Wednesday, August 17, 2011


415. Some of the thoughts that go through my mind, at 8:30 am in the morning, dressed in work clothes, having the familiar cereals/fruit breakfast, leaning against the windowsill looking out into the shiny European Parliament building.

#1. It's possible (and nice) not to have internet access for ten consecutive days, except for five minutes on the fourth day to tell one of your bosses that no, you will not have internet access.

#2. It's strange not to see Zoe's bright aqua blue, super short shorts when waking up...

#3. Or hear Gaston's theatrical, super cheerful "Good moooorning!" 

#4. Instant coffee, it seems, is no longer on the breakfast menu. The half-full Nestle jar has Italy to blame. 

#5. No matter how far, or how hard, I try to strain my eyes, I do not see blue water, mystical Roman ruins, silhouettes of mountains against the bright sky, glowing full moon hanging precariously in the dark night, fireworks blossoming above historical castle, stone beach stretching out to the end of the horizon.

416. Coming back into the office after ten days and seeing "BE GOOD, GAZPACHO!", written in purple chalk on the (green) blackboard, with a smiley, girly face and long curly hair next to it. On the left, another, and opposite, instruction, "Be Evil, Gazpacho!", written in blue chalk, accompanied a smiley, boyish face and short hair. It takes me a while to realize what was going on, that is, once I spot what I had written, before leaving on vacation: in white chalk, "Be good, Rosalina!", with a smiley, unisex (why?) face and a pair of glasses.

A few minutes later, a green line of text is added beside Professor E. Gadd's wise words. "NO!! She is evil enough!" Princess Peach would know -- she has just spent ten consecutive days with me, sharing the same bed, having every meal together.

A few minutes later, a white line of text is added, at the request of Bowser. "August 18, 10:30 am. Bowser being nice to Gazpacho-y, for the first (and only?) time! (And he thinks he is the personification of nicitude.)" It takes me two trials to write the word nicitude, partly because it is not a real word, partly because I am still recovering from the shock that came from Bowser's compliment, "You look very cute today." "Today?" I has mocked him. "The one time I am nice to you...," he has sulked, and made me write down the historical moment.

Welcome back to work.

417. Almost midnight. Place Flagey, outside De Valera's. In a maroon, hooded Abercrombie & Fitch sweatshirt, Anna holds up an imaginary penis and pretends, convincingly, to pee in front of us. "Why is she looking at you when she does that?" Zoe asks Christian. "How should I know?" Christian shrugs. "I sit..."

After a few beers, black velveteens, nachos, and porto, the truth always comes out.

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