Yes, the JournaBlog has gone international!
Nah, I just felt like expressing my excitement for the official First Day of Spring (that’s what it all means) in French, being that springtime and France and Paris all seem to go hand in hand. And, after nearly 8 years of learning the language in the past, the above-mentioned title, by far, is all I can put together.
So, oui, it’s the First Day of Spring! The sun is out, buds are forming on the trees, and the wind is whipping about at 100 miles per hour. So, no, it doesn’t feel like spring, and no, it won’t feel like spring until mid-June, when summer is beginning. Lest I seem bitter (and I am. I am. Spring lasts one week in these parts. We never get spring!), I’m stating the facts. Nevertheless, I will try and remain positive and hope against hope that one of my favorite seasons (along with autumn, which also lasts exactly ONE WEEK) will manifest itself considerably this year. Welcome, Fake Springtime. We’ve missed you.
Warning: I refuse to discuss celebrity issues on this JournaBlog. I refuse. But I.Can’t.Help.the.Following:
- Dear Lindsay, It’s been a while since leaving old rehab. Yet, according to the pictures featured everywhere, you still show up in clubs with bottles of “water.” And you still hang out with the same old enablers. I don’t get it. Admit it, girl: there might be some issues that haven’t worked themselves out. Or, that you haven’t allowed yourself to work out. One suggestion, though? Stay home! And please stop kidding yourself–the good apple relaxing in the vat of bad apples? Doesn’t stay a good apple. You can’t expect to go back to the scene of the crime, as it were, and expect to remain unscathed. It’s impossible. So, just stay home. Get on Netflix, watch your innocent self in The Parent Trap (remember?), and drink real water. The bottom line: I should never see your picture and wonder how old you really are. Make smart choices.
Had to get that out.
Au revoir, for now.