MY BIG NIGHT OUT WITH PUFF DADDY

THE INTENSE WIND CHOPPED up the ocean so bad yesterday that I had to drag my board out of the water after an hour. I rode a dolphin, though, and I
have to say they aren't as slimy as I thought they'd be. 

Passing judgement on Puffy-armed man so quickly was wrong. The man, along with his wife, turned out to be very generous hosts. After a disappointing day at the beach (rain, wind, clouds, lack of babes, crabs) I spent some quality hangout time with a new friend (Charlie you kiwi bastard). We went to a house that Nike built on the beach, featuring televisions, photo-booths, a bunch of right shoes, tee shirt designing stations,  inoperable pin ball machines, free stickers, computers with the internet and French keyboards, a pool and a fake bed. As hard as it is to describe, the Nike sponsored house was designed to be a place of chilling. That is, until the bouncer starts giving you the eye. The evil one not the sexy bouncer one. 

Then I bought a hand powered flashlight, some meat, some cheese and a bed-time baguette. Aside from the flashlight, I wish I would have decided against the food, because I was about to have a seafood banquet back at chez moi. 

Frank invited me for some wine with his wife at the far tent when I saw that I had no wine to drink with my self made sandwich. I brought my cup over and sat down. They set a place for me and before a knew it, a freshly shucked oyster wad placed in front of me. Along with a bottle of red, it was a little like a dream come true. Frank carefully shucked the oysters in a towel with his huge, puffy hands. I kept wondering what would happen if the knife slipped. Would there be an audible popping of the taught skin? 

After the 5th oyster my prejudice faded and I was happy. We finished the first bottle and moved onto some
rose from Bordeaux. Then Frank's wife got a plastic bag out of the car and revealed two long, silvery fish. Frank prepared the small grill and trimmed the fins with scissors. While rubbing the fish with olive oil, pepper and salt, Frank proceeded to tell me about his culinary past as a chef in Norway. The man had dealt with fish before. In no time the crackling skin of the fish got us all hungry-- even after my sandwich and oysters. I meant to leave, but before I knew it (again) there was a heaping mountain of white fish flesh on my plate. As the wife showed me a slideshow of their teenage daughter on their digital camera, I slowly ate the fish. 

Apparently their 13 year old daughter didn't want to come camping this year. I reassured them that this was normal teenage behavior, but there was a lingering sadness from Frank-- something beyond the typical French melodrama. 

I on the other hand, was happy the little brat skipped out. I'd been adopted for the evening. After a dessert of peaches, I showered. Then they told me we would go into town and watch the fireworks for the Bastille day celebration. 

In the car ride there Frank told me about the points on his license and how he now had to take it easy. I told him we had a point system in America, too. I also told him in was glad he was taking it easy. It was my first time
in a car in two weeks, and the sensation of being in a moving motorcar was quite exhilarating. 

I thought back to the photographs of their teenage daughter I saw over dinner. Frank was in some of the pictures, unrecognizable. No puffy arms, no yellowy skin-- it must be heroin, I thought. 

We parked illegally on the sidewalk and watched the show from the bridge. It was a fine display, even though Frank kept apologizing to me thinking that these fireworks paled in comparison to New York fireworks. I assured him that it didn't matter-- the best part of fireworks is knowing that everyone is watching the same show you are.  

After fireworks we headed to the town center, where an elaborate DJ show was taking place. A few people were dancing in the center, and as I drank my beer I thought about how similar this was to a middle school dance. Only at this middle school, all the kids and chaperones are smoking cigarettes. 

Frank whispered to me that gypsies were everywhere. I moved my wallet to a front pocket. 
 
The married couple and I danced in the crowd, singing along with the Black Eyed Peas. Some girls took a liking to me. I think they were 15. 

Frank pissed in an alleyway and gave his wife the keys. "You never know when police will happen," he says. We listened to Eminem's Relapse on the way back. I enjoyed the track where he kidnaps a lost woman on the side of the road and proceeds to abuse her. I really like Eminem, I said to Frank, but his new songs make me cringe. Someone give him his prescription pills back!

When we got back to the campsite, I was excited to use my new flashlight. I rested it on my chest and read myself to sleep. The flashlight smelled like cheap plastic and in the morning my shirt did, too. 

Tomorrow I won't be A LUKE ALONE. I'm off to Toulouse to see my Teddy. 

Dolphin slime on my inner thighs.