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Paris likes to do this thing where they have really small hotels where you can't sneak in to pee. I was considering going into a porto potty in a construction thing because there were like 2 right there on the street nearby, but then I realized how embarrassing it'd be to get caught there sinec there were like construction people actually walking around right next to it so I figured they'd totally bitch me out in French, which is 8 times more terrifying, for abusing their facilities. I also might have opened the door out into oncoming traffic and I couldn't see that ending well at all. Anyway, I went into the Best Western looking uncomfortable and I went up to the front desk and looked the woman (not the old man) in the eye and said "Pardon, mais... est-ce que je peux... utilser votre WC?" She then made an uncomfortable noise and then I said "SINON, JE VAIS EXPLOSER." And then she told me to go downstairs and I went upstairs and she led me down to the bathroom and I peed and I said "JE VOUS ADORE." when I left. |
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The thing about hostels is that you get to see everyone squeeze into their jeans that are 2 sizes too small and you don’t even bother to giggle. You just sort of ignore it. It was nice having those privacy curtains, that one time, since you could at least not see the world as you tried to ignore it.
I’m in a district in Paris where basically you hear sirens non-stop each night from either police-cars or ambulances. I totally felt reghergefdlksaj when I withdrew money from the ATM yesterday.
Do I look that much like a hobo? The woman at the metro bathroom totally bitched me out, saying “NO WASHING FACE, NO BRUSHING TEETH” while gesturing at me like a monkey because clearly I was up to no good even though I was wearing a dress-shirt and had my laptop bag on me.
A few hours later in the McDonald’s bathroom in Versailles I figured out why she was so irate. Evidently the French hobos can’t shit straight and love to smear their feces all over the inner ring of the toilet seat. Holy shit. I wish I could have taken a picture for you all so but I was too busy looking horrified at the next people so they wouldn’t think that I did that. (It was a woman and I didn’t bother to lift the seat lol). I love bathrooms because usually they provide for my every need.
But Versailles was amazing, even though I wished I’d had a wheelchair and could have been pushed around like those crippled old people I saw. The bathrooms were pretty great also.
On more strange encounters with the french:
Fruit vendor: *Hi in about 12 different languages trying to get my attention*
Me: *Ignore*
Other vendor: Ni hao konichiwa!
Me: Oh, bonjour, uhhh, est-ce que tu parles l'Anglais?
Other vendor: Ni hao?
Me: *mumbling something* uh, 3 peches.
Fruit vendor: Okay, d'accord, hi! Where are you from? Ca marche? Is this okay?
Me: Um, sure. Oui, merci, c'est bon. I'm from America.
*Pays for fruit*
Other vendor: Where are you from?
Me: Uh, je suis americaine.
Other vendor: Aah! Tu parles le francais! C'est bon c'est bon! *rubs my tummy and grabs my hands*
Me: Er.
Me: Nous voulons aller a Versailles.
Ticket vendor: Oui c'est 2.95.
Me: Est-ce que c'est aller et retour?
Ticket vendor: Non ca c'est 5.90. Alors, vous voulez 3?
Me: Ummm, non, uh, nous payons... seul *wild gesturing* est-ce que vous parlez Anglais?
Ticket vendor: Non.
Me: Oh, um, *random flailing and struggling* |
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"Bonjour! Est-ce que vous parlez l'Anglais?" (Hi! Do you speak English?)
"Non, mais tu parles bien le francais. *frenchfrenchfrecnfhrcernchrcnfrecnh*" (No, but you speak French well!) |
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After spending a night in the hostel kitchen, ( an experience that I summarized somewhat incoherently to Joseph 10 minutes after it happened, )
I decided that I was going to go buy food because it'd probably be weird to eat the complementary breakfast after freeloading a night in the hostel's dining room. I walk down the long street to get to Tesco, which is basically where all the poor people shop, and buy some pasta salad and a fanta, which I eat and drink. Did you know that all the sodas here are full of aspartame and other crap? It is very icky. Then I walk back towards the hostel with some coins in my pocket because Europe is stupid and they like to make 1 and 2 dollar coins that they huck at you and they jingle unpleasantly because I have so many other randomass coins hanging around. I hear a "HEY!" behind me and I keep walking. I hear a "HEY!" again and I turn around and there is this young African boy following me. I reply with "Hello" and he walks beside me.
"Where are you from?" he asks.
(I am wearing a "SINGAPORE" shirt with very bright colors on it) "America," I say. "Where are you from?"
"I was born here. Are you a boy or a girl?"
(slightly annoyed) "A boy."
*Fiddles with jacket* "Where do you live?"
"In that hostel down the road. Journey's smoking barrels blah blah blah"
"What?"
"In a hostel."
"How much money do you have?"
(oh dear) "Not a lot."
"I hear it in your pockets. How much do you have?"
"I'm really not very rich I'm out traveling and I'm pretty broke."
"You have a lot in your pockets." *fiddles around with jacket*
"No, really, this has to last me for another month..."
"Give me some" *reaches towards my pockets*
"No!" *slaps hand away* "I think we're quite finished now." *starts walking away faster*
"Hey, don't walk so fast."
"..."
"Want some advice?"
"...Sure."
"England is a bad place. If you say something bad to someone they'll kill you. You should go back to America."
Anyway. This was traumatic and it seemed to be enough to start my day, because I magically continued with my plans with gusto, only noting that I'll never shop for groceries alone again.
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I wanted to go see some sex shops because I'm in London and the Brits love this sort of thing so I started with a tube run to Soho, where everything was pretty glitzy and Castro-like (not cool). Then I bumbled my ass into Chinatown by accident because it happened to be next to Soho, which was fairly charming and strange because they liked to speak Mandarin there which is totally not San Francisco. And then I remembered that there was one more sex shop I wanted to visit on the other side of town that I vaguely remembered the address for and so I went there and got completely lost. However, I ended up running into this other group of women who were in the process of asking someone that I was about to ask for directions, for directions to "brick lane, for the tapas festival." He was actually just a man sitting on a park bench with his daughter and they were 3 women in bustyhot outfits and I asked him vaguely where the streets were before one of the three bustyhot women turned around and said "Hey, are you going to the tapas festival too? You can come with us if you want." and I discovered that I couldn't say "No, actually, I'm looking for a sex shop" so instead I said "Uh, sure! Tapas festival! That's exactly what I was looking for." And I later found out her name was Sarah and that she was a 5th year biology major at SF state. We then ended up at the most amazing place in London ever (this is the second time the city's made me go "holy crap, this place is amazing") where there were a bajillion food stalls and hipsters selling vintage clothing in the streets and free art shows by pretentious up-and-coming modern artists who do youtube compilations and call them art. It was basically a dream come true because while viewing said art pieces you could be snacking on roast pig, thai curry, Ethiopian food, Tibetan buns at the same time while wearing a hipster outfit while thinking about the music the 1-man band was just playing.
And then I went back to the hostel where I was boiled alive because there is no ventilation and no air conditioning. |
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Jun. 26th, 2009 @ 02:24 pm
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Today I bought soap after managing for 30ish days without buying any. I also changed my underwear for the first time in 3 days. I could have gone a bit longer, I think, but it is hot and gross and humid here.
Great, now the annoying French kids have decided to come in after hanging out in the hall. It will soon start to smell like an A&F instead of good old-fashioned old linen and human waste as they start primping for their night out. |
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Jun. 26th, 2009 @ 01:58 am
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Last night I dropped a sock off my 3 tiered bunk. Then I proceeded to drop all my change. It was a bad night. |
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Jun. 23rd, 2009 @ 12:40 am
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Last night there was random honking and anger and screaming and bullet shots or firecrackers or explosive diarrhea in the streets ALL NIGHT. I was sort of glad I wasn’t outside and I sort of hoped that they wouldn’t burn anything down too hard, because that would suck. I saw police next to the bus station when I got out earlier during the day and I was all “Hmm! I am inquisitive and awesome! Should I ask why they are gathering around the concert hall full of Muslims?” And then I didn’t.
I had a great lamb balti today from this craptastic restaurant called Zam Zam somewhere in eastern Leeds. I think balti just means curry, but it was really good and sort of salty. The rice was a little salty also. Oops. |
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Jun. 23rd, 2009 @ 12:32 am
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Yesterday I went to Haworth because I’m currently staying in the Ivy Guesthouse in Bradford which does incredible breakfasts that are included in your stay free of charge. You can basically abuse their kitchen and eat muesli for 3 meals per day and you get eggs and hashbrowns and bacon and mushrooms and beans and toast with like 80 different jams at breakfast time. So, Haworth. I went there because the Bradford area guide recommended it and/or Ilkley because Ilkley has beautiful moors and Haworth has The Brontes. The guy at the tourism office said Haworth was better so I went there.
An hour later by bus, I got there and it happened that I came during this funky little 60s themed weekend where there were about 80 Ozzy Osbournes walking around. I was rather enchanted by it all, and I decided that the Brontes sucked anyway and that instead of visiting their little shithole house of a house in which they wrote about their dicky Victorian heroes, I should go run around and eat cream scones (95 pence each, basically a strawberry shortcake) and banana splits (unconventionally delicious as it had raspberry coulis and an assload of strawberries on it). It was a good day.
Today, I am going to the Royal Armouries which kicks so much ass its feet must hurt to see a Father’s Day joust. Numnums.
Oh, and I’ve eaten 3 different “2 pieces of chicken + fries for 2 pounds” dinner deals from different restaurants and I’ve decided that they all sort of blow. The last one restaurant gave me 2 drumettes + a breast and wing but they also didn’t give me a drink and gave me McDonald’s fries and they made me wait 6 minutes and the take-out box was steamy so it evens out to the other ones. The second one put on the ketchup for me and they didn’t put enough, and they corrected me when I said “Ketchup” saying instead “tomato sauce” in that condescending tone. The first one had little to no crunch on the chicken but they had a choice of curry, tartar or ketchup that I could put on myself and he was very nice about it.
Have I already gushed about how awesome the royal armouries are? THEY ARE SO AWESOME aksdfjlajksdfklajsdlkfjaklsdjflksdjfkljasdf.
I went to go look at the Father’s Day joust and it was just like the ren. Faire, except with fewer fugmos. And it was cheaper. Also! All those kooky weapons they use in Suikoden + Dynasty warriors? THEY TOTALLY EXIST IRL wtf. Oh and I saw a video about cutting up dead whales in the hunting gallery, and about the poor people in England and how they like to knife each other and lots of shiny knights ooooo. They also have dramatic interpretations with swordfights! and falconry! and it is all very awesome.
A few days ago I went to this ‘all you can eat Chinese buffet’ in Leeds which basically came down to “Oh boy how much can we cram into our deep-fryer? The Brits sure do love our deep fried crap.”
They had canned apple-pie eggrolls. wtf
I hate England a lot because they charge you for everything. There are no water fountains and the water that comes from sinks isn’t potable and they charge you for internet anywhere and for using the loo. It’s as if they want you to pee on the floor, or they trust that your British sense of propriety will not allow you to, which is sneaky. Or it might be because they have cameras watching YOUR EVERY MOVE and they will fine you if you pee on the floor. I hate you, expensive England. (Also, the budget hotel whose floor I was horrified of touching charged me at a rate of 1.89 dollars to the pound, wtf is that?) |
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So my kooky life adventure have brought me to Leeds because I got on the wrong train and was too embarrassed to admit it. I’m in a room in the ETAP hotel that cost me about 61.5 dollars per night which is very dreadful because there are, evidently, no hostels in Leeds (as I expected). The room smells like 3 different people shat in it and I can’t quite pinpoint the smell. The bed is probably an enormous diaper.
I got to East Morton by about 3 different buses to visit a certain someone, only to find that she was still in university, which is all well and good, because she probably would have murdered me anyway and it was all very symbolic of the fact that she was no longer that person that lived in that house. After doing that, I then realized that I had absolutely nowhere to go and no housing and no plans and no internet and I was stuck in the English countryside alone, basically. It should be stated then that it had been raining all day and that I was completely soaked and that I honestly would not want to sleep next to the sheep in the rain. I decided that perhaps it was time to go. I got lost in a few fields and stamped in various sheep turds before returning to the local alehouse and asking whether or not there was any possible way I could get accommodation in the countryside. “No.” was the answer and the guy said that he didn’t know anywhere in the vicinity that did it. Fuck.
He did, however, tell me where the train station was, and I figured then that I’d just go however far away the first train took me, anticipating that most trains went to Bradford. It didn’t. I ended up in Leeds. It is nicer here, since it is an actual city. I probably won’t get shanked. The woman sitting next to me on the bus told me that Bradford is a horrible city with racial tension out the wazoo. I could see her point. I’m going to go visit the armory now and see knights beat the shit out of each other. |
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I arrived in Bradford/Leeds airport today without any plans, a return ticket in 1 week’s time, and about 120 munneyz in my pockets and the vaguest general directions of where anything was. I realized immediately that this was one of the worst ideas I’d ever had (because, you see, if you google “hostel, Bradford England” basically nothing comes up). However, the airport was small, and all I had to do was follow people around for a while around various customs check-ins and shuttles until they all got into taxis and left.
Ohhhhhshit what now.
I ended up wandering around the airport until I eventually found the information desk and said “Uhhhhh. Where can I get a bed and breakfast?” And they gave me a few numbers of stupid places that were charging like 50 pounds per night. ANYWAY. Eventually I decided to get on a bus to Bradford and figure it out from there because like all airports, it was in the middle of nowhere. I got to the city, found the tourism office out of sheer luck (it was in the biggest building visible) and demanded they give me accommodation recommendations and maps. They did, sort of.
So, I’m currently in this delightful guesthouse called “The Ivy Guesthouse” which is really amazing, actually, in that it makes all the hostels I’ve stayed in look like crap. For 25 pounds per night (which is a little steep—I might have to spend a few nights hiding out on the golf courses or hugging sheep for warmth), you get your own room with a hot water boiler and a TV with cable and a sink. This basically makes it so you never have to leave ever, especially if you like to poop and shower in the sink. AND! It has a delightful little back garden which is full of smoking hipsters that basically don’t say consonants when they speak.
One thing I noticed was that, now that I’m out of Ireland, I see that Dublin is a horrible ripoff and that it’s mostly because minimum wage in Ireland is 8.65 euro. A pint of Guinness in Temple Bar costs around 5.50 Euro which is about 8$ which is kind of appalling. I already whined about the rum and coke being 13$. Here, in Bradford, I can get a 2-piece chicken dinner + fries + a coke for 2 pounds (= 3.25$) and they don’t charge you for butter pats and mayo and ketchup and jam. I think it’s because Bradford is dead.
You see, Bradford used to be a giant textile mill that brought everyone from Europe over. It also seemed to have tried really really reallyrlyrlyhard to boom in the past few years, in that it’s erecting all these new and pretty pieces of architecture and has all these neat new places to be and eat and sidewalk cafes all that. But, basically, the streets are deserted, and I’m super super glad that the sun doesn’t set until about 11 PM and rises at 4 AM or else I’m sure I’d have been shanked by now meandering through the abandoned wool mills. Not that it’s a shitty town, it’s just that it’s confusing (if you look at the street plans, it just looks like some dude dropped a stone on a mirror and the cracks modeled the streets. The worst part of Bradford is that it has no orienting features. It’s all sort of hilly and medium tall buildingy) and I ended up wandering through the poor parts lots looking for the guesthouse because the map the tourism office gave me was photocopied from a kindergartener’s impression of the city. It is also mostly full of Indians/middle easterners that have set up kebab stores all along the western side of the city center and play really loud dance music out of their cars. It is amazing in that if there’s ever a traffic jam (unpossible) I could probably convert the street into a club. Oh, but the burbs are beautiful and picturesque, though. LolramblethroughtheEnglishcountryside.
One of the people I met while touring Ireland said that northern England hates foreigners because it’s where all the non-rich people went after they got kicked out of London and that everyone will spit on me and beat me up because they’re poor and out for blood. I haven’t been able to confirm or deny this yet.
I saw this “ALL YOU CAN EAT ASIAN FUSION CUISINE” buffet going on in the city center. Its prices drop from 9.95 pounds to 4.95 pounds after 9:30 PM. If I can make it back before the sun sets I’m totally doing that some other time.
Anyway, in Ireland you either have to sleep with the cows or you have to spend a bajillion dollars to do anything.
Oh, and I went to Blarney Castle and kissed the stone and got mono. The grounds were pretty, though. I went with the Paddywagon tour group and made friends with this fussy French woman that actually demanded her food taste good (in Ireland? You ask too much, mlle.) and this Hong Kong girl that works as a nurse in Australia and a commercial PA for BBC. And I got to see the CLIFFS OF MOHER! And people were dangling their legs off the edge and being horrible and got ice cream there which was super creamy and I SAW THE BURREN!
I want to have sex on the burren.
I didn’t get to see Killarney national park, or Clew Bay, or the north of Ireland, though. QQ. If only there weren’t so much lawn between interesting points of the country. And, yes. It’s all lawn. Not a single potato/vegetable/fruit in sight. I don’t get it. Are all the Irish really really constipated? |
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So my delightful Irish friend amused me greatly today. We were talking about the French and how they actually bathe, now.
"There's this American word that makes me fall on the floor laughing each time I hear it... douchebag."
"Yes, it is very descriptive."
"I don't really understand what it is, I imagine it's a woman's bag that she takes to the shower in which she puts her towel and her soap and her washcloth and..."
"HAHAHAHAHAHA NO." *explains what a douchebag is*
"Oh so it's not a word that would show up in polite conversation."
"It wouldn't."
"You learn something new every day"
Jun. 11th, 2009 @ 02:35 pm
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| » I've been eating pasta shells for the past 8 days because I found them in the cupboard |
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In divesting the smokey/cured secrets from select cuts, you inevitably kill the meat. I found this out today because I made the mistake of forgetting I was using an electric stove.
I've been making pasta shells with various sauces (saladysauce, creamysauce, tomatoysauce) and I like to throw salami into my creamysauce because everything else is feckin' expensive. I turned off the heat and threw in the meat and then went somewhere else while the pasta boiled but forgot that the stupid burner was still going to burn like a mother. I got back and the sauce was deliciously salami-y but the meatybits were dead.
Which is why I was so impressed by this one pork loin I had in Palomino in San Francisco, because the broth tasted like bacon and the meat tasted like meat (did they cheat? Liquid smoke? I've never tried it).
Castles tomorrow? CLIFFS OF MOHER ON SATURDAY!
Jun. 11th, 2009 @ 11:33 am
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Dublin isn't a godawful place to be when you're wandering around at 10:30 PM eating a 2 euro breakfast roll.
You see, it's best experienced without a 10 pound backpack full of resumes.
Oh, and Brazilian roommate went to go plow his girlfriend on Thursday night and hasn't been back since. I hope I get some of his stuff if he's dead.
Jun. 7th, 2009 @ 03:11 pm
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| » The closest I got to getting employed |
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"Hi! I was wondering if you were accepting CVs."
*To someone else* "No, there's no 'e' there, it's v-heg-table,"
*Someone else* "Er, are you sure?" *Proceeds to erase the e on the message board. It is now vegtable soup*
"Hi how can I help you?"
"Are you hiring?"
"Yes! We might need someone in a few weeks!"
"Er, okay."
Jun. 7th, 2009 @ 02:34 am
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| » Celina says |
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Jun. 4th, 2009 @ 03:17 pm
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| » My day |
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I've decided to actually recount the events of my day to you so you all know and understand what exactly I'm doing here and you don't have to put up with all my *whine* where did my yogurt go without understanding why I'm even eating yogurt in Ireland.
This morning I woke up at 4 because the sun rose then. I went back to sleep and woke up at 7 again. Then I decided that the world was stupid and could go to hell and I fell back asleep until 9:11, when I woke up, annoyed the hell out of my roommate, and dashed out the door in a fancy shirt and my jeans.
You see, I did this because I had 1 day of overlap in the hostel and my new place. I couldn't get a refund because it all happened too quickly. I figured this was good, anyway, because it meant I could leave my huge-ass luggage bag in their luggage room rather than carry it around with me all of yesterday. I also realized that I could take advantage of their free breakfast and cram my pockets full of toast (pictures on facebook) and cornflakes and muesli like I had been doing the previous days. They have budget nutella and it's pretty bad, so I stick with their marmalade and jam. Anyway, I did that and walked around trying not to sound too crunchy and checked out, and they took my electricity adapter away from me because I can't keep it, clearly. I ate all their food and drank all their juice (they don't have real orange juice here, they have "orange nectar" which we all know is a cheap ripoff of a cheap ripoff (minute maid) of the real thing (tropicana). That's pretty bad.)
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Cramming my pockets full of toast. I noticed they can't do cornflakes or rice krispies here either (THE CEREAL IS WHEATY AND FLACCID AT THE SAME TIME. THERE IS ZERO TOASTING AND ZERO CRUNCH). Then I pissed people off by barging into a room of sleeping people and took the sheets off my bed and checked out after abusing their free wireless for a half an hour.
Then I went to USIT, where the work and travel program is (aside: I realize now that these people are totally evil--they're the ones sending us foreigners all around the country so we can get "DEY TOOK ER JERRRBS"'d by all the locals. Seriously, how did I ever think this was a good idea at all?) and I asked the woman Gillian there where I should be looking in the city for work, since it seemed like I'd covered the entire city center. She recommended the financial district in the northeast, the area near phoenix park in the northwest (she warned me that if I strayed one block away from the path I'd end up on the wrong side of town and would probably get shanked [Dublin is a small city, see, and one block can change your freakin' world, man]) and in Rathmines to the far south. I couldn't tackle all of these in one day so I decided to go to the safest route in the northeast. I walked and walked and walked for a while, stopping by grocery stores to see if they had any good deals, and then ended up in the northeast, where it was pretty beautiful. Nobody really wanted my resume, they all politely told me "No." in one form or another.
The closest I got was in some wine bar. The manager there asked me what I was applying for, and I said 'Errrrrr... wait-staff?' and he was like "Sorry." And then I said 'WAIT WHAT POSITION DO YOU NEED FILLED I'LL DO ANYTHING.' and he said "I need a porter" and I interjected 'I CAN DO THAT!' and then he said "No, I need someone strong for that, sorry miss." and it pissed me the fuck off so I left. He was some sort of Eastern European. The women sometimes have hair there, I guess. I shouldn't be so judgmental.
Anyway. Then I wandered around asking every single restaurant if they needed a position filled and they said no, but a few people took my resume because their managers weren't around and they knew how it was like to be told flat-out "NO." so they politely said they'd pass it up.
I then ate my jam sandwich in the middle of this posh mall that didn't need any staff and felt ridiculous (pictures up on facebook) while noticing how well-dressed everyone was. Then it was lunchtime and I didn't want to fuck up service so I went scouting in the nearby areas and wandered into the projects and quickly wandered back out again (I knew once the dog turds started showing up in the streets again) and ended up at the dockside region, which is very pretty. I stole someone's wireless and used it for a little until the lunch rush was over. Then I papered the rest of the northeastern side of town and went back down to USIT to print more resumes. There, I applied to a few more jobs online, and then bought the "HOLY SHIT WEEKLY SPECIAL!" from a grocery store which was a 9 inch ham baguette and box of potato wedges for 4 American $. Then I wandered around for a while, ended up at St. Patrick's green while handing out more resumes and then went back to the apartment where I am now. It was approaching dinner rush time so I decided to call it a day, and here I am now on the internets.
Jun. 4th, 2009 @ 03:07 pm
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Some asshole stole my yogurt from the fridge.
I bet it was those smelly French kids.
Jun. 3rd, 2009 @ 05:17 am
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| » Oh boy I sure do hope I get that lunch lady job |
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I was reading this listing on irishjobs.ie about this job as a cook for a place called "Giraffe Childcare Center" in which my duties "will include the preparation of and cooking of healthy and nutritious food" and I got really excited about it because it sounded like something perfect for me. So I filled out the app, and in one of the questions it asked "Have you had previous experience in a similar role" to which I said "Yes! I catered in a vegan environment and I learned so much about picky clientele because most of them weren't vegan and I know how to use unique grains and legumes (such as lentils, quinoa, chickpeas, fava beans etc.) and how to oil balance for soluble flavors while selecting unsaturated fats when I can. I taste rigorously to ensure my product is good and I never use artificial ingredients because I believe in the fresh and local ideology" etc. etc. I am so awesome look at me.
And then, a few nights later it dawned on me that they were probably just looking for a lunch lady.
(I would have been happy with that)
Anyway. They never replied.
Also, I bought rhubarb yogurt yesterday and it was the most appalling thing ever. How could you do that to my poor rhubarb? You suck, Ireland.
Jun. 3rd, 2009 @ 12:39 am
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I’m writing this entry from inside the handicapped stall of the Westbury Inn which is where I might end up living because it’s way nicer than the hostel I’ve been living in and there is at least a bit of privacy. Also, all I’ve been eating is the complementary breakfast they have at the hostel which is basically toast and “Swiss Style Muesli” (Mmmmmmmmmmm fiber) with fresh milk (Mmmm diarrhea). I ended up wandering here because the hostel rooms were being “cleaned” (which means someone waves a scented candle around for a few minutes and puts chlorine in the toilet—evidently this takes 2-3 hours and sometimes they even skip the candle) and I had to poo. It is very nice in here, because I can sit on the toilet all day and make fun of other people’s farts and use the sink if I need to wash my hands or need to drink water. Too bad there isn’t a power outlet. The cleaning crew might be in soon also. Damn.
Jun. 1st, 2009 @ 05:12 am
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| » (No Subject) |
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The UK's Maury (Jeremy Kyle) is pretty good. It's like watching Chef Ramsey humiliate people for a whole half-hour over overdramatic situations. I'm going to find a hotel to shit in now.
Jun. 1st, 2009 @ 02:16 am
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