I've been gleefully looking back at my posts from the past few months and noticed how sporratic they have been.  Dear LiveJournal, I have not fell out of love with you, I've just been busy and such like.

I guess I better blog about something or I can't call myself a Blogger any more.  And quite frankly, my shallow ego couldn't take that kind of brusing.

What's been up in my life as an old hat Parisien type?  Well so much of course, this is Paris after all!  For those of you that can see it, I made a post not too long ago about somethings that have been occuring, they hadn't been getting any better either.  Somewhat filled with anxiety and according to the paperwork stress visable.

Obviously I need to find a way out of this situation and of course this is where my borderline annoying LiveJournalling comes back in to fashion, much like a sleezy T Shirt you don't have the mental ability to set fire to (even though by fashion standards, you probably should).  So fuck you Jean-Paul Gautier, I'm wearing this mother fucker in the daylight.

I will write something on the downlow at some point, as I should probably capture this time in the blog that followed me grow up from back in the 2000s; as to be able to look on it fondly, like a smell in a elevator, perhaps of the fart variety.

But with the negatives come positives, as the universe is so well at dishing salty water upon a wound as it buys you a round of cocktails in some upscale hotel.  And the biggest positive of them all, happens to be feelings of the pleasant variety.

I met somebody, in a bar no less, we had a chat and exchanged numbers as is the custom in western society now days.  But where this lead I almost half expected.  We volleyed text messages for a couple hours and I received a message with an invite chez lui.  We performed the ritual of conversation by way of lip based contact, things happened of course, as nature will attest to.

But during this time we talked, spent all night together, did some more nature based things and conversed until the point that could not be stopped.  Namely the Eurostar timetable.  He had to go back to Londres.

But we seemed to have left a mark on eachother, as we're pretty much talking daily now, through the magical method of text based communications.  With these things you can never fully tell, but I'm beginning to believe perhaps some kind of emotional connection is occuring.  Yes my readers from long and a far, it appears I may have these 'feels' your cat memes express so eloquently.

Only time can really tell if this is what it is, but he's back in Paris in September and arranged a hotel of the elegant variety as to spent quite literally all day and night in.  I'm not going to lie when I say this place better have room service, but if I can't get an overpriced sandwich in my underwear, I will be absolutely livid.  #middleclassproblems

I may or may not be reading in to this correctly, but this isn't the kind of thing you sort out for some two bit booty call.  And god knows I'm of that variety.  And you know what, if it is as it seems, it gives me that kind of fuzzy feeling you get when you hit your toe on a table in the dark, then proceed to smash that table around because, GOD DAMN IT WHY ARE YOU BEING A DICK INANIMATE OBJECT?!?!?

This is how life rolls you see good and bad feels at once, my stress level is not that sure how much life shortening stress hormone it should be pumping me full of.  And you know what, at the moment I'm pretty cool with that.

Listening to:

Vibe: okay

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