Uh-oh. Napped for five hours this afternoon. When will I learrrn? Had so many things to do as well, what a waste of a beautiful afternoon and I now feel like shit. The less time I'm awake though, the less time I have to worry about my root canal on Monday. It probably wasn't wise to spend all of Monday night Googling 'root canals'. They are going to suck things out of me. They are going to pull out the nerve. I am going to be sick.
What do they do with the nerve after they pull it out? Seems to me like someone could do some serious witchcraft with that kind of thing, maybe the dentist will make a little voodoo doll and put my nerve inside. Then what would she do with it? I don't know, I can't think properly. My mind's all fuzzy from too much napping. I think I have a serious problem. If my life was a film, there would now be a montage of me napping excessively, accompanied by a gritty dubstep track and ending with my friends bursting in, shaking me awake and screaming 'Stop napping! It's ruining your life! Stop this excessive napping!' and I'd just close my eyes and say 'But I just love sleeping...' before slumping back into tangled sheets.
I needed a nap today. Last night was Georgie's birthday and she had a little soiree in the 'Lizard Lounge' in the Marais. I went straight from work and the little girl noticed I had quite a lot of make-up on.
'You have a party tonight?' she asked me.
'Yes.' I told her.
'You have high shoes?' she asked.
'Er... no...' I said, suddenly wondering why I hadn't thought to bring some heels with me.
'You go to party with your hair all horrible?' she asked, pulling a face at my 'scruffy bun'.
She had a point, my hair looked disgusting. It's my fringe, ruining my life again. I wash my hair and then I have to put it up and pin my fringe back otherwise I look like one of those dogs with floppy curtains hanging over their eyes. In the end the eight year old sorted my hair out for me- she brushed it and made my fringe into a side-fringe and then pinned two sections back around the side of my head. It didn't look great. But I kept it like that because it actually looked better than what I'd done with it. My hair is just so crap at the moment. Every day is a Bad Hair Day. I need to hack it all off. Uh-oh. The scissors are sat on my desk, calling me to cut my fringe...
Stop tempting me, scissors! You know what the hairdresser said! If I keep cutting my fringe myself I'll end up with a bowl-shaped hair cut that goes all the way around my head!
Must resist. Must stay strong.
Anyway, last night was really fun, Georgie enjoyed her birthday and my American Fan came. Ha, I need to stop calling her that... (She's called Kristen so I might call her that.)
Everyone was getting the last metro home, so I stuck to Corona all night (they don't have sugar in do they? I'm not allowed to eat any sugar until they've done whatever disgusting torture it is they want to perform inside my mouth next Monday) which felt really Sensible and Wholesome. But then somehow, as we were leaving, me and Olivia decided that instead of going home, we would stay out and 'get really, really drunk' even though we both had to be in work quite early. We dragged Kristen along with us and found a bar near Bastille where we had just enough time for a bottle of wine before they threw us out. Me and Olivia went back to hers and sat at her 'bar' drinking expresso martinis (but she made them without the coffee so we would be able to sleep) for about an hour. We were just in one of those moods where you want to chat all night.
This morning I felt bloody awful and the little girl was being horrendously rude and bratty. She didn't want to go to her dance class so we played teacher all day. By four o'clock I was pretending that the teacher had fallen over and died. I just lay on the rug with my eyes closed while the little girl ran around asking her invisible classmates if she could borrow their phone to call an ambulance. We had a quite a nice day in the end though, as soon as we go home from tennis she started being nice because she wanted me to play with her and I took her out on her roller skates for a bit.
It felt like a loooong day though.
I just wish I hadn't napped for so long because now I'll never be able to sleep.
When you read what I have to say next, you might think it's best that I spend as much time as possible napping, for my own safety and for the safety of men everywhere...
Unfortunately there is a flip side to the weather being all warm and gorgeous- I've got Mass Boy Hysteria and it's only March. Have I told you about M.B.Hysteria before? I have been studying it with gruesome fascination since I discovered it about five years ago. Typically it affects single girls, during periods of warm and sunny weather. Symptoms include: involuntary verbal expressions of frustration or agitation; a slight reddening of the cheeks and lips; unconsciously touching one's own hair or skin whilst gazing at the opposite sex; and it has also been recorded that sufferers can on occasion black out very briefly, recovering their vision seconds later to find they have unknowingly backed an unsuspecting boy into a tight corner or pinned him against a wall.
You can see why I'm worried.
I just fancy everyone. I keep sighing and blowing my hair out of my face, staring at boys and wondering if they'll have sex with me and if they did, what it would be like.
Sorry, I know this is more information that I normally divulge about my terrifically exciting 'single life' but I know there are more sufferers out there and I want to spread awareness. People need to be careful! If not treated early, M.B.Hysteria can lead to frisking, fondling and on very rare occasions, streaking at large organised sporting events.
It's the warm weather. Makes me all... I know I'm not the only one!
My problem is, I'm still in my man-hating phase. So I'm trying to ignore my M.B.Hysteria and it can only end in tears, TEARS I tell you.
It all started last week when a boy from another branch of my restaurant chain came in for training. He looked exactly like Nate from Gossip Girl except more French, with darker hair. I didn't realise until he'd gone that I'd been staring at him whenever he wasn't looking. I should have known then. Normally if I come across someone remotely attractive I tend to just give them a dirty look so they know I don't fancy them and pretty much ignore them. But I just kept gazing at him, trying to think who he reminded me of. (It was only after he'd gone that I realised it was Nate from Gossip Girl.)
The next day my boss was in and I couldn't think of a good enough excuse to bring French Nate into the conversation, so I just, erm, started talking about him.
"That guy yesterday looked like Nate from Gossip Girl. He's beautiful."
"Ooh!" she gushed, "I'll ask around for you and try and set you up!"
As soon as she said that, a whole world of possibilities opened up to me. I realised that a lot of the people at work are in relationships and therefore naturally inclined to play matchmaker... The next day my boss said:
"Have you met our new guy? He moonlights as an actor AND he lived in Manchester for three years, it's perfect!"
I had actually already seen the new guy- he introduced himself on his day off, when he came in to watch the rugby match with his girlfriend... I'm trying to persuade my boss to only hire single men in future. I know I sound like a Mental Bunny Boiler, but I don't care. I just don't care. The fever has me gripped. I've been trying to stay away from menfolk for so long and looking back, that was a mistake, because I knew I would get M.B.Hysteria- I get it every summer- and so I should have prepared myself by allowing small monthly rations of menfolk, rather than abstaining completely* because now I've gone a bit mad... I want to talk to every attractive boy I see.
I'm actually sighing and blowing hair out of my face as I type. It's worse than I thought.
Anyway, on Saturday I was having quite a good day at work in the restaurant when a dashing young gentleman strode over to the bar and asked for three pints. He was relieved to discover I spoke English and we had a very brief chat. My boss noticed me being all fluttery and flushed.
"Who do you fancy?" she asked.
"Them." I said, indicating all three of them sat at the table. It wasn't me speaking, it was the Mass Boy Hysteria, making me fancy entire tables rather than individuals.
Once I'd admitted it, I thought fuck it, why don't I try being a little bit 'flirty'. Ok, so I can't really flirt with people, but why don't I try being smiley and nice for a change, instead of skulking round giving them dirty looks and tutting at them?
When I finished work, I stayed to have a drink with this Canadian girl who's just started. My boss came over and said "I'm sat at the table next to those guys, you can come and sit me if you like."
After a few moments of panicking, I decided to Just Do It.
As soon as I sat down, one of them said:
"Have you finished now...?" and he called me by my name, having obviously asked my boss what I was called.
Two were visiting from London and one of them lived here and worked as a lawyer. One of them was a stockbroker and the other one did something on the internet that I can't really remember. They'd obviously gone to boarding school and were very 'ruggers' and 'rah rah'. I heard myself speaking in my posh phone voice, entirely involuntary.
After we'd been chatting for a while, they asked me where I was going out that night, so I told them and invited them along. They took my number and said they'd call me after they'd had 'supper'. (Ha ha.) I skipped off, feeling all Confident and Normal. So I could chat to strangers! I could meet boys in Paris! And not crazy boys who play the accordian at me and live up a mezzanine in a tiny cabin!
The plan was to go back to mine, get the ingredients for spaghetti bolognaise, cook tea with Kayt and Olivia and then head to Pigalle to try some new bars around there... Like all my plans, it went to shit as soon as I realised I'd locked my keys inside my room. The one thing I've been worrying about since I moved in and the mum told me there was no spare key, had finally happened. The gardienne was nowhere to be found so I went to Kayt's, furious at myself for doing the one thing I'm always careful not to do.
I told Kayt and Olivia I'd found three English boys in my restaurant who might be meeting us out later so we drank gin and got ready to go out and... there was no phone call, obviously.
I really CAN NOT be arsed with boys anymore.
I don't know where the stereotype comes from that girls are hard to read and act in a confusing way, because it's boys who are like that and I can't be arsed with it. I literally do not have the energy. If I suggested meeting someone for drinks, it would be because I actually wanted to meet them out for drinks. If I wasn't enjoying chatting with someone, then I wouldn't pretend to enjoy chatting with them.
With boys however, you never know. You just never fucking know.
All night I had a face on me, because I felt so... fed up. Kayt and Olivia kept telling me to get over it and stop being ridiculous, but it was one of those nights where everything feels shit. Olivia had invited a Gentleman Friend out and at about 1am, he and his friends wanted to go to an Irish bar that was fifteen euros to get in, so me and Kayt said goodbye (with a lot of salacious winking at Olivia) and went to our favourite late-night restaurant for burger and chips. It is really delicious and seems to be open all night. We weren't that drunk, but whilst we were eating Someone Like You by Adele came on and we slowly started singing along to the entire song, very loudly. No one batted an eyelid, but I'm pretty sure that the staff at an all-night restaurant in the sex district of Paris must be used to a lot worse than two drunk girls having a sing along. As we were leaving I'm pretty sure a pimp came in with two of 'his girls'.
After the burger and chips, we met up with Georgie and ended up in...
The Blue Note.
Never say never. It was actually good, a completely different crowd. Stranger things have happened, I suppose. We stayed for about half an hour and then I made Kayt take me home. I don't know what's happened to be recently, I feel like someone has sucked out my Party Spirit while I was sleeping.
The next day I was in work at 10am and on top of feeling a bit rough, I had everyone asking me about what happened the night before: "Hey! I heard three guys chatted you up and then you all went out for drinks!"
"Er... no. They... they didn't call me."
My boss was really surprised that they hadn't called me, which made me feel better because she was a witness to our conversation. They did actually seem keen to come out with me and my friends, I haven't gone completely mental just yet.
The weird thing is, there was a boy working on Sunday who apparently has been there for a month but we've never seen each other. One of the other waitresses called him Spiderman because she thinks he looks like Toby Maguire.
The Shift Manager that day was a French man who always asks me inappropriate questions like 'How many boys did you snog last night?' because he used to live in London and has somehow got the impression that all English girls are crazy slags. He wanted to know what happened with the three English guys and when I told him, fed up of the same question by now, that they didn't call, he said:
"So, you need to find you a boyfriend. What about Spiderman? He is a nice man. He looks good. Look at him, have a look at him..."
Then he turned me round to face Spiderman, who was stood about three inches away from me. It was really embarrassing and for the rest of the day the Shift Manager kept referring to him as 'my boyfriend'. Just because I am single doesn't mean you can talk to me like a seven year old who fancies everyone in the playground. Although... that is actually a good description of my current state.
I'm pretty sure Spiderman thought I was in love with him, because all day the Shift Manager kept nudging me and winking whenever Spiderman came within two feet of me.
The thing is...
Georgie was giving everyone Life Advice last night, because she realised she was the oldest person at her party and she felt like she was some sort of spiritual leader who had gathered a flock of us under her wide wings. She was saying that there's no need to be shy and embarrassed about things because if it doesn't work out then who gives a fuck? Her advice was to ask Spiderman out for a drink.
I just don't think I can. I've never asked anyone out before. I might do it though.
I don't know.
What do you think?
*O.k so not completely...