We'll Always Have Paris

Oh What Have You Done Now

2014-06-30T11:41:00.001-07:00

I know I have been a bit quiet, but I am back with a vengeance as I have had a mental and obviously drunken few days.

It all started on Thursday. I got a message of my ex, The Musician asking if I wanted to meet him the following day, I said I couldn't as I had made plans with the girls. He then asked me what I was doing at the moment and I was just sitting in the house so he invited me round. I was under ABSOLUTELY NO ILLUSION as to what was going to happen so I had made sure I had shaved my legs. Preparation is key. Left my bush a bit unkempt though as I didn't want to seem like I was expecting it. Its all a bit frigging mind game isn't it?

So I turned up at his place and it was an absolute tip as usual. I didn't pay much attention to the stuff because remember the time I found the lipstick? Anyway I am not really jealous and I don't really care that much about him now. So we get drunk like we always do, danced around, I gave him a signature lap dance (obv) then we get down to business. It was good but not as good as I remembered, I think its hard to get into it when you lose respect for someone. But I tell you what, that man knows how to give head like nothing else, the only worrying thing is that its probably a sign of how many women he has been with. Bit bitter-sweet really.

So we finally get to sleep around 7am, we wake up at around 11 and do it again. Then just as he had just shot his load and was still having convulsions and good old shaky legs his front door buzzer starts going absolutely ballistic. I mean it was pretty much one constant buzz. The Musician starts putting on his clothes to go and see who it was as he suspected it was his neighbour kicking off about the noise. Then there is someone at his front door banging and ringing the door bell non stop. He looks at his phone and there is a girl calling him. HE HAS ONLY GOT A FUCKING GIRLFRIEND AND HASN'T BOTHERED TO TELL ME ABOUT IT. I really really really wish it has just been a really pissed off neighbour. The poor girl had come to his house (a little full on I know) to surprise him with breakfast.

I think she must have had suspicions as usually you would ring first before you go round someone's house? Anyway she rang and rang and rang and had her finger firmly on the doorbell thinking he might be asleep and needed waking up. After about 15 minutes sitting there shaking and considering if I would brake my legs if I jumped out of a 3rd story apartment he finally texts her to say he isn't in and she leaves.

Somethings really do not change do they? What a a total scumbag, he didn't even look like he felt guilty! Just confims the fact that he totally did cheat on me even though he swears blind and he has only been in love twice and I am the second person?!?! WHATEVER MATE.

I left and was looking forward to venting to the girls who were coming round later that night to drink at my place before we went out.

We decided to go to Pigalle, after copious amounts of 4euro vodka we started in Sans Souci then went to Carmen. We must have been sending signals across the club as 3 out of 4 of us ended up going home with someone. My friend who didn't was purely because she is in a really happy relationship with a decent French guy (yes they do actually exist aparently). Anyway my one was 20 years old, face carved from the Gods and be played my guitar and sang like angel he was born to be. Then I go and fuck it all up by being REALLY weird when we start sleeping together, telling him he is doing stuff wrong and using a ridiculous amount of lube, smearing it on his balls and violently riding him. No wonder he lost his hard on man, poor lad.

That is not where my weekend sluttiness stopped either. Last night my friend was Djing at a party for fashion week at Raspoutine. Me and 2 of my friends went and even though it was a Sunday night we took full advantage of the open bar. Here, it was wall to wall fit as hell blokes. You couldn't get moved for beautiful cock. My mate was great Djing but we followed this group onto Titty Twister which is only a few minutes walk. As soon as I walk in am greeted by Big Black S, we start fully necking on, he had some moves on him. The moves were so irresistible that I ended up letting him finger me in the smoking area. Am I 15 again or what? Smooth operator! I decided not to go home with him though as I felt my fanny could not actually take any more at this point.

......It actually gets worse. Me and my friend decide it was time to leave Big Black S and go home, she was staying at mine as it was easier for work. We get in, pour ourselves a beer and in our drunken state decide to have a sex skype session with The Writer!! He is in Morocco at his parents place and I knew he would be totally up to it the funny pervert. So there was me and my friend, naked, lezzing off to The Writer wanking away telling us what to do next in his funny French accent "now errr.....grib 'er teets and poot them een your mouse". What the actual hell was I thinking in that drunken state? Am I on glue or what?!?! Luckily it wasn't awkward with my mate this morning, we are both quite attention seeking when it comes to men anyway.

It hasn't put him off either! In fact I think he likes me more now!

So I am now just lying in my bed, shaking my head at myself philosophizing at the point in history woman used sex as something to be earned by men, given away at their choice and for them to use it as a tool for power.....anyway I am sure I am just trying to justify how much of a horny perv I am.

"Yeah I'll Take A Hit Of Your Bong Young Man"

2014-06-06T09:28:00.002-07:00

The last thing I remember was sitting in a taxi sharing a tuna baguette with the taxi driver. Before that I was sitting at a party full of 18 year old school leavers, taking 'hit on a bong' and kissing one of the mentioned young boys, trying to look at him seductively through my squinty bloodshot excuses for eyes at the same time trying to reason with the floor to stop acting like it was on a especially choppy ocean. I need a reality check.

I surprisingly don't feel too bad seeing as it was definitely light when I came home. My friend stayed over as she was also at this party. We were too older crazy ladies letching on the fresh young meat trying to be cool, referring to their drugs as 'pot' and asking if we can 'have another draaag maaaan' while coughing up a lung straight after because we were trying to be 'down with the kids' and keep the smoke in as long as possible. KILLAH!

I don't think any hangover could bad as Sunday, that was an absolute arsehole of a one. My sister was in Paris for the weekend and the only word to describe our behaviour was ridiculous. We woke up on the Saturday, feeling slightly queasy from the bottles of fizzy wine we drank in my apartment the night before.

We started off in Comptoir General, its a cool African style bar. I called it an 'urban paradise' much to the pleasure of my sister who looked like she was in pain she was cringing so much. We started off with 2 of these rum cocktails, they tasted like cat piss to start off but we were smoking menthol cigarettes so they tasted like a mojito. Classy birds eh? We were listening to a first date between an English girl and a French guy, she was talking some absolute shit. Not as much as the shit we were talking about. The conversation managed to digress to us talking about how disgusting it is when a turtle lays and egg. Its rank! Have you seen its fanny when its laying it? Its horrible.

Anyway, I would like to say that was as stupid as we got. WRONG. I will quickly run through the events that happened throughout the rest of the day. We managed to drink a full bottle of Malibu by pouring the bottle into half a can of coke then topping it up (My sweat still smells like coconut now). We then made friends with these hot Aussie girls near the canal. When they got too drunk and started crying we left and decided to buy some very fetching 2 euro flower hair clips from a little blokes stall. This is when the complete transformation took place. Goodbye normal pissed English commoners, let me introduce you to relations to the Delevingnes who are married to oil sheikhs. Oh yes, we were actually telling people this just because we felt like these massive hair clips made us look really rich. My sisters was white because she is virginal and mine was red because I am saucy. I managed to get hypnotised off this guy in the street and fell to the ground when he touched me then we offered to pay him anyway? Picture 2 disgustingly drunk girls, slurring their words, ordering 100euro bottles of champagne and telling the waiters that we are hiding from the paparazzi. We are dicks. The acting didn't stop there. We told the taxi driver that our chauffeur 'Davide' didn't turn up so could we please have a receipt so we can claim it back on expenses. The taxi driver was even trying to google us. What were we trying to achieve?!?!!

Woke up with a brass door handle in my bag, 1 million receipts, and the worst hangover I have had in a long time. Luckily my sister was there so we could help each other. To ease the pain we decided to paint 'Rake Ali' fringes on our heads with eye liner. This was our inspiration......

The man is a friggin style icon......look at him!!!! Fresh as fuck.

Anyway enough of my nonsensical bullshit, my weekend has started! In the words of Rake Ali 'Safe kids'.

Mole Man, Missing Phone and Metro Mission

2014-05-29T10:01:00.000-07:00

I have just got back in my apartment after a very weird pit stop tour of the metros of Paris. Whilst I was on said tour I felt a tug on my hair. My hair is quite long, its getting on my nerves at the moment I look like an inbred headbanging roadie. Anyway, I turn around and I see a guy trying to put my hair in his mouth. He was wearing those glasses that make your eyes look reeeaaally small, like an above ground, real life mole man. He had more rodent-like features as well as those glasses, he had protruding teeth that he was going to use to bite my lovely lank and greasy hair. Once I had noticed his advances to probably make me his sex dungeon wife I decided I would move seats, just in case he was an actual mental metro cracker who enjoys the unusual delicacy of human hair.

The reason I was on the stupid bloody metro, hot and sticky, huffing really loudly with last nights alcohol escaping from every pore on my clammy body was to return a pair of glasses that I had found myself in the possession of after Friday night.

On Friday night I had a few of my friends round to my place before we went out. We went to see my friend from home DJ at YOYO at Palais de Tokyo. The venue was OK, wasn't swanky like some of the other places in Paris. I was, as usual, being a dick. I decided to climb under a barrier to get on stage and say hello to my DJ pal, you know, like.... I know the DJ, ...yeah he is my mate....yeah him.....the one behind the decks yeah......I'm with him. So there was good old me, dancing away, looking at the crowd, thinking to myself "yeah....I could totally be a DJ....everyone is totally thinking I am the best dancer they have ever seen in the life". Eyes closed, fist pumping then BOOM, the bouncer came up to me and burst my self indulgent dance bubble. Apparently you need a wrist band to be where I was. Didn't know the DJ as well as you thought you did, did you? Silly Eengleesh guurl!!

Back down on the dance floor with the riff raff which mostly consisted of rich kids gurning their faces off, I go and check my phone to only realise my new super classy and super trendy bag from H&M had broken, zip completely bust. That isn't where my bad luck had ended. I had also lost my bloody phone. Now I am not one to let these kind of things ruin my night so I decided to just go and have a cigarette and let the phone go. There was no way I was going to find it there and then. I went outside for a cigarette and next thing I know I am fully necking on with this bloke. My friends told me they were leaving and I decided to stay with my new mate. At this point I was nearly reaching peak sexy drunk so we started dancing. I know I was dancing like those horrible skanks you see, getting their necks sucked on and trying to do a sexy pout but you just look like you are trying to blow a particularly bad burp away.

Next thing I know I am back at his, on his roommates bed, playing his guitar (yes I can play but not very well) with these stupid glasses on (and not even a strong prescription I might add, didn't even make you look like a mole man AT ALL). Anyway did the business with this guy, he was a pig. It was disappointing and a total waste of time. I should have seen the warning signs from the start. Spitting on someone, with force, from a distance is not good sexual etiquette in my eyes (especially when you haven't got the goods as compensation) but then neither is leaving in the morning and going straight to The Writers house (yes I know....I am disgusting....you don't need to tell me....and no, I hadn't burnt that bridge as previously thought, I think he is just a glutton for punishment and doesn't mind a bit of bat shit mental).

So I went round to The Writers, I think I had a better chance of trying to sort my life out without my phone there as the pig boy said he didn't have a mobile?! So The Writer let me use his laptop, made me tea and made feel better about the world. We also ended up doing it and I felt like it had kind of made up for the complete disaster of the night before.

I went back to mine and opened the left over contents of my sorry excuse for a handbag and realised on my speedy exit from the pig boys' house I had picked up his roommates shitty (not even real or strong or anything) glasses. So since Friday I have been hassled and hassled into dropping them back off. I have had rude messages saying "you need to come....he needs them for work". I am sorry but the only work he needs those to do wearing those is the job of looking like an absolute, full time bell end. Anyway, I dropped them off. I left them in their post box as I couldn't face either of them and then got the weirdo train back home.

Now here I am just listening to my neighbours having forcefully loud sex with their window open. She sounds like she is in a car with someone who doesn't know how to use the clutch and he sounds like he is manically searching for a missing child "BABY?! BABY?!?! BAAAAABBBYYY!!?!?!?". What ever tickles your pickle I suppose! (is it wrong that I do find it slightly, only slightly arousing?...don't answer that...I know....I know)

Love Me Tinder

2014-05-23T02:29:00.000-07:00

So I have deleted my Tinder account. You probably all know what it is but it's a dating app where you only see peoples photos and you swipe 'yes' or 'no' depending on if you like them. If you both swipe 'yes' then you can start a conversation as you have 'matched'. Its all a massive game really and it makes people feel throw away but it was fun while it lasted and I am not saying I may not give it another go soon.

I will start with the reason why I have decided to delete it, then I will tell you how I ended up getting onto it in the first place. I decided to delete it is as in my hungover state yesterday I remember that I had sent some really weird messages to a guy I had been casually seeing off there, let's call him The Writer. Messages that included "lets do some really weird stuff"...and "come on...just reply..I'll come round now". The reason why we still communicated on Tinder even though we had been having this casual thing for a couple of months is that only a mere month earlier in another drunken state, I tried to booty call and he didn't answer so I sent a very eloquently written text saying "fuck off". In the morning I deleted all messages and his number as I was having an actual meltdown, questioning why I have to be such an arse and scrambling around trying to piece together the last broken bits of my self respect. BUT for some miraculous (and probably ill informed reason) he decided to give it another go with me and carry on seeing me and messaging me. (At this point I have to mention I still have a British contract so it was costing him to send me a normal text therefore Tinder was a free way to keep in touch).

Anyway I was only really keeping Tinder to send messages to The Writer but I think I have really done it this time. He is a bit weird himself, we have ended up in scenarios where he has made me pretend he is a Freemason?!?! Smacking his bum with a wooden mixing spoon as an initiation and also making pretend to be his landlady, demanding rent and pleading with me to come to 'some sort of an arrangement'. This is obviously ridiculous behaviour, especially when it was done stone cold sober?! He would also talk A LOT when he was getting down to it, sometimes so much that I would end up laughing in his face. He is a nice guy though but I wouldn't want him as my boyfriend. So that is it....deleted, if he wants to contact me he can send me a normal message but I have a feeling I may have burnt that bridge (for the last time).

Now I will explain when I decided to join this often bizarre land of Tinder. I had fallen for this French bloke before Christmas. Lets call him The Musician (yes, I have a thing for creative types, probably doesn't work in my favour mind). When we met it was a bit of a whirlwind. We met in a bar on the Friday and I didn't leave his apartment until the Monday afternoon. We spent the whole weekend, dancing, drinking, singing and eating breakfast in bed. When we got together and I thought this was it, the romance of it all was crazy. Everything happened very quickly and when my friend and sister came to visit me over the Christmas he met them. He also met my my Mum in the January as well. He was very charming and we would spend all night listening to music and talking the night away......Until I found a lipstick in his apartment....Now I know you have to hear people out on these kind of things and its probably all 'a big misunderstanding' but I always say if it feels wrong then it probably is. Anyway, confronted with this lipstick he said to me "well I don't want to stop you from meeting other people you know".....oh....is that right now you stupid wanker?!, well OK, f*** you, I am going to met other people. And that was it, that is how I came to be on Tinder.

I am not ashamed to say that I have had a few Tinder dates and at first I was impressed by how many hot people were on there, it was a nice distraction but a lot of people on Tinder are arseholes. There are a lot of oversize Grey Goose vodka bottles, a lot of men with their actual wedding photos, some with only photos of their stupidly oversized dicks and one guy holding a monkey dressed as a small child. I have found more recently that the calibre of clientèle has gone down now because the middle aged, middle management bloke has caught onto this craze that was once used for horny, young, trendy singles.

I went date a young DJ lad when I first broke up with The Musician, and that kind of helped me get back into the swing of things. The beauty of Tinder is you can be selective as you want and I have a feeling that if this young DJ lad had just seen me in a club he probably wouldn't have talked to me. I also went on a date with an actual gay lad. He was actually gay. As it was a blind date I kept asking myself in my head 'have I got the settings wrong on my Tinder'....'does he think I am a tranny?!' Honestly don't know why he was on Tinder but we actually ended up having a really really good time, such a laugh that ended up us both upside twerking in his apartment at 4 in the morning.

So there you go, through the power of Tinder I have manage to cover some of my experiences with the men of Paris. It's a good tool if you are new around here and I have made some male friendships which are useful as the majority of my friends here are female, but for the moment I think I am going to try and find 'The One' on my own.

Please note that when I am talking about the men of Paris and men in general I will make extremely sweeping generalisations on only my personal glimpse of the population through the silly situations I get myself in.

New Blog, New Day

2014-05-22T05:35:00.000-07:00

Ok, so here I am, I have decided to write a blog. This is me..... I moved to Paris last year from the North of England to become a British Cliché in Paris and I thought it was about time I started noting my misadventures, mostly for my own entertainment value and partly because they are all becoming such a drunken blur I fear that I may have no memories of Paris soon.

Where do I start? I feel like I am trying to explain a story to someone but someone has ripped out and drawn graffiti cocks in the first half so I will start with today and hopefully other stories will surface the more I ramble and the more my mind meanders.

I woke up, completely disorientated and in sheer panic that I had slept through my alarm for work (thankfully I hadn't...this has never happened to me before but its one of my fears nonetheless). Once I had calmed down I realised that I was hungover...for the 4th time in 7 days. I have realised that I drink more since I moved to Paris but I don't worry too much because as the old saying goes "When in Paris...do as the.....well become a full blown wine-o" or something along those wobbly lines.

Ok so I try and piece together what might have went on last night, I look over to my tiny kitchenette thing (I live in a tiny studio so its pretty much a one room jobby) and see 2 half drank glasses of cheap white wine. Ok....think...oh..oh ok.....don't think, I didn't actually want to remember what had happened. Then the cringe sinks in and a slide show of the previous night's doings flashes through my mind.

So here's what happened; Me and my friend were in a bar near where I live where we usually go for a couple of drinks (bottles) after work mid-week. We are sitting at the bar and we start chatting to the barman/waiter. He is very friendly, little bit older, me and my friend had decided he was probably mid thirties. He was very charming and when he found out we were Northern he did quite an impressive impersonation. Anyway, the second bottle of red is finished and we made an executive decision to move onto cocktails as we thought it might freshen up our foggy wine heads and it definitely did.

Second whiskey sour had been drank and I went to the toilet, I came out and washed my hands and the friendly barman was stood there waiting for me, next thing I knew he just fully started snogging my face off (with a lot of tongue). I obviously went a long with it. Once you get to know me better you will come to realise that these scenarios are a recurrent theme. I went back to the bar and told my friend very calmly what had just happened and she looks back and me puzzled....or drunk...or both.

The bar was closing and we were the last ones left and the barman asked if he can walk me home. I agreed and obviously invited him in. We had some more very tongue filled kisses then he informed me that he had to leave soon as he had work in the morning. I slurred "well don't think I am shhleeping wiv you, OK?!?! *hiccup*. He didn't seem too bothered. Then sexy drunk me came out to play...this is the point in the night where I think I really am God's gift and I am the worlds best sexy dancer. I should call wine my own personal 'tit juice' as not only do I act like a complete tit and also have to fight the strong urge to actually get mine out. Anyway, next thing I knew I had Creams' 'Sunshine of your love' playing on Youtube and I was giving him a lapdance, looking him in the eyes, miming the words and dry humping his disappointing hard on. Once the song had finished the spell was broken and we both decided it was time for him to leave but did take my number.

So just before I recieved a whatsapp from him....a photo....a selfie...of him.... STICKING HIS TONGUE OUT. Who does that? Like seriously? Bloody hell.....what was I thinking?!?! I have a feeling that this may not be the Parisian love story I am searching for.

Nevermind.....no harm done, its all just another night in my life in this crazy and wonderful city.