Thank God for Macs

Or I’d be paying 10 Euro cents a minute on a crappy machine to type this out. But thankfully, Kaitlyn’s mac is getting internet from somewhere.

Hostel is great. It’s wonderful, basically a hotel with rules. Who knew there could be such nice places?

I saw the Arc de Triomphe last night. I sprinted across town to watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle. I went to Notre Dame and onto the Left Bank. Walked the Champs-Elysees.

I’m off to breakfast in a few minutes and then Mass at Notre Dame. It will be great, I’m sure. Then we’re going to try and find our way to the Lourve. It’s wonderful riding the Underground again. The wind howling through the tunnels, being jostled by the waiting passengers, watching people be pickpocketd, it reminds me of London. And then there’s all the smoking, the homeless, the painting, the dancing, the kissing and everything else that is entirely Parisian.

I don’t have anything else to say. We’ve had some ridiculous-ness going on in the group. This is why I’m bored with France, mum. I am tired of some people. I’m kind of tired of college students. But the Eiffel Tower makes it worth it.

I wish that Caitlin was here though.

Tonight is a party and I’ve nothing to wear. Which is funny, because it’s normal. It’s lame because of the girls I’m with who are going crazy with their hair and makeup. But it will be all around good tonight.

This trip has changed a lot of first impressions. I told Taylor last night that I thought he was an arrogant little bas—d when I first met him. He said he thought the same of me except I wasn’t “little” I was “older.” And last night, we had the time of our lives running to the Eiffel tower, jumping out on the wrong side of the metro, me and Jesse taking headcounts like a mom and the military man we both want to be (separately of course). I used to think Jesse was a punk. Which he is. But a nice one all the same.

And now I need to run to breakfast down in the courtyard before we run over to the island for Gregorian Chants and Mass.


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