, that stuff is soooo good for you." "Should we get some?" "I don't know. That's a bbbiiig box." "Yeah, but it's good for you." "Yeah. Ok, let's get it." and they plunked it down and went through the whole change-figuring-out scene again. None of that would have been nearly as annoying if they hadn't had extreme California accents and hadn't both been wearing bright, bright colors (one yellow, one green). They struck me as the kind of girls that would do yoga just because it's now fashionable to say "Wait, no, Tuesday? I can't. I have yoga." Or the kinds of girls that listen to Cristina Aguilera in hiding but dis her in front of their friends.
So I wander into class a bit late and the professor isn't there. Weird. Handy, actually. No big deal that I'm a few minutes late. Things might just be turning out alright today after all. I look for my friends. They're not there. Maybe they're skipping today? I take a seat. I pull out my work and start looking it over. Still no prof. I look up at the girl next to me. Her textbook is not the same as mine. Huh. And now that I'm looking around, I don't recognize a damn person in the place. But they all seem to know one another pretty well.
I jump out of my seat and run out of the auditorium just as the professor starts walking down the aisles to get up on the lecture podium. He wasn't my professor.
I had missed the notice Wednesday. Class was cancelled today. I should have stayed in my luscious bed.
I could use a night out like that...hangover and all!
Got so excited over the prospect of a drunken stuper, I forgot to put my name! LOL- Goes to show you the mere idea of a night out is distracting.