Et alors, il commence. . .

These past two weeks have been a whirlwind. Matt arrived on the 18, and we promptly blew out my electricity with a surge protector. We managed to get the emergency electrician over with help from a French friend, and most of the problem was fixed. After one more visit from another electrician, all of the appliances and lights were working. However, the dire situation lies in the water heater, and I have not had a hot shower in almost two weeks. My landlady offered to put me up in a hotel until it's fixed, but I don't think it's worth it. I feel like I should save this karma for another time.
The first few days Matt was here, he slept between 19 and 12 hours a night, which turned out nicely because I didn't have to worry about keeping him entertained while I was in class. We saw three movies (Death at a Funeral, Paris Je T'Aime, and Interview) thanks to Rentrée du Cinéma, a nifty little offer over a week or so where you buy one movie ticket and get one more for a euro. Holla. We did manage to get out on Friday night though, to drink under the Eiffel Tower with the Sciences Po crew.
This past week was much more exciting, after Matt had conquered the jet lag and a wicked cold acquired in transit. Tuesday night was a Sciences Po party. I felt so Parisian and grown-up, walking into the club at 2 am and not leaving until 5. Alas, the techno is probably taking over my life, but they did manage to throw in a couple songs I knew, even if most of them were disco or oldies. The French like a very bizarre mix of American music. Then we walked our sweaty and sore asses home only to finally nous couchons at 6 am. Which was great when I got up at 11:30 the next day to write some notes for the exposée I had to give in class at 1 pm. For whatever nutso reason I stayed for the party and movie, then dragged myself home to nap. Matt was on the first of a few of his self-directed excursions, but my nap was shot to shit anyway by the electrician. And still no hot water.
On Friday we ventured out again with the Sciences Po crew, to Le Queen, a formerly gay and now mostly trendy club on the Champs-Elysees. In an attempt to make it a somewhat earlier night, we should up at midnight, just after opening. Stupid idea. Everyone sipped their Smirnoff mixed drinks at tables and stared at each other until probably 1. And this time they only played one, SINGLE, SOLITARY song I knew. But whatever. It was great fun. I've adored dancing in that setting since the days of Bar Mitzvahs and Jew dances, but nowadays the guys actually know how to dance and it is a vast improvement.
In fact, while dancing on the mini-stage thinger with my buddy Alejandro, he refused to move for the glittery go-go dancer and got kicked out. Never get belligerent to a man in a fur stole. We ended up finding him outside, then going for crepes and taking the night bus home.
Saturday night was more low key but still fabulous. After seeing 2 Days in Paris (for the second time), we hoofed it to the Marais to try a cafe one of Matt's NY Times editors suggested. It was packed, but we ended up finding Chez Hanna around the corner. I have to preface this by saying that the Marais is both the Jewish and the gay district in Paris. So we ate falafel and hommos in a pink room with feather boas glued to the lamps while listening to the Scissor Sisters.
Sunday morning, we got our asses up before dawn and cabbed it to Gare du Nord, where I saw Matt off to Angleterre. I promptly returned home and slept until 2 pm. I spent the rest of the day watching Buffy, then listening to Say Anything and missing San Diego. But in a good way.
For those of you who don't know, my mom put our house on the market last week and sold it in five days. That's Carmel Valley for you. She's put in an offer to buy my cousin's old apartment in Berkeley, where I once spent a shit-faced night and still adore. It's a little disorienting because while I was packing for Paris and blowing a gasket at the thought of having to choose which stuff made the move with my mom, my comfort was that I had plenty of time. Not so anymore. But whatever, if she can get her dream home and pay off school for Sean and I, then allez-y.
Alright, now that you're all caught up (hi Sean), I have to leave so I can photocopy some shizzle, turn in my carte de séjour shit at MICEFA (read: LAZY), and spend an hour on the fuckin' RER so I can go meet some personnel at my teaching job. Peace out!