Tonight

was nice.
Watched "How I Met Your Mother" and ate pita with Jonathan.
Then walked the 20 minutes of cobblestoned streets down to the Flagey film festival, practicing French by chatting into my cell phone who hadn't actually called or answered anyone.
My new favorite French word to use is "veritable". I learned it in my new book; "Le Petit Prince." You'll hear more about that later.
I stopped at the GB express in search of an ice cream cone.
It only seemed appropriate on such a warm summer evening, wearing my soft swishy skirt and whatnot.
I couldn't find an ice cream, so I took a capri sun, and sipped it on my way down the hill.
Next into a little indian night shop. The ice cream was of poor quality, so I walked back out again, and met up with Emily at Place Flagey.
As she approached I spotted a waffel van which also sold ice cream. I bought a cone of raspberry and mocha. The quality wasn't impressive, but it was cold and sweet and seemed appropriate. We chatted in front of the big white movie screen for a long while, and finally wondered when the film would begin.
It turned out it had started. 40 minutes ago. Inside. Shit.
We were disappointed, but the festival lasts all week. So we sucked it up and took a tram to the "kinopolis" to see what was playing.
We dodged "The Proposal" and saw "The Hangover". Wasn't too bad. But was one of those films where so much shit happens (i.e. Meet the Parents) that after a certain point, you just don't care what else goes wrong.
But it was upbeat and made me laugh.
We took the metro to Merode. I checked the time table. 15 minutes in the muggy metro waiting for my connection didn't sound so great. So I took 3 stairs at a time and climbed into clean night air. I took off my sandals and ran along the cool, uneven cobblestone.
I made it home 26 minutes later, my legs warm and red. I've had a surge of optimism. Emily said something inspiring at one point, and I think it's going to help.

'Night friends.