Well as much as I like to be buggered by the magical spiral of nature's sexiest beast (no not the narwhal - you bastards!) it's story time -
So Saturday night. Danger. I'm strolling to the liquor store on my way to pick up some drinks for Ophelie's dinner party. And shit - I'm dapper son - I got a swank hat, vintage brown wingtips, a patterned brown Pierre Cardin shirt, vintage 70s brown suit jacket and these pants that I picked up at Simon's that for some reason gives women the idea that I gave them permission to touch my ass. Anyhow -
I roll out of the liquor store, bag in hand. And this massive white limo rolls up in front of me. The window rolls down and these girls are like screaming (in a good 'gettin' our drink on' kinda way) like crazy. Being the suave flaneur type that I am - I give them a tip of the hat. The girl in the window beckons towards me - always up for novelty and adventure - I walk up to the window. At this point the girls scream (in French) "it's Marie-Claude's birthday.. you must must say happy birthday to Marie-Claude!!!!!!" So I do. The girls scream with revelry like I'm some brown-clad rock star come back from the 70s just for them.
Now did I mention it was raining and I was sans-brella ? Don't think I did. So I took advantage of this golden opportunity with the following phrase "Je bouffe c'est mon ami a St. Dominique - une bisou pour tout les filles dans l'auto si tu peut me conduire la."
That roughly translates to - hey I'm going to a potluck at my friends house - I'll give every girl in the car a kiss if you can give me a ride for a few blocks. The car's in the middle of the street. The light's been red for a bit. I'm standing in the middle of the street.
1 second.
2 second.
3 seconds pass.
The door opens - I get inside.
After a few blocks and a handful of smootches to adorable (but entirely undateable) 18 year old Quebecois girls I arrive at Ophelie's.
A few of the usual suspects - Dasha and her man - and assorted friends and roommates. I'm immediately given several rounds of strong giant mojitos which I down admist the cheeses and finger foods (in the meantime Dasha's secretely eating all the dessert). On comes the main course feat. lemonade, sparkling white wine (from France - very nice) and one of my favorite Australian shirazs I procured for the occasion. After a delightful dinner and much oohing and aahing from the 3 French (France french) tablemates over the wine we relax. (impressing the French with wine is pretty cool and inflates my cultural awareness ego).
After that we hit the (free) metro for a party at the ex's house. Everything's grand including the delightful bottle of maple whisky which I'd procured for partying purposes. A terrific conversation about male orgasms and some other topics of a saucy nature, catch up with the ex (who couldn't stop commenting on liasons of mine she's heard about "through the grapevine" since we broke up ) and attempted seduction on me by some French girl who's boyfriend was at the party. The rest of the bottle later I decided to get homeword bound and flagged a cab for home to sweet sweet slumber.
And you don't want to hear what I felt like the morning after.
So Saturday night. Danger. I'm strolling to the liquor store on my way to pick up some drinks for Ophelie's dinner party. And shit - I'm dapper son - I got a swank hat, vintage brown wingtips, a patterned brown Pierre Cardin shirt, vintage 70s brown suit jacket and these pants that I picked up at Simon's that for some reason gives women the idea that I gave them permission to touch my ass. Anyhow -
I roll out of the liquor store, bag in hand. And this massive white limo rolls up in front of me. The window rolls down and these girls are like screaming (in a good 'gettin' our drink on' kinda way) like crazy. Being the suave flaneur type that I am - I give them a tip of the hat. The girl in the window beckons towards me - always up for novelty and adventure - I walk up to the window. At this point the girls scream (in French) "it's Marie-Claude's birthday.. you must must say happy birthday to Marie-Claude!!!!!!" So I do. The girls scream with revelry like I'm some brown-clad rock star come back from the 70s just for them.
Now did I mention it was raining and I was sans-brella ? Don't think I did. So I took advantage of this golden opportunity with the following phrase "Je bouffe c'est mon ami a St. Dominique - une bisou pour tout les filles dans l'auto si tu peut me conduire la."
That roughly translates to - hey I'm going to a potluck at my friends house - I'll give every girl in the car a kiss if you can give me a ride for a few blocks. The car's in the middle of the street. The light's been red for a bit. I'm standing in the middle of the street.
1 second.
2 second.
3 seconds pass.
The door opens - I get inside.
After a few blocks and a handful of smootches to adorable (but entirely undateable) 18 year old Quebecois girls I arrive at Ophelie's.
A few of the usual suspects - Dasha and her man - and assorted friends and roommates. I'm immediately given several rounds of strong giant mojitos which I down admist the cheeses and finger foods (in the meantime Dasha's secretely eating all the dessert). On comes the main course feat. lemonade, sparkling white wine (from France - very nice) and one of my favorite Australian shirazs I procured for the occasion. After a delightful dinner and much oohing and aahing from the 3 French (France french) tablemates over the wine we relax. (impressing the French with wine is pretty cool and inflates my cultural awareness ego).
After that we hit the (free) metro for a party at the ex's house. Everything's grand including the delightful bottle of maple whisky which I'd procured for partying purposes. A terrific conversation about male orgasms and some other topics of a saucy nature, catch up with the ex (who couldn't stop commenting on liasons of mine she's heard about "through the grapevine" since we broke up ) and attempted seduction on me by some French girl who's boyfriend was at the party. The rest of the bottle later I decided to get homeword bound and flagged a cab for home to sweet sweet slumber.
And you don't want to hear what I felt like the morning after.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
serillian:
not if i stand behind a wall of lead you can't!
serillian:
oneironaut, huh? so that's like an astronaut for dreams? we have much in common, friend. I'm an oneirophiliac...and my dream as a child was to become an astronaut...