Thursday, 17 January 2013

The Commenter

So last weekend...

You may remember that I was supposed to go to a techno night with The Commenter- someone who always comments on my blog with tips for raves, but we've never actually gotten round to meeting up...

Before Christmas she told me about BP 'Die Höhle'- she said it would be a really good night and promised me that, unlike some raves I could mention (Katapult), the secret location would definitely not turn out to be a wedding reception/ bar mitzvah venue. I promptly got myself a ticket, but by the the time I mentioned it to my many hundreds of Paris Raving Buddies (just Julia, B and Kayt, then), the tickets were sold out. I still really wanted to go and The Commenter (who shall henceforth be known by the initials T.C) said it was fine for me to tag along with her and her friends, but I wasn't sure if she was secretly thinking: 'I didn't mean come on your own, you friendless freak.'

T.C added me on Facebook to prove that she wasn't a gang of sinister rave-groomers or Techno Viking and suggested that we go for a drink before Saturday night, to get over the initial awkwardness.

I hate waiting for people you've never met before at metro exits. Even when you've had a good look at them on Facebook, you can't help staring at every twenty-something female that approaches, your hopeful eyes searching their faces, silently asking: 'Are you my new friend?'

When T.C arrived I did that awkward hug/kiss/hug/kiss/pull away in horror thing that I seem to do with every English person I meet in Paris. I'd already done it earlier in the week with B's friend Holly and had vowed to never do it again. (The embarrassment had lingered in the air for about ten minutes and the more I tried to make a joke out of it, my voice getting higher and more hysterical, the more Holly had backed away from me looking horrified.)

Well I did it again, didn't I? T.C went in for a hug, but I thought she was going in for the French cheek-kissing thing and as soon as I realised it was a hug I tried to pull away from her, which made her pull away from me, then, realising my mistake, I tried to go back in for a hug, by which point T.C had also decided to go in for a French air kiss...

Thankfully, we managed to escape an eternal loop of awkward greeting (I bet there are hundreds of English girls out there right now, who met months and months ago and have been trapped in a cycle of hug/kiss/pull away/hug/kiss ever since) and got ourselves to Les Rendez Vous des Amies in Montmartre.

We ordered a bottle of wine and chatted, a lot. Mostly about Paris and London, also a little bit about the Middle East:

"I'M JUST SO INTERESTED IN THE MIDDLE EAST! I don't really know much about it but I am just SO INTERESTED.'

B and Kayt had said that they might come and join us, but in the end Kayt didn't finish babysitting until really late and B had a visitor who only liked places where she could 'do some serious fist pumping'. I was a bit worried that T.C would think I didn't actually have any friends and that all the characters in my blog are just figments of my wild, sinister imagination..

Originally T.C had said that she could only pop out for a bit because her boyfriend had a guest staying, but with all the chatting and wine drinking, we ended up staying at Les Rendez Vous des Amies for a couple of hours.

Perhaps we would have stayed there for longer, but around midnight- the witching hour, a time for goblins and ghouls- two very hideous, strange men approached us because they wanted to practice their English. I'm not being mean, but one them really looked like a squashy-faced goblin. After ten minutes of politely indulging their shockingly bad English and realising that they were never going to leave us alone, we decided it was time to move on for one last glass of wine somewhere else.

Except, instead of a glass of wine, we got another bottle... I realised that T.C possesses the quality I admire in people above all others- the insatiable desire to keep drinking copious amounts of alcohol, when all common sense says you should stop drinking and go home.

The waiter couldn't believe that a) we wanted another bottle and b) we only wanted two glasses. He brought us a carafe of water as well and told us that we should probably drink it.

The scariest thing about meeting people from my blog is that they are going to judge my eyebrows because I write about them so much. But the thing is, I don't have amazing eyebrows, I am just very, very obsessed with them. T.C shares my obsession and we spent about forty minutes discussing our eyebrows, not surprising really when you consider that T.C first stumbled across my blog by searching for 'eyebrow threading Paris'.

Oh, it was so good to meet someone else who likes talking about eyebrows as much as I do! I told her all about having a Brow Guru (I don't have one, but I need one, I NEED one) and HD Brows (my friend Claire says they are actually rubbish) and we lamented over the fact that threading leaves your brows so neat and perfect and yet, one week later, you realise that you have the eyebrows of an evil cartoon queen and immediately have to start growing them out again...

If you're not into eyebrows very much, then I guess all this brow talk is probably making you feel sick with boredom. Also, if I type the word 'brow' out one more time it will have officially lost all meaning.

ANYWAY. The bar was shutting and the waiter poured our wine into paper cups for us. He also told us to be careful...

T.C walked me to the metro and I suddenly really, really needed a wee, to the point where I thought my bladder would explode on the metro in a glittery shower of white wine if I didn't go RIGHT NOW. T.C didn't live too far away, so I asked her if I could use her loo and then I'd get a taxi, because I would miss the last metro.

We were really, really quiet because T.C thought that her boyfriend would be asleep, but when we got into their apartment, T.C's boyfriend was casually strolling around in a dinosaur onesie, still up and drinking with his friend. Somehow, me getting a taxi home turned into me having a few more drinks with everyone and then suddenly it was 5am and T.C was making a bed up for me on the floor.

So, a successful first meeting, I think, although I've wittered on in such minute detail that now I don't have time to actually tell you about the techno rave. I need to tidy my room up because Kayt is coming round for tea after work and what she doesn't know is that I have invited her round to a Pit of Doom because after being so, SO good for weeks and weeks my room has somehow slid back into chaos and depravity. It makes my heart sad just looking at it.


  1. I had to redo my first comment because there was a typo. The grammar Nazi in me couldn't handle it.

    Anyway, I said that if we ever meet in person, it will likely be over a coffee at Starbucks and you'll probably be disappointed.

    1. Nothing wrong with Starbucks Crystal, but are you sure you don't ever drink copious amounts of alcohol and make your French policeman husband wander round in a dinosaur onesie?

  2. A dinosaur onsie! Love at first sight.

    1. Thanks for commenting, dinosaur onesie lover. Look what I have found for you...

  3. Glad it went well, reminds me of meeting my good friend Liz, also on a blind internet date. No onesies, but ended up with a Tuesday hangover at work the next day. It's great when you just click with someone!

    1. Yeah, sometimes it just happens, normally when there is alcohol involved though...