I'm bringing blogging back

Lessons learned this summer:
1. I am awesome.
2. Russians are inhospitable but their cops are smarmily sexy.
3. My teeth are so white that Europeans find it distracting.
4. Mallory Bey can speak French?
5. Hitchhiking is cost-effective, fun and stupid.
6. Serbian drugs take five hours to kick in.
7. Don't get into cars with Mystics.
8. I like Dubstep. A lot.
9. I like medical students. Aspiring dentists are even sexier than Russian Militsia.
10. I am awesome.

Is it wrong that I'm crushing on younger men?

In my latest little boy misadventures on the internet, I've unearthed two adorable pre-pubescent gems that warm my heart and send pangs of lust through my ovaries.
I'm known to obsess over Bostonians every now and again, so allow me to introduce you to Bo. He is one sweet sixteen of a boy, I tell ya:

My other sexy little heartthrob is Chris Crocker, a little 20-year old from my girl Dolly's Tennessee mountain home. Sometimes I just want to rip my clothes off right in the middle of one of his public service announcements...

Naked and Paris-bound

My dearest fairweather friends,
I am leaving this god forsaken continent for a new one that will drain my bank account even more quickly. Thrilled, I am, I am, Sam I am!
I've been in this suburb-of-Toronto town for a week now, visiting my flawless Maman. As much as I love her and her pathetically stocked refrigerator, I am going stir crazy here.

For example, all I do all day is walk aimlessly throughout the alternately carpeted and hard-wooded floors of this town home. However, I do this completely naked, save for my gold necklace whose clasp is broken. In fact, at this very blogging moment I am in the buff. I also did this in my former apartment, but my sparkly moisturizer (that my cousins gave me for Christmas, God bless their diva souls) would get all over the vinyl chairs. See, I don't necessarily covet glittery moisturizer, but I'm not about to toss a brand new bottle of it in to the trash. Mal, my beloved roommate, thought otherwise. Out of respect for my shimmer-hating former life partner, I had to start wearing a robe.

Nautical family ties

Hey, look! It's the Delta Shine! Kaptain Kim and his crew are a fine bunch, they are, they are!

Oh, no! It looks as though there is a problem with the watercraft! The filter on the hull is covered in barnacles. What shall we do?

Kaptain Kim digs into his trunk of oceanic appliances and fishes out a snorkeling mask. He jumps into the murky marina water with a mission to kick some serious barnacle ass.

In the water, Kimmer grows a little frustrated.

"My ears are really sensitive to the salt water," he moans.

followed by, "I can't see anything down here"

"I can't hold myself under water. I need a belt with some weights on it."

"This salt water makes me gag."

With all of this racket coming from Komplaining Kim, Judicious Jacq is unable to read about Sweden's latest denim trends in Nylon. She rises from her tanning chair and goes to see what she can do to keep him from bitching like a divorcée.

Kitschy Karry is helping! She has rummaged through the trunk of oceanic appliances to recover a flashlight! She puts it into a ziplock bag, and throws it to Kaptain Kimmer.









Judicious Jacq goes inside the cabin, only to emerge in moments' time with a plastic cup of cheap tequila.

"Here you go, there, Kimmer," she hollers, "this should make things a little easier and a little less stressful for ya."

Judicious Jacq, what a kindred spirit, always throws alcohol at problems when she sees no solution.

Kitschy Karry scolds Judicious Jacq, "That isn't going to help," to which the Swede enthusiast replies, "It'll calm him down. I don't feel like putting up with a Kim-sized fit this early in the morning."

Stressed and salted like a good piece of Nordic cod, Kaptain Kim politely declines the tequila offer and goes on failing at his task.

Kitschy Karry stands by for moral support.

Judicious Jacq makes herself a cocktail, sits on a vinyl-covered seat and feels famously better than her Kaptain and krew as the ice cubes reach her lips and the margaritas flow like her Aunt Flo.

I think I'm a masochist

I've been sitting for 30 hours. Or more. I sit, I write, I stumble, I blog, I write of High Stalinism...

In the library, my choice spot to study is in front of the travel books. I sit, I type, and I stare at the plethora of Lonely Planets, knowing that I will not leave this library, never mind city, for at least another 30 hours.

Why do I torture myself so?

Sexually aggressive and completely untrustworthy

My dear friend Nik has shed some light on how I might go about summarizing my personality to potential suitors. I've been floundering around this soggy city for quite some time trying to figure out who I am. Luckily, I have Nik.

NIK: "So I'm going out with this girl tonight,"
JACQ: "Oh yeah, what's she like?"
NIK: "She's kind of like you, actually."
JACQ: "Really? What do you mean."
NIK: "Well, she's sexually aggressive and completely untrustworthy."

Oh. That sounds about right.

Nik, you are my Oracle.

Sometimes, I just can't help myself

Sometimes I forget that I am not at work.
Sometimes, flirting with older men is deemed 'unacceptable.'

Yesterday, I exchanged words with a friendly, red-scarved and starry-eyed man at the campus snack bar. The climactic portion of the spectacle went something like this:

NEW YORK TIMES READER: So are you a visiting student or a visiting charmer?
JACQ: Both.

New York Times Reader, who reveals himself to be a professor of economics at the university, starts for the nearest exit and goes for a long cigarette.

Mid-day carafes of wine are of what college dreams are made.