60 degrees? Could it be?

I have to laugh because it seems like everyone else is noticing it all at once, but I think Spring has arrived. Yesterday I left work at 4:30, in full sunshine, and I could actually feel warmth. For the past -- I dunno -- FIVE MONTHS, every time the sun came out I braced myself for some 27 degree arctic freeze. On Wednesday I didn't wear a coat. I wore a zip-up hoodie and that was it. I brought a scarf just to be cautious, but I didn't need it. Incredible. Although now I've completely forgotten how to dress myself for warm weather. I imagine the first time I put on flip flops again, I'll have a small stroke. Anyway, this is very exciting news, although it does mean soon will come the time to break out the self-tanner and the nail polish. Last night I got home from work at the sun didn't set until about 9 pm. I can't even remember the last time that happened, but things really look like they did when I first got here. Circle of life and blah blah blah, but that's really how it feels. As exciting as it might be to point and watch the seasons change, the romance wears off really quickly.

Unfortunately, now I have not only a pang of sadness when I think about leaving, but a sharp digging of anxiety because my landlady has revealed herself as the insufferable cunt she really is. Long story short, I have to move out May 31. I am in the process of finding somewhere to stay for two weeks. Luckily, my mom is 100% behind me and whatever I end up finding, whatever combination of hotel/sublet/friend-crashing I have to come up with, she'll pay for it. What's absolutely balls is that after a week-long vacation in Greece, I almost immediately have to start packing up to move. I'm thinking about changing my flight to a week earlier so I can leave right after Lauren does, but I don't know if all of my finals will be over by then. Regardless, she will be go where I go and I'll pay for however many cabs it takes us to get there. And she can sit and laugh at me while I pack and clean my apartment. The lesson in all of this is pretty obvious -- if something seems too good to be true, it most certainly, definitely, unequivocally is.

So that is added onto my search for housing in San Francisco. I actually got an email from someone this morning for an apartment in the complex I lived in last summer. Seems fine except the email is too....structured. Isn't that ridiculous? I'm wary of her because she seems too organized. I just feel like she might be too rigid. And actually I don't really want my own room, and I want to live with more than one person. I miss the sleep-away camp aspect of being in college. I want to live in a cabin full of cool people. Also she said that the heater is running 24/7 in the apartment, which turns me off. That's pretty ridiculous too, but I just hate heaters. I see all of these ads saying that the PG&E bills are higher in the winter but honestly, you must be living in a log cabin if you need to jack up the heat for months on end in San Francisco. Put a sweatshirt on, we're in an energy crisis.

Hmm. What else happened this week. My classes were fairly unremarkable, which is excellent because I ditched them all last week and as of yet I've seen no repercussions. Well actually I had a midterm in my American civilization class, but apparently I am such a psychic genius that I read two articles haphazardly in the reader right before class, and then we had to write an essay about the exact ones. Brilliant. Granted I didn't recall as many details about the colonies as I could have, but such is life.

I had an interesting commute to work yesterday. First I ran into Elisabeth in the in the Place Monge metro station at 7 am. She's a German girl in my atelier class at Nanterre, and I'd honestly throw myself out the window if she wasn't there. In this class we have to work as a group to write this stupid novel, and the other three people in my group are just short of completely useless. Not only is their French horrific but their story ideas are juvenile. Sometimes I honestly wonder if some of the kids in that class are intellectually stunted, because it feels like I'm in junior high. Anyway, I ran into Elisabeth, who was heading home after a night of partying. Lucky bitch. Then when I was on line 14 heading to St. Lazare, I saw a married couple who couldn't have been more than 19. They caught my eye because the guy got out his wallet and handed the girl a 5 euro bill. I probably noticed because whenever I see men handing money over to women, it makes my stomach churn. Clearly it isn't only a gesture of dependence, but it feels that way. First I saw his wedding band, then hers. Why.

In other news, I am pretty much in dire need of a haircut. I thought I could put it off until I got back to San Francisco, but my split ends are just nauseating. Anyone know of a good hairdresser in Paris? I'm sure they're all fine, but every time I walk by one and I see pictures of models with angular bombs died cherry red, I flee. Hopefully as long as I print out a picture and make it very clear that "J'ai envie d'une coiffure comme ça," nothing will go too horribly awry. So add that to the list of things I'm in search of: a sublet in Paris, an apartment in San Francisco, an overnight ferry from Ios to Athens on May 25, Ugg Classic Cardy boots in grey, and a good hairdresser in the 5th.