Oops

I just accidentally clicked on the link to my bank account online instead of my blog, resulting in a quick panic of finding the "back" button a.s.a.p. before I had to face the depression that is my fading pocketbook...

Europe is expensive. Correction: Paris is expensive. Too expensive.

But I'm going to Barcelona this weekend. Although I am spending hundreds of euros to get there and to stay there, at least it's cheap there, right? It's amazing how logic can change when the bank account is involved...there's always this underlying urge to rationalize..."Oh, I can buy this one top, this one time. I don't have to pay off my flight to Italy until the end of the month. It doesn't matter that there's absolutely no income feeding into my account, and thus it won't matter when I pay off that flight. I'm going to be broke sooner of later."

This past weekend, I caught a bad cold on Wednesday night. Rachael came to visit on Wednesday night. And the Metro went on strike on Wednesday night. It was glorious. Thursday, we spent 9 hours walking around the beautiful city of Paris, which is great to see on foot, but probably better if you head's clear. A few more trips to the touristy stuff were necessary, like another visit to see the million-dollar plain canvases on display at the Pompidou museum of modern art and a stroll by the McDonald's on the Champs Elysees. Always necessities.

Friday night, it was my Swedish friend's birthday, so I stopped over for some drinks and some good old European sing-alongs to really bad American music on YouTube. Europeans are so unique. They love old American music, like "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Especially bad American music, like The Backstreet Boys. But honestly, who doesn't love to karaoke to "I Want it That Way" every once in a great while?

At least there was an Austrian there whom I could speak English with while the three Swedes spoke to each other about God knows what--something obviously hilarious and thus making me self-concious...

The thing that really gets me, though, is that even the worst of American media--like the unfortunately broadcasted television show "The OC"--makes its way over to Sweden, hooking innocent little Swedes in their love of American culture, and then they think that this is actually what Orange County is like and--"what?! you're from the OC?!"

yeah, I am. But it's Orange County.

I hate being in a sick slump. I think I saw too much of Paris this weekend. I miss barbecues and Mexican food and Santa Clara sunsets and actual warmth from the sun and real grass and open spaces.

C'est la vie, n'est-ce pas?