C'est Nice

Hey guys. It's been forever and a day, but what can I say? I'm a terrible blogger.

I leave Nice tomorrow. You might all be scratching your heads saying "Wha?" because I haven't said anything about how soon I'm going to see all of you, and that's because I'm going on my trip to Scotland and Ireland. Of course, I'm further proving the very well-supported thesis that I'm entirely out of my mind, because I'm going home via my 19 day trip to Scotland and Ireland. No, I'm not bringing all of my stuff with me on the whole trip (I'm leaving it with a friend of my parents in Dulin), but nevertheless... what was I thinking? Right now, I would like either to stay in Nice for a week or two more or fly straight home. Of course, that's right now, while I'm packing everything I own into not-so-small suitcases.

Actually, the suitcases are giving me a headache, because I'm not sure if I'm going to make it under the baggage limit. I'm flying Aer Lingus from Nice to Dublin, and even though they've told me I can have the transatlantic luggage limit (which is about twice the European luggage limit), I still think I'm pushing it a wee bit. I was going to borrow my friend's bathroom scale, but that plan fell through, mostly because I forgot to ask for it. The biggest problem is books, which is sad, because I want all the books I have here, but might end up leaving them at the airport. Other things that might get left at the airport if the bags are too heavy include: my winter jacket that is pretty much in tatters, but I still love it; several pairs of socks that are serviceable but really can be replaced; the (now empty) box set of Buffy Season 3... again, it would be nice to have, but in the end, is superfluous.

The real killer is my guitar, not because of its weight, but because of itself... I don't know whether it will count as a carry-on, or if I will have to check it, or, as they say on the AerLingus web site, if I will have to buy a seat for it (say WHAT?). Anyway, I'm planning on arriving at the airport super early, with my most charming face on. I'll be wearing two or three jackets, because I can't pack them, and praying that they let me take everything I'm trying to take on.

The past week has been pretty wet, and I ain't talking about the weather, if you catch my driftola. Irish Claire's birthday was on Wednesday, and she managed to have two nights out for it, one on the day and one on Saturday, when her friend Fra from Belfast was visiting. Though I didn't dive off of the drinking board on Wednesday (to be fair, it was Passover, so beer wasn't an option), Claire did state that I was "properly steamin'" on Saturday, as I was last night, after my own going-away party.

It was an awesome party, and as soon as the several million people who took pictures e-mail them to me, I'll put them up. I had it at Johnny's, the Canadian wine bar in Vieux Nice that has easily earned its place as my favorite place to drink here. It's small and chill, and there's a guy from Louisiana who looks like he's pretty much always three sheets to the wind, but he plays the guitar and sings with a voice that is the result of several thousand cigarettes. Anyway, bunches of people came, and we pretty much filled the bar. Johnny, the owner, opened it specially for me (he's usually closed on Monday, though I didn't know that when I arranged it with him), and also threw in a voucher for a free pitcher of Sangria (which is my favorite thing there). I decided I wanted to use the free pitcher to give everyone a half-glass of sangria for a toast, and Johnny went ahead and gave everyone a full glass! I got a little teary during my toast... to be fair, I've been teary all week, and the fact that I'm at the end of the fifth season of Six Feet Under isn't helping things neither.

So I got pretty wasted, though it was mostly on Sangria, which apparently doesn't leave me with a god-awful hangover. One of the teachers I worked with came, Odile, which was lovely; and one of my students came, Cyril, who's probably the best English speaker of all my students.

Johnny's closed at 12:30 (as per), and somehow we were moved to Paddy's, an Irish pub I've only just started going to and have decided is rather lovely. We continued to drink, with me doing a shot (with Fra and Jon, Charlotte's boyfriend) of something that involved tabasco sauce and something that tasted like licorice. It was amazingly rancid, and I had to follow it with some Bailey's on ice. Whatever downward slope of drunkenness we were on, the ground dropped out from under us, and before I knew it Jon had doused Scottish Claire and I with wine (I think it was wine... I hope it was wine). Jon got so thoroughly trashed (and I guess I should mention that Charlotte had gone home) that the bouncer eventually asked him to leave (he wasn't properly thrown out... it was a very polite affair). He hugged me about seven times, being very nice about how sad he was that I was going. I don't think I've written about this before, but I had my wee little suspicions that Jon might be a switch-hitter, if you know what I mean. It's something I always stayed about twenty feet away from, him being one of my best friend's boyfriend, but... well, c'mon, seven hugs. He was pretty wasted, to be fair.

Apparently (I just found this out today) he got beat up on his way home (why would you worry about a guy walking home alone?) and spent the night in the hospital. he's out now, and supposedly fine (though I haven't seen him yet), but... man. Crazy.

Listen folks, I know I'm right in the swing of things, but I'm going to have to jet... more packing to do. Anyways, this will probably be the last post from Nice... so I guess I'll have to change the name of the blog. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it... tomorrow. I hope you've enjoyed Nice vicariously through me. I miss you all, and will see a smattering of you soon!!!!!!

AU REVOIR!