I'VE ALWAYS DEPENDED on the kindness of strangers. Is that how the line goes?
Last night the city of lights pumped my hype levels up beyond even New York City levels of hype. Translation: I went to the to the hottest club in Paris. The MEN who made The Beatrice Inn (a hot, hot club) in New York speak some French and have another place "Le Barron"? (spelling?) around the 8th. We went up to the door and a little French man with an attitude let us in. Meredith was shocked that the little door man hadn't been friendlier to us because he added her as a friend on facebook.
The place was empty at 12:30 AM but Meredith promised the place would explode around 3 or 4. We ran into some New York friends (not surprising) at one of the tables. In the center of the dancefloor was a grand piano played by a Parisian who rapped in French. There were microphones and songbooks. It didn't take long before I realized this was French Karaoke. Us Americans decided we should sing an American song dedicated to the 4th of July. Naturally we came to the collective decision of "Sweet Dreams" by the Eurythmics. The four of us really turned it on. Between Serge Gainsbourg songs we would continue to inspire some American staples.
I took a solo turn with 10 cc's "I'm Not in Love"-- complete with national anthem-style voice solos in the instrumental breaks. I dedicated the song to Meredith, not really knowing how she would take the message. It didn't really matter, no one knew the song anyway and it turned out to be a bust. I sounded great, though. By that time the place was full up with fancy Parisians and I wondered if they all thought I was some musical theater jerk.
We continued drinking and things started to get blurry. The little door man introduced us to a guy from California built like a walking stick wearing a leather jacket from the lady's department. The stick man tried to say that he was Swiss, emphisizing his dual citizenship. He wanted to be European very badly so to make him mad I spoke in California surfer lingo but he wouldn't have it. I offended him. He would tell Meredith later that he hated me ("I don't have to take that kind of shit anymore") and I would later see him sitting on a parked motorcycle with a girl, asking him how his French was coming along. His question of the evening: "how many langauges do you speak?". Rhetorical. His dad spoke 10.
An off-duty French DJ was rubbing my friend's nipples on a bench by the dancefloor. I asked her to do mine next. She did. "You have gay nipples," she said, "Maybe you are a homosexual." Then she got up and left. This girl didn't like me even though she would later tell me that she did.
Later I was doing my dance with some girls when a frenchman pointed to my armpits and smirked. Worried, I stepped outside and asked a group of seated smokers if I smelled bad. Four of them proceeded to sniff my armpits with the same negative answer. In return I had to smell their mouths, all of which were surprisingly fresh. We decided we all smelled good enough to return to the dancefloor.
Before we left the CLUB the owner bought Meredith a few more drinks and spent some serious time touching her neck and the back of her head. Meredith had had too much. We got a cab and she had her hand over her mouth the whole time. When we arrived I had to wait at the door while she sat splayed-legged on a bench in the park trying to ralph. She ralphed later in the bathroom and we fell asleep.
Hangover. Bad. Our 15 Euro drink of choice the night before was comprised of Champagne, vodka and something that tasted like how a Jamba Juice smells. Meredith was rather chipper thanks to her vomit-fest in the bathroom and I was jealous. I never puke. NEVER! I had a coffee, some yogurt and a banana. Then I thought about ripping my eyes out. We went to the school and used the internet and now we're split up for the first time since my arrival. I had a list of things to do on my own, including buying sunscreen for my journey. There are only two brands of 'screen in Paris and they both cost twenty Euro. And also, I'm totally lost.
Meredith said that if I ever got lost I should just head towards the Eiffel tower to get back to her place. The trouble is I'm sitting under the Eiffel tower right now and I have no idea where the apartment is. A LUKE ALONE.
Last night the city of lights pumped my hype levels up beyond even New York City levels of hype. Translation: I went to the to the hottest club in Paris. The MEN who made The Beatrice Inn (a hot, hot club) in New York speak some French and have another place "Le Barron"? (spelling?) around the 8th. We went up to the door and a little French man with an attitude let us in. Meredith was shocked that the little door man hadn't been friendlier to us because he added her as a friend on facebook.
The place was empty at 12:30 AM but Meredith promised the place would explode around 3 or 4. We ran into some New York friends (not surprising) at one of the tables. In the center of the dancefloor was a grand piano played by a Parisian who rapped in French. There were microphones and songbooks. It didn't take long before I realized this was French Karaoke. Us Americans decided we should sing an American song dedicated to the 4th of July. Naturally we came to the collective decision of "Sweet Dreams" by the Eurythmics. The four of us really turned it on. Between Serge Gainsbourg songs we would continue to inspire some American staples.
I took a solo turn with 10 cc's "I'm Not in Love"-- complete with national anthem-style voice solos in the instrumental breaks. I dedicated the song to Meredith, not really knowing how she would take the message. It didn't really matter, no one knew the song anyway and it turned out to be a bust. I sounded great, though. By that time the place was full up with fancy Parisians and I wondered if they all thought I was some musical theater jerk.
We continued drinking and things started to get blurry. The little door man introduced us to a guy from California built like a walking stick wearing a leather jacket from the lady's department. The stick man tried to say that he was Swiss, emphisizing his dual citizenship. He wanted to be European very badly so to make him mad I spoke in California surfer lingo but he wouldn't have it. I offended him. He would tell Meredith later that he hated me ("I don't have to take that kind of shit anymore") and I would later see him sitting on a parked motorcycle with a girl, asking him how his French was coming along. His question of the evening: "how many langauges do you speak?". Rhetorical. His dad spoke 10.
An off-duty French DJ was rubbing my friend's nipples on a bench by the dancefloor. I asked her to do mine next. She did. "You have gay nipples," she said, "Maybe you are a homosexual." Then she got up and left. This girl didn't like me even though she would later tell me that she did.
Later I was doing my dance with some girls when a frenchman pointed to my armpits and smirked. Worried, I stepped outside and asked a group of seated smokers if I smelled bad. Four of them proceeded to sniff my armpits with the same negative answer. In return I had to smell their mouths, all of which were surprisingly fresh. We decided we all smelled good enough to return to the dancefloor.
Before we left the CLUB the owner bought Meredith a few more drinks and spent some serious time touching her neck and the back of her head. Meredith had had too much. We got a cab and she had her hand over her mouth the whole time. When we arrived I had to wait at the door while she sat splayed-legged on a bench in the park trying to ralph. She ralphed later in the bathroom and we fell asleep.
Hangover. Bad. Our 15 Euro drink of choice the night before was comprised of Champagne, vodka and something that tasted like how a Jamba Juice smells. Meredith was rather chipper thanks to her vomit-fest in the bathroom and I was jealous. I never puke. NEVER! I had a coffee, some yogurt and a banana. Then I thought about ripping my eyes out. We went to the school and used the internet and now we're split up for the first time since my arrival. I had a list of things to do on my own, including buying sunscreen for my journey. There are only two brands of 'screen in Paris and they both cost twenty Euro. And also, I'm totally lost.
Meredith said that if I ever got lost I should just head towards the Eiffel tower to get back to her place. The trouble is I'm sitting under the Eiffel tower right now and I have no idea where the apartment is. A LUKE ALONE.
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