les bleus

so, 'cheesy is as cheesy does' to quote aristotle.

which is to say i got this hankering for a french manicure. i've had the itch for a few days now and, unsatisfied it gained potency, until finally at lunch today instead of eating (cause i just couldn't decide what exactly to eat anyway) i walked into a salon and got myself one. and it did not thrill me or give me a momentary satisfaction in the manner i expected from past, infrequent french manicures, where i am filled up with a sudden delight at the polish and soap opera glitz of it all and swiftly propelled into reveries of being a scarsdale lady or an around-the-way-gal. you know, like jenny on the block.

too old for such indulgence?

at the italy-german match the other day, which i watched at a czech beer hall out in qns, some around-the-way boys rooting for germany got weepy at the loss, hugging each other, administering loving kisses on each others' foreheads, and then started in full sopranos-style crescendo to yell at the italian fans (who, unlike the german fans were actually from europe and speaking in languages other than english—that is, italian) to 'show some respect' since the italians could not stop cheering and singing at the win. and the deutchland crue embellished their demand with the ever respectful flip of twin birds. and their molls (how do you say that in german? ich bin ein moll!) had, that's right mes cheries, french manicures.

it interlaces, see. and ergo ciao for now.