As so many of you may well know, there is a lot to be said about Yelp reviews. The best thing to say about them, of course, is how useless they are; however, from time to time, they are poetic. I took a recent post and snipped it apart and sewed it back together. Please, enjoy this poem, unlike someone's sandwich.
Until I was about eight, I thought my grandpa was a Spaniard. This may have had something to do with him looking a lot like Antonio Banderas in Zorro, but probably had more to do with the fact that I couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said. And like most kids who grow up in Florida, the only other language you are even a little bit aware of was Spanish. Meaning: that when he talked and I couldn’t understand him, I thought he was speaking Spanish.
1. Make a list of all of the things you want to accomplish during the COVID-19 quarantine. 2. Get immediately stressed out by the list. 3. Throw the list away.
Since the rousing success of Fonduesdays in December, many of us here in the Bond House have agreed to be a part of other challenges and month-long themes. While Vegan February was left up to the likes of Lark and Brennan (though the rest of us did gladly eat whatever they made), we have found other ways to engage in communal activities. March, for instance, was a speed-reading month, a skill that I was forced to learn in college and was willing to exercise in solidarity. I'll let you the secret to learning this invaluable ability: read things you truly do not care about. This month's fodder? Romance novels.
We will begin by saying that I don't want to go to Paris. It's for a lot of reasons, both practical and anxiety-related. Why am I afraid? Ultimately, I don't want to go alone. I don't want to be without distraction from my thoughts. I don't want to be my only source of satisfaction. But, in order for me to grow both as a person and as an independent woman in this day and age, I can't be afraid to leave my comfort zone. The last time I was in Paris, I really bossed up, and I fully intend on doing it again. Buckle up, kids.
In the bleak midwinter, we sat around the kitchen table and talked about Claudia's upcoming birthday. Michael and I strove to outdo one another in sheer absurdity ("Let's have a reading in the library" or "Do you think we could cover the pond with a plastic sheeting so people can dance on it?"). I can't remember if there was snow on the ground when we were having this conversation, but will imagine there was for the appropriate amount of dramatism. Weeks ago we started to carve out these plans and then, almost suddenly, it was time to actually do the thing. And we did. We went full-Gatsby.
As a poor, naive Southerner, I thought that we might see spring and put away our snow boots by the end of February. I remember in November when people would laugh at my optimism and I thought they were jerks. March has come and gone here in the Bond House. Snow lingers on the ground, the temperature has barely cracked 50 on most days, and I'm still wearing wool.
Coming into my third week of full-time Boston living, I must admit that I've learned a lot. Between coming to terms with the fact that the weather is a merciless, changeable bitch and telling myself it's okay to layer 6 sweaters and look like Violet Beauregard, I feel as though I'm becoming a real Bostonian. And since so many of you have been kind enough to ask after my well being and what it's like living up in a frozen tundra, I'm ready to share some of the things I've learned on public transportation.
Funny how one day can begin with screaming on the bottom floor of a Parisian metro because you're lost and end by giving cheek kisses to an Italian man who drew your portrait in the courtyard of the Notre Dame. While I prefer life to be comprised solely of moments like the latter, the former make the day so much sweeter in the end.
I never thought I'd make it to France. Even as the leaving date grew closer, it didn't seem like I was actually going to get on a plane and leave the country. When Dad drove me to the airport, it didn't seem real. When I got my boarding pass, it didn't seem real. When I had to get a pat down because the metal detector thought I was packing some heat, it didn't seem real. When I got on the plane, it didn't seem real. When I landed, it didn't seem real. But when I was waiting in a kilometer long customs line? You bet your ass it was real then.