Summer From A Suitcase

Here's a free tip of life advice, for those still under the impression that I know what I'm talking about: never be voluntarily homeless for longer than one week. You may think, "Pshaw, Amy! Traveling from couch to couch for two and a half months seems fun and spontaneous!"

No. You are wrong. Unlike actual, sad homelessness, voluntary homelessness is just a waste of everyone's valuable resources and time. The person doesn't want you there, you don't want to be there, and everyone just wants to be alone to look up weird shit on the Internet. Or sing in the shower. Or...other things. 

I left my apartment in the 17th arrondissement in late June, full of high summer hopes of late night drinks and new friends allowing me to crash for the night. I used to be a pretty spontaneous person, full of delights and crazy ideas and midnight Dr. Pepper's in the woods with my guy friends. Then I changed, worried about bills and taxes and a full eight hours and coupons for instant Ramen. Optimistically, maybe part of me just grew up a bit, but deep down, I think I just became an asshole. I think a big part of this change is city living, where I learned to be on my guard 24/7, and under the impression that everyone is a malicious douche. Yet, under the impression that everyone is a malicious asshole, I, in turn, became the malicious asshole. And when's the last time you saw a malicious asshole being fun and spontaneous?

So this summer was supposed to be adventurous and willy-nilly, where my beds were supposed to fall out of the sky like drops of rain and I'd be that cool, fun hippy that travels with her shit on her back and no worries in her heart. It was my turn as Doc Brown, turning time back to when life seemed better as a 18 year old. God, if only life worked that way.

Being fake homeless is hard. Even when I was staying at a place for a month, and I technically had time to unpack my suitcases and feel adjusted....being fake homeless was hard. I blame myself for being so optimistic, but I was just clinging to the old days so desperately. I understand plastic surgery now, in its own way.

Here is the list I crafted one night in the 7ème without Internet:

Things I Miss Doing Like When I Had a House

Scratching wherever I want, whenever I want.

Ditto for farting.

Looking up stupid shit on the Internet.

Watching stupid shit on the Internet.

Lip-syncing in the mirror to the Pocahontas soundtrack while I brush my teeth.

BEING NAKED ALL THE TIME.

Not caring how long I spend in the bathroom.

Not having wrinkled clothes.

Not having back problems from carrying my shit everywhere.

Cooking. (Though, I did enjoy all the chips I got to eat.)

Skyping my parents. 

Perfecting my Aerosmith howling in the shower.

Not smelling like a ragamuffin because where did I put my deodorant?

Reading Moby-Dick whenever I want to.

Yet, even though my summer wasn't as fun/exciting/spontaneous as my "impossible to achieve happy" summer, it left me with good moments. Good enough moments to not feel like such an asshole: Friends were willing to let me into their lives for days/weeks even though it was probably inconvenient for them. Some even left for the suburbs so I could have a place of my own, if only for a day or so. A couple friends even let me stay nights when I asked them as late as 10:30PM if I could crash, or stayed up way past their bed times because I had social (OK, beer) calls to make. One glorious soul even carried my gigantor bag over ten minutes to my next location, just to be kind and wonderful. I find all types of kindness suspicious, yet all of these friends proved to me that altruism can be real, sometimes.

But don't get my sappy blog post wrong, people. Don't ever do this, this homeless wandering. It is douchey and you start to smell weird and think weird things and forget that people like parents and siblings exist. That emails exist. You start to eat McDonald's a lot because kitchens aren't real and start to spend all your time in Starbucks like actual homeless people because where else can you find such a clean bathroom? Worst of all, you can't even enjoy the rain anymore, and what point is there to anything if you cant?

I guess this blog post--this very special blog post revving things up again--is in honor of those friends who put up with me. If for no reason other than I was such a colossal douche to ask if I could crash your lives for 2.5 months....but I'm so glad you let me.

THE GRAND TOUR, as promised! 

Stop #1: Bougival, France

Mission: To catsit the uncatsittable, Cookie.

Accomplished?: Angry cats pee on a lot of things.

Situation: Alone, so very alone in the suburbs of Paris.

Stop #2: 9ème, Metro: Notre Dame de Lorette

Mission: To read for my thesis and drink a lot.

Accomplished?: Yes for the drinking...eh on the thesis.

Stop #3: 7ème, Metro: École Militaire

Mission: Survive Orientation, Watch Donnie Darko

Accomplished?: Yes, but Donnie Darko took me 5 days to watch because I kept falling asleep after 20 minutes.

Situation: You can hear the tourists cheer at the top of the hour when the Eiffel Tower sparkles. It's annoying immediately.

Stop #4: 7ème, Metro: École Militaire

Situation: My friend has a lot of beds in her kitchen. It was the equivalent of sleeping on clouds of love and sunshine.

View: Don't have one, but I have this memory to equal it? We talked about beards for a while.

Stop #5: 7ème, Metro: La Tour Maubourg

Situation: My friend let me stay in her apartment alone while she kindly spent a few nights with a friend in the banlieue. I thanked her by getting really drunk and barely spending any time in her apartment. (This is one of those not-so-great moments. Though I did buy a lot of people beer that night.)

Stop #6: 3ème, Some Hotel? Metro: Rambuteau

Mission: Not walk home for an hour and a half.

Accomplished: Yes, thanks to my friend Laura.

Situation: Laura and I went to an Indian Food Party and stayed out too late having fun. Her hotel was in walking distance and had shag carpet...therefore it was shangri-la.

Stop #7: 15ème, Metro: Convention

Mission: Eat tons of leftover Indian food that would spoil without a refrigerator.

Accomplished?: Yes, but with hilarious consequences.

Situation: Slept on some couch cushions even though my friend offered the bed, had the best night sleep of my life.

Stop #8: 17ème, Metro: Place de Clichy

Situation: My friend lives in the coolest part of the Batignolles and lives next to bar whose counter is made out of stained glass. She also fed me real NYC bagels, and I wept from the nostalgia. (Here my computer autocorrect Batignolles to Buttonholes and I lost it completely.)

Stop #9: Back to the 9ème, a welcome homecoming!

Stop #10: 7ème, Metro: Invalides

Mission: Have a midnight Dr Pepper

Accomplished?: You tell me.

Situation: Asked my friend if I could stay with him at 23h00, and he said yes. To make him sound even more impressive, he gave me a midnight Dr Pepper!

I guess even when you're old and worry about too many things, late night Dr Peppers with good guy friends still occur very organically.

**To end this very long post, I have a home now....at least, temporarily. Maybe.