Take me back.

My vacation is over. So over that I went back to work today, reluctantly, and later came home to find a jury duty "questionnaire" waiting in my mailbox. Welcome home.

I survived the numerous plane flights, I enjoyed eating my way through Paris and rediscovering my high school French, and I tried to clean up Madrid (while considering whether or not to get the haircut dujour, the European mullet).
I fell off the smoking wagon (which I am now back ON, dammit), I discovered that wine is cheaper than Diet Coke and that I am in fact as clumsy as I think I am, and I had late-night conversations about religion and relationships with my best friends.

Eyeglasses in Paris are bright and weird (and don't translate well in New York, seeing as though most people I know hate my new specs), and Irish pubs in Madrid play Hanson (which is better than the place we were before that, in which a "stand up comic" was making oral sex jokes that I could barely understand because of the PR Spanish/Actual Iberian Spanish barrier).

Ah yes, and then there was the time when we left the TV on in the living area to our hotel suite in France, only to have my mother walk in there later, claiming to hear weird noises, which were of course emanating from the harcore bondage pornography playing on a local station.

I love Europe.