Once again I've left it too long and now I can hardly remember what happened last weekend at the 'garage' night at Le Mizmiz... All you need to know is that me and B got on like a roof, the roof, the roof is on fire and all parties involved enjoyed a raging, raving good time. The music was good even if, as I mentioned last time, it wasn't actually garage. BUT they did play the kind of songs that make you shout, 'YES! I haven't heard this for EVER!'
The only annoying thing about the whole night was that when it came to the last song, the DJ played the beginning of four or five really good songs, but didn't play any of them for longer than ten seconds. He teased us with snippets of really good songs until we were ready to leap behind the decks and throttle him. People were actually booing him because they were so frustrated. I can't remember what the final track was now, but the one he finally stuck to wasn't as good as the tracks he teased us with.
Also, there was one moment in the night when I thought it was All Over- Kayt arrived from her babysitting job and they wouldn't let her in because, unbeknownst to Julia and I, Le Mizmiz lock the doors at 2am and stop letting people in. Once we found out what was happening, we begged and begged the doorman, telling him our friend was all on her own and had no way of getting home, but he was having none of it. We realised we'd have to leave, so I went to say goodbye to B and suddenly... Kayt was right behind me! The doorman hadn't been convinced by me and Julia but somehow Kayt had melted his icy bouncer heart. He had let her in through a secret back entrance and Kayt said that as she followed him down the dark, silent passageway, she wasn't entirely sure if he was taking her into the club or down an alleyway to rape her.
Needless to say, he took her into the club without any attempt at sexual assault, which is a very desirable quality in Paris: City of Perverts and Sex Pests.
Talking of Perverts and Sex Pests, the crowd at Le Mizmiz was a bit odd: the majority of people there seemed fun and normal and really into the music; but there was also a big group of underage kids (I'm not exaggerating, one of them looked like she was thirteen) and an old man at the bar who kept stroking young girls' backs and he whispered something creepy in my ear when I was getting a drink. I have absolutely no idea what he said to me, I couldn't understand a word, but I know it was disgusting from the raspy tone of his voice and the salacious look in his half-closed eyes. Sick.
It seems these days I only attract disgusting old men and lunatics...
Towards the end of the night, when I was a bit more drunk, winding and grinding my way through 'Murder She Wrote' or something similar, an ageing reggae artist with his dreadlocks wrapped in a scarf came up to me and wouldn't leave me alone until I gave him my number. I'm not being racist and assuming he was a reggae artist because he was black and had dreadlocks- he told me he was a reggae artist. (Oh my god, this reminds me of one night in Liverpool when I was chatting to a man from Nigeria and later on I saw him outside the club and said, "Hey, it's my Nigerian friend!' and everyone I was with thought that I didn't know him and that I was being a Big Fat Racist.)
When I told B this story- yes, we have seen each other since Le Mizmiz and I'm pretty sure we will become Top Pals and/or Big Chums- she asked me why I gave him my number. Now, I have no answer to this, other than I am a Silly Idiot. But sometimes men are so persistent and annoying that you feel it will just be easier to give them your bloody number to make them go away and then ignore any calls or texts from them.
Well I won't be fucking doing it again and I'll tell you why later, but for now, while I'm on the subject of telephone numbers and Sex Pests, I ended the night by chasing a boy down the road and asking for his number. I know nothing good ever came from ever chasing after guys, but there's always that little voice in my head that says: 'What have you got to lose?'
For Some Reason I just really fancied him, he reminded me of Drake...
Long time readers might remember that when I first moved to Paris I had a strange obsession with French men that looked like Drake, except actually Drake isn't that good looking if you really look at him... He is only my Secret Guilty Crush because he says things like:
Let me put something in your life, put something in your life
You telling me it's only been a couple other people that you've been with
I'ma trust you I'ma give you the benefit of the doubt, and I'ma love you
He definitely writes his songs with insecure, lonely teenage girls in mind, because he knows they will EAT THAT SHIT UP.
Listening to that kind of shameless romantic/sexualised Hip Hop and RnB makes me feel fourteen years old again, sitting in my room thinking 'One day all this will happen to me.'
Except, of course, that it didn't.
Is this depressing you as much as it's depressing me?
Anyway, that's the end of my story about Le Mizmiz. I really want to go there for dinner one evening, apparently they do good Moroccan food. However, I am not sure I can face going back there again, after what happened this weekend, but I shall tell you about that tomorrow.