It was the summer solstice, the world was beautiful and
Paris even more so. On the longest day of the year what do Parisians do? –
Dance and sing on the streets – but of course! And who was I to deny myself the
pleasure of joining in :P
So, I take poor Fabrice and convince him to drive into Paris
(a very good decision as we later found out). A very sober quiet evening
commenced with a strange restaurant (read: walk into a large place where you
are the only customer and you WILL be served bad food) and vinegary wine! Two
glasses of wine later we were out of the door and on our way to Bastille when
we came across a really nice band and decided to stick around. Jump to 10
minutes later and I asked Fabrice with all the innocence of a day old kitten
why was it that everyone was drinking alcohol but us? Well of course then we
had to go and buy a bottle of rhum and a can of beer for Fabrice!
And from there it was hop from band to band, sit on park
benches and drink out of a bottle in a bag. a quarter of a bottle of alcohol
had me wondering why am I not eating ice cream? Then of course it was off to
buy ice cream…we walked out of the ice cream store and spotted a strange
procession – a marching band doing what it does best – playing music and
marching and people doing what they do best – following the marching band! So
we proceeded to do what we do best – join the procession!! And then there were
Fabrice and I running and dancing across the city, swigging from the bottle of
rhum and giggling like fools when we found ourselves somewhere near the Notre Dame and decided to quit following the band and make our way back to the car –
for some reason we wanted to go back early and sleep (oh yeah we were hung-over
from the night before). But of course on
the way back Fabrice had to stop and listen to some DJs and I had to spot a
Haribo stand :/ a liter of alcohol and then smurfs and smurfettes and lollipops
that turned my tongue blue and sugar that turned up the crazy!!!
Well, we finally left the DJs and tried to make our way back
when I saw the cutest little puppy tied to a strange Afro-American with
luscious long hair and grey eyes and I stopped to play with the puppy. The man
touches my hair and tells me OMG you have the most amazing hair – please let me
‘sculpt’ it!!! And the lil high me says hey why not? And there I was standing
in the middle of the street (soon surrounded by a crowd of spectators with
cameras – seriously tourists film anything) and getting my hair sculpted (read:
cut – and yes after a haircut last week I got high and got my hair cut again).
We were soon all ‘sculpted’ out and Fabrice was all laughed out and then we
tried yet again to make our way to the car, this time stopping at the Pompidou
to drink some more and put to rest my lil freaked head about the hair (I had
not seen it yet). And then off we went – trying to get to the car and finally
succeeding without any distractions (well there was that little elephant
graffiti that I stopped to look at).
Guess what happened the next morning – No, I did not get
scared (hah!) – I woke up with – OMG what the hell did I do last night? Trust
me it was worse that waking up in a strange bed and wondering – OMG who the
hell did I do last night!
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