Meet the Parents

Saturday is a milestone—I’m going to B’s hometown to MEET HIS PARENTS! I am literally freaking out, I don't think I've ever been so nervous about anything, ever. What to wear? What to bring as a gift? What to talk about? Will they hate me? He’s from a small village (who even uses the word “village” to describe a place in real life?) near Troyes, about 2 hours east of Paris. My friend joked that I’ll have to call the town and alert them that I’m coming. And their one black resident will have to leave this weekend—because with my coming there, they’ll overfill their quota of the number of black folks allowed in the village at one time :o)

B said that we’ll do the typical village stuff—eat with his parents, bike ride, go to the lake, drive around the village so he can show me where he grew up, that kind of thing. And he told his dad that I’m a football fan, so his dad got us tickets to see their local team (who were relegated to Ligue 2 last year, but whatevs) on Saturday night—that was really sweet.

I’ve never met a boyfriend’s parents before—and B has never brought a girl home before either—so I have no idea what to expect. When he told his mom we were coming, she was like, “Wow, I guess this is serious then?” And he was like, “Yeah, it is”. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling that she’s thinking of me as “the awful American who is planning to steal her darling baby boy away from her”. Totally unjustified because she actually seems super sweet… but you know French mothers and their weird obsession with their sons. All I know is that his parents don’t speak any English and my French is shoddy at best… so that will make for some lively discussions! And we’ll be there for 2 whole days… lordy… stay tuned...

Cute French Café & Velib

A friend just introduced me to the CUTEST little café near my apt... its called Séseme on Quai Valmy along Canal St. Martin. It's a tiny, bright place (seats about 10 people) selling hot drinks, beer & wine and an assortment of snacks— salads, sandwiches, soup & salad. Right now, we're sitting at the bar, drinking coffee and sharing a slice of carrot cake, typing away at our laptops. The waitress is super nice and just gave us leftover sandwiches since they're about to close. Well, I know where I'll be whiling away the hours from now on!

As a side note, I came here by bike. I just signed up for the Velib bike service which is this initiative the Mayor (?) started in Paris last summer. For 29€, you get a year-long subscription to ride the city bikes as much as you like. I've only used it once so far, but I'm trying to take advantage of every opportunity. Mappy.com said it would take 12 minutes to walk from my apt to the café so I decided to bike it, thinking I'd arrive in about 2 minutes. Naturally, I got lost. And 40 minutes later, I finally found the place. I nearly killed myself in the process—going through the huge roundabout in République, nearly getting run over by a bus and sideswiped by scooters. Ahh, the joys of biking in Paris...

Habitat for Humanity

As part of the humanitarian bit of my Parisian adventure, I joined the Paris chapter of Habitat for Humanity through the American Church of Paris. This August, we’ll spend 2 weeks building a home for an underprivileged family in Macedonia. Right now we’re in the process of raising the money it will take to fund our trip (airfare, building supplies, food, etc) and each of us are charged with doing our own personal fund raising as well. This week I spent an evening creating (awful) Easter cards to sell, I’m helping to plan a concert, we’re organizing a dinner, and so much more… we need to raise a pretty substantial amount but we are seriously on our hustle so I think we’ll get there.

I really love the premise of H4H’s Global Village: these houses are SOLD to the family (at a very low rate, of course) rather than given to them for free—the idea being that people respect something more and take care of it when they actually have to pay for it themselves, rather than when its just given to them. So they’ll make monthly payments to Habitat on this home and at the end of 5 years or so, they own the house outright. I think its going to be an awesome experience and cannot wait to go—although Lord knows I am not a builder, do not like doing anything with my hands or any physical labor whatsoever (especially not in the dead heat of August) and am pathetically weak… so it should be interesting!

Anyway, here’s the link if you want to make an online donation (in the part where it asks for your name, please also put my name in parentheses):

DONATE TO HABITAT HERE

Thanks for your support, friends! And remember, all donations are tax deductible! :o)

Weekend Getaway

Last weekend, B and I went to Lille (a town about an hour north of Paris on the Belgian border) to celebrate his college friend’s birthday. B went to University in Lille, but since he was doing an apprenticeship program in Paris, he only spent about 1 week every couple of months up there. We went up early on Saturday morning so that we’d have time to sightsee before the party that evening. Lille is about 2 seconds big so you can literally do it in a day. It was supposed to rain all weekend but we got really lucky and had beautiful sunshine (granted it was about 40 degrees but that’s ok) all weekend. We followed the walking tours in our guidebook and went to see all the famous sights. Lille is an absolutely gorgeous old French town with a really interesting history and just won the title of “culture capital” of France.

Later that day, we came across a small, kiddie amusement park. Hundreds of kids on merry-go-rounds, rollercoasters, etc… and then I saw it—a moon bounce! I haven’t been on one of those in ages and B and I looked at each other, grinning. He was like, “Do you want to?” and I said, “I’m DYING to but we can’t! Its for kids… look at all those parents standing around watching their children play—how crazy would we look asking if we can get in there with them?” So we walked off and laughed about how much fun those childhood days in the park were. Suddenly, B grabbed my arm and said, “Lets just go ask… who knows, maybe they’ll let us get on anyway”. I was really skeptical about looking stupid or like some child molester, but I reluctantly agreed to go back and ask. And it turns out anyone can get on the rides! So we bought our ticket and got in, and let me tell you, I haven’t laughed so hard in ages! It was so fun! The funny part was, after we got out, suddenly all the other adults decided that they wanted to go on the moon bounce too—we started a trend!

Afterwards, we went to a bar to meet up with B’s friends for a drink. Then we went to the hotel to hang out for a bit before heading to his friend’s apartment for pre-drinks (yes, they do A LOT of drinking in Lille). It was interesting because his friend’s don’t speak English very well and of course, when the boys reunite, they launch into telling hilarious jokes and stories from their college days—all in French (great practice for me). By 11:30pm I was exhausted and they were just getting ready to go to dinner before the night on the town. So B walked me back to the hotel then went back to meet up with his friends for a boy’s night out—he returned at 3am while the rest of them were out till 7am.

Sunday was more sightseeing after a long, lazy brunch, and we caught the train back to Paris around 5pm. It was an absolutely lovely weekend—just spending time with B, eating good food, drinking tons of beer, hanging out with the boys and getting lost in the streets of a charming little French town.

(random ridiculousness... had the nerve to have hydrolics and blast westside hip hop)

Paris Fashion Week

My first byline. Last week was Fashion Week and my editor at Paris Voice charged me with reviewing the shows of the Anglophone designers. The French press are notoriously difficult with their guest lists, but I did manage to score a few invites. Problem was, the majority of those shows were on Saturday and Sunday, and this was the weekend B had planned a getaway to Lille (more on that later). I wrote an article for a US-based fashion magazine a few weeks ago but that doesn’t hit newsstands till April so this is my first published piece (click below).

Very exciting…

Jeremy Scott's Funhouse

A night of pampering...

Ok folks: I'm not being biased, but I think I may have the greatest boyfriend ever (Dina, hold your lunch). Last weekend he told me to keep Thursday free because he was planning a surprise for me. As much as I begged, he wouldn’t tell me what it was, just that I should bring my bathing suit. Now, I’m thinking we’re going to the neighborhood pool—he just got a membership to the Paris pools and has been all excited that he can go swimming once a week—and I just thought, ‘Ok, that’s cool, haven’t been swimming in a while’.

So Thurs rolls around and he sends me a text message: ‘Meet me at Miromesnil station at 19h’. We meet outside of the station then get back on the subway and head to the south of Paris, the end of the line. We walk into this dark building, lit only by candles snaking up a set of stairs (I still have no clue at this point), open a big heavy ornate door and step into… a hammam! He had planned a whole night of pampering and relaxation!

Walking into Les Cent Ciels (Bathhouse & Hammam) felt like I’d been transported to Turkey: It’s very dark, lit only by soft candlelight, and the entire place is accented with intricately beaded, colorful furniture and draperies. All the staff is dressed like Arabic attendants, wearing djellaba-like outfits and turbans. The receptionist gave us a key to our lockers, a plush white robe and towel and flip flops and told us to get changed and meet her back in the lobby. So I come out completely naked underneath my robe and when B sees me, he started laughing and said, “You’re supposed to put your bathing suit on. What do you think I told you to bring it for?” lol, obviously I was still very confused. I had never been to a hammam before and had no idea what to do or what to expect. So the lady shows us around—the restaurant, the repose and sun rooms (outfitted with lots of plush loungers and skylights), the pool, the sauna and the hot, warm and cold hammams.

We spend the next two hours alternating between all of the rooms—10 minutes in the sauna, a dip in the pool, laying out in the hammams and back again. At 9:15pm, a lady came in and called my name. I looked at B confused and he said, “I scheduled a massage for you”. Lovely! It had been about 6 months since my last massage and who doesn’t adore them? The room smelled like flowers, and was dark and warm with soft music playing. There were rose petals on the table and the masseuse tells me to take off my bathing suit, put on tiny paper panties and lay down. Just like the gynecologist, in France, there is no shame when it comes to getting a massage—she thought nothing of asking me to flip over (no towel to cover up of course) half naked so she could massage my front and bend my legs into all sorts of crazy positions. But nonetheless, it was 30 minutes of bliss. After a final swim in the pool, we got back into our robes and went to the repose room to stretch out with a cup of tea. Then we went to the restaurant and had a traditional Moroccan dinner and glass of champagne. By midnight, we reluctantly left so we would catch the last train back to Paris. It was an absolutely amazing, luxurious, unforgettable night.

Apparently, this was supposed to be our Valentine’s Day but when he called to make the reservation they told him they’d been booked a month in advance. But this more than makes up for the original V-Day… it was so sweet and thoughtful of him to plan a romantic night like this. What girl doesn’t love a day of pampering? And it was so much fun! Granted, I’m now spending this whole afternoon trying to salvage my hair (which I just blew out and flat ironed a couple days ago) but it was well worth it :o)

Unemployment Pt. 2

About two years ago, I passed a very pleasant unemployment period. My department folded at work and when given the option of relocating to the Miami office, I decided to stick it out in New York and just enjoy the summer living off a nice severance package and weekly unemployment checks. It was heavenly—3 months of catching up on my reading in Central Park, actually “finding the time” to hit the gym or run along the East River, meeting friends for lunch at their office (and breathing a sigh of relief when I got to escape back into the world of the shiftless), visiting with other unemployed friends, taking up random sports (swimming, tennis), exploring the city by foot, taking day trips to far-off locale’s like Boston—by August I had reluctantly accepted a new gig and it was back to the drawing board. But I’ll never forget that summer as one of the most enjoyable of my life—it felt like being on high school summer vacation again.

So last week, after returning from my 2-week holiday in the States, I got an email from my boss saying that the company was ending my contract (yes, via email) because my position had become obsolete. I wasn’t entirely shocked considering they hired a marketing agency last year to handle all their marketing stuff and I had sh*t to do—plus they’re cheap bastards and if they could get out of paying someone (I won’t even tell you how much of a fight it was to get my expenses reimbursed on time) they would. In any case, they agreed that I could wrap up my last project this week and they would pay me through the end of the month. Considering that I had been trying to work up the guts to quit anyway, this was the perfect little push.

Interestingly enough, most of my friends in Paris are unemployed; either by choice or because of the lack of opportunity here in France (the unemployment rate is ridiculous) so I don’t think I’ll be out of things to do. Today, for example, it was my first day of freedom and I spent it shopping with a girlfriend all afternoon followed by 3 hours of gabbing in a café. Tomorrow I plan on finally checking out Shakespeare & Co. and next week, my friends and I are planning a trip outside of Paris. And when the weather warms up, having all this free time will be lovely.

Problem is, I have a feeling things are going to get pretty sketchy really quickly. Life in Paris is NOT cheap, especially when you factor in the exchange rate. In New York, I knew lots of tricks to make my money stretch without drastically altering my lifestyle pre-unemployment. Here, on the other hand, it’s not the same story—you’re lucky if you can send a text message without spending $2. So, we’ll see how things go… it’ll be an interesting experiment. I may be moving back into the ghetto soon, who knows…

Tout va bien

My cousin, as usual, was right (don’t tell her I said that). So B and I are hanging out at my place on Saturday morning, just lying around and chatting. And suddenly he looks at me and asks, “What’s wrong? Tell me” (he can always tell when something is wrong, it’s scary).

And I took a deep breath and just spilled everything. I told him that I felt that he takes me for granted. That I think that if he really cared he should want to do things that he knows will make me happy (whether it be sending me flowers or planning a nice evening) and he just isn’t. I told him that I wanted to feel special; wanted to be surprised once in a while; that I’m a girl and girls like presents. And that basically the last straw was Valentine’s Day—he obviously made little effort that day and as much as he says he likes me, if he’s not willing to make an effort to show me than it’s just not good enough.

He was silent for while then just put his hand over his heart and said, “Wow, that really hurt me”. And guys, honestly, the look he gave me very nearly broke my heart. He said the fact that I could think that he doesn’t care kills him b/c he’s never felt for anyone the way he feels for me and he didn’t realize that this whole time he made me doubt his feelings. That he’s new to this relationship thing and he just doesn’t know what to do but he’s going to work on it and make sure that I never feel taken for granted. He admitted that Valentine’s Day was pathetic and apologized. And said he understood that simply doing “something” was not good enough and he wishes he had made more of an effort. And he told me about all these things he’s been planning for us in the next couple of weeks and months (weekend getaways around France—including a trip to meet his parents, yikes!). He said that he doesn’t want to lose me and he would do anything he can to make me happy.

And for a long while we just held hands and talked; about how we felt, what we wanted from each other and out of a relationship. And I felt really great afterwards, especially since I said my peace and he listened and there were no hard feelings. I love that we have this open relationship where we can be honest and talk about these things and no one gets defensive or mean. And it felt pretty good to know that his misfire was simply from being a young clueless guy and not b/c he was a cheap bastard.

Just the act of actually voicing my feelings is something! I think it’s actually a sign that I’m maturing (uh..)! Yall know that if this had happened 6 months ago and my boyfriend fu*ked up like this, he would have been kicked to the curb immediately without even a heads up—I probably would have just told him I hate his shoes so he’s dismissed :o)

B's Birthday Dinner

On Saturday night we celebrated B’s 24^th birthday. First off, a milestone: now, the fashion girl in me kicks in every once in a while, and even though B dresses much better than the average man (he is European after all), he hates to shop and I always think to myself, ‘If I see that boy in a t-shirt, jeans and All-Star Converse's one more time I just may scream’. Sheepishly, he mentions that he’s thinking of doing a little shopping that afternoon—he needs new work clothes and wants something new to wear for his birthday that night. I’m elated but I try not to show it so he doesn’t get scared off… for some reason he has this wild idea that I’m a crazy shopaholic and is scared to enter any stores with me (ok true, but so unfair). We head over to Les Halles to hit up H&M, Zara and a couple other European discount fashion chains.

I drag him through the stores and hold up vests, pink sweaters, blazers, skinny jeans (not too skinny!) and ties—lots of trendy but classic and mature pieces that would look fantastic on him. He practically shouts at me, “Stop trying to dress me like ‘The Swede’. I’m not your gay friend”. So I back off just a bit and coax him into a compromise. We bought a few white button-down dress shirts, properly fitting dress slacks, some sweaters/cardigans that can be dressed up or down… and my biggest accomplishment: I made him graduate from colorfully printed boxers to neutral-colored boxer briefs. After he stopped complaining about never being able to father children, he agreed that they weren’t so bad.

After a quick lunch, we split up. Went home to get showered & dressed and then he went to meet his friends for pre-dinner drinks while I went to Café Oz, a central Aussie bar, to meet my Man United buddy to watch the Arsenal match.

B came and picked me up with his friends around 8:30pm and we headed to Los Mexicanos, a theme restaurant with live music and dancing. 15 of us (10 of his friends, 3 of mine) ate [bad] mexican, drank tons of margaritas, I bought him a rose from the vendor and we all danced until around 1am. The night was a lot of fun—and it was so cute to see him so happy, the life of the party. He said it was the best birthday he’s had in a long while… he doesn’t usually celebrate his birthday but I kept bothering him about how loser-ish that was till he finally decided to plan something.

(he got a Lorie music video DVD, France's Britney Spears, as a gag gift)

Oh, and I chipped in with his 3 best friends and bought him top-of-the-line rollerblades. He laughed b/c he’d never thought of rollerblading but said he’s looking forward to testing it out—in a private secluded neighborhood, away from the guys he plays basketball with at his local park. Personally, my idea was to get him a 6-month subscription to Glowria (France’s new version of Netflix) b/c he just bought a new flat-screen TV and DVD player and he’s a huge movie buff… but I figured I’d acquiesce and go with their choice since they’ve known him longer/better. I’m happy to report that he kept saying that my gift idea was fantastic and he would have loved to get that instead. Oh well, looks like B and I will be skating through the streets of Paris together this spring! :o)

Trouble in Paradise

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. This was my first “real” Valentine’s Day with a real boyfriend that I truly care about. B had been emailing me for a few weeks about how he was planning this special night for us. I was super excited about it, went out and bought a cute little hot pink silk shift dress and everything, just for the occasion. I bought him cute little romantic presents, spent an hour doing my hair and makeup… I shouldn’t have bothered.

The night before he told me that he didn’t want to go to a restaurant because it would be noisy and crowded and he just wanted to have a romantic night at his place with for the two of us… ok cute. I show up and there were no flowers or candles like he said there would be. Then he brings out my gift… a single red rose. I’m thinking this is just the pre-gift but nope, that’s it! And he’s really proud of it, tells me he’s never given a rose to anyone but his mother (um... ok). Then its time for dinner: microwaved chicken & rice (as in the pre-cooked kind that you buy frozen and heat up for 5 minutes… he guiltily admitted this halfway into the meal. Apparently he didn’t have “time” to cook) that we ate on plastic plates, a bottle of wine that we drank from plastic cups. Sitting on folding chairs with our plates resting on the coffee table. Romantic, huh?

I’m sorry; I’m a girl who likes romantic gestures. I’m not asking a man to shower me with diamonds and pearls (although that would be nice…), but put a little effort in. Write me a poem; take me to a nice restaurant; surprise me with presents once in a while for no reason… hell, a gift card to H&M would be happily accepted! All I wanted was a night that showed that he thinks I’m special and went to some lengths to make me happy.

My cousin is trying to assure me that he’s young; he’s never had a girlfriend before so he still needs to be trained. Sure, I understand all that is true, but do I really want to invest the time teaching someone how to be a gentleman? Its hard b/c I really do care about this person. I’ve never before felt so close to someone, so comfortable, so smitten. And I KNOW he cares about me, he just doesn’t know how to show it the way I need him to show it. But I’ll have to get all this off my chest. I have to stop pretending that I’m ok with everything, talk to him about how I feel and see how he reacts. He honestly is a great guy, he just doesn't know. But there comes a point where every woman has to decide if its time to walk away…

This feels like the year my first ever Valentine/boyfriend got me $0.99 card for Valentine’s Day and signed it, “From Anthony”. My girlfriends and I still laugh about it to this day. But then again, he was 13.

I hate British Airways & US Airlines

I just returned from 2 lovely weeks in the States… a week spent doing nothing but relaxing in my PJ’s on my parent’s couch in Maryland, catching up on past episodes The Real Housewives of Orange County and Rob & Big (we really do make insanely addictive, sh*tty TV in the States, France needs to step their TV game up). Then I spent a week in New York, running around like a madwoman trying to catch up with 100 friends in 7 days…

Anyway, the reason I haven't written about the trip or have pics up by now is because the airlines lost both of my suitcases (with my camera cables in it)! Actually, I should say they lost all 3 of my bags.

Sunday night I was scheduled for a 6:55pm flight from DC to Philly. From there I had an hour layover before my direct flight to Paris. Well, my flight got into Philly about 15 minutes late… fine. Except I was on one of those small planes where they ask you to give them your carry-on so they can stow it under the plane during the flight and bring it back to you at the gate when you de-board the plane. So I’m waiting… and waiting… everyone else has received their bags and was on their way… mine never shows up. Finally they tell me they must have “accidently” sent it down to baggage claim and I would have to go down there to find it. By this time, my flight is scheduled to leave in 30 minutes. As I’m running over to baggage claim I hear the announcement, “Final call for flight 754 to Paris”. Of course, I’m at Terminal F and my flight is leaving from clear across the airport in Terminal A (and not just Gate A1, but Gate A25!)… about a 25-30 minute walk, the absolute furthest distance you could possible go in the damn place. So I find my bag and start running/walking with my heavy carry-on and my purse that was weighted down with fashion magazines and just praying that I make that stupid flight. Oh did I mention that I was also sick as a dog? I was nursing a fever and a pounding headache. I get to the gate at 8:42 (the flight was scheduled to leave at 8:45) and the guy at the gate just says to me, “Sorry, your plane left 10 minutes ago”. Nice. So I had to wait in line for 45 minutes at customer service with about 30 other passengers who all missed their flights and finally got put on a 10pm British Airways flight to London with a 3rd connection from London to Paris. I’m trying to stay calm and politely ask: “But what about my bags? How will I get the bags I checked on the US Airways flight?” And the snooty airline guy was like, “Your bags will travel with you on the BA flight to Paris”. But of course, 17 hours after this nightmare of a journey began, I land at CDG airport, go over to baggage claim, and my bags are not there. Its been 3 days and one bag arrived, the one carrying my makeup and hair products (thank God), but the other bag is still missing and they have no idea where it is.

I’m pissed, annoyed, frustrated, depressed and without any of my favorite clothes. I call about 3x a day but all they keep telling me is that it hasn’t been located yet and I just have to wait. So I’m waiting. Impatiently. I hate this.

It doesn’t help that tonight is Valentine’s Day and I’m in a seriously crappy mood. Bruno has supposedly planned a nice romantic night for us but I’m not even up for it at this point… poor thing…

R.I.P.

I wasn't even a huge Heath Ledger fan, but its so tragic when someone you're used to seeing/reading about just up and dies. I just got word this morning (time difference, I was asleep) and was shocked. He was definitely a great actor and its unfortunate that there will be no more Heath Ledger movies, no more sightings on the streets of New York, no more Brokeback Mountain-esque performances to blow you away. He was only 28 and he was talented and beautiful and he's dead. And the worst part is that he has a 2-year-old daughter who will never get to know her father... at this point they don't know if it was suicide or an accidental overdose or what, but that little girl is going to have to live with that legacy... just sad all around. God Bless.

Finals...

This past week has been insane… it’s been such a long since I was a student, I forgot how this whole studying thing worked… finals are not fun!

First, I spent an entire day at the Sorbonne registering for my spring semester which runs through the end of May. Last semester, I took the program that included 20 hours/week of grammar courses, phonetics courses and optional conferences (literature, film, French civilization). I barely made it to my required classes (grammar/phonetics) let alone found the time to go to the conferences—it’s a shame, it seemed like they would have been the most interesting classes. But with my work schedule (and budding social life?), I don’t have time to take all of the classes offered so I wanted to switch to a 12 hour/week program which would save me a good deal of money, free up my schedule and not require me to wake up at 6am every morning to go to school. But there’s a silly requirement that a foreign student must be enrolled in 20 hours of courses per week in order to qualify for a French visa; so basically I’m paying extra for the privilege to remain in this country legally. Sweet.

Anyway, once that was out of the way, I had to study for my final. A 3 hour exam on all the things I was supposed to have learned this semester… too bad I didn’t start paying attention till the last week of class. So I spent the night before the test cramming until midnight with a couple classmates and teaching myself the difference between passé composé and imparfait. My final was on Saturday afternoon in a massive building on the outskirts of Paris. There were about 50 rooms in the building, with each room holding 300 students. 4 pages of vocab/grammer short answer questions; 1 dictation; 1 composition where you had to describe a person you like for 2 pages (yes, I wrote about B).

It was tough! Everyone walked out of the room totally shaken and unsure about how they did… 3 hours seemed like a long time at first but it wasn’t enough! There must have been about 5 questions that I left unanswered... oh well. Our results will be posted on February 7th. I have friends who have to pass the test in order to stay in the country… and if they fail, they owe their government (who paid for the program and their living expenses) about 5,000€. Thankfully, I don’t need to pass—enrolling at a school is just a cover to stay in the country and the Sorbonne is a nice, prestigious name to put on the resume when I start job hunting next year. Passing would be nice though!

(courtyard at the Sorbonne)

The End of Rock...

Can’t believe I forgot to mention this (it must have been because I’ve been on my deathbed for the last 3 weeks, bronchitis/asthma): THE ROCKER IS GONE. He finally did it. Packed up and left Paris for Shanghai. He’s been talking about moving to China since I first met him and he finally found himself a job out there. While I was in Tunisia, I got a call from him saying, “Come have a drink with me! I’m moving to China next weekend!” And of course I’m like, “OMG! Nooo! You can’t go!” And he was like, “Ok, stop it. No time for crying now, I gotta run” lol, he’s such a jerk, I love him!

Anyway, his farewell party was 2 weeks ago at a tiny bar near my apt. B was there too—his best friend is good friends with the Rocker. I was a bit nervous b/c all of the Rocker’s friends (the cute French boys that I’ve come to know from house parties, clubs and such) would be there—and since I’m never with B, they always take the liberty of acting really flirty/touchy-feely with me. We dance, play drinking games, that kind of thing. It’s all in good fun of course; just not the kind of fun I’d like to have in front of the bf… and there are a couple who have asked me out. Plus, I know what the Rocker is like and all our silly flirting is just how our [strictly platonic] relationship works. I just didn’t want him to say anything stupid in front of B.

But of course, he does it. In front of everyone, in front of B, he gives me a big, long hug and bisous and says, “I love you, my darling. If I could, I would marry you. And that’s no New York bullsh*t”, looks at me for a couple seconds, rubs my cheek and walks away. And I’m just like, uhh… and peek over at B out of the corner of my eye and he’s shaking his head and has this slight smirk on his face. Not sure what that meant…

Then, throughout the night, all of the Rocker’s friends came over to say hello, give me a hug & bisous, chat or try to get me to dance and I would make a point of immediately saying, “This is my boyfriend B” so they wouldn’t say/do anything foolish. The funniest reply I got from one of the boys was: “Wow, your bf is really good looking”. B’s only comment about the whole thing was a tight-lipped, “Well, you have a lot of friends here… how do you know these guys?” He’s a good boyfriend.

Anyway, I’m really sad the Rocker is gone! Apparently he was hanging out with Eva & Julien the night before the party. And at the party Eva told me, “The Rocker really loves you. He was talking about you all night”. He really is a sweetheart. Aside from the drugs, sex-craziness, ADD, insanity he’s an amazing person. He introduced me to some amazing, lifelong friends, he nearly got me arrested, he took me to some really fun parties… and I could always count on him for a phone call at midnight on a Wednesday screaming, “What are you doing?! Sleeping?! Get the fu*k up and come meet me at this bar!” lol, he is an original, that’s for sure—it’s so funny that our first night together would turn into this great friendship. Saying our goodbyes that night, the Rocker told me I have to stop by China and see him when I do my Southeast Asia trip this fall (yes, I'm going backpacking for a couple months, more on that later)… maybe I will! Me and the Rocker partying in Shanghai, now that would be one for the storybooks!

More Wine...

Had an interesting evening with Grapes last night… I was cramming for my 3-hour French final with a couple classmates at Starbucks and I get a call from Grapes saying, “Hey, want to come over and help me finish my wine?” After 3 hours of straight studying, all I wanted was alcohol (free being even better) so I said sure. I showed up at his loft around 9pm to find a full-on house party. Apparently, his last wine tasting class was full of cute, blond, southern American college girls in town on holiday so he invited them to stay after and drink more wine with him. Naturally, there are 3 girls on top of his bar dancing to “Crank That” by Souljah Boy and a few more girls grinding together in the corner… nice. Gotta love American college girls (French girls would be mortified)!

Anyway, we’re all hanging out in his place, drinking, dancing (minus myself) and chatting. They actually turned out to be sweet so the night wasn’t a complete nightmare—it was actually a lot of fun. We ended the night with more drinks at Favela Chic. Around midnight, we left the bar and Grapes offered to walk me home. He put his friend in a cab and we walked to my apartment and the discussion turned to B… more about my needing to break up with him and date other people. At one point he told me that he wanted someone too so I should find him a girlfriend and I said, “No, I quite like you being single” and he said, “Right, so I can wait for you”. I was a bit tipsy :o) Strange thing: it turns out that we’ll both be in New York at the same time. He’s going to be in NYC for business in a couple weeks and it just so happens that it’s the same week that I’m there… can’t wait to hang out with him on my turf.

Today, B and I had lunch and he asked me what I did last night so I told him I hung out with Grapes… he was not happy. Particularly after I mentioned that we would be in New York at the same time. Ah well… I just learned that Mr. B and his “friendly neighbor” were hanging out again the night before. Not sure if I’ve mentioned her before, but this is the girl who lives across the hall from him. The one who was looking at me crooked the night B and I kissed for the first time; every time I spoke to him she would give me the evil stare and I assumed she was his girlfriend… turns out she’s just a very friendly neighbor. Anyway, she likes to stop by his place at 2am to ask for help moving a heavy piece of furniture or ask for aspirin. Who, pray tell, knocks on someone’s door at 2am to ask for casual favors? Needless to say, I don’t trust the bit*h. So maybe this was my way of kind of getting back at B (in a completely subconscious way, of course)… totally immature and stupid, I know…