Warning: the following blog entry contains serious amounts of sentimental overture. Those expecting irony and bloodless rants, please avoid.
Yesterday, under pretense of trying on possible wedding outfits, conned Queenie into coming over to my place, drinking tea, and trying out different recipes for girolles, even though I could feel the inevitable back of throat burning that precedes serious cold. Had scored really gorgeous slice of gorgonzola marscarpone at the market, and between scarfing that down with grapes, munching on fungus, and talking about art, writing and boys, suddenly realized that Queenie must join my select circle of girlfriends.
Queenie is the good friend of the Scoobs. She’s a very fine lady who has a distinctive prediliction for wearing tight-leg-above-knee-capris, with high heels, coupled with body hugging sweaters and blousy windbreakers. It’s an adventurous and singular style, and being no stranger to sartorial experiments, I tip my hat off to the Queenie. Yesterday she even had crazy bronze coloured sorceress shoes. The thing that ties it together is her hairstyle, which is just a cute very neat boyish bob. It’s the strong restrained touch that sets the rest of her in sharp relief.
She also has the same annoying habit of being hungry every 2-3 hours, needing to pee every couple of minutes (wasted at bar last night, we bonded in peeing desperation and shared a cubicle) and wields a mighty pen. That’s right…Queenie’s a damn fine writer.
Her only wonky bit was last week’s mono-diet phase. Queenie ate only grapes, no alcohol, no ciggies, no cheesies, for a whole week in some maniacal attempt to detox. She described crazy moments of being in stupid bad art openings with everyone drunk and messy, and having to endure the massive buffet table that somehow managed to not have grapes. That’s a fucking nightmare…I mean, most Parisian art openings don’t have food, so when you stumble on a fucking buffet, it’s battlestations GO.
Anyways, after spendid day of libraries and snacking, had wonderful night with the girls, Scoobs and Queenie, where we scammed some free champagne and scotch from the Villete Digital Festival opening, and knocked back some patissons and curry chicken bits (delic ! !). I think the bartender thought I was an alcoholic because the second round of scotch he poured me was a triple, tipped with a miniscule shard of ice. Thanks man ! !
Then ran off to nearest bar near the canal, and giggled like fools. During a bathroom break, I tapped out a drunken SMS to someone I shouldn’t have, but, to be honest, was drunk, carefree and happy…and I don’t have time for sadness anymore. Scoubs and I eventually went back to my place to eat more food, and finally we make our midnight descent to the Cherie Bar. Had some late night beers while discussing boys. We ended the night well, with three cheers and stumbled into the now crisp autumn air. We were real filles last night.
Today I’m sick as a dog with the flu.
Which bring me to this final point : after a week of slightly painful party withdrawal, suffering over self-respect damaging antics, getting annoyed over boy situations, and several other forms of meaningless self-punishment, have come to conclusion that in some weird way, am coming to the place where I should be : good friends, both boys and girls, are starting to come my way, people who understand the unpredictable and willful nutcase I really am, and who might be in my life for awhile…these are all very good things, the things I need to live. And it’s a fucking miracle I find people to put up with my monomania.
Because, shit, even if boyfriends/lovers are temperamental, and can leave you shivering in the cold at night, your girlfriends will always be there to laugh it off with you. So, for all my other girlfriends, out there in the world, the Slovakian Princess, the Keerbergen, the Barrett, Precious Cashew and my little Slavka, thanks a bunch gals. You rock my world.