Drunken Expat Writer

I fucked up and didn't realize I was out of my "no crazy pills" this morning and that pharmacies are not open on Sundays.

It hasn't made me feel crazy, but it has made it very, very hard for me to focus and I'm taking hours longer to get work done than I should.

I can't fucking wait until the pharmacies open up at 8 a.m. tomorrow.

No question about it - last night was the best birthday ever.

I got pleasantly drunk, but not so much that I did anything embarrassing or that I regret. Spent most of the night hanging out with The Texas Gay, Miss Darling, both halves of Woody Allen Film Reference, The Dirty Baker, Belgium Boy, The Iceman, Texas Gay's Husband and The Iceman's Son.

The bar comped my tab at the end of the night - which is astonishing given how much I drank.

Rome Girl sang with The Waves - who were in great form. For the first time ever she sang "Thunder Road" which got a standing ovation - even though almost no one in the crowd had heard it before. She also got total thumbs up for "Nothing Else Matters."

The band themselves did a kicking version of "Enter Sandman" that they dedicated to me.

Rome Girl says she wants me to stress that she is laughing and not in pain during the singing photo.

On Thursday the Waves are back at Vert Anglais and the lovely Rome Girl, otherwise known as Miss Expatria, may very well be singing with them. If that happens I promise to provide pictures.

Otherwise, the Thursday night Vert Anglais gig is always fun.

While my Bella Roma won't be around for it there is another great Vert Anglais party on Saturday in honor of Carnival.

Starting at 9 p.m. anyone who shows up in costume can buy a shot for one euro and there will be a free bottle of champagne for whomever shows up in the best costume.

So, if you live in town and have ever wanted to meet Miss Expatria show up Thursday and if you just want to party, come on down on Saturday night.

Either way it will be a gas!

I had to take Rome Girl to the dentist for the second time in two days today.

The problem is one of the nerves in one of her teeth has died and it has to be pulled out.

But, apparently she's resistant to anesthesia they use - so the dentist has been able to remove most of the nerve but there is still part of it left. When he tries to get at it she squirms so much that he pretty much can't.

After shooting her up twice this morning he asked her if she was a drug addict and then mentioned that only time he'd ever seen someone so anesthesia resistant was with people who are habitual cannabis smokers and/or morphine addicts.

She swore up and down that she doesn't use drugs but he just rolled his eyes.

I have to bring her back on Friday for him to try again.

When Rome Girl saw Patti Smith in concert a couple of weeks ago it was a transformative experience. What shocked her was that I'd played tons of Patti Smith songs for her over the years and so had other friends of hers and she had always been bored by her music.

Then, she saw Patti in concert. Now, she's such a fan that she's even printed up pictures of Patti and taped them up behind her computer for inspiration. And this is a woman who, in general, doesn't like rock and roll at all.

"It's just so weird," she said to me the other night. "It makes me have to rethink the way I look at music."

"That," I replied, "is what happens when you see The Real Deal."

"But," she asked. "What is the Real Deal?"

"You know it when you see it," I said. "And you never forget it."

The Real Deal dates back to when I spent a few years reviewing rock and roll concerts for Gannett. You'd see the same other reviewers at shows and you'd all end up talking. Together we came up with the concept and it is this:

Most commercial music is fun, but stops there, at fun. You like the records and then get off on jumping up and down and singing along at the shows. But, it's only fun if you are into the songs and/or like that genre of music.

The Real Deal is different. It's a rare thing. Some people are so transcendently good that it makes no difference whether you know the songs or the artist or even want to be at the show. When you see these people perform your heart races and you are swept up into something beyond what seems to be there on the surface. When you see the Real Deal it doesn't matter if you don' like the musical genre. You'll get swept up in it.

The problem is that The Real Deal almost never translates to recordings - so you have no way of knowing it until you see it. And nine times out of 10 the people who sound like the real deal on CD or Vinyl end up not being the real deal when you see them.

But holy mother of fuck when you see The Real Deal it blows your mind.

The downside is that when you see it it skews you. People who have only seen the artist play on television (which doesn't translate The Real Deal very well) or heard the records will never understand your passion for these people.

I first encountered The Real Deal - though I didn't have a term for it at the time - when I was about 12 and my dad was reviewing concerts He dragged me to, of all people, Vic Damone. You can imagine how unenthusiastic I was at going. But.... the dude delivered the goods and sold me even though I hate, hate hate that type of music.

This is why I so steadfastly defend Axl Rose even though he's a world class bullshit artist. When I saw Guns N Roses in concert it was very, very clear that he's The Real Deal. For all his insanity, showing up for gigs late and just being a general asshole the motherfucker will take you to another world when you see him live.

So tell me, when have you seen The Real Deal and how did you know it when you saw it?

I woke up way hungover yesterday and Rome Girl was tired because she'd been working like a dog all week.

So, when I realized that I was so out of it that I wasn't even writing comprehensible blog entries (or, rather, was writing ones that confused people) I suggested that we both take the day off which we did.

In fact I didn't even check my emails all day yesterday (the first time I've gone a day without checking emails in a couple of years). Hopefully nothing major happened because now AIM. is down and I can't check my emails til they fix it.

We spent most of the day walking around town and window shopping. I bought myself the latest Kay Scarpetta hardcover. Later I bought Rome Girl the CSI: Las Vegas game for the Playstation (some women like jewelery, Rome Girl likes puzzles to solve.)

Eventually we had a couple drinks with the Iceman and the Dirty Baker over at the Vert Anglais and then went home.

I ordered up a ton of Chinese food and she sat down and started playing the game. I watched her play until about 2 a.m. (she solved the first crime and was doing well on the second) and then I went into bed and started reading my new book.

We both slept until about 1:30 this afternoon and felt nicely refreshed.

As she's discussed on her own blog, Rome Girl and I now have a deal:

Everytime I do the dishes she gives me a blow job.

It works out well for both of us because:

1. She hates doing the dishes.

2. Unless motivated I'll let the dishes pile up for days.

3. It takes a lot less time and effort to give me a blow job than it does to do the dishes, so she kinda wins.

The only downside is that I now start to get hard - and sometimes even drip precum while I'm doing the dishes and the smell of dish soap is sorta erotic for me.

I hope this doesn't develop into a fetish. I mean I don't want to end up yearning to do other people's dishes when I'm at their pads or like feel compelled to whack off in the dish soap aisle of the local grocery store.

Which brings me to my question:

Can fetishes be created or am is this just a case of "Dog meet Pavlov. Pavlov meet dog."

Rome Girl got into the train station just before 6 p.m. Saturday night and blood instantly flowed to my cock and love filled my heart as I kissed her and grabbed her bag and walked her back to the apartment.

We got inside and she showed my stuff she'd gotten on her trip and checked out the apartment and found that overall it met her approval.

Then, sex.

"I hope I don't smell bad from the train," she said. "I've been wearing these clothes for like 24 hours."

"At this point it really doesn't matter," I replied.

Then, when we got done we came back out into the living room and she wanted to check out Guitar Hero.

She rocked out as I fed her champagne and completed roughly eight songs on easy during her first session.

"Hey," she said. "Real rock stars can play after a bottle of champagne, so why can't I?"

I brought out cheese and sausage and cooked up some French appetizer pastries that we feasted on before finally going back to bed and being as dirty as we could be given that we were both exhausted and sore.

On Sunday we woke up early (like 9 or 10) and went off to the Place de la Comedie for fresh squeezed lemonaide, before heading back to the apartment where we spent about an hour straightening up the place.

Then, while Rome Girl unpacked I played Guitar Hero 2 and managed to get four stars on a bunch of songs on the Medium level.

After some not quite all the way, but very satisfying fooling around we both showered up and headed off to Blond Lesbian's Goodbye Party.

She texted that she was going to be late so we first went to Vert Anglais for cocktails and ran into Hippy IT Boy.

Next it was back to Bar St. Roch to wait for Blond Lesbian - who ended up being about an hour and a half late, so we amused ourselves with beer and wine until she made her grand entrance.

Adams Family Patriarch, who runs the bar, brought out jugs of punch for free that was laced with enough rum to kill an elephant.

Eventually we stumbled back home and Rome Girl watched the first three episodes of Season Three of Prison Break before we passed out.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

1. Clean toilet

2. Buy light bulbs and install light bulbs

3. Pay Blond Lesbian to clean apartment

4. Buy new belt so I can wear the pants RG likes

5. Buy Veuve champagne

6. Change sheets

7. Avoid masturbation

8. Moderate alcohol intake to avoid hangover

9. Figure out where to take her to dinner/make reservations

10. Lots of curls so my arms look as good as possible

Rome Girl comes home Saturday night!

Today Rome Girl and I are trying to figure out the easiest and cheapest way for her to get back to Montpellier in a couple of weeks.

There used to be a real cheap flight from Rome to Marseilles on RyanAir, but they no longer operate that route. I assume that some other carrier must have taken it over, but we can't figure out which one.

The best we've found so far is a cheap flight from Venice to Marseilles - but of course we have to then figure out how much it will cost her to train or bus to Venice.

These are the type of jobs I like.

Rome Girl shaved for my birthday.

It's a beautiful thing.

I had a dream last night that for some reason Rome Girl and I moved back to America and I got my old job back.

The weird thing was that all the people I used to work with were still there and still doing the same jobs. They were just a little bit older and much more bitter and it seemed like the youth and life had been sucked out of them.

Then I went to lunch with my co-workers and they started talking about cell phone plans and the low monthly payments on their cars. And I asked if we could talk about something else and this girl turned to me and said "What else is there to talk about?"

It seemed so fucking real.

Holy Shit Rome Girl has been a sex kitten since she decided to go to nice this weekend.

It almost makes me want her to go to nice by herself every weekend.

Hippy IT Boy lent me The Shield on DVD. Man, do I like that show.

Though how the fuck did it get past network censors? Do they show it at like 1 a.m. or something?

I've been waiting for Rome Girl to blog this, but since she's behind, I will. She's going to be a near headline attraction singing at a huge party/event organized by the Lucious Lipstick Lesbians.

Aparently Hippy IT Boy and I are the only straight males invited.

Why anyone in their right mind would invite me to a party filled with alcohol and lesbian and/or bisexual girls in beyond me. But I'm not going to argue with it.

It should be really fun. For those of you who don't know Rome Girl was a child star (her photo albums have pics of her and Alysa Milano hanging out and kicking back) who travelled around the country for years in the Broadway production of Annie, so the LLL's should have a good featured attraction.

Plus in a room full of drunk lesbians I suspect her Double D's will be fairly popular.

But, of course, I'm obsessing about the Rome Girl thing instead.

I mean it makes sense that she is stressing - we are both seriously independant people and this apartment is damn small.

Plus, the french suck, and being around them all the time is enough to drive anyone batty.

And, when I was living in New York with her this summer and only saw her friends it drove me insane (the fact that three of her friends hated me and lived on our block did not help. The fact that one of them was her landlord and lived upstairs from us helped even less.)

Lord knows I like getting away for a bit as well.

I stll just wish, however, that there was something I could do other than listen to make things "OK" with her in her head.

I fucking hate seeing her upset.

There is something inside us guys that makes us want to be the White Knights and sometimes you can't be that because the girl has to work out her problems in her own head.

It's similar to when I was crazy two years ago and Rome Girl just had to wait for me to get less crazy on my own terms and time.

But it's fucking hard - even if it does give me more respect for Rome Girl than I have ever had before.

DEPW

Spent all night talking to rome girl about her current frustration/depression.

Realized that the big core of the problem is that she never gets any time alone here and the apartment is so small we are tripping over each other.

Plus, she can't go anywhere without seeing people she knows.

So.... she's getting herself a suite at a beachfront apartment in nice for the weekend and is goign to chill out alone and get herself pampered.

If that doesn't work I'm moving her ass to rome.

DEPW

Felt like death all day.

Tried to work.

That shit didn't happen.

Hippy IT Boy calls both me and Rome Girl.

Talks us into "one drink" at Fitzpatrick's.

Get there. HITB is there as are the Lucious Lipstick Lesbians and Lurch's Brother and Mr. Twist and Mr. Bitch.

Rome Girl starts having fun for the first time in days and I'm dancing in the streets inside my head but try to act cool.

The Suspects from Sunday night talk amonst ourselves and agree that there MUST HAVE BEEN X IN THE COKE because we are all very sure of our sexual preferences AND NEVER WOULD HAVE KISSED EACH OTHER OTHERWISE.

At some point I realize that Squirt is the new Mesiah.

Rome Girl gets call from Jacks Romana in New York.

She tells Jacks Romana "Bart is awesome."

I pour us two gin and tonics and decide to write a blog entry.

And so it goes.

So, two desperate lovers who have not seen each other for a week reunite.

He kisses her with passion both up top and on her lower lips.

As will happen, she gets bent over a beige 80s style couch in a chic basement apartment in Brooklyn. He takes her from behind, roughly, with just a bit of generic foot lotion as lube.

"Yeah, baby I fucking missed you, you like my cock?"

Random moans followed by the sharp sound of a hand smacking a cute female ass.

"Yeah, you missed my fucking cock this week, didn't you?"

More random moans that he assumes indicate pleasure.

"Doesn't it feel good?"

"No!" she screams. "It hurts! It really hurts!"

Sunburn is a bitch.

Imagine two people, in love, wanting to join with every atom of their bodies, being undone by the fact that if the girl is badly sunburned there is no position possible where the act of love can be completed if you like your lover enough not to hurt her.

You feel guilty even as you look at her beautiful breasts and stroke yourself to completion.

It's loss and love all tied up in one moment as you climax.

Back to the real world.

My dad, my uncle, my sweedish cousin and Rome Girl took me to Blue Man Group tonight. In general, I hate mimes, but I like these guys. Perhaps all mimes should be covered in blue paint and pull out boom boxes playing the Sex Pistols.

My dad took his relatives shopping before we met up and he bought me an American Psycho Patrick Bateman Action Figure (complete with axe, gun, knife and severed hand) which may be the most awesome thing anyone has ever bought me.

Life is good, even if my lover feels burned.

Bart

Rome Girl finally got back this afternoon and it was so fucking sweet to see her after a week that I can not even begin to describe it. She fucking rocks my world.

During her trip she got a bad sunburn. It's sort of cute though. When she's naked it looks like she is wearing an anti-bathing suit. Imagine a pink body and then giant bursts of white where a swimsuit should be.

My crazy mom and crazy designer started working on paginating and laying out the book today. Not quite the disaster I expected, but she's never done this before and is unintentionally sabatoging the process, and then getting frustrated. For example, when my designer logged in this morning he had 27 emails from her - some contradicting each other. So far he's responding with British reserve and there have been no fireworks, but who the fuck knows what will happen when deadline gets closer. It usually takes several weeks to layout a book and in this case he has about three days, so stress will happen.

My designer and my mom are both getting paid for this, while I'm doing it just for "good son" points so my patience may soon run thin.

My Thailand essay was a success and I got hired to do two grand of work for the site. The rest of the site should be fun - essentially a guide to the best beaches, bars and clubs to get laid in in Thailand.

I can't wait to start writing puns playing on "Bangcok." It's like a dirty writers dream city to write about sex in. It's also nice to know I'll make two grand in the next few weeks. Good news for the local bars and sex shops.

It's somewhat ironic that my gay globetroting porn client is easier to deal with this week than my designer and mother - both of whom are very well respected professionals in their industries.

Rome Girl says its weird that I use my own name on this blog and not some stage name.

I guess I'm just an exhibitionist. Anyway, the username "Monster_Cock" was already taken.