|I'm not drunk. IT'S A LIE.
Mad Scientess Jane Expat
Happy Thanksgiving! Otherwise known as the day of "Here are some beads, now give us your fucking country or we'll give you smallpox, oops we did that anyway HAHA," except that was too long so it's just Thanksgiving.|
I just got back from an awesome meal at a French restaurant during the course of which I got to watch a Swedish guy with prettier hair than Cindy Crawford order creme brulee with a lager. CLASS!
Summary of this week.
Plusgood: Arrival of our remaining belongings, including the very important bookshelves, from America
Ungood: Movers showing up two hours late, just as Marco's half-day off work was expiring
Plusgood: Seeing TOM WAITS that very same night.
Ungood: Security guards at Tom Waits show with big hard-ons for shining flashlights at people suspected of taking photographs with their dinky little camera phones.
Plusgood: Tom Waits: "Yeah, it's been 17 years [since he came to London]. How you doing? You look good. You know, there are three ages of man: youth, middle age, and you look good."
Ungood: The German guy next to me who sat like a stone through the entire concert. Hello, Hamburg, in serious need of an ass-pole extraction.
Plusgood: Our seats. Front row of the upper circle, totally unobstructed view of gnomish Tom Waits posturing, furtive sips from flasks of brandy not problematic.
Doubleplusgood: I HAVE SEEN TOM WAITS.
HI INTERNET! How you doing? You look good.