Wednesday, 27 February 2013

Three Weekends Ago

This might have been the longest I have ever gone without posting (not including every summer when I go to ground for the month of August, to sit on my mum's couch bingeing on biscuits and watching reruns of Come Dine With Me).

I have been busy I suppose, but normally I make the time to blog at least twice a week no matter how busy I am, otherwise I start mentally blogging all the time and it feels as though my head is itchy with words scrawled and crawling across my brain...

I've just been in one of those moods where everything seems shit and annoying for no real reason and so to justify myself I lie in bed doing nothing, letting the problems pile up until everything really is shit and annoying. My room's in chaos, I haven't been planning my lessons properly and I need to catch up on my blogging but I don't know where to start.

Olivia, Amy and Amy's boyfriend Chris were here this weekend, but I also want to tell you about the weekend before the one just gone, because something quite exciting happened, but in order to do that I need to finish telling you about the weekend before that one, because it is kind of related to the Exciting Thing that happened the weekend before last... (Are you with me?) Also, if I don't finish writing about that other weekend, I'll be tortured by a niggling, nagging sense of incompletion, so...

In my last post I got up to the point where I was alone and drunk, stuck at Père Lachaise with no way of getting to Social Club...

Three other people came down the metro stairs behind me and instantly arrived at the same conclusion as me- that we had missed the last metro. I shrugged my shoulders at them in commiseration and one of them, a girl carrying a weird bag that looked like a tent, asked me where I was going, saying that maybe we could get a taxi together. I told her I was going to Grands Boulevards and she said she lived round there and was going home, so we agreed to share a cab.

She seemed all right, but a little bit... I dunno...

She was bolshy I suppose, but that's all right, some of my best friends are bolshy... There was also the weird tent bag thing she was carrying, but that's not what struck me as odd... It was more like- and I don't know how to describe it without sounding like a long-haired druid called Ken- but it was more like she had Bad Karma. For those of you who don't know about my obsession with Money Karma, here's a quick recap of my theory:

Money Karma Theory- the idea that our bodies are covered in 'money pores' which we have to keep open in order for 'money karma' to seep into our 'money aura'. So yes- a lot of money will flow away from us and into the pockets of bartenders and Sephora assistants, but this will result in us gaining more money in the long run...

Anyway, I reckoned as she was French and sober, she'd have more chance of getting a taxi for us. I told B and Holly I'd be getting in a taxi soon.

But the French girl wasn't having much luck on the telephone. While she rang round all the taxi companies she could think of, I ran round the streets, chasing taxis who had their lights on and were driving on the other side of the road, but who either couldn't see us or didn't want to stop for us. The French girl said nobody had any taxis free, so we'd be better off flagging one down... Easier said than done.

There was actually a taxi rank where we were standing, but obviously this meant nothing- the longer I live in Paris, the more I think that the real function of Parisian taxi ranks is to inform the public that they are now walking in an area completely void of taxis. For your information, this is a Non-Taxi Zone. Please feel free to walk home, or stay here sobbing until the metros start running.

A car full of scallies offered us a lift and we refused it, obviously, but then a man came over and said he had a minicab parked across the road. He looked like an elf- tall and skinny, with long hair and a girly face. I'd actually seen him pull over, but I hadn't thought his car was a taxi. He said he could take us to Grands Boulevards for fifteen euros. We were dubious as to whether he was a real taxi driver or not, but it was about 2am at this point and B and Holly were waiting outside Social Club for me with my ticket...

We said ok, as long as it was a real taxi. The French girl looked at the guy's license before we got in and I had a quick scan of the backseats to make sure there were no baddies crouching there, crowbars and pickaxes at the ready. I wasn't really worried though, because he really did look like an elf, plus he spoke in a soft, effeminate voice. Effeminate elves don't make a habit of picking up girls off the street and murdering them... do they?

As the French Girl and the Elven Taxi Driver chatted away in French, I stared out of the window and let their words wash over me, wishing that I was sober. Suddenly I realised that they were both talking to me, asking me where I wanted to be dropped off. Elven Taxi Driver seemed intent on dropping me off in the middle of a big boulevard and French Girl said she could get out at Grands Boulevards metro station. 

"I need to go to Social Club." I kept saying.

We got to some lights and French Girl said she could get out there. She opened the door and jumped out... without paying. As she shut the door she said bye to the taxi driver, then she looked at me with this weird smirk on her face, smug and unsure at the same time. We said bye to each other and she slammed the door shut. What else could I do? Launch across the front seat and get a hold of her tent bag, demanding seven euros fifty from her? 

I rolled my eyes but I wasn't really bothered and not because I was drunk, but because as she walked away from the car, I could almost see the Bad Money Karma swirling around her heels like a cloud of ink. 

Bad luck followed her wherever she went.

The taxi driver pulled over and told me I could walk to Social Club.

"It's not far." he said.

"I can't walk," I told him in robotic French, "We go to Social Club, I am late."

He agreed to drive me the ten yards to Social Club. He was actually really nice, chatting to me in English once I told him where I was from. He said he needed to practice for an English exam he had coming up at uni. 

(He reminded me of this boy called Richard from my first year of uni. He was in my English class and had really long hair and he would sometimes wear a glittery scarf or a headband. Me and my friend Claire couldn't decide if he was  a Transgendered Person or not, because he called himself Richard and dressed mostly like a boy, but then he was softly spoken and wore subtlety feminine accessories... Then one night Claire saw him out in town wearing a mini skirt and loads of make-up. She told him he looked lovely and we never wondered again.)

So I made it to Social Club alive and met up with Holly and B in the queue. Once we got inside, my worst fears were confirmed: the club was far too crowded and the dance floor was a nightmare. There was no room to dance and people were pushing and elbowing us constantly. One guy stuck his fingers into B's mouth (of course he did), so we decided it was time to leave the dance floor.

Luckily, 2ManyDJs were really good. It started off a little bit cheesy, but fun to dance to and as the night wore on it got deeper and darker. We stayed near the bar or in the smoking room (well Holly and B did, I waited outside as I'm sick of my room stinking of smoke after spending the night in enclosed fumoirs) until things quietened down. At about 4am, a lot of people left and we were able to dance properly.

So in the end it was a really good night! I'm worried now that I've just gone and on about that stupid taxi ride but I needed to tell you about the French Girl and her Bad Money Karma for a specific reason. Before I blog about that though, I've just remembered that I wanted to tell you about the night after 2ManyDJs... I even did some drawings on Paint to illustrate my demise into Gin Misery.

Basically, Kayt's boyfriend Adam was here for the weekend and I ended up being a third wheel on their night out. Adam said if it made me feel any better, me and Kayt could pretend that he was our gay best friend, Justin... Me, Kayt and Justin had a really fun night. We went to International for cheap and strong mojitos, then we went to Alimentation Generale for a soul and funk night which was SO GOOD. It was only a tenner to get in and that included a free drink, which would have cost about a tenner anyway.

We got in a taxi and suddenly I decided I was going to text Mizmiz Man. He's texted me TWICE since our Date Disaster and quite rightly, I've ignored him, but I'd had a lot of gin and there was no reasoning with me. Me and Kayt had a little scrabble over my phone, then I put my face against the window and started crying a little bit. I'd completely forgotten that gin makes me sad, for no reason.

When I got home, I burst into proper, hysterical crying and I couldn't stop myself. I cried in the lift, I cried as I walked down the corridor, then I cried when I got into my little Cinderella Room. I cried while I made myself some pasta, then I watched Sex and the City as I ate it, bawling my eyes out. Then I lay in bed, crying for ages and ages. If you're wondering how gin can make someone cry so much for no reason, here is a series of scientific diagrams I have drawn, demonstrating the effects of gin:

The next day I awoke feeling happy as a clam, wondering why my pillow was covered with mascara. I was supposed to go and see the Chinese New Year Parade with B and Holly but it was pissing it down, so we went to the Chinese traiteur on my street instead. Then we watched Enchanted and I got a bit teary again, thinking about when I was a little girl and I used to genuinely believe in romance and love and stuff... LOLZ.

After the film we decided to become a burlesque act with a Northern twist, called The Deep Fried Divas. We worked out a routine where one of us would sit in a giant, polystyrene chip container- like the Dita Von Teese act where she sits in a giant martini glass- pouring curry sauce over ourselves, while the other two come on with huge, battered sausages made out of foam. The music we'll probably use is 'When I'm Cleaning Windows' and we'll all wear pinnies and have our hair in rollers, Hilda Ogden style.

By the way, I've got my audition dates for two of the drama schools I've applied to. Gaaaaaah.

Sorry if this blog post has loads of mistakes in and doesn't make any sense, I'm tired and I need to go to bed now.

Thanks for everyone who tweeted me or left me a comment, asking when I was going to blog again...


  1. Well worth the wait. But BOY I'm glad I'm not your Mum! Good luck with the auditions. (Break a leg even?) GM xx

    1. Haha, that's why my mum is banned from reading my blog! Thank you for the nice comment x

  2. Yep she'll have fewer grey hairs that way. (I was getting scared strange girl was in league with psycho killer elf; her job being to lure girls into the car and then leave them there, which was why she didn't need to pay, of course.) Right, lunchtime over - back to work, which is going to seem so mundane, now.... :-D

    1. I didn't even think of that! She could have had 'murder tools' in her weird tent bag...

  3. Yay! I've been hanging out for this one! I love reading about your Paris shenanigans. Nothing like living vicariously (I'm back at home after living in Paris for a year...never should have left!).

    1. Aww I'm worried that I'll think that once I leave Paris, thanks for commenting, glad you like the blog x

    2. I love the blog and have for years!! And yes, you will think that. I am back and spend my spare time scrolling though photos wondering why why why I ever left! My advice, stay in dreamland as long as you can manage. Wierd Miz Miz men interactions and all!

  4. I would definitely pay to see the Deep Fried Divas.

    1. Great! I'll let you know when our previews of the first show are ready...

  5. I think you're a great write but your drawings are off the fucking hook.

    1. Thanks Kayt, I am currently in talks with a publishing house to bring them altogether in a coffee table book. 'you're a great write' reminds me of 'you're a great shag'.