Sunday without Julia: Bummer Edition.

I'm going to miss her. We had coffee at the Roissybus stop and said goodbye. I hadn't had quite enough sleep and am coming down with a cold and ended up getting emo. I held it together until I was around the corner, but then there was some blubbering and tears. She's been such a good friend and a brilliant conspirator. Though I'm pretty used to being a solitary beast back in Bloomington, having Julie to run around and laugh with thawed out my misanthropic, permafrosted heart just in time for it to be kind of broken by her departure.

I know we didn't know each other long, but you'd probably have to meet her to understand. She's just one of those nurturing, affirmative, goodnatured souls who make the world seem sunnier when they're around. I felt less neurotic in her company than I generally feel. So even though we can stay in touch by Skype and all that, I'll miss being around her.

emo emo emo emo

I've been reading Luca Turin's Guide to Perfumes here and there - came across this hilarious Turin note on O Oui! by Lancome:

"This is a fresh floral in which every blindingly powerful aromachemical has been harnessed to induce a remarkable sensation of bone pain that rises from the roof of your mouth to your forehead, similar to what happens when you eat ice cream too quickly. Chiefly of neurological interest."

Ha!

Pour consulter vos messages faites-le UNH, faites-le UNH *bow-chicka-bow*

In the interest of fair and balanced reporting, I will now report that not only are French men kind of slutty, but French voicemail is ALSO kind of slutty. The first time I heard this recording start up I thought the person who told me that you get messages from Freebox by pressing **1 from your handset had in fact directed me to a phone sex line as a joke.