Classy Highlights Of European Travel


Taking endless Marlboros from a French stranger wearing an AC/DC shirt in Paris; letting him light all of them for me, and kissing him on both cheeks after declining a trip back to his apartment.

Standing on the roof of a train station in Rome at night, directly across the street from the Coliseum, and talking to girls from California who met a guy I knew in London when they all went spelunking in Istanbul the week before.

Chasing vodka with champagne at nine a.m. on a Sunday, dressed like a Catholic schoolgirl in the apartment of a British soldier along with some other random American girls he picked up somewhere. Moaning over a toilet at a club called “Church” in London an hour later because he was only paying attention to those other girls and “NOT TALKING TO ME AT AWLLLLL” (Brooklyn accent increasing with my blood alcohol level). Then throwing up in a garbage pail at the front of the club while people videotaped me on their iPhones and the bouncer hailed me a cab. Getting home/hung over by noon.

Running into those other American girls at a tiny square in Venice a few months later. Feeling a mixture of wonder/love at the smallness of the world but also a resounding resentment towards them because of British soldier. They were actually very sweet and I have since forgotten all of their faces, but I will forever hate them.

Drinking in the light-strung cobblestoned alley behind a rock club in Dublin. Denying to multiple inquirers that I was indeed Snooki from the Jersey Shore. Getting pretty pissed at people despite their asking in such cute Irish accents.

Having someone spit in my face at a Metal bar in London after telling him I wasn’t “that into” the band Fugazi.

Playing pool with a guy from Colorado in a coffeeshop in Amsterdam, our bloodshot eyes widening with awkwardness after learning that we were both staying in the same hostel. In the same bedroom. Getting woken up by him shining an iPhone in my face hours later because I had unknowingly claimed his bed. Refusing to move thus forcing him to clamor onto an empty top-bunk in the dark. Giving no fucks but also never talking to him again.

Accidently locking myself in the hostel’s communal bathroom the next morning and getting rescued by Colorado boy’s Asian bodybuilder friend who heard me panicking and had to yank open the door for me.

Seeing a boy across a balcony at a Neon Trees show in London, going over to ask him for a lighter, kissing him, drenched in the rain, hours later as he tried to walk me home and I tried to remember exactly where I was staying.

Falling in a sort of cinematic love with said boy.

Taking trips to his town on the weekends, returning Monday mornings and making the mad dash to class from Kings Cross, arriving only ten minutes late but still looking like a post-sex hot mess with a sleepover bag.

Boarding a morning plane to New York after not sleeping for two days, still drunk from the night (few hours) before, wondering if I would ever be back.

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