Bye Felisha/2014!

Dear 2014,

You were officially The Year of Tears. A diamond in the rough. Childbirth. Sour Patch. Heartburn after amazing Mexican food.

(Have I lost you yet, reader?)

I see 2014 as starting the moment I left for Durham on September 25th, 2013 until today, December 31st.

The strangest year.
The roughest year.
The saddest year.
The happiest year.

In short, the most bipolar and best of years. Tears of joy, tears of pain, tears of worry, tears of laughter. ALL THE TEARS.

 You tested my mind and made me realise that despite my own insecurities and my lack of knowledge and super-hipster philosophical/existentialist train of thought, I can still manage (with lots of work) to write a dissertation and get an M.A.

You tested my body (and almost broke it--looking forward to hip replacement by 2020).

You tested my heart. I didn't know it was so malleable, so strong in its weakness. You trampled it. You pierced it. But you also made me realise that my withered and tired heart is still capable of that magnificent expansion caused by the soaring of love. Little did I know that I still had it in me. Little did I remember what loving so much was like.

2014, you turned my life up-side-down, inside-out, side-to-side. You changed me more than once, and not necessarily all for the better. I loved you and I hated you-- talking about bipolar, eh?  I don't think I have ever suffered so much and I don't think I have ever been so happy.

You were the year of beauty. Durham. Florence. Paris. The Lake District. Assisi. Lourdes. Breathlessness. Awe. I've never seen so many beautiful places before. My heart had never fallen in love with physical spaces like that.

You were the year of singing. SO. MUCH. SINGING. You filled my life with song. With joy.

You were the year of challenges. Hair loss. Weight gain. Stress. Walking in the dark. Reaching out for the hand of God. Pulling through. Fist-pumping and  "We are the champions, my friends". I did, after all, manage to learn how to cook, how to live without my family, how to move around in an unknown country(ies), to get a masters degree. Basically, became a boss at life.

You were the year of "quickly, pretend to be a local to avoid the gypsies!" The year of "clean the kitchen, you pigs!!!!" Of "I can't do this!" but then doing it.

The year of "Help me, God" and  of "Thank you, God".

I'm not quite sure how I feel about you, 2014. You've been good but you've hurt me a lot--sometimes I think you've hurt me beyond repair. I wish there were things about you that could change, but I don't think I'd go back to change anything I did while you were here. Except one thing: I would love more. I would worry less. I would also eat less.

But hey, you're done. You're dying. I watched you be born and grow and get old and now you're dying and I'm still alive--only by the grace of God. I survived you. I beat you. I already miss you. I love you.

Gotta be honest: I'm not really a fan of your successor. I think 2015 means to break my heart even further. But it's inevitable. It's life, ain't it? I'll always remember you as THE weird year, the eccentric year, the endearing year. Hmm... I think you're a lot like myself.  A crazy person living a crazy year.

And you--yes you, reader: thank you for your love. To me, the fact that you're reading this speaks volumes of your love for me. You have no idea what that means to me. You have no idea the impact you've made in my life and how many times your love has saved me from the dark clouds that gather around my mind and soul. God's definitely waaaaaay too nice to me for having given me you. I hope 2014 was good to you and that 2015 behaves and treats you well. I look forward to being part of your life this upcoming year.

God: only You know why. Thank you. Help my unbelief.



Of course, I couldn't leave you without a video!!!! Here's the best of the best of the best of this 2014:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1YnNLDwxtY&feature=youtu.be

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1YnNLDwxtY&feature=youtu.be

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1YnNLDwxtY&feature=youtu.be

Christmas thoughts

Happy Christmas, all! I hope you have a lovely, blessed, joyful holiday. 

As I prepare for the craziness and excitement that is our Christmas at home, I feel the need to put down in writing those things that a part of my heart is feeling.

I love Christmas. It is my favorite time of the year and I thoroughly enjoy the way we celebrated at home. But I can't help but notice that I woke up this morning with a tinge of nostalgia for what was my home for a year (and all the people that were there with me). I feel homesick for Durham; there's a hole in my soul caused by longing--the longing to see those faces that managed to sneak inside my heart in a span of a few months.

I miss my Durham home and my Durham family. I miss the cold air and the cloudy skies and the laughter and the warmth of tea and radiators and cozy jumpers. I miss all of you my Durham loves. So, so much. It's a bittersweet moment, too, because I've never spent a Christmas away from my immediate family, and I'm grateful to be here. But I just can't help it-- I think I'm destined to have a torn heart. But that's the price I must pay for having lived an amazing year and for being loved.

So, know that you are in my heart. I love you and I miss you. Happy Christmas.

A Christmas gift just for you: Vlog, the last

Hi all! This will be my last vlog for a while, as the new year promises to be exciting and incredibly busy. I hope you enjoy it and, more importantly, I wish you a wonderful and blessed Christmas season! Much love!

http://youtu.be/34KuD5UzpF8

The Vlogging life

Check out that one time some weird guy called me from "The District of Columbia"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fcrDJgsId4E&feature=youtu.be

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fcrDJgsId4E&feature=youtu.be

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fcrDJgsId4E&feature=youtu.be

Vlogging!!

I'm trying this whole video blogging thing-- so.... yep:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LhH4KTLZBJc#t=17

Another video just for you!

Here's part two of your beloved youtube series #Durhamlove with everything that happened in the summer, including lots of cackling (on my behalf), dancing, singing out of tune, and making fun of how bad Brazil got beat by Germany. GO, GO, GO!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65JgOjCqCTo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65JgOjCqCTo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65JgOjCqCTo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65JgOjCqCTo

Lovebugs

Greetings, all!

It's been a while, hasn't it? Ah, well, you know, life back in the States, where, in the words of Sweet Brown, "ain't nobody got time fo that". Who has time to be writing nonsense? This blog doesn't pay the bills, unfortunately. But between avoiding pictures of Kim K's filthy rear and serving burgers to the people of Conroe, I mostly just use my free time to stress eat, obsess about the uncertain future, and watch Youtube videos.

Should you feel lucky, then, that I am spending my Friday night writing you instead of partying like there's no tomorrow? Yes, you should.

Why is this post called "Lovebugs", you ask? You might not be familiar with these lee-tle creatures, but let me tell you, they are not as loving as they sound. They are, in fact, the spawn of Satan, evil incarnate themselves. They are the fornicators of the insect world. They emerge in Texas by the millions in September and October and you can always find them multi-tasking (one of the tasks being procreation) on your car, your plants, your trees, your house, yourself. They spread their sticky love all over the place, ruining the lives of thousands of humans who have no garage to hide their cars.


Explicit image:

Gross

This is what I returned to. But why talk about lovebugs, you ask? Today I would like to address a part of my life that none of you ever ask me about, but I'm going to tell you anyway: my (nonexistent) love life. How does this connect to lovebugs? Don't be disturbed. I am not comparing myself to these bugs---errrr... hell no. But my prospects all seem to be very similar to lovebugs: they are yucky, icky, possibly sticky, and inconveniently disturb my life.

My first (and last) romantic experience in Durham was the night after I turned in my dissertation. Having been freed of the shackles of academic slavery, I decided to head to a party at Ustinov with a couple friends (who are, of course, dating #thethirdwheellife4eva ). I was breaking it down on the dance floor with moves like the sprinkler, when I noticed a guy dancing... in a rather unusual way... by himself. This guy was flapping his arms, rocking himself, and mumbling to himself as he stared blankly in front of him, so I naturally had to make fun of him. It was great, until he decided to head our way and made eye contact with me.

I love to dance like a fool, so I played along. He would try to get closer, and I would take a few step back. Suddenly, he turned around and attempted to twerk... yes... on me.

I backed off, but he kept coming closer, with his sad, bony behind. Then he would drop low and come back up, in the style of the beloved nail salon lady from Legally Blonde :

He was also slightly taller than me, which meant his butt sucker-punched me on the stomach at some point, leaving me breathless. Meanwhile, my friends were having the time of their lives watching me be abused by this very high individual. Things were getting a bit out of hand... so I decided to walk away discreetly while he twerked away.

We found some sofas to sit, and while Irene and I laughed about the incident, Andrew went to the vending machines to get some chips. Let's just say he took waaaaaaaaaay too long. The substance-abuser found me again. He saw me from far, far away and started walking my way. When he got to us, he demanded that I danced with him, which I refused. Seeing no other alternative, he proceeded to sit on top of poor, tiny Irene, covering her entirely.

"What are you doing?! Get up, get up, she's tiny! GET UP!"
"He he he he"
"GET OFF HER, MAN!!!!!"

He got up. Then sat on me. At least I am big enough for him to sit on my lap and not asphyxiate me. Irene was getting a kick out of it too, so I humored him and reached down for my phone to tell Irene to take a photo of the ridiculousness.

It all happened so quickly.

As I looked down to my left to find my phone in my purse, I had a sudden sensation of something moist (gosh, I hate that word) and sloppy on my right cheek. It took me a fraction of a second to realise that I was being licked in a dog-like fashion by this delusional man, who probably was aiming to french me but missed when I turned my head to look for my phone.

The rest is all a blur, but Irene says I punched him in the face. I wouldn't say punch, because my hand wasn't close up in a fist. I think it was more like shoving his face away from me with my freakish strength.

Like this:

Combined with this:

Irene was dying with laughter. This guy was also laughing. I was in a state of Code Red/"WTF just happened?!" I told him to go away. He did, only to come back later, when I gesticulated with my fists closed and ready. He finally went away a third time, never to come back.

So when my grandchildren (grandnieces and nephews, more than likely) ask me about my love life in Durham, this is the story they'll hear because that's basically the closest I got to fulfilling the dreams of dozens of people back home (my mum and aunts included) of finding Prince Charming in England.

I'm guessing you can see now the relationship between the lovebugs and such men. These types of people, like lovebugs, are EVERYWHERE.

In France, random men would stop me in the street to try to talk to me. This is not okay when a man is eyeing you up and down and willfully trying to make you feel uncomfortable. Ever since I returned to Texas, I've had to endure staring, insinuations, and incredibly awkward conversation from pushy men.

Sample one:

"All right, sir, you've got a burger and fries. Anything else for you?"
"Well, I'd like to have you, if I could."
"Umm, no." *nervous chuckle*
"Ah well, it was worth a try. You're a very pretty girl."

Well, there's a less sexually harassing way to give a compliment. Did I mention the man who told me this is probably my grandfather's age?

Sample two, conversation with my female coworker:

"Hey, my friend is saying his friend likes you and wants your phone number. Can I give it to him?"
"What?"
"Can I give my friend's friend your number?"
"Um... the guy who was just in here?"
"Yes."
"Um... no."

First of all, this guy couldn't be bothered to talk ONE word to me. Why do you want my phone number if you don't even know what my voice sounds like OR WHAT MY NAME IS? What name are you going to give me in your contacts... ho #23? Secondly, if you want my number, why not just ask for it instead of sending your friend to ask my friend for it? Is that too much damn work? Gosh, what in the actual hell is wrong with men?

Hey, assholes of the world: I CAN SEE HOW YOU ARE LOOKING AT ME, I AM NOT BLIND! I'm sure you wouldn't like it if someone talked to your daughter/sister/mum like that, eh? WELL THEN DON'T DO IT. And if you see a girl you'd be interested in, make an effort to talk to her, for Pete's sake.

I can't help but ranting. You know what's the worst of this all? The fact that men are this way because WE, WOMEN, have let them off the hook easily. We let them get away with this crap. We let them treat us like pieces of meat (see Kim Kardashian's ass all over the internet--or don't see it... please don't... that image will burn in the back of your head. You will be scarred for life), we don't demand to be wooed, we don't respect ourselves and therefore they don't respect us. They feel entitled to get what they want without working for it. For this being an age of "empowerment" for women, we seem to be in a really messed up situation. How in the world are we getting more respect??????????? The reason why women like me have to deal with these men is because some women have made it too easy for these men to get whatever they want and on their own terms. But that's just not going to cut it, dudes.

Okay, now that I've blown some steam, let me tell you of ONE encounter with a man that was not a as bad.

 A couple of days after I returned to the US, my friend Iris and I went to our (crappy) local beach, just to lie on the sand like a couple of stranded dolphins on shore. Two men walked by us, but we paid little attention. When these two men were walking back (about an hour or so later), they stopped by to chat. Just like that. Nothing creepy, just good ole "oh, you guys seem to be having a great time relaxing, do you come here often?"


Granted, the one trying to talk to Iris was rather pushy, but this time I got the polite, charming one. They stayed for around 30 minutes. Wow, thirty minutes?! What could you possibly have said in thirty minutes?

I convinced my suitor that I was a secret agent. I am actually serious.

It all started when I asked where he was from and he said Kenya. I asked if he was from a village or a big city, and he replied the latter. So I said "Nairobi?" He was astonished. For someone in America to know not only that  Africa is not a country but that Nairobi is the capital of Kenya, something must be up.

"How do you know this?"
"I know Geography well enough".
"But no one knows Africa. Unless you've been there? Ah! Are you a secret agent?"

He was joking, of course. But I wasn't.

"Well, if I were, I can't really tell you, can I?"

He became pale. His grin disappeared into a face of disbelief and fear. This was the perfect way for me to disguise my identity and not reveal much of myself to a man who I had just met and was clearly trying to hit on me. I didn't have to talk about my mysterious job (a.k.a. unemployment) and my intriguing life (being home doing nothing). And when he asked for my phone number, I could excuse myself by saying that I didn't have a number because I had just returned from Europe.

"OH, FROM EUROPE? HOW LONG WHERE YOU THERE?"
"About a year".
"ON A MISSION?!!?!?!!?!?"

"Well, here, take my name and phone number. Call me when you have a working phone. I would love to take you out to dinner."
"Okay, well, I'm going to run a background check first, just to be sure. Then I'll call you if everything comes out okay."

Guy gets super pale again.

"Oh, I'm clean, I swear. Just a couple traffic violations, but nothing major! I haven't done anything!!"
"Well, good. We'll see."



Mad props to the guy for being brave about his traffic violations (and for properly asking me out). It's not that hard, chaps! Try it sometime. It sure must be a lot more fulfilling to your male egos than when a woman makes it too easy for you to get her.

Anyway, rant over!

THE PREMIER OF THE NEW VIDEO!!!

As expected, there wouldn't be a Eurotrip without a video documenting my adventures, so here you have it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1oY-gRcsFds

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1oY-gRcsFds

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1oY-gRcsFds


(It's all the same video... but some people have a hard time seeing a link in here, or so I hear)

Granted, not as many clips as I would have liked, but it's hard being my own cameraman without feeling pretentious and narcissistic. Enjoy!

Lourdes and Other Concerns

Hi there.

WARNING: the following will be an uber-Catholic post. Deal with it, yo!

I left Paris at 11 p.m. on a Friday night to take an 8 hour train ride to Lourdes, France. I got to sit next to "Gary" (who turned out to be Greg, after all), a Hungarian dude with hair down to the hip and cool tattoos and piercings who was on his way to El Camino de Santiago. Greg and I talked for a while until I fell asleep, waking up every 30 minutes to make sure I wouldn't miss Lourdes (the train was going further than just Lourdes). 

I arrived in Lourdes before dawn, which meant I had to wait around the train station for about an hour and a half for the sun to rise--mind you, I had no GPS and a very crappy map, so I didn't even know how to find my hotel or if I could check in so early. Once the sun came up, I started exploring the small town that is Lourdes. At first, you are taken aback by the beautiful mountains-- ah, a glimpse of the Pyrenees. Then, you make your way into town and get to see the castle on top of the hill.

After wandering around with a map in a town where street names don't seem to be relevant, I found my hostel and checked in. My room: purple explosion! Just like the Pink Room in Rome, but this time terrifyingly violet/lilac/purple. I set out at around 8:30 a.m. to get to the sanctuary to attend mass--

Parenthesis: In case you are wondering why on earth did I choose to go to Lourdes, allow me to Catholic-geek on you. Lourdes is the most visited pilgrimage site for Catholics in the world. It is the place where the Virgin Mary appeared to a peasant girl named Bernadette Soubirous in the 19th century. Our Lady told Bernadette that a church needed to be built at the site of the apparition, in a grotto on the outskirts of the town. 

Anyway, I didn't make it to mass at 9 a.m. because I got lost in the tiny town and couldn't find the sanctuary (really, the multitude walking toward the same direction didn't give me a clue at all). So I got REALLY angry... probably because I was super hungry and tired. I didn't even want to go to mass anymore. I just wanted to find the place so I could shake my fist to the wind!

So after what felt like a million years. I found it. And you know what happened?

The two-day Tear Fest began. OVER-FREAKING-WHELMING. I mean, the moment I walked across the gates of the sanctuary it was like being overcome by all the feels--ALL THE CATHOLIC FEELS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I suppose we can break it down as follows:

1) Guilt: GOD, I JUST GOT MAD ABOUT THE STUPIDEST THING ON EARTH WHILE BEING ON THIS AMAZING TRIP AND IN THIS AMAZING PLACE WHERE OUR LADY APPEARED!!!!!!!!!

2) Gratefulness: OH MY JESUS, YOU ARE SO AMAZING, I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M HERE, THIS IS A DREAM COME TRUE!!!

3) Guilt: I AM HERE, I DON'T DESERVE THIS! SO MANY PEOPLE SUFFER HORRIBLY IN THE WORLD AND YET HERE I AM, IN LOURDES.

4) Overwhelming love: YOU ARE SO GOOD TO ME, GOD, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, YOU ARE THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME!!!

5) Guilt: AND YET I GET SO ANGRY ABOUT SILLY THINGS AND I'M NOT WHO I'M SUPPOSED TO BE AND I DON'T ACT LIKE I SHOULD ACT AND I AM JUST THE WORST!!!!

6) Hope: BUT YOU DIED FOR ME ON THE CROSS AND LOVE ME ANYWAY AND WANT ME TO BE HAPPY AND WANT TO STAY WITH ME FOREVER

7) Guilt: AND I AM ALWAYS SINNING AND BEING AWFUL AND I DON'T DESERVE YOUR LOVE AND WHY AM I EVEN HERE? WHY DO YOU EVEN GIVE ME NICE THINGS? WHO AM I? NO ONE--NO ONE!!!

8) Peace: *BREATHES IN SLOWLY* BUT YOU LOVE ME. AND YOU ARE GOOD TO ME. AND YOU ARE ALWAYS WITH ME. AND I LOVE YOU. YOU AND I, ALWAYS. 

9) Joy: ALL THE ALLELUIAS AND PRAISES TO GOD!!!!!! LIFE IS AMAZING!!!!!!

10) MAMA MARY, YOU ARE HERE TOO, I CAN FEEL YOUR PRESENCE--IT'S SO POWERFUL. YOU ARE MY MOMMY AND YOU LOVE ME AND YOU ARE ALWAYS LOOKING AFTER ME AND TAKING CARE OF ME AND I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!! AND I'M SO LUCKY TO BE CATHOLICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Repeat steps 1-10 several times in a day. That was my Lourdes emotional roller coaster: beautiful, dramatic, unsettling, peaceful, dramatic, joyful, dramatic... DRAMATIC. I think I finally understand what 'Catholic Guilt' is. But yes, Eucharistic tears, rosary tears, procession tears, reconciliation tears, walking tears, eating and crying because you start thinking about the whole day, tears before bed, tears, tears, tears. 

Plus, I don't think I've ever prayed so much (willingly) in 24 hours. It was wonderful. Add to that the fact that everything around you is utterly beautiful and you have the perfect place for prayer and reflection.

Mama

Like a Disney Castle... for the Catholic princess

the grotto where Our Lady appeared

KING

It's been a bit over a month since my trip to Lourdes and I reflect on it all as I sit here in the darkness of the night on the 30th of October. The memories of Lourdes combine with the memories of the 30th of October of last year to put me in a strange mood. Exactly one year ago, I received a text message sometime in the middle of the night that told me my grandmother had died after battling what basically was hospital negligence for two months. 

One of the things that contributed to the Tear Fest in Lourdes was the constant presence of my grandma on my mind during the trip-- partly because she LOVED Mama Mary and partly because I could feel her being so so happy that I was in Lourdes. I can't even attempt to glamorize my grandma's death: the truth is that it was a terrible, slow, excruciating passion. I witnessed it-- the images still haunt my mind and the memory of it stabs my heart as brutally as if it had just happened today. 

I went to mass today thinking that I would be there to support my mum, but I quickly realized that the wound is still so fresh and exposed that I would be the one needing consolation. During the consecration, when images of the passion and death of Christ passed my mind as His body and blood were "given up for you for the forgiveness of sins", I could see those terrible images of my grandmother in the hospital paired up with the last moments of Jesus. 

"And a sword will pierce your heart." LUKE 2: 35

I think it's the way she died that really haunts me, because I know that she is now happy in heaven. But the death... was it really necessary? I don't think I will ever understand. But what I do know is that Mary's heart was pierced just like mine, and that she still managed to accept the will of God and to love. Mary accompanies me in my ache and my hurt, she stands by me at all times and lovingly tells me that she understands my pain and that she will be with me always. I know she was with her all throughout the illness just as she was with Jesus all throughout the Passion. Mary, suffering Mary, weeping Mary, loving Mary, steadfast Mary. Always. Unwavering love, unwavering faith, unwavering submission to the will of God. 

I don't know when true acceptance will come. But it is a relief to know myself loved, taken care of, and accompanied by the Mother of God. Abuelita, missing you doesn't seem to cease with time. I love you forever. You are always with me. 

 Par Marie à Jésus

French Kiss (NOT): Forever alone-ing in the city of Love (Real Life Eponine Chronicles)

BONJOUR! 

Oui, c'est moi, le Geordie mexicaine... en utilisant Google translate! #lifeskillz

It was only after being in France that I realized how lame I have been my entire life for refusing to learn "that stupid language"-- in my defense, I didn't think I would ever, ever need it! Who would have thought that I would ever roam the streets of Paris with only a few bucks in my pockets and guard my bag from the gypsies and pickpockets?! Dreams come true, after all.

Shall I tell you all about it?

1. I arrived in Paris north station after a couple hours in a Belgian train. Sure, I had been to Brussels and other cities, but nothing had prepared me for Paris: people, people, and more people!

I went to the Tourist Info kiosk and asked for a free map of the city. The nice tourist helper was not happy about this. He was not nice.

those skinny bastards...

What did I do, you ask? I ran to the nearest McDonald's. Ah, yes, the solace of an American institution. This is American territory, this is like the embassy, right? Well, I hate McDee's food, so I just sat there, using their internet. I saw all kinds of people, including a cool bro with a surfing board. But then the employees started eyeing me suspiciously, so I actually had to buy food. Meh. It's better in France than in the States, ya'll, but it ain't Burger Boy.

2. After a while, I took my heavy things and embarked in my first day adventure. Yes, because of my....shall we say, accommodation arrangements, I had to carry my stuff around with me all day until 7pm that day, when I was to meet my friend Clement. This meant I looked like a backpacker, or a gypsy, or a homeless person, however you want to look at it. Moreover, Paris was HOT... and we all know what happens to me when it's hot...

Streams and streams, endless.... gosh, it was awful. But hey, you know what? I walked around for 6 hours, 15 miles that day, and with my map I saw a good chunk of the city.

the Bastille

 I took a lot more photos but I'm just giving you the best of the best. I wandered around until I could no longer find any landmarks, which was indication enough that I was nearing the outskirts of central Paris. After almost being ran over by a bunch of cars when one of my bags broke and fell as I was crossing the street, I decided it was best to use the metro to go up to the north side of the city. The nice (not) metro man with broken English helped me figure out how to purchase a metro ticket (and by that I mean I spent 10 minutes looking at the self-service machine until I figured out on my own).

Anyway, I culminated my walk that day with the most beautiful sight in Paris:

It absolutely takes your breath away. It is the most magnificent thing, and its standing at the top of a very high hill just gives it an even bigger wow factor. Did I almost faint going up those stairs? Sure! I clutched my crucifix with whatever strength was left in me and I made my way up those steps. And I got in just in time for mass here, at Sacre Coeur, where they have perpetual exposition of the blessed sacrament.

After that I waited for Clement outside the church... and was harassed by several ambulant vendors and disgusted by the fact that beer is sold right on the steps leading up to the basilica. UNBELIEVABLE.

Anyway, we went to Clem's hipster apartment and he made me dinner and it was like a little piece of heaven. Then I basically fell in a comma of exhaustion.

3. AH, IT'S A NEW DAY--and I was feeling like I was ran over by an 18-wheeler. I set off much later than I would have liked, but honestly I was lucky enough to be able to move after the killer previous day.

THIS WAS THE DAY OF THE LOUVRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You guys, it's so massive. It's like the Mall of America of museums. DANG. I'd like to tell you that I saw the whole thing, but I can't lie to you--my time limit in a museum is 3 hours. After that, I stop being able to tell between a Botticelli and a Picasso.

that's the best photo one can aspire to when asking people who don't give a crap about one's photos to snap one.

It was amazeballs, even though I was already tired because I had been walking for 3 or 4 hours before I got there. And I know you are all wondering one thing---did I see it? Here:

4. What the ACTUAL f*ck? Mona Lisa has got to be the most overrated thing in the world. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHAT IS THAT? I WANT MY MONEY BACKKKKKKKKK!!! CRAP, CRAP, CRAPPEDY CRAP!

Yes, there will be a rant.

First, don't get me started about the size.

another brilliantly taken photo by a douchebag American who thought his "I'm going to beat that bald guy" joke was funny.... DOUCHE.

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL WORLD? Why is a tiny ass painting like that so popular? There are paintings in the Louvre that are as high as a two-level house. What's so special about this tiny portrait? I guess size wouldn't really matter if IT WAS ACTUALLY GOOD. Are you kidding me? 

AAAAAAAAAAAHAERKLJAGJKLAERGNERKLAERARGAGAERGAE. I look at that woman and I want to gently slap her out of her idiotic facial expression. Leonardo painted a handful of things better than this. Why, WHY, WHYYYYY? I don't get humanity's fascination. Any photoshopped version of La Gioconda is better than the original. Don't believe me?

English Mona Lisa

Mooooooooooona Lisa

Mona Fierce

La Legonda

Duck-face Mon' Liz

Biker Lisa

La Jackonda

But yes, I saw it. It totally sucks. Everything else was great, though!

After that, I walked through the gardens and then through Champs Elysee, taking in all the Parisian gorgeousness and feeling mind-blown at the fact that I was in Paris. Did I mention I saw the French president? Yeah, that happened. He was having a ceremony with some soldiers and other important looking people here:

I finished the evening with dinner with friends. I ate crepes, my new food spouse. Crepes for starters, crepes for entrees, crepes for dessert. A LIFE OF CREPES. I could do it, you know... I could eat crepes for the rest of my life. They are beautifully thin and stuffed with goodness. 

I could cry of happiness just looking at these pictures. Bacon, whipped cream, ice cream--oh, the loves of my life! 

After dinner, we wandered around Sacre Coeur again and looked at the Eiffel Tower from far away as it lighted up at midnight. 

look at this beauty

A good second day, and I equally died that night for 8 hours out of pure tiredness. 

5. OH GLORIOUS THIRD DAY!

I saved the best for last-- Eiffel, Notre Dame, and everything in between!

Sacre Coeur from the Tower

The Louvre from the Tower

Seine bank

It was here that a gypsy tried to take money from me by pretending to be fund-raising for a nameless non-profit organization that helps children in Africa. I think she might have put a curse on me, because she kissed her hand and rubbed it on my shoulder when I told her I was Mexican--don't look at me like that... I had to...

Gypsy sister of charity: do you speak English?
Me: No. Español.
UN Gypsy: OOOH, YO HABLO ESPAÑOL.
Me [inwardly]: dammit.
St. Gypsy of the African Children [in Spanish]: we are collecting signatures to help the children of Africa, would you sign?

SHE SAID SIGN, NOT DONATE? HOW WAS I SUPPOSE TO KNOW?

Me: Sure!
Esmeralda: eres de Mexico?
Me: Si...

[Does the whole creepy kiss thing, calls me beautiful... I thought it was a sign for some kind of sexual slavery ring to snatch me]

Then our selfless lady proceeds to ask for funds... to which I said "I got no money..."

Without saying a word, she walked away....

ANYWAY, PHOTOS:

Palace of Luxembourg 

Notre Dame

I finished this day with mass at Notre Dame. Wow, wow, wow. One of the most memorable days in my life. Oh, Paris, you are a magical, you are a dream.

Three days, 45 miles, dozens of sights seen. A map falling a part to prove it:

That night, I went to eat at a legit American dinner and then headed to the station for my overnight train to Lourdes! More to come!

C