The building I live in was a morgue. And then in WWII it was a hospital. Nuns used to live in my room. Carrie and I think the laundry room used to be an incinerator. Living with this information is half cool and half really, really creepy.
That being said: Gisel did my hair last night (and as part of the package, put more makeup on me than I've worn in the past three years combined). By "did my hair" I mean she totally Nancy-Wilson-Circa-1977-"Little Queen"-by-Heart-ified me. Rockstar Hot. It's slightly funny because no one in College has even seen my hair died or even, um, cut... but no one in Highschool ever saw my natural hair color. Ah, how I missed the thrill of the "holy crap!" when someone sees you for the first time after you've changed your hair, and realizes they've been looking at you for ten minutes and didn't know who you were.
Note: The French may take excellent notes but they talk in class more than anyone on earth. And the teachers ignore this fact completely.
I'm trying to figure out why it is that once a semester I must get a) bronchitis or b) strep throat. In an effort to not cough all over Rome I'm staying in Bed (new photos) and drinking soup tonight while reading Jack Gilbert poems. I can't believe how close I am to seeing things that I've looked at in books my whole life. Wednesday, if all goes well, we will be in Florence and I'll finally get to see Michaelangelo's David, which is rivaled in my esteem only by his Moses, which is in Rome.
Also, Sara H. wins a croissant for being the first to send me a postcard. Mmmmmm.... Herbie K's......
My. Best. Friend. Is. Getting. Married. This is somehow harder for me to grasp than the idea that I might see the Pope. For four years I've been "secretly" laughing behind the backs of all my highschool friends who got married and now live in vans down by the river. Not really because it's funny, but because I think it's ironic that they all seemed like relatively smart, decent people and then they took upon themselves to squash their own dreams like large, crisp, hissing cockroaches. It's such a relief to me to see that the person I had the most faith in at HHS is getting married and it is, for once, something to be celebrated.
Fairy tales are so much better when the illusion can be lifted and they can be presented with more than just a modicum of truth.
Honestly, congratulations to the Bean and her family. And congrats on actually picking a bridesmaid's dress that can be worn by normal humans.
As a final note, this website will let you sign up to work on archaeological digs in awesome places like Turkey, Pompeii and Belize. I'm changing my major so I can do this instead of... whatever is I'm doing. I recommend the Civil-war Prison for Tim and Mr. and Mrs. Owen's second honeymoon.
Phrase du jour: Il en a un. (Entirely comprised of vowel sounds, is losely pronounced eeyonah-uh. Means "He has one." Took me twenty minuted to figure out the pronunciation yesterday, practiced in bed.)
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