Interesting Encounter

The last tales of Paris...for now :)

About 3 weeks ago, I receive a Facebook message from a friend of a friend. I had been recently photographed with her and had apparently caught this young man’s attention. After a quick conference with my gal pal and a looksie at his handsome public profile pics, I clear him for a response. Smoldering blue eye to boot, my other friends give the sign off.  We chat for a few days on and off and he asks me to come visit him for the weekend on the coast of France. Nope. Not that crazy. He suggests a trip to Paris and I give it a night to contemplate whether or not I’m insane enough to accept a blind date from a man who barely speaks my language, who I’ve only exchanged casual chit chat, and who might make it a habit of FB stalking. Turns out I am. What the heck. He was smitten, travelling 3 hours, taking a day off of work and all. Who am I to fight such “blind” courage? 

He arrives just in time for dinner. Nervous as can be, and rightfully so. Me, cool as a cucumber but then again I didn’t have nearly as much invested. He gives me the full court press with a swiftness. How many children do you want? Do you want to get married? When do you want to get married? Where do you want to live? What do you think of my looks? Then asks me after about 2 hours, “So tell me what you think of me? What are your intentions?” I couldn’t have been more turned off. Still trying to be good company, I tell him “I think you’re very nice. I have no intentions because I don’t know you.” When what I really want to say is “I’d like to revoke the application that I unintentionally submitted.”

 I then ask him the same. Something I would never dare under normal circumstances but now it’s for the sake of science and the blog (always thinking of you). He responds with how he finds me very attractive. He thinks I am smart. Likes the way I think and speak. Everything he wants because he's always dreamed “to be with a Latina with good form and not too big” I ask for Translation: Tits and ass but not too tall.  He’s just a little worried that I live in Miami.  I swear, I started looking for the hidden camera. Check please!

The plan was that he would stay at a hotel and that I would show him the sites on the next day. Except that he had apparently not booked a hotel. Could only mean one of two things…1)He’s just that dumb to assume you could wing it for a hotel in Paris at 11pm or 2)He was certain that his sweet talks of baby making, marriage and country living where going to sweep my off my feet and he would be bunking it Casa Maris. No such luck, my dear! 

I then receive a text message the next day around noon that after checking 15 hotels, he spent the night at the train station and  waited for the first train home. Not an ounce of pity crosses my suddenly fridged soul. Karma is a mofo! He continues to write frequently and hopes for my prompt return. My response, nil with a FB delete coup de grace.

Then it occurs to me, he could be a wifey searching, night traveling ninja. He didn't book a room because had he not scored big, he planned to leave. On to the next one. And with such premeditation who could surmise intention? A level of companion searching I plan to never reach. There is a sci-fi movie here somewhere.

Lesson learned: One blind date is too many for me. I thrive on the fire, on the chase, on the magnetism that can not be sniffed out over facebook chat.

On Being Single

Seeing as I have hit an all-time record of non-monogamy, I figured I’d explore the meaning of this plateau. I have not gone more than 3 months at a time since the age of 15.5 without being in a committed relationship. Let me rephrase, since the commitment of a committed relationship. Shit happens and things fall apart in all parts of life. So here I find myself in month 4 for the first time and it’s starting to get the wheels turning. How long can I go? Do I like this or not? Should I be looking? What the hell is looking anyways?

Things started to change after a couple months of enjoying singledom to it’s most, buckwild, do as you please, come and go at will, eat when you’d like… the regular knee jerk reaction to a long term relationship gone bad. 

 

Phase 2 was all about getting a bit more serious if I didn’t want to end up old and alone with cats and TV dinners. Nothing too crazy, just a bit more pointed, sniffing out the good territory which I decided meant no more meaningless sex. BIG MISTAKE.  Way too much pressure to put on yourself all at once. Find a good man who will love, support and stimulate you mentally and physically all while under the influence of sexual depreviation clouding your mind!?! No way! I lasted 3 weeks until I turned into a grumpy bitch, and who the hell wants to date a grumpy bitch? Couple that with a new found addiction to chocolate….uuu…hummm…wonder why?!? LOL and there you have it, the beginnings of sad lonely people. 

And so I turned this ship around. Started to see men as not necessarily the end all be all and enjoy them for what they satisfied at the time. Never void of intelligence and attraction. I realized that for the first time in my life I didn’t need to get attached to someone to fulfill the essential pleasures of life. Scary at first. Have I gone cold? Nahhh, not every person you meet is “the one” but it doesn’t make them any less awesome or worth the time. I call them the bridge people.

Phase 3 is where I find myself now. A holding pattern of love life. Watching romantic comedies, listening to love songs on repeat. Starting to truly miss cuddling and couch time with take-out, bike rides, spontaneous kisses. The things that at first you think you can partially fulfill with friends, bridge people and Berry White. But 1 + 1 does not equal 2 in the game of love. There is the intangible spark missing to meld it all together. But I’m not about to go rushing it now in the 9^th hour after going 28 years without getting knocked up or divorced to some closet dip shit. And so, I keep on truckin’ with an open heart and a constant reminder to keep it void of fear and desperation because I sure ass hell don't want one of those.

“The journey is part of the experience - an expression of the seriousness of one's intent. One doesn't take the A train to Mecca.” ― Anthony Bourdain,

Lube in the Lobby

The infamous lube lobby.- Pic from site about World's most unusual hotel lobbies. 

O hot damn! Bringing it home at Mama Shelter. Another slam dunk for Philippe Stark. One step inside this eclectic pearl and I was sold. It’s situated way the hell out in BFE, Bumb Fuck Egypt for those of you out of the lingo loop, aka the 20^th arrondissement. And for my non-Parisian pals that’s as far out on the skirts as you can get but still be in Paris. A joke really, considering nothing is more than 20 minutes away. If you are there it’s because you are clearly awesome enough to be in the know (2nd year running) and committed enough to go. Once you arrive it’s a 12-15 euro cab ride to anything else worth hanging out. Doesn’t sound like much for USA terms but that’s high for Parisian standards. They are used to being within a 10 minute walk to everything. 

Bar - Pic from blog HipParis.com

First impression was on a Tuesday night and it was a roar. That’s quite the feet for Paris summertime. You can be hard pressed to find a good crowd on a Saturday in the months of July and mainly August. Again, scandalous for American terms, where summertime is party time in every nook and cranny. It’s the creation of a wealthy gym chain owning fam and a French philosopher. Chalk written ceilings, dim lite, masterfully decorated restaurant, lounge, and hotel. A bit industrial, wood slab tables dabbled in colorful, stir crazy artwork and even a fuzzball table. Unique forms hanging about, tv’s in the restroom stalls, sexy denim apron wearing crew. They have funny masks and camera’s in every hotel room that allow the guests to photograph themselves, as you’d like, clothing optional. The feed then leads back to a reel of photo’s running on the tv screens in the restaurant and bar. 

Dining Room - Pic thanks to MamaShelter.com

The lobby has a large glass display of sex toys, lubricants and sensual reads. Titles include most memorably "The Big Pussy Book".  Yet some how it has totally bypassed the coin operated bed, scummy motel  image despite it’s far out local, admittedly not in the nicest part of town. As mad is it sounds, tastefully dispersed raunch. The crowd is classy and lookers of all ages. Reservations are hard to come by but a good time is a given.   Oooo and did I mention prices for a night start at 79 euros! Sold!  It’s on the short list, hopefully more to come. Clear, un-treated addiction.

Dining Room- Pic from great blog gentlemansdiary.blogspot.fr

 

  

3 Snaps in Z Formation

Ladies! Why must we be so damn mean to each other? Enough with the dirty looks and cold comments. There is more to life than evacuating the likes of any neighboring vagina’s with your wicked bitch face. Okay, fine! That may be a bit harsh. But I’m just saying, the world would be a much happier place if we could just get along. 

I arrived at La Perle this weekend to meet up with my favorite muse, Jean-Baptist. Just one of those people that has you always engulfed in conversation and constantly attracting people to the mix. A rare breed and a delight.  I arrived a bit early and him a bit late which left me with a good half an hour to be a single girl alone at a bar. I never do this, ever and so it was a culture shock. The men stood by assessing the situation as I ordered my drink. Surveying and glancing about to see who I was waiting for. The woman grasped their men tight, grabbed their faces as they glanced and even forced kisses. They tried burning holes in me with their best mean face. Certainly acquired by much practice in mean girl academy. And even when Jean-Baptist arrived, they’d check him out, understandably, he’s a very handsome guy, and then would give me the full stare down to assess the competition. It was like being in the jungle with a pack of wild beasts. Ugliness ladies! 

Which reminds me…I’ve recently had quite a few in depth conversations about exactly what  makes up the stereotype of the rude Frenchy. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, my sexy friends. Just here to clarify. Many will say that it is not in fact the Frenchies but the Parisians. The funny part about that is ask any one and they will be hard pressed to count up 5 people who are actually born and raised in Paris. There are hardly any children here but that could be a big city thing, cost of living etc. The studies say birth rates are neck and neck.

So what is it? The general head down, I’m in a rush, don’t talk to me, fine are you talking to me? Short response for you---thing. I’ve had friends and family visit and they say the same. It’s the 99% grumpy face. The no effort in smiles for strangers. Smiles are hard to come by period and frankly I miss them. I shoot them off like it’s my job and it scares the crap out of people. As for the women, they look on inquisitively at first and if you keep at it, you see the corners of their lips raise. You can do it! It’s hard to not smile back when faced with a dead on ear to ear.  And the men, in the land of bitter bitch face, means would you like to practice your vertical tango? Perhaps a reason why most of the woman, expats and all assimilate.

I’ve heard from full on Parisian’s that the idea is that saying, “Hi, How are you?” or anything beyond the robotic “Bonjour” is perceived as fakeness. That it is more real to carry on as if you don’t care because you don’t. And so is it in the water?  Don’t you guys come to America and enjoy a little smile with your morning toast? Aren’t the differences obvious? I get the realism but as we say “Fake it ‘til you make it.” Once you get past the hello’s and into friendship the world changes and the people I’ve met here are as interesting as can be. Well educated, well traveled, inspiring, the works.

Now back to woman and woman on woman crime. This is a global phenomenon. NO exceptions found so far.  I surmise that it is a general lack of confidence that makes us this way. Why else fear the “competition” if you have your ducks in order. So what has to change? Let’s all start with fake smiles! 

Reminded of Oscar Wilde:

"Women are meant to be loved, not understood."

 Reminded of a little Lana Del Rey:

"This is what makes us girls  

We all look for heaven and we put love first 

Something that we'd die for It's our curse.  

Don't cry about it"

And how about some Shakespeare:

“The venom clamors of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth"

Whenever confronted with Woman on Woman crime, I like to envision Damon Wayans and David Alan Grier giving the Zorro Snap: Feel free to fast forward to minute 2:40.

 

Or two snaps up in a circle: Minute 2:44

 

and my all time favorite the Superbowl Snap: Minute 5:00

London Edition

It all started with a 6am wake-up from the trusty iphone jingle. Of course I didn’t pack until an hour before departure. I wouldn’t have recognized myself! Off to the train station to take my first EuroStar voyage. I’ve taken trains on my European vacation but never with border patrol. What a treat! 

UK Border Portal: Step up!

---Reviewing Passsport and Tickets---

UK Border Patrol: Why are you going to London?

Me: To visit the city and meet up with friends for the weekend.

UK Border Patrol: Why have you been in France for so long?

Me: Because I like it and I travel as much as I can.

UK Border Patrol: So then you don’t work? You don’t make money? Who do you live off?

Me:I work and make money. I work remotely for a technology company and so I can live where I want, when I want.

UK Border Patrol: So you are using the UK to extend your stay in France. ” Because you like it”, is not a good enough reason.

Me: I am not using the UK. I have not violated any immigration rules. I’m well within my rights. I’m here for the weekend, as a tourist to blow my money. I can’t imagine the UK has a problem with that.

UK Border Patrol: I don’t trust that you won’t try to stay in London. You are obviously trying to not return to your own country.

Me: I love my country. And if this is any indication of what it’s like on the other side, I can assure you the chances of me even wanting to stay are nil.

UK Border Patrol: I’m putting a mark on your immigration status. And you better leave by Sunday or you are going to have some real problems.

So that was fun! Two more trains and I was at the foot of my hotel. Except it turned out my room was “having electrical issues.” This after waiting in the lobby for an hour. The owner kept me company and tons of advice about my stay. I was asked to stay at a nearby hotel until tomorrow. They were friendly about it so I went happily. The new spot was even more central and had a hot morning breakfast to boot. The next day I return and again my room was not ready. This time it was because the others were not checking out soon enough. The owner say’s,”I’ve booked you a room in the most posh part of town. It will suit you. It’s were all the young people are and all the best restaurants. They owe me a favor. I’ll take you now.” He whisks me off in his Audi A8 and drops me off at a place just as described. Wowzers! What an upgrade! A 300 pounds per night upgrade! It pays to be friendly.

Not Roughing it...

This city is gorgeous! My initial impression was in the burbs and I can say that the first thing I noticed was the amount of over weight seemingly unhealthy people. I say seemingly because I'm no doctor but I hear muffin tops are no bueno for the health. And boy are there muffin tops, and no one trying to hide it. Reminded me a bit of America. Which is normally comforting but this is the type of things America could work on. Second observation, these people are loud! Again, reminder of home but not the part that makes me miss it. Third observation, boy is there a hell of a lot of junk food places: street food and greasy eats. Affirmation of observation number one and again America.

Once I made it into the heart of the city, Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square things started to change. The architecture is stunning. So romantic, so classy and clean. Sexy curves and carvings. The fire red double decker buses wizzing by and the awesome retro cabs everywhere. Impeccably clean and organized. At night the city is artistically and colorfully lit up as are the bridges. London you are a real stunner! And the city has taken their Olympic duties seriously. There are booths and helpful people all about ready to help out the tourists hailing from all over the globe. Wide-eyed, maps in hand, fanny packs and all. 

I was out with 2 gorgeous Latina ladies and the men have surely noticed. They look out of the very corner of their eyes as if two scared to even lift their heads. It’s pretty cute. The ones inebriated or cocky enough to say something, are usually the ones not smart enough to come up with anything interesting. I’ll report back more as the weekend progresses but so far, British pick-up skills are lacking immensely. They need a weekend with the Italians to even things out.